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chaoslibra · 3 months ago

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♪ ༘⋆ ᴅʀᴀᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ — t.todoroki smau

i. stranger danger iii. practice session

ii. shush boykissers 𝄞 m.list

you were already a pretty light sleeper under normal conditions, so it wasn't surprising that the loud creaking of the floorboards woke you up in the middle of the night. at first you just assumed, that tomura had gotten up to get himself a glass of water and were ready to go back to sleep without a second thought. but something didn't feel right. the steps felt heavier, too heavy for someone who had just rolled out of bed.

immediately your chest tightened. thoughts raced to your head about who the intruder could possibly be. one thought in particular clung to you, but you refused to let yourself entertain it. everything rational within you screamed for you to text tomura and get both of your asses out of here. and yet, not a second later you had hushed across your room to hear the intruder better. your ear was glued to the door, trying to make out any sound.

there were only a few more creaks, followed by a heavy thud. the steps were a lot lighter now and the floorboards didn't creak anymore. it was safe to assume that the person had taken their shoes off. but why? if they had broken in, why would they bother taking their shoes off? you knew, you should be a lot more terrified, but for some reason you were just confused.

a deep breath escaped your lips before you slowly pressed down the door handle. this was a stupid decision. you knew full well, that you should have probably run the other way the moment you had heard any type of noise. the smartest decision would have been to climb out the window and use the little ledge on the window sill to climb over to tomura's room and wake him up. instead you gently pushed the door open and stepped into the pitch black living room.

you couldn't hear any steps. the sudden dead silence enveloped you like an eery, dark cloak. you had expected to see a figure move through the room, but there was none. there was no way you had imagined all of it, was there? from the door to your room, you could see the entire living room. to see the kitchen, though, you would have to round the corner, because the wall from the entry hallway that connected to the kitchen island blocked your view to it. there was a slight rustling sound again, followed by the fridge being opened? you'd never heard of people going through fridges, when breaking and entering, but in all fairness, in this economy, you couldn't blame them for trying. obviously they didn't know your brother well, though. if they did, they would know his fridge wasn't worth opening. there was never anything worthwhile in there, except for energy drinks, ice cream and half empty take-out containers if you were lucky.

"fuck's sake!" a deep voice hissed.

you were pretty sure now, that it was a guy, but you couldn't place the voice. that was much more relieving, that it should be, but a man you didn't know was very likely to be safer, than the ones you did know. still, you grabbed tomura's keys from the little bowl in the entry way – careful not to let the keychains dangle. you tiptoed over to the kitchen, the cold metal of the keys digging into your skin. you kept close to the wall, so he wouldn't see you, but by the time you reached the kitchen island, he was already walking back toward the living room. you could only hope, that he hadn't seen you yet. you pushed your body into the wall, as if that would make it swallow you.

he stopped walking. you decided to take that second to try and at least make out some features. he was dressed so dark, that his frame almost entirely blended into the pitch black background. he was wearing a hooded jacket, hiding any feature you would have otherwise maybe seen, beneath it. his arm shifted, at least that's what you assumed it was, since your eyes still hadn't gotten used to the dark. that proved unnecessary a second after, because his elbow hit the light switch. the sudden shift in lighting momentarily blinded you and somehow turned off the alarm signals, that should have told you to get the fuck out of there.

"not running off this time?" you jumped back hearing the playful tone of his voice.

blinking a few times to get used to the very bright light, you stared up at him. when you recognized who he was, you felt both relief that he wasn't some psycho killer and a little annoyed that he had obviously noticed you a bit ago and messed with you for whatever reason. you had been right about him wearing all black, though. his thick hooded jacket covered his pitch black hair almost entirely. it didn't however cover the shit-eating grin, that he was staring down at you with.

"to be fair, you were a strange man in my brother's apartment." you crossed your arms in front of your chest. "and i was in a towel."

"fair enough." he laughed pulling the hood of his jacket down.

even though you hadn't really looked at him, when you had bolted out of the room yesterday, you had seen his face a bunch online before. he had been everywhere together with the rest of lov, when their first single blew up. now that dabi's face was lit entirely, you could see the black ink snaking its way up his neck from below his jacket. there weren't any on his face, but he had more than enough piercings to make up for it. just from a quick glance you could see little silver balls adorning his right eyebrow, three more on the left side of his nose and he had snake bites. his black hair was tousled into every possible direction, sticking out in messy spikes. he was taller than you and a good bit broader, too, though that could just as well be the thickness of his jacket.

"didn't mean to wake you up, by the way." he unzipped his jacket and lazily dropped it onto the kitchen island. even though the hoodie that he was wearing under it was baggy and obviously intended to fit loosely, you could see the broad shoulders underneath it. the tattoos from his neck obviously continued under the collar of his hoodie.

"you're good." you smiled, awkwardly shifting your feet.

he just nodded and slumped onto the couch. you assumed that to have been the end of your conversation and where just about ready to leave, when he spoke up again. "i'm dabi by the way."

it was kind of funny that he felt the need to introduce himself, when you both knew, that you were aware who he was. maybe he just thought it was the polite thing to do.

"y/n." you said quietly. you weren't sure if tomura had mentioned your name. himiko had told you earlier tonight, that tomura had never mentioned you, so you probably were right to introduce yourself. dabi just hummed, resting his feet on the coffee table next to three open cans of monster and the bag of chips tomura had opened sometime before you had moved in. his eyes turned to you again, looking at you, almost as if he was trying to remember something.

"wait, i know you." you furrowed your brows looking back at him. "didn't you say you didn't like lov on twitter bout a week ago?"

if only you had taken the advice of the smarter part of your brain and climbed out the window when you had the chance. you laughed awkwardly, wishing you could be anywhere but here – preferably somewhere six feet under ground. and not right in front of the bassist of the band, you had publicly claimed hating, even though it had been for a joke. the whole thing had blown up completely with their vicious fans literally blowing up your phone with hate comments and threats. you remembered vividly that somehow dabi, of all people, had found your post and even commented. tomura had found the entire thing hilarious, because of course he did. but he had never mentioned to dabi that the person who had made that viral post, was his sister.

"i didn't actually mean that." you choked out an awkward laugh. dabi's head tilted to the side. he stared at you so intensely now, as if he were genuinely curious about the explanation. you just then noticed how brightly blue his eyes were. which was only accented with the black color that was smudged all around his eyes. and it looked like he was wearing black mascara as well. "i honestly just wanted to mess with tomu. never expected that shit to blow up the way it did."

he looked at you for a good second, as if he was processing what you had just said. and then he just snorted out a laugh. "so what i'm hearing is you don't actually think we suck?"

"didn't say that, did i?" you decided to be petty and mess with him a little. as payback for him messing with you earlier. from the way his eyebrow raised, you assumed that he hadn't expected that answer. "wait for real?"

you just shrugged, trying your best to keep a straight face. he kept his bright eyes on you, trying to gauge your expression for any sign if you were being serious or not. he gave up a few seconds after.

"come on, you're killing me here."

you laughed seeing how invested he seemed to be. it was kind of nice to see, how serious he was taking this, especially since you know how much the band meant to your brother. you decided to make him suffer no longer.

"i'm kidding." it was funny to watch the actual relief on his face. "most of your stuff's actually really good."

"just most, huh?" he leaned back on the couch very quickly switching to his grin from before. you stared at him with a deadpan expression, which of course, he found even more amusing.

"obviously not what i meant." you rolled your eyes.

dabi let out a soft chuckle, still actively amused by annoying you. even though, he was sure, that you weren't actually as annoyed as you tried to look. and he would've been right. "you have a favorite?"

"hm?"

dabi grinned seeing your head tilt, not understanding what he wanted from you.

"favorite song, i mean."

the question left you more stumped, than it probably should have. you had been honest with dabi, you really did like all of their music. both the heavier rock songs they played and the very few slower songs they had – even their covers were usually very nice to listen to. even though, tomura usually asked you for your opinion the moment, they released anything, you had never really been able to pick a clear favorite. though you had been able to give him an answer earlier, that was usually heavily influenced by the way you were feeling on that particular day.

"don't think i could pick that easily." you shrugged. "but i've been listening to blue from the new ep a lot."

something lit up in his eyes, when you said that. it was subtle enough, thought for you to not really register it as out of the ordinary. dabi just hummed in response, not commenting on your choice at all. silence befell the two of you. the realization hit, that it was probably well over four am in the morning and though, tomura had the ability to sleep through five fire alarms blaring at the same time and would not be woken up by the two of you just talking, you should probably sleep at some point, if you wanted to at least pretend to pay attention in your 8am class.

"i should probably head back." you said, already turning on your heel, when dabi stopped you.

"hold on." he got up from the couch and was now standing barely two feet away from you. "give me your number."

"huh?" you couldn't help but stare at him for a couple seconds. the surprise on your face was palpable and probably really obvious, but you had genuinely not expected him to say that. especially not as demanding as he did. he just smiled, completely ignoring how you had reacted, which you were sure he was doing purposefully.

"you live here too, now. 's only fair, i give you a heads up when i'm coming over." he explained.

that made a lot of sense, actually. and it was really considerate of him. you quickly hushed into the kitchen and grabbed a little piece of paper from one of the cabinets. you quickly scribbled your number on it and handed it to him. he thanked you and haphazardly folded it before letting it slip into the side pocket of his pants. it didn't really occur to you, until then, that you had given an entirely strange guy your number, but you figured, that it wasn't that much of an issue, considering that tomura was close to him.

"it was nice to meet you, dabi." you smiled at him. " good night."

"night, y/n."

♪ ༘⋆ ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴘᴀꜱꜱ

⋆ everyone in the band is a boykisser.

⋆ himiko leans more to women, but she's had crushes on boys before (she just loves love).

⋆ touya is the only one of the guys to have had been with women before. though unlabelled, tomura and spinner have both only dated guys.

⋆ tomura will deny it, but him and touya have kissed before (on multiple occasions).

⋆ the band practices under the basement of the black wing, that keigo let's them use for free, since they play gigs in the bar for free and that brings in a lot of people

⋆ keigo actually hadn't intended of having y/n work a full shift, but she did well enough, that he decided to skip the trial shift and immediately hired her

⋆ rumi and y/n immediately clicked within ten minutes of working together. on that note, rumi spent about twenty minutes teaching y/n about the bar and the rest of the day relentlessly bullying keigo and bitching about shitty customers

⋆ himiko immediately forced both y/n and rumi to stop working when she and the band ( - dabi obviously) walked in, because she was so excited to meet tomura's sister.

⋆ they spent an hour getting to know each other and it would have been more, but spinner came up from the basement to drag her to practice

⋆ y/n had fully expected ochaco to leave, when her friends called her to go out for ice cream with her and had not at all expected to be invited. himiko tried sneaking out with them, when they went down to say bye to the band, but spinner caught her

⋆ ochaco calls all her female friends muses. she has a folder dedicated to each one, full of pictures she took (with consent ofc). himiko’s folder was already twice the size of the average when the two were still friends.

[ taglist open ]

tags: @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @hktfbuo @commonmisery @lsunncy @kyiyoko @seijuroww @themultifandomgirl @samm1e13 @kalulakunundrum @porusuniverse @oddball08 @starseclipsing @jlly1 @softasshadows @peachesvault @starzzworld @starrmage @letsgolulu @cristy-101 @brixmeeler @skeletonmoths @togeswrld

ignore the timestamps

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seventh-district · 5 months ago

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Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning.

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash