#I hardly ever write sam POV so this was fun

[dogmetaph0r]

SIC ‘EM

Chapter 3: Sit...

A/N: FIIIINALLY it's Fia time!!! Emetophobia warning in this one, sorryyyy they are so frail like baby birds 2 me....this one kinda sucked to write, not because of the content but because I had to get so many timelines straight (side note, the individual sections of these chapters kinda jump around a bit timeline-wise since we're in multiple different POVs). Apologies if there are inconsistencies because I (hopefully) won't force that kind of lore accuracy on myself ever again yayyy <3 this one has more Shelby brother humor and hijinks, so enjoy a lot of sass and questionable medical practices. Fun fact, the use of De Selby pt 1 and 2 actually provided most of the inspiration for Sam's backstory. Of course listen however you please, but for the best author-endorsed experience, I recommend listening to De Selby Pt. 1 during the beginning of the second part of the chapter.

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, M!OC x Tommy Shelby

Warnings: descriptions of violence, PTSD episode (and poor handling thereof), hospitalization, blood and injury, vomiting, mild suicidality, narcotic misuse

Soundtrack: De Selby (Part 1) - Hozier // Army Dreamers - Kate Bush

Summary: With Sam injured, Fia journeys alone to Birmingham General Hospital with the help of a few friendly faces along the way. Meanwhile, Sam struggles with long-buried memories and Tommy grapples with the idea that he might've been had. Reunions and truces abound, some less expected than others.

It took two long days by horse and caravan to reach the stain on the map known as Birmingham. The skin of Fia’s lips and fingers were bitten raw in that time, dotted with pinprick-small scabs. What she’d heard on Saturday was so vague– Sam was injured, he fell unconscious on the way back, and they had rushed him to the hospital in Birmingham –that her rabbit-quick thoughts had no choice but to conjure new scenarios, each more horrific than the last. She couldn’t sleep. She could hardly even sit still long enough for it to be a possibility. Better this than overworking the horses, she told herself until the words hardly meant anything. Despite the sourness of guilt that sat in her mouth at the thought, she cursed the fact that Fleet Ypres and Queen Bathsheba couldn’t just go faster, trot on longer, need less.

But Fia was kind, and Ypres and Queenie were good girls. Every break took exactly as long as it needed to take, and every step was chosen for comfort over speed. Queenie had been hers as a child, bottle raised and babied through her clumsy, long-legged filly years. As such, she was more than happy to share the weight where Fia needed her, be it hitched to the head of the vardo or trailing alongside with a light pack of provisions. It soothed her fears to know that no matter what, Ypres would be taken care of in her rider’s absence.

Word had spread like lightning from one Pollyanna Gray to Fia’s employer through the telephone lines (bless the telephone for such a service), and Mrs. Davies had kindly allowed her to leave the mending until she returned. After losing her husband to the war, the old woman had grown a soft spot for Fia and her man that, in her own words, would be the absolute death of her. With only just enough breath left to thank her as she dashed out the door, Fia bundled up her and Sam’s few belongings and bid Fleet Ypres onward as quickly as she could manage that very afternoon.

After miles and miles of fresh spring air and fragrant grass, Birmingham’s stench of coal, garbage water, and drunkards was an assault on her already sensitive nose. She was glad for the fact that Danny had returned for Meska just days before, as she was sure that the grating industrial noise alone would have spooked him and his delicate sensibilities, never mind the sound of her dry heaving by the side of the canal. The horses stood idly by, shifting their weight as they grumbled nervously at the barrage of new stimuli. Now and then, she felt Queenie’s broad head nudge between her shoulder blades between shuddering breaths and uncontrolled cramps of her stomach. A small comfort, but a noble and appreciated attempt nonetheless.

A shuffling noise from a few yards away startled Fia from nitpicking her reflection in the oil-slick canal. Her heart dropped as she spun, expecting trouble, but her fears were quickly quelled when she was met with a quartet of dirt-smudged children. They clustered together around the tallest, a boy who couldn’t have been older than seven holding a tattered ball in his hands. The tiniest, a little girl, was beaming with all her might.

“That’s pretty,” she said, pointing a pudgy little finger at her vardo.

Now that the girl mentioned it, the vardo was probably the brightest splash of color Fia had seen since she’d arrived. It seemed that the very walls of the city were blanketed with grime and soot, long obscuring any indication of art and life that once belonged to the working people of Small Heath.

“Thank you,” Fia said, kneeling in front of the girl. “Have you ever seen one of these? It’s called a vardo.”

The girl shook her head, blonde braids whipping about her shoulders, and a skinny, freckled boy grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back to the safety of their little group.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked, nose screwed up in suspicion.

“Are you a princess?” An older girl stepped forward. “With a carriage?”

“Your hair is big.”

“May I pat the dark horsie?”

“Are you gonna have a baby?”

Fia blinked at the bombardment of questions, unable to contain the laugh that sneaked out of her. Sweet Mary, if her little one was even half as curious, she had her work cut out for her. “You can pat her, if you’re gentle,” she told the girl already stretching her hand out to press her palm against Ypres’s curious nose. “And yes,” she turned to the boy with the ball, who was pointing at her belly, “I am having a baby, in a few months’ time.”

“Well– well I saw a vaw-dy one time,” the freckled boy shouted over the delighted squeals of his friends as Ypres took deep, inquisitive huffs of the tops of their heads. “In Mr. Charlie’s yard.”

Mr. Charlie, she thought. As in Charlie Strong? His stables were the ideal place to leave her horses and the vardo where she knew they would be safe from thieves and vandals. Perhaps Charlie would even be able to give her more information on what the hell was going on. She smiled at the little one, standing and smoothing her hands over her skirt.  “Would you take me to see Mr. Charlie?”

It didn’t take long to find the scrapyard belonging to John Shelby’s uncle after that. The children ran alongside and in front of the vardo (thank god for Ypres being so well-broken, with the number of times she had to remind them to be careful), beckoning her along with excited hoots and hollers. Their five-person crusade stopped just at the perimeter of the yard, the children falling quiet and shy as Charlie Strong squinted through the glare of scrap metal in the sun. He was an unassuming man, skinny and wiry with the lean muscles of hard labor. The edge of his peaky cap, however, glinted silver in the sun, and she could see the long-healed trophies of past fights littering his bare forearms.

“I know you,” Charlie called out as she hopped down to lead her horses forward. “You’re one of the Lee girls.” He unlatched the front gate, pulling it aside and beckoning her through. “Must be. You look like your pop. Got your mother’s nose, though.”

Fia smiled, unhitching the horses when they were far enough into the yard. “Does that get me a discount on stabling?”

Charlie laughed. “Good try. Nah, I’ll be reimbursed by Tom, I’m sure. Here for your sister?”

“Actually,” she said, assisting Charlie in untacking the horses and putting them in stalls fragrant with fresh barley straw, “I’m looking for Sam Lovell. Henry Lovell’s son? He was brought to the hospital a few days ago.”

Charlie frowned, grunting. “Haven’t seen him here. But the hospital is too far into the city to walk. You’d be better off finding your sister and waiting with her.”

Fia deflated, anxiety prickling her brow. She certainly would not be better off waiting. Esme had, presumably, no clue that she was even here. While she was sure Esme would never turn her away, it had been so long… who’s to say she wasn’t cross with her for running off? For turning her back on the Lees over a boy? “He’s hurt, Mr. Strong. Badly.” Charlie tracked the motion of her hand to her lower belly, eyes widening minutely.

The older man huffed a labored sigh, rubbing his chin as his eyes drifted over an incomprehensible mess of scrap metals and old, rotting wood. His eyes settled over a tarp on the gray water. “Tell you what, lass,” he strode over and yanked the canvas from the top of an engine-powered longboat, hopping aboard in a well-practiced motion. “I can get you as far as Digbeth through The Cut.”

Relief flooded her as she stepped onto the boat, Charlie’s hand firm on her arm to keep her steady on the rocking boat. She’d never been on a longboat, though in her life she had seen quite a few being led by canalside horses up through the waterways of England. It was smaller than she remembered as a child, though it could’ve been that the engine took up far more space and she had been far smaller many years ago. The whole of it was sooty despite having been covered, but Charlie laid out the clean side of the canvas tarp for her to sit on a sagging bag of horse feed.

“Right, if we’re all situated…” A clank came from the engine somewhere behind her, and the boat jolted to a start in the water. She looked back to see Charlie standing as tall and proud as a captain next to the smoke stack as it began to spit up clumps of charred black soot. “If you tend to get boatsick… just try and aim away from the deck.”

Fia cringed.

Whistle-whine roar of rockets. Shrieks like dying animals. Skull-rattling impact. Rain of dirt, shower of rocks.

Bomb after bomb, mud, blood, gunpowder in his nose. Mud, blood gunpowder. There were hands at his back, foreheads pressed to his shoulders, fingers gripping and pulling and scrabbling at his drabs. Get down, Lovell! Get the fuck down, you fucking idiot!

But for what? There was nothing to fear, nothing at all. How different was this from the blaze of fireworks? How much colder could the cold of a grave be, compared to the cold of the trench? How much darker could the dark get, when night already smothered the smoke-choked skies of Belgium? Who would miss him that didn’t already?

The skies settled to silence, a violent quiet ringing in the ears and vibrating the skin. Had it ended already? The war? The fight? Or just his fight? Sizzling earth like the scorched soils of hell, glittering-glistening-glowing fragments of mortar metal, hunks of meat shining in the light of the moon. Pieces of soldiers who once were. In a deep dark like this, which way was up and which was down? Were these gleaming surfaces the remains of metal and flesh, or were they stars? Was that inky black above the open air, or was it the bile-piss-gore-soaked earth? Who could say that these weren’t angels of death surrounding him, opposing him, pulling him up to heaven or down to hell. Whichever fucking way they were dragging him.

Lance Corporal, stand down!

It was so peaceful. Trembling-soft was his fellow-in-arms, clinging like hope to the leg of his pants.

Don’t, Sam, don’t. Stay here, Sam.

Sit down. Sit down, Sam, we’ve got you, that’s it.

How different could it be to climb out of the trench?

Oh my god! Oh my god!

Not so different. But here, away from the heat of a dozen hot mouths panting like dogs, he could feel the snow. Oh, the snow. It kissed the bridge of his nose, ran down the sides of his cheeks, dusted his eyelashes. Was that death, embracing him there? Did it reach out with ice-cold fingers, melt against the heat of his skin only to pool again in the hollow of his throat? Did it not caress him like a lover? Did it not whisper promises of peace, of freedom, of numbness?

Thud. Crushing, collapsing. Fire. Fire. Burning, sticky ribs, fingers grasping at frayed flesh and shredded wool. Some raw new cavity in his side blooming open like a flower, wet boiling globs of something flowing like rivers down his shirt, down his fingers.

Enemy fire! Oh god, oh fuck! Fuck, he’s down!

Down, down, down. Slower than snowfall, hotter than flame. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe. Thud. Mud, blood, gunpowder. Can’t breathe.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t breathe.

CAN’T BREATHE–

Sam! Sam!

Wake the–

“ –fuck up!” John batted open-handed at the side of his face, Sam’s forehead damp with nightmare sweat and tense with fear.

“Fuck!” Arthur shouted, fumbling with something to the sides of him, and before long his hands were tied fast to the rickety metal frame of the cot.

“Hold ‘is head, he’s thrashing.”

“Someone get his legs! Sam, breathe! Breathe!”

“Can’t,” Sam gasped, ribs pressing and pulling, rising and falling with no relief, a fish on a line dragged to dry land. He coughed, body wracked by pain. “Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.”

“You’re breathing.” Tommy’s hands were on either side of his face, thumbs at the tender hinges of his jaw. “Shh. You can breathe if you pull it together. You hear me? Calm down. Good, see? You’re doing it.”

“Do something, mate, he’s going to go full Barney any second!”

“He’s already gone, listen to him!”

Sam was shouting something between burning wheezes, the words bursting from him like steam through the cracks in his armor. Arthur and John shared a look, shock and realization steeling their faces.

“Lance Corporal, you need to breathe. Now!”

Like someone had snapped their fingers and lifted a spell, Sam’s lungs could expand and draw gulps of blessed cold air along the roof of his mouth, the back of his dry throat. It hurt like hell. It burned like fire. But fuck, he could breathe. He tried to sit up.

“Who–”

Tommy hushed him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his forehead, ice-cold and steady. “That was just Arthur, Sam. The war’s over. Rein it in, eh? You don’t need to report to anyone. We’re in Birmingham, in the hospital. It’s Sunday. Do you remember?”

Sam shook his head instinctively within the limited space offered by Tommy’s broad hands. Too many words. His head felt like wet wool and his stomach like a bag of acid, roiling and frothing and threatening to spill over. His mouth flooded with saliva, the room spun, and–

Sam gagged and shuddered as rust-colored bile spilled from his mouth, just barely making it to the floor beside his bed. God, it hurt. His body cramped from the bottom of his stomach up to the top of his chest, white-hot needles pricking the twist of his abdomen as he leaned precariously over the side of the cot with one arm pulled uncomfortably back by the leather cuff around his wrist. Tommy’s right hand didn’t leave his forehead, pushing his greasy hair out of his eyes as Arthur patted his back hesitantly.

Rolling back into place was its own agony, bandages tight around his empty stomach and head still swimming. “The fuck–?”

“John, get the doctor?” Tommy replaced his hand with a cool, damp cloth, rising to draw the curtains away from the warped window panes. Pale beams of morning sunlight struck the wooden floorboards and clean tiled walls, illuminating spartan rows of empty hospital beds and a side table with piles of blood-dotted rags. The metallic, chemical smell of antiseptic singed his nostrils, but it was preferable to what was before. Mud, blood, gunpowder.

“We’re going to let your wrists out of the restraints. Will you sit still? If you can sit still, we won’t need any medicine because it won’t hurt. Got it?” Tommy’s voice was gentle and light as he knelt at the side of his bed, like Sam was a landmine he feared would go off if he stepped too heavily. The leather manacles fell away, and Sam’s hands came up slowly to rub the raw, red lines marking the bones of his wrists.

Tommy nearly smiled. Nearly. Relief softened his gaze, even as Arthur cringed at his other side and threw a small hand rag down onto the splatter of acidic bile. “Very good, Sam,” Tommy hushed. “That’s much better.”

Sam blamed his ears pinking on the disgruntled expression on the doctor’s face as he entered, taking in the poor attempt at mopping up the contents of Sam’s empty stomach.

“Concussion,” the bearded man proclaimed as he set a large leather bag on the bedside table, “has a tendency of upsetting the stomach. As does your medication, but there’s little to be done about that.” He threw a knowing glance at the leather cuffs dangling from the sides of the bed. Sam had the distinct impression that this wasn’t the first time he needed to be restrained.

The doctor withdrew several tools one by one– stethoscope, hypodermic needle, medicine vial, magnifying glass. Tommy and Arthur were employed in propping Sam upright, setting thin pillows behind his back. After a quick check of his lungs (Sam scowled at the diagnosis that his earlier inability to breathe was, essentially, all in his head), the doctor took the microscope to his pupils, scrutinizing the way he flinched and blinked at the bright bedside lamp thrust in his face. 

“All looks well,” the doctor announced, speaking more to the Shelbys than to Sam as they adjusted him to a lying position once more. “If we can go a day without coughing anything up, I believe the rest of the recovery may be done at home.”

Arthur frowned. “But the, ah… the vomming, Doc?” He gestured crudely to the now-soaked rag on the floor, the unmopped fluid now tinged a light brown.

“Likely an aftereffect of last night’s fit,” the old man dismissed. “In his panic, he may have tried to swallow it down with the remains of the nosebleed.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “S-swallowed what?”

All three of the men turned to look at him as though they forgot the subject of the exam was still lying there.

Tommy stood by his bedside, leaning down with a warning look at Arthur. “You’ve coughed up some blood,” he elaborated. “From your lungs.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Pardon the fuck–” he coughed (blissfully dry this time, though something in his chest grated uncomfortably) “–the fuck out of me?”

“Only a little!” Arthur said, hands out as though Sam were ready to lunge at him. “Only a little. Just a few times last night, just after you got in.”

“Nothing too terrible,” the doctor said, demeanor blasé as he drew a portion of the liquid medicine into a syringe. “It’s not uncommon with the type of injury you sustained.” Memories trickled in through the spaces between words. There had been a fight at the race. Aintree? Yes, Aintree, where he’d been hired as a spy for the Peaky Blinders. The fight wasn’t real, until… oh, yes, it became real. Real enough to be thrown against a tentpole, slammed to the ground, socked in the face. But who…?

John Shelby sauntered into the room with a pack of cigarettes in hand and a scabby split down his lower lip, but when he caught the fury boiling in Sam’s eyes, he turned heel and sauntered right back out.

That bastard. “I’ll fucking beat your ugly face in! Again!” Sam pointed at John’s back as he left.

Tommy sighed, putting his hands in his pockets as Arthur closed the door behind the doctor. “I’d rather you didn’t,” Tommy said. “Wouldn’t fix anything.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Alright, this is just a little painkiller. Something to help you sleep a few more hours without incident.” The tip of a needle was pressed into a vein in his arm, pinching as it entered. Sam’s face screwed up in discomfort at the warmth under his skin.

“See, we could’ve gone with an intravenous drip and saved the trouble, but you were… resistant to that option last night.” He looked meaningfully at the bruises on Sam’s arm, standing out in stark contrast to the pale skin of his inner elbow and the circumference of his wrists.

Sam pouted, the aches of the previous day throbbing in his bones and muscles before they began to melt away. This was something he did remember a portion of, when he concentrated: wriggling out of his restraints and ripping the needle-tipped tube out of his arm in an attempt to escape before being cuffed again. The doctor packed his belongings into a neat leather bag, taking the bribe Tommy passed him on his way out the door.

“When’s Florence getting here?”

Arthur sat on the windowsill on his left. “Soon, mate. Real soon.”

“Tomorrow, hopefully,” Tommy added.

Sam was quiet, picking at the lint on his blanket as his eyelids grew leaden and low. He’d never been to Birmingham. Never even been in a hospital, a real one, the provisional war hospital notwithstanding. How would Fia know where to look? If something went wrong, how would he find her? The patrin signs would come down from Haydock; he’d have to retrace their steps all the way up north to find her trail. It all frightened him so badly, the idea of her traveling unprotected out in the West Midlands where muggings and murders abounded. Where gangs just like the Peaky Blinders vied for control over every square inch like mutts fighting over bones in the street.

“It’s… Sunday, right?” His voice was just a quiet mutter, pensive and somber. “Can I… can I have a Bible? Just to have it. I’d… I think I need it.”

Tommy and Arthur looked at each other, both men shifting uncomfortably. “We can do that, yes,” Tommy said. “Arthur?”

Arthur nodded and took it as his cue to leave, mentioning something about tracking John down to guard the door.

Tommy leaned against the windowsill within Sam’s periphery. “I want to apologize.”

Sam frowned. “For what?” There could have been a billion reasons, he knew, but none that came to mind as immediately relevant. Everything that could’ve been said already had been, he thought drowsily.

“I couldn’t find whoever had lamed the horse.”

If it weren’t for the subject matter, Sam would’ve laughed. It felt like so long ago, seeing to Little Tsarina’s hoof and feeling the pain of what had been done to her. “Oh my,” Sam said instead, the corner of his mouth twitching as he resisted a smile. Everything felt honey-slow, thoughts trickling through his mind too fleetingly to follow. “What made you think of that?”

Tommy couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead he rubbed a cigarette around his lips, cracking the window behind him for the smoke to dissipate as he lit the end. “No reason. Never mind.”

Sam wanted to demand more information, but the bed was so comfortable, and the pillow so soft, that he had no choice but to sink into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

After twenty minutes on the water (and only one retch over the side of the longboat), Charlie docked at Digbeth Branch Canal and pointed her in the direction of the red bricked and gray spired building in the distance. The cobbled roads were slick with a mess of garbage and petrol, and the sidewalks weren’t much better. Her riding boots were a poor match for the smooth stonework, and by the time she slid around the corner to Birmingham General Hospital, she was panting and overwhelmed, hands on her knees as her stomach flipped unpleasantly. She idly wondered, curls thrown around her neck and face haphazardly, whether or not the hospital staff would mistake her for a patient with the way she stumbled through the door. Fia didn’t have much time to ponder her concerns when her march through the sterile hallways of the hospital was abruptly stopped by something solid and suit-clad, gripping her upper arms and gentling her–

“Florence, hey, it’s alright,” John said. He looked a bit ridiculous once Fia had the wherewithal to take him in, lower lip scabbed and swollen and cheek bruised plum purple.

“John Shelby?” She backed up, brows furrowed. “What happened? Is…”

“Sam’s alright,” John reassured her, hands on her shoulders. “It was… there were some mistakes made.” He averted his eyes, embarrassed. Fia made a mental note to interrogate him about that, but she had no time to waste on arguing with him. She had to see Sam.

Pushing through John’s half-hearted attempt at slowing her down, Fia kept moving until she reached the large oak door– Room 26, John had shouted to her as she left –and, hands trembling, turned the handle to let herself in.

Dust motes floated gently through the golden beams of sunlight cutting in from the windows, an unnerving peace disturbed by the door slamming against the wall. Sam sat propped upright in the hospital bed, looking thoroughly displeased and uncomfortable as a spectacled doctor pressed a stethoscope to the right side of his chest. His glazed eyes lit up when he saw her, and only the quick reflexes of the man standing guard by him– Arthur, judging by the mustache and peaky hat –kept him from jolting up from the bed.

“Fi,” he gasped, interrupted by a rattling cough that doubled him over in pain.

“Sam,” she sighed, the fight draining from her body when she saw him– alive and in roughly one piece, thank God.

“Florence-Maria? Hang on, are you p–? ”

“Arthur, relax. Good afternoon, Florence.”

“Hello, Tommy. Arthur.”

“Tom, she’s–”

“I am, Arthur. He knows.”

“But Tom, is–?”

“Arthur, relax or go outside.”

“How about we all relax,” the doctor shot an accusatory look around the room, hand on Sam’s shoulder to guide him back into a reclined position against the pillow bolstering his back. Sam obeyed, sweet gray eyes never leaving Fia’s.

She approached his bedside carefully, heart still pounding from her mad dash. This wasn’t in the plan Sam had told her. He said that they would keep him away from the fighting, offering plausible deniability when the raid started. As things always had when the Shelbys were involved, things had evidently not gone to plan. The everpresent dark rings under Sam’s eyes were somehow even darker with mottled purple-green bruising, shades of shadow flooding across the bridge of his nose where a splint obscured the apex of the damage. Fia’s eyes followed as the doctor brought the stethoscope back in place, shaking his head in frustration at the commotion. Sam was bandaged around the ribs, more of the same colorful bruising peeking out from the edges in watercolor splotches.

“Hi, love,” she said, sitting in the seat that Arthur had left behind as Tommy told him off in the background.

“Hi,” he responded, smiling, voice quiet and clipped from the limited breath he was able to draw between the bandages and the pain.

“No talking, please,” the doctor grumbled.

Sam put a finger in front of his lips and playfully shushed her, which made her laugh in spite of herself. The doctor packed up his kit, explaining that his lungs were fine, ribs in the same state as the day before (and what the hell could that have meant? Fia’s jaw tightened with anger) and that after today, Sam just needed a few weeks’ rest at home with a very short daily walk to prevent pneumonic buildup. No ‘dirty money jobs’, he emphasized, darting a sharp look between both Sam and Tommy. Presumptuous, she thought. Sam’s scared of dirty money jobs and Tommy’s scared of me. No lifting, no running, and no strenuous exercise. The doctor drew a small amount of clear liquid from a little bottle into a syringe, pressing the tip of the needle into Sam’s vein as he winced. No smoking (not an issue), no drinking (somewhat an issue, if Sam’s expression was anything to go by), and absolutely no fighting (doubly not an issue, if she had anything to do with it). Sam took these orders gladly, nodding along with the doctor’s words even as his eyelids started to droop.

“Right, I’ll let Mr. Lovell rest. I suggest everyone do the same, if he’s to be discharged.” The doctor gathered his kit, shaking hands with Tommy on his way out as the gangster slipped what appeared to be a wad of cash into his palm.

Fia let the latch click shut on the door before casting a fierce glare at the men remaining in the room. “What happened?”

Sam snapped back into consciousness with a sharp inhale and gave her a wide, sleepy grin while the brothers did their best to avoid making eye contact. Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets as though the temperature in the room had dropped, and Tommy coughed awkwardly before scratching his nose with his thumb.

“There was… a disagreement,” Tommy started, choosing his words carefully, “between Samuel and John.”

Arthur nodded, staring at his shoes. “And the plan was for there to be a fight– not a real one, just makin’ a show of it –and they. Well.”

“I coughed blood out me lungs,” Sam slurred, still smiling as the scouse accent grew thicker than she’d ever heard it. The other two men shot an admonishing look at him.

Fia’s brows arched up towards her hairline at that. She blinked, casting a knife-sharp sidelong glare at the Shelbys as they did their best impressions of invisible men. “You what, love?”

“Only a little,” Arthur added quickly before Sam could elaborate, which Tommy echoed. Sam laughed, which, for lack of a better word, sounded crunchy before a spike of pain forced him to trail off into a hiccuping grunt.

She had to clench her eyes tight and count to ten before the impulse to wallop them each about the head subsided. Sam whined in pain, throwing a hand out to the side to grope at the side table. Tommy quickly intercepted him before he could get at the tiny vial of liquid medicine, tucking the bottle into a drawer and keeping the man’s hand restrained. Sam settled for holding onto his thumb as the first dose took effect, leaving Tommy standing awkwardly half-bent at the waist as Sam quickly forgot what, exactly, he was doing in favor of watching the dust dance circles above his head.

“The doctor says he’s got a concussion and a cracked rib,” Tommy explained, trying and failing to reclaim his hand. “Pleurisy and a small contusion. Meaning he’s–”

“I know what a contusion is, thank you,” she interrupted, voice even and assertive despite the rage boiling in her veins. “Do I even want to know what he’s on right now?”

Tommy muttered a quick “probably not” under his breath, taking Sam’s answering giggle as an opportunity to slip away. Fia gave Arthur a look instead, raising one eyebrow in a bid for him to elaborate.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably and toyed with the vines of a choked little philodendron sitting in the window, wincing when a leaf broke off and crumbled between his clumsy fingers. “Only a little morphine,” he said, voice tight and hesitant. “Morphine,” Fia huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“...Only a little.”

“A little,” Sam confirmed sloppily, pinching his fingers close together as if to demonstrate how little. Without the coordination granted by a clear and sober mind, he seemed unable to focus enough to make his fingers cooperate fully, frowning as he flexed his hand before letting it drop heavily to the bed. Fia stewed at the added context and held his hand as he sank into drug-saturated unconsciousness once again.

Tommy paced aimlessly around the room, lost in his head as Fia’d grown to know was common for him. He didn’t speak until it was clear that Sam had fallen asleep, halting little gasps of breath evening into a more gentle rise and fall of his chest within the bounds of the tight bandaging. “He didn’t want it, but it became necessary overnight.”

For any other person, she would’ve taken it as confirmation of the agonizing pain a rib fracture could induce. But this was Sam, her Sam, and he was a stubborn git. He didn’t like to show weakness– something to do with the early childhood he hardly spoke of. Fia remembered the time when he had been bitten by a client’s horse and had neglected to tell her until he undressed that night, the skin around his shoulder blade grazed raw and bleeding around a perfect ring of bruise-mottled tooth marks. Even when she’d fussed over him, he refused anything stronger than whiskey to dull the pain. It was his fault, he’d claimed, that he lost focus. If it didn’t get infected, it wasn’t worth spending the money on. Something like a broken rib, while excruciating, wouldn’t be fixed by expensive pain medication. So if it wasn’t pain that forced the doctor’s hand first…

“He was reporting for duty again, wasn’t he?” Fia’s shoulders drooped as the realization set in. “Wasn’t himself. Is that it?”

Tommy’s face went still and contemplative as he paused at the foot of Sam’s bed. “He was terrified,” he said, one hand tracing the tarnished metal bars of the footboard. “When the blood came up, he just screamed and screamed. It was hurting him to do it, but he just kept screaming.” Tommy’s expression was drawn, the angles of his face gaunt in the dramatic shadows of the sun-soaked room.

“They had to dope him up,” Arthur added somberly. “Said he’d puncture a lung the way he was struggling. The nurses tied him down when he came to, and from there… well, it was just easier to keep him calm.”

“Fought us all like a cornered animal.” Tommy rubbed the back of his hand, the movement catching Fia’s eye long enough for her to notice the tender-looking scratches gouged into the thin top layer of his skin, red and stark against the paleness of his wrist. Had Sam done that to him? Fia had never seen him get violent. Frightened, sure, when the phantom bullet between his ribs flooded his lungs with fire and kept him sunken in a dream. Confused when he woke up with the illusion of cold mud between his fingers, and frustrated when his attempt at smoking a cigarette ended in him lurching up the contents of his stomach into the wild grass at the side of the road. But violent? It was difficult to picture. Impossible, even, with the lengths he went to shield Fia from the horrors of the Great War. It wasn’t in his nature.

Then again, she had never seen Sam injured in such a way before. They hadn’t sent him home to recover from being shot, the bullet having avoided vital organs on its way out of his body and the battlefield of Ypres in dire need of every soldier they could keep. His fate stalled and uncertain in the base hospital, Fia hadn’t even heard of this injury until he came home freshly discharged and stitched together again when the bloodshed ended. Sam never liked the feeling of his breathing constricted after the war, always tugging the collars of his shirts open after too long buttoned up. His ribs were a particularly tender point, something he always shielded when Fia’s hand brushed a little too close to the shining scar of his bullet wound. It hurt her heart to think of how Sam must’ve been suffering before someone had made the executive decision to flood him with morphine.

“Wasn’t like that until the blood came up,” Arthur explained, wiping the shreds of dry plant from his hands and coming over to stand by her side. “He was in good spirits that first day, all things considered. Woke up a little confused but he was alright. Even cracked some jokes when we were tryin’ to carry him in.”

“Must’ve had a nightmare,” Fia said. She brushed the back of her hand over his sweaty temple.

Tommy hummed. “You said he’d been out of sorts when we were introduced.”

Fia nodded. The peace of early mornings, more often than not, was shattered with strangled cries of fear as Sam awoke from yet another nightmare, shouting for mercy, shouting for backup, shouting military nonsense. She would never be allowed to hear the details, but Sam would at least let her hold him and bring him down from the terror. Those were the nights that Sam could find rest in the first place. She figured he thought he was clever in trying to hide how little he slept, but the dark weariness of deprivation had long sunken into the lines and hollows of his face.

“So he leaves tomorrow?” She asked, voice smaller than she’d wanted it to be. Sam’s breathing was still shallower than was comfortable, the whispery puffs from the slight part in his lips the only indication that he was breathing at all.

“Hopefully,” replied Tommy. “So long as there’s no blood tomorrow, he can rest at home.”

Fia nodded, unable to look away from the slow rise and fall of Sam’s chest. When the sun began to sink in the sky, Tommy offered her a place to stay at Watery Lane. Fia wasn’t quite sure what she’d answered, but Tommy seemed to be satisfied with it as he ushered Arthur out, speaking in low tones with him about guards for the door and eyes on the doctors and nurses. It unnerved her, the seriousness with which they spoke. Of course she didn’t want any of their enemies to catch word of their arrival at the hospital, but Sam wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t a target for their enemies. Not even a regular associate of their gang. A guard outside the door made sense for just about anyone else, and she wasn’t about to talk them out of it, but it was frightening to think that Tommy found it necessary in his own city.

Once the sky had darkened, casting a deep inky blue over the otherwise-empty hospital room, the gangster at the door escorted in a kind-eyed older nurse.

“You ought to go home and get some rest, love.” She puttered around the room, checking Sam’s vitals and restocking all manner of bottles and boxes. “He’ll be alright overnight with so many eyes on him.”

A yawn threatened to escape her at the idea of putting her head down on a pillow of any sort, regardless of how lumpy or Birmingham-scented. The offer Tommy had made her was tempting; a lock on the door, wood in the fireplace, a tub to wash up in, a room that didn’t reek of antiseptic and sickness. She nodded drowsily, leaving Sam with a kiss on the forehead and a vice around her heart. The excitement and nerves of the day subsiding had left her weary to the bone. No sooner had the heavy double doors of the hospital shut behind her than a meek whimper reached her ears. Fia’s head whipped to the side.

Those were her eyes. Her nose. Those curls were the ones she’d learned how to braid before she learned to navigate her own, those hands the ones that had wiped the dirt from her skinned knees and the tears from her eyes. That expression on her face was the one she’d carried after their last argument, when Fia had lashed out because John Shelby was tearing her world in half and taking the portion he’d claimed miles away to Birmingham. That was the very same quiver in the very same chin.

“Flossie,” the woman breathed, voice cracking.

Fia’s throat clicked. “Esme.”

“Fuck,” Arthur hissed. “Fuck! What do we tell ‘em?” Arthur paced back and forth, fingers brushing over his mustache.

Tommy took a drag of his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the brisk night air. At the rate he was going at, he would run out shortly. The two of them watched as John drove Florence and Esme to Small Heath, the sisters pressed shoulder to shoulder. “We don’t tell them anything,” Tommy said, smoke trailing from his nostrils. “Not until we have all the details. It doesn’t leave us.”

Arthur paused. “Not even to John?”

“Especially not John. You know who he’ll point fingers at. I wouldn’t want it to drive a wedge between Esme and Florence.”

Arthur scoffed. “Since when did you care so much about things like that?”

It was a fair question, but Tommy bristled nonetheless. He cared about what he wanted to care about, and that was it. “I don’t. I care about the fallout.”

Arthur nodded, kicking a cigarette butt. “I don’t know that Florence would sabotage us.”

There was a beat. “I wouldn’t rule it out. For all we know, she’s already seen the paper.”

The night wind swept over the spires of the hospital with a ghostly howl. Arthur shivered, drawing his coat more tightly around him. “Do you want another man with eyes on the door?”

Tommy dropped the smoldering cigarette butt to the ground, making his way to the car. “Make it two.”

It was blissfully quiet in Esme and John’s house– if it could be called theirs, seeing as it shared space with an expansion of the betting shop. John had gone up to bed and to check on the kids, letting them have the parlor to themselves. Quiet was something that Esme had assured her was rarer than gold. Six beautiful little terrors, Esme had huffed, though the corner of her lip had twitched up as she said it. Four of John’s by his late first wife, two of both of them: Katie, John Jr., Annie, Albert, Daniel, and—

“Florence is two months old now,” Esme said, taking a sip of her tea as the two of them sat together in the parlor around midnight. “We’re thinking of calling her Flora around the family, to differentiate and all.”

Fia bit her lip as she smiled. She might’ve been surprised if she didn’t know her sister so well. Since they were little, a toddler and an infant, Esme would walk around with Fia on her hip despite just being barely tall enough to lift her. To everyone she’d meet, Esme would proclaim “Flossie is my baby”, and would mind her so carefully that their mother hardly even had the opportunity to do it herself. Even as a teenager, Fia had been the only one to call Esme’s bluff when she rebelliously declared that she didn’t like children. “You don’t like other families’ children,” she’d giggled. “That’s not the same thing.”

The house, while a modest size for a family as big as theirs, was lavishly decorated. It felt a bit like home, all these silks and paints and jewel-toned tiles. With everyone asleep, though, it lacked the warmth of a tiny caravan packed full with Lee children all trying to play in the same space. It was like a large, pricey decoration without the vibrancy of daylight. An addition onto the Shelby empire.

Esme shared the sentiment. “I keep wishing for that house in the country,” she said, pouring another cup for Fia– no milk, two sugars. “I need space. I feel cramped in this dingy city.”

Fia snorted. “I know what you mean. Been here for less than a day and the novelty’s worn off already.” She sighed deeply, settling into the brocade couch. “What’s it like?”

Esme swallowed her mouthful of tea, silently requesting elaboration.

“Being out here. Living…” like a Shelby.

“...Like a Shelby?” Esme smiled behind her teacup. Her older sister wasn’t the only one who was easy to read, it seemed. Fia rolled her eyes, but nodded. Esme thought for a moment. “It’s sort of like learning a new language. The more you speak it…”

“The easier it is to fit in?” Fia tried optimistically.

Esme sighed, less enthusiastic than she had been before. She collected their cups and saucers, loading them onto a tray with the teapot and carrying it to the kitchen. Despite Esme insisting that she stay off her feet for once, Fia trailed behind her, hands behind her back like a child in a shop instructed not to touch anything.

“The easier it is to forget what you’ve spoken your whole life.” She twisted the handle on the ceramic sink, allowing sputtering water to soak the dishware. “I don’t think you’d want it for you and your kid, if I know you. There are some things I like, though. It’s very comfortable to have everything we need, and then some. Nice to not have police breathing down my neck when I enter the shops. On top of that, I help out with the bookkeeping when needed, so I know they don’t think I’m stupid.”

There was always a caveat when her sister spoke in that tone. “But…?”

Esme whipped her head around, eyes desperate. “But it’s so bloody boring!”

The two of them giggled like little girls, doubling over into each other until their laughter gave way into silent shaking, then heaving gasps for breath.

“Christ,” Fia said, wiping her eyes. “Is it really that bad?”

“Worse,” Esme said. “I’m not joking, Flossie, I literally don’t know what I’ll do when the kids are all in school. Do I need– do I need to knit? Is that what wives do, knit scarves for the kids or whatever? Can’t bloody well have a garden in this smog. Forget chickens, they’ll go missing as soon as you hatch ‘em in this fucking neighborhood.”

“No,” Fia groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I swear, Esme, if I ever move to the city and start knitting scarves, you’ll need to put me out of my misery.”

Their fit subsiding, they worked in companionable silence at washing and drying the dishes. Esme bumped her hip against Fia’s, jostling her as she dried the lid of the teapot.

“What’s your problem? Madwoman,” Fia laughed.

Esme just looked at her for a moment, warmth in her brown eyes. Their mother’s eyes. “I dunno. I missed you.”

Fia’s throat tightened. “I missed you too.”

Their goodbye, though temporary, was no less tearful. Fia was sent off with a little container of peppermint tea for the nausea and back pains, and Esme made sure Finn let her into the Shelby house next door, watching until the lock clicked. Three seconds later, Fia saw the beam of light from her sister’s parlor wane as she closed her own door behind her. Her heart ached something fierce the rest of the night.

“Samuel.”

Sam blinked awake, skull leaden and eyes heavy. Had he slept through the entire day? What time was it? The sky was watery blue, not yet light enough to give him much visibility through the thin slits in the curtains. He could make out the silhouette of a figure at the foot of his bed. For half a second he debated the possibility of it being some weird morphine-induced twist on his usual nightmares, but the click-snap of a lighter igniting revealed some details: broad hands, clean-shaven face, cigarette dangling from his lips. The smell of tobacco, not mud-blood-gunpowder. He relaxed a touch.

“Tommy,” he grumbled, drawing a hand up to rub at his dry eyes. “It’s early as all hell.”

“Get up.”

He froze. There was something about his voice that signaled danger, but if he moved on instinct now, he wouldn’t make it far. Between the state of him and the fact that Tommy was undoubtedly armed, he made the smart decision to stay in place.

“Dunno if I can. Tom, is everything alr–”

“What the fuck,” Tommy hissed, “do you think this is? Huh?”

The barrel of his pistol glowed blue in the dim light. Oh, hell.

“Tom, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think I can–”

“Get up and explain this!” A stack of paper landed on his lap. The lamp on his nightstand flicked on, and Sam’s heart nearly lept out through his throat when he saw that Arthur Shelby had been looming in the corner the whole time. The shadows cast on his face from below were something he didn’t think he would forget anytime soon, nor was the scowl he wore that twisted them into a wicked mask of fury. Sam swallowed, dry throat clicking as he turned his attention to whatever it was that Tommy had thrown at him.

From the way it had been folded, it appeared to be a newspaper, wrinkled and frayed at the corners as though it had been passed through many hands. The grayscale images were difficult to parse at first, but he recognized the shapes of the largest ones: Aintree racecourse. A gun.

“And this.” Arthur dropped another, newer one on top of it, the pages still smelling like ink. This time the main image was of an older woman’s smiling face. The sketch adjacent to it looked worryingly familiar.

Sam blinked, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself fully upright in the hospital bed. “You two are scaring me real bad now.”

“Psalms 94:1,” Tommy spat. “Sound familiar, Sam of God?”

“No, it doesn’t!” Sam huffed, exasperated. “Tommy, come on. Enough with the riddles.”

“The Lord is a God who avenges,” Arthur recited, the Bible they’d procured for Sam on Sunday open on the side table, “O God who avenges, shine forth.”

Tommy placed his hands on the footboard, looming over it to where Sam was caught in that piercing glare, no opportunity to look away. “We’ve got you found out, Samuel.”

That made Sam’s heart stop. What the fuck could they have found out? None of his silent guesses comforted him, leading him down darker and stranger paths. Did they know what the war was like for him, beyond what he’d divulged? Is that why they were reading the Bible to him? Did they know? A cold sweat broke out over his skin.

“I- I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Sam stammered, one placating hand up in front of him, “but I never… I wouldn’t. I’m not like that.” Who the fuck had snitched? Was it someone laying in the rat-infested, sodden trenches with him? A superior officer? Fuck, was it the American?

Tommy forcefully expelled a sigh, hovering the muzzle of the gun on top of the newest newspaper, right over the sketch. Right over my right kneecap, Sam thought, shuddering. “Tell me who that is.”

Black hair, sunken eyes, long nose… “That’s me.” Sam’s shoulders sagged a bit. Alright, so it’s probably not about that event. But Tommy was still glaring at him, vivid blue meeting dull gray.

“And what,” he tapped the headline sharply with the gun, “does this say?”

“Come on, Tommy, we don’t need to–”

“Read it.”

Sam was silent.

“Alright,” he snapped, ripping the newspaper away and pointing at the other one. “Let’s backtrack. Fucking tell me what this is about, then.”

Sam stayed silent, looking at Arthur for support and finding none behind hardened eyes. “I can’t.”

Tommy pushed himself back upright, holstering his gun and placing his hands on his hips as he paced towards the window. “Sam, you can’t play clueless all day, alright? This is the kind way, what we’re doing here. We don’t have to be kind.”

“I am clueless!” Sam shouted, even as the effort squeezed at his already-aching ribcage. “Tommy, really, I don’t know what you want from me right now.”

“Read the fucking headline! Tell me what you’ve done!”

“I can’t!” he said, hardly choking the words out. “I can’t.”

Tommy took a step toward Sam with coldness in his eyes, but Arthur put his hand out to intercept him.

“I can’t fucking read.”

Both brothers blinked before Tommy pointed the gun at his head. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“I’m not,” Sam panted. “I can’t read, mate. I– I never learned.”

“You slipped a note into Arthur’s pocket back at Aintree,” Tommy hissed. “Psalms 94:1. That’s what it said. Couldn’t help but make this about your guilty fucking conscience, could you? Did you pray about it? You were the one standing right next to him before we left. You were the one who told us to bet on that horse, and you were the last one to see her before she was taken out of the race.” Tommy cocked the gun as he stepped closer. “You asked for a Bible on Sunday, and now you’re telling me you can’t read?”

“I just hold onto it,” Sam pleaded. “I don’t read it, it’s just– it protects me, s’all. Just a comfort.”

The cold muzzle pressed against his forehead, and Sam went still. Of course it would end like this. All this time he had between Belgium and now was borrowed, anyway. It only made sense that someone would find that out eventually. He closed his eyes and expelled a shallow breath before staring Tommy down. If Tommy was going to take his life, he wouldn’t get the comfort of fear and submission.

A rattling noise across the room caught everyone’s attention just before the heavy door swung open. “You can’t go locking doors like that,” John said as he entered, slipping a lock pick back into his pocket. “That’s a fire hazard. And an… everything hazard, if you want to– hey, hang on.” The man pointed around in a triangle at Tommy, Arthur, and the gun.

Tommy didn’t look away, but he did tilt his head a bit as John announced his entrance. “John, lock the door behind you.”

“No,” he said, crossing his arms. Sam had a vision of John as a stubborn child, refusing to leave until his older brothers included him in their game. “You’re gonna have to explain this here. You two have been acting strange since last night.”

Arthur strode over to pat John on the chest. “We found our rat, Johnny-boy. Aintree’s ours once again.”

John looked confused, attention darting back and forth between Arthur and Sam. “But… how? You mean Sam?” He wrinkled his nose. “No way. Sam can’t have done it.”

“And why is that?” Tommy only pressed the muzzle harder into Sam’s head, forcing it to tip back slightly. Now his heart was racing. The chance of survival was an intoxicating feeling, now that it was a possibility. He peered down his nose at Tommy’s face, no longer cold and empty but pinched in confusion.

“Because,” John said. “Sam can’t read, and the ink on that note was fresh. Right, Arthur? It had to have been written right before you found it in your coat.”

Arthur grumbled, but nodded. He fell quiet, looking to Tommy for guidance.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “He can read, John. He asked for a Bible.”

John scoffed. “And Finn keeps those ratty old boxing gloves in his room. Doesn’t make him good at boxing.” John sidestepped Arthur, coming over to tug at Tommy’s shoulder. “Don’t you remember? It was big talk when his dad went insane. Sam hadn’t learned it yet, so he never did. The Lees gave me the whole story.”

“He’s not insane,” Sam said, flushing. “He was kicked by a horse.”

John shot him a look. “Hey, stupid. Don’t fight me on semantics when I’m defending you, alright?”

Sam shut his mouth with a click. Tommy took a few steps back with John’s persuasion, but he kept the gun trained on the space between Sam’s eyes. “There was chaos in that tent,” Tommy said. “How do you know it wasn’t him who pulled the trigger? He’d have every reason to shoot that woman and try to blame you.”

John barked out a laugh at that, chest puffed up with pride. “His sorry arse was too busy being dragged out of harm’s way by yours truly. And besides, I would’ve felt a gun somewhere on him while I was beating him black and blue, if he had one.”

Tommy seemed to accept this, at least temporarily. He holstered his gun, patting John on the shoulder before he paced a nervous lap around the room. Arthur stared down at his feet, embarrassment coloring his ears red.

“So,” Arthur said, clearing his throat, “if it weren’t Sam… who did it?”

“Hello,” Sam tried, voice creaky and dry. “Hi. Can someone tell me what just happened?”

All three brothers looked at him as though he were a ghost. Had he not spoken up, would they have just continued like this? It was a marvel that any of them had women in their lives, all stuck in their own bubble as they were.

Tommy picked up that morning’s newspaper he’d thrown to the ground, dusting it off and handing it to John. At the sight of it, John’s eyebrows raised. He looked at Tommy, who nodded, and then back at the headline.

“Sam, mate,” he said, voice wavering. “Forget snitching. Forget murder. Someone’s framing you for a fucking assassination.”

[zmediaoutlet]

hello z, i have tried to pick some fun ones! 36, 62, 93

!! o bud of buds!! holy cow!

36. do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

this is a bit of a tricky question with fic, but of course the answer remains ultimately yes -- bc all those little details that don't exist in the original text need to come from somewhere, and it turns out that you can flesh out existing characters quite a bit in a way that still feels IC with details from your mom or bestie (cough) or that one waiter at that restaurant. With OCs, who are usually also NPCs, it's also best practice as far as I'm concerned to plagiarize wholesale from real life -- they don't really matter except as flavor or to act as a cog in the machinery of how the scene moves forward, so you might as well make it easy on yourself AND possibly get a tiny inside joke with yourself, and also they just naturally are believable because they're real. Trying to come up with someone Distinctive and Wacky almost always reads false, whereas if you just use a real human who is distinctive and wacky au naturel they just... work. Shout-out to the inclusion in one of my stories of that one Beowulf professor who looks and acts like Santa. (I wonder if he's still with us?) Making that guy up would be stupid and you'd be tempted to include Fun Details to color him in; as is he just. Exists. Much better.

62. what’s the weirdest reason you’ve ever shipped something?

I thiiiink I can say that my shipping reasons are almost never because something would be Hot (unless I'm lying, but I don't think I am), so I guess in the larger fic context that might be weird in itself. Off the top of my head weird is a big ask. I ship Sam/Eileen specifically in the sense that I want her to be really into it and I want Sam to think that he's into it and then realize very quickly that, oh yeah, he's never actually fully committed to a relationship and what was he thinking, and so they fuck once and then he takes a call from Dean practically before he's wiped off and Eileen realizes with sinking disappointment and humiliation that she's never ever going to measure up. Like -- the reason I ship it is out of weird spite, haha. That's pretty bad, isn't it. I also ship Paul/Jessica from Dune basically purely out of that one scene where they first climb into their stillsuits in the first movie, not because I actually want to but because they are so fucking weird about it, and what is shipping really but listening to the weird-ass notes that canon itself drops and going "...wait, you what?"

93. do you hear other people’s writing styles when they talk?

SUPER no. I mean for a given value of talk. I am lucky enough to have some writer-buds and the way they communicate in text hardly matches up at all to the stuff they put out, which I find really interesting. I've been told that I talk a little how I write but of course that depends on the fandom and the mood of the story -- like, Supernatural-from-Dean's-POV-the-way-I-write-it tends to be really naturalistic and straightforward and he even drops a lot of the same references I would (seriously, Dean would've gotten along with the z fam), so that just feels like--transcribing. But, you know, The Australian doesn't work that way, nor does The Ornithologist. (Last time I read narrative from The School was a long time ago but I think that was a little closer? We'd have to think about it.) I wonder if that's a deliberate choice from people? I wonder further if literally writing more volume of words might affect how you communicate non-narratively. e.g. David Sedaris (for this week's mild obsession) certainly talks how he writes, but which came first? Conundrums.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

ahhh, may I request a deancas fic with jealous dean and sam notices and lets cas in on it and...something along those lines? I know it's terrible cliche (and you def don't have to do it if you get other way more interesting prompts :3) but love your writing!!! happy 200 🌈

sheya no this is a great prompt!!!! and a great way to avoid reading chapter 13: water resources xD of my geology textbook :) thank you for submitting a prompt and being a pal :)

--------------------------------------------

college au, sam pov (since I know how much you love sam!!!), let’s go :D

It’s no surprise to Sam that his older brother still hasn’t told Cas how he feels. Sam’s known Dean from the literal moment he was born, and Dean is nothing if not evasive and careful with his feelings, even with his best friend. It’s only gotten worse since Sam moved in with the two of them this fall.

Ostensibly, it was for all of them to save money--Sam wouldn’t have to pay for a crappy freshman dorm room, and they could split the rent three ways instead of two. But what is revealed to Sam is Dean’s epic jealously whenever Cas hangs out with certain people...and how much Sam hates it.

One night, while Dean is making dinner and Sam is doing homework at the bar in their kitchen, it all comes to a head.

“Is Cas joining us?” Sam asks, flipping to the next page in The Scarlet Letter. 

Dean slams a pot down on the stove. “No.”

“Why no?” Sam glances up at his brother. “I didn’t think he had anything going on Thursday nights.”

“He doesn’t. He and Balth are meeting up to study. Studying, my ass.” Dean turns the burner on to boil the water with equal vigor. “Balth has had his eye on Cas since the biology lab the three of us were in sophomore year.”

Sam sighs inwardly and keeps reading his book. Dean’s never going to admit to being in love with Cas unless he’s pushed, is he?

Sam is binge-watching Parks and Rec on his bed later when he hears their apartment’s front door open and shut--presumably, it’s Cas returning. Cas says something Sam can’t hear, but Dean’s angry response is definitely audible.

“I’m so glad you skipped spaghetti for date night with Balth,” Dean says sarcastically (sarcasm has never been a good look on him, Sam would know).

“Who said anything about date night?” Oh, Sam can hear Cas’ voice now. That’s never a good sign--Cas reserves his anger for extreme circumstances, unlike Dean, who pops off at just about anything.

“I’ve seen the way Balth looks at you. You two sure as hell weren’t studying for that long.”

“And why would you care?” Cas challenges. Sam would bet his entire Millennium Falcon lego set that Cas has crossed his arms and leaned back on the heels of his feet, a strong stance against Dean, who most likely has his fists balled up at his sides. Sam’s been in enough arguments with his brother over the years to know. 

“I--I was just--” Dean sputters but Cas cuts him off.

“That’s right, you don’t care. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” Sam hears loud footsteps, and then Cas coming into his room next to Sam’s and slamming the door. Then he hears the TV turn on in the living room--classic Dean, watching a western instead of talking it out.

Well, if Dean won’t tell Cas what’s up, Sam will.

Sam slides out of bed, shutting his laptop (he hates to abandon Ben and Leslie’s wedding, even if he’s seen the episode six times, but he needs to talk to Cas), before heading out of his room and knocking on Cas’ door.

“Can’t you tell when someone doesn’t want to talk to you?” Cas says angrily from inside, and Sam knocks again. He hears footsteps, and then Cas is pulling open the door. “I told you to--oh, it’s you.”

“I couldn’t help but hear you and my brother yelling at each other,” Sam says, “Can I come in?” He’s already shouldering past Cas, though--Cas may be Dean’s best friend, but Sam has known Cas since he was a kid, and they have an understanding.

“Dean didn’t put you up to this, did he?” Cas asks as Sam commandeers his desk chair.

“Nope.” Sam spins around the chair for a minute before stopping to look at Cas. “You know why Dean gets so upset, right?”

“Because he’s terrible?” Cas replies, raising an eyebrow.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No. Because he’s jealous, Cas. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Hm?”

Sam lowers his voice--if Dean hears Sam, Sam can kiss finishing any of his classes goodbye, because he’ll be dead. “He’s been in love with you for years,” Sam says. 

Cas’ mouth drops open. “No.”

“Yes. Since...” Sam thinks back. “Since your junior year of high school, when you took Meg Masters to prom. The two of you were originally planning on going solo but buying the tickets together to save money, and then she asked you, and you said yes. Dean sort of lost it.”

Cas frowns. “He never said anything to me about it.”

“Yeah, because Dean’s an idiot. Look,” Sam stood up, “He’s never gonna say anything himself, and you know that, because you know him just as well as I do. The only way to get him to talk about it is to confront him, and I’m tired of being stuck in the middle.”

“So you’re telling me this...”

“So that one of you will make a move.” Sam turns to leave Cas’ room. “Good luck.”

Sam heads back to his room and watches three more episodes of Parks and Rec before going to sleep. He doesn’t hear voices from the living room, but he also doesn't hear either Dean or Cas’ door slam. 

The next morning, Sam pulls himself out of bed so that he can have breakfast before his nine am class--psychology--and notices that the TV in the living room is still on. Then he notices that Cas is curled up on top of Dean on the couch, both of them fast asleep, with Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas.

Looks like the intervention worked. 

[crowned-ladybug]

1, 6 (ik you do but I'm very curious on the process), 9, and 21 for the writers asks! ♡

As typical it's taking me ages to actually get to these I'm sorry!!!! Thank you for the ask tho anyway <3

1) Who is your favorite character to write for and is this the character you find easiest to write for?

With all the characters over the years this is a tough one to pick out but proooobably Benrey still. He's got very fun internal monologue in my hands and you can fuck around a Lot writing him, and that does in fact also make him Easy. He's always come pretty naturally to me which explains a thing or two about my HLVRAI fics i'd say sbhdcbhdcbs

(Recent honorable mention to Sam bc he's also been proving surprisingly fun and then Dima destroyed me by saying his POV is the closest to how i talk on discord out of all the characters they've read me write so far)

6) Do you outline your fics? If so, how?

I start with the notepad app and trying to do a relatively basic lineup of just what scenes are gonna happen, so that I can have the pacing and order of things down. I hardly ever go in with a full lineup of scenes/plot already laid out in my brain, so this is where the fic is first actually born

This works half the time, giving me about a sentence for a whole scene, and then other times i end up outlining an entire scene on the spot

Then comes copying the thing over into an actual document that isn't fuckin exhausting to look at and thus the second pass of rounding out the scenes I haven't accidentally outlined well enough already

My outlines have been getting more detailed lately, so here's to believing in ghosts in specific had a Lot of bits near the end where i was just copying notes over almost word for word bc i had entire paragraphs laid out already. Other times stuff gets left at "and then they talk about [topic]" level of detail until i get to it and have to suffer

A lot of fleshing out also happens on the fly while I'm writing a completely different scene or not writing at all and then have to tab back over to the outline and add like two sentences that i cannot allow myself to forget

It's hard to pick a good example without drowning this post but this was the outline for the first scene of poison in the ashes, for comparison's sake

(I very rarely use any dialogue tags at all when outlining unless they're Significant already. I either just know who's talking anyway or if there could be any doubt, I use a chat format instead)

9) Do you visualize scenes in your head before you write them? (Can you picture the setting, character body language etc)

YES

I am a Very visual person so a Lot of the times I'm trying to put entire movie scenes onto paper and even when that's not so painfully the case, I always have the visual counterpart in my brain. Things are always pictured. Hanging onto very Very specific line deliveries which i cannot convey in text is what's less often tho, and thus sadder to forever only be in my brain, unable to hand to anyone

(I've gotten compliments on specific scenes feeling movie-like before and every time it's such huge thing to hear, that the image not only got onto the paper but also into someone else's head)

21) Writers choice - pick any of these questions that you want to answer.

14) What is something you wrote in a fic that you are hoping readers picked up on but you don't know if they did? And/or, what is something that you were excited that readers did pick up on?

There's always stuff and hardly any confirmation one way or another, however very specific example from recently: the way the first collapse scene in poison in the ashes is arranged was very much a callback to the concussion scene in and what comes tomorrow that I never expected to be picked up on and then Dima screamed at me about it so much :D

Also from poison in the ashes: when in one scene they talk about bad tea, and Rafe tells Sam to just tell him to make some next time, and then the next day Rafe is in fact the one making the tea while Sam loiters. Very on purpose. Of all the things Sam has to fill Rafe in on every morning he's decided to include the tea

[relaxxattack]

ayo! (wait this might be a bit of a jumpscare dishdks i apologize) i’m op of That Post and was wondering what your opinions were on the whole woobification thing? /gen

because it’s a Tiny Bit widespread within the dream apologists to sort of,, overdramatize stuff like l’manberg hurting him. like they’re not a 100% wrong but if you look at it subjectively you can see some sort of bias going into that sort of thing that makes the character’s mistreatment a bit more blatant and intentional which,, it really wasn’t? and there wasn’t That Much of it either. especially on twitter (tumblr is much better about it) people just jump to conclusions it seems and yeah. since you brought it up i was wondering if you wanted to write a bit about it from your perspective!

we’re kinda from different corners of the fandom but i still notice that once you are too attached to a character you start taking certain evidence and giving it more weight than it actually has. there’s a blurry line between “taking away a character’s humanity” and woobification and it’s extremely difficult to find a balance when said character shows pretty much nothing of his emotional life (e. g. putting up the intimidating villain act in front of only c!tommy, pretty much everything he does making rational sense with no emotional subtext) and a lot of the fandom instantly jumps to one side or the other while it’s like.

we don’t know by far enough to say “he’s traumatized” or “he isn’t traumatized” or “he was villainized and it hurt him” or “l’manberg didn’t affect him at all”

as a very analytical person people constantly jumping to conclusions grinds my gears, but that’s about it for my own view of the situation - sorry for the rambling.

in general i agree with you that both dehumanization and woobification is Bad and i really hope getting Actual Context sorts this out (e. g. him saying he was betrayed by his friends doesn’t mean it wasn’t partially his fault or that they were allowed to leave him, but it also shows that he did care about that happening. mentioning the cat doesn’t mean anything about what happened to c!tommy but it also shows that he did care about what happened to it. it’s just always interesting to get more information about the way he feels because he usually does a very good job at hiding it.) because man.

it’s like being stuck between a rock and a hard place, especially if you also are attached to the character and are expected to automatically agree with everything the people on “your side” say. it just ends up with everyone being mad and the character being mischaracterised overall.

oh wow hello! i didnt expect the op of the post to find me you’re right lol

and yes i agree! you seem to have a lot of very good thoughts tbh.

and by woobification, i mean exactly what you’ve already pointed out— the people who will say l’manberg purposely villainized dream, the people who will say wilbur faked his mental illness to manipulate dream, the people who are pretty much always talking about how badly dream was treated by people who were acting only fairly for themselves, usually.

for example people who act like dream was a perfect peacemaker before tommy showed up, or that tommy started most conflict. these are just actual lies that are told by c!dream himself to justify his abuse of tommy, and people fall for them incredibly easily because not a lot of people watched early dsmp and know that truthfully it was chaotic even then, and that dream was chaotic too. not to mention wilbur soot tried very hard to secede peacefully with l’manberg and dream jumped directly into war with no warning. and then people say he was forced into their war when, no, he started it.

theres also people who will say like, dream and sapnap for example are such good friends. i’m sure they cared for each other, but dream on multiple occasions has done horrible things to sapnap with no regard for his feelings (like leading fundy to sapnaps pets during the petwar, leading tommy to sapnaps pets during the other petwar and encouraging him to kill them, handing mars over to tommy to use as leverage against sapnap, etc). george he’s been less awful too but he certainly spoke over him and ignored his feelings enough that george felt hurt. he had places in his hall of attachments for beckerson and mars. george and sapnap were right to walk away from being treated like that.

there’s also what you just said here — “dream puts on a villain persona for tommy”— but honestly he acts like that around quite a few people (example: eret) and it’s usually when he’s revealing crucial info, which leads me and many others to believe that ‘persona’ is actually a more truthful version of him.

there’s the fact that he really isn’t safe for people to be around (or at least he wasn't before the prison) because he was planning to come up with ways to control every single person by stealing and threatening their attachments (some of which were not items but were living animals, or a real breathing person).

and then people will say dream was doing exile to enforce rules, or to keep the peace— when it’s very clear in canon it was a deliberate plan to get tommy on his own and into the prison. (from the way he was framing tommy for multiple crimes, and having sam set up the prison, and kidnapping tommy instead of correctly exiling him, all at the same time).

not even going into how he wants to kill and revive people for fun or make tommy immortal.

it’s just— ignoring all these actual facts and saying “oh he misses his friends, let’s get him some friends now” reminds me of like. when people would put flower crowns on pictures of serial killers. and then, there’s hardly anyone on the server who wasn’t subject to dream’s plans, so there’s absolutely no one i would be okay with him interacting with.

just remembered about the torture thing, and wow i still hate it so much. it’s someone’s sick revenge fantasy twisted into a way to get a manipulative villain sympathy, and it’s just gross to me on every account. i do think dream is traumatized-- just not by l’manberg, which was a conflict he started on his own terms. i would think l’manberg did affect him, because he was scared of losing control.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again— my ideal ending for dream would be for him to be sent far away from dsmp to an island full of therapy animals and super strong therapists who have never met him before. and for him to get a shit ton of therapy until he becomes a halfway normal person. and then eventually he could get integrated into society again; but a different one with new people. (although maybe dteam + bbh + puffy can visit him, they might still like him.)

none of the people on the server (who have all been affected by dream) should be burdened with befriending him or rehabilitating him— look how that turned out with sam! sam had a personal grudge towards dream and it ended with the poor dude being tortured every day; and sam himself falling into corruption and literally cutting off his boyfriends arm. like we can all see thats fucking awful right?

no one who was affected by dream should have to deal with him ever again. and contrary to popular belief, that includes a LOT more people then just tommy. dream isn’t just tommy’s antagonist, hes almost everybody’s.

the only person on the server who might also be able to stand to help dream is techno, and that’s from sheer lack of ability to give a shit. but techno is probably THE furthest thing from a good therapist there is lol, and dream needs better then that.

this kind of just ended up being a rant about my thoughts on c!dream, so im so sorry op. especially since it was probably negative for you. i hope you’re doing very well.

i guess in the end it’s true what you said— people will highlight or ignore things based on what characters they like, and it’s especially easy to do in this fandom, where half the content doesn’t even get watched and then we become a big echo chamber of half-truths.

considering dream has hurt so many of the characters i care about, i almost can’t understand how he could be someone’s favorite or comfort character— but he is nonetheless, and it would be unfair of me to be rude about that.

essentially it just bothers me to see someone who was a perpetrator of accurately portrayed abuse and manipulation (using both those words in their actual definitions, not just as random buzzwords lol) being given the flower crown edit effect. especially since he’s hurt the characters i care about a lot.

ANYWAY all of that being said (this got LONG im so sorry op) i am so so excited to get dream’s pov, because although i disagree with his actions strongly i actually find dream’s character very interesting and cool, and watching his POV is going to insanely fun. i cannot wait to see what theories get confirmed or denied

ALSO incase it wasn’t clear this is all /nm at you! you seem lovely and smart, and neither of us can help what characters we get attached to :]

[beeblackburn]

The Anti-TBR Tag

I was tagged by @books-and-doodles! Thank you! And poor you, for I am a long-winded bastard.

1. A popular book EVERYONE loves that you have no interest in reading?

On general principle, I feel like the really popular stuff (Twilight, Throne of Glass, Divergent, The Mortal Instruments) ends up being stuff I’m inherently not going to be attracted to and some of them have their own hatedoms going on, so going after them in detail would be punching down (though I don’t particular like any of the above). So I’m going to try to go off the beaten path with these seven:

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab = nothing against her personally, though I heard her The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue was baaaaad, but apparently, she’s similar to Sanderson in the magic system being better than the characterization and I heard her writing’s got a white faux-female empowerment sort of thing going that I’m growing increasingly... discontent of by itself. I might try it out later, but I also got hundreds of books to drill through first and I’m in no rush.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo = I’ve been increasingly getting the sense that Six of Crows was a flash in the pan, Bardugo’s style more defined by fun than genuine substance. And given a rather scathing review that points out unearned shifts in characterization, lackluster supporting cast, and two really uncomfortable exploitative sexual assault fantasy scenes (one of which was underaged!), I’m gonna say no.

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik = I generally like Novik! She’s a very solid writer to me and I’ve bought most of her books, so this is purely me not taking to the Wizarding School genre. Sorry, Novik, "a twisted, super dark, super modern, female-led Harry Potter" isn’t the selling point it once was, and even then, I probably wouldn’t have taken to it. Especially when I’ve already got The Gray House by Mariam Petrosyan to read.

The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson = I’ve got mixed feelings on Mistborn looking back: it’s hardly the worst of his oeuvre (Elantris is that and was admittedly his first book) and The Final Empire took a few narrative risks that I admire, I also found the resulting books a tad juvenile and I don’t take to steampunk, genre-wise. I’m not even that much of a Sanderson fan, so I’d rather just read the summary for all I care.

Storm Front by Jim Butcher = given what I’ve been told about The Dresden Files’ lessening of noir roots past the first few books, how it later became more flashy-and-bang magical, and how it’s pretty sexist early on (and from what I’ve been told, doubled down on it later on and having worse treatments of its female characters), I’m in no particular rush to read them. The urban fantasy genre on them only turns me off more.

The Doors of Stone by Patrick Rothfuss = hahaha, I’m sorry, I did read The Name of the Wind, and read select parts of The Wise Man’s Fear, but everyone, instead of waiting and devoting your time for this book to come, I would suggest reading Fitz, Who Is Actually Good and Can Wring More than Disgust and an Eye-Roll out of You in Robin Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings, given she is far better at characterization than Rothfuss.

Anything by Paul Krueger, Sam Sykes, and Myke Cole = fuck all three of these men and the idea that I’ll pay for their stuff. While I can’t demand any of you not buy from them and I’ll hardly claim to be a saint in terms of ethics, purchase-wise, I would beseech you all please don’t buy from these three authors who have a history of inappropriateness.

2. A classic book (or author) you don’t have an interest in reading?

Charles Dickens = look, I know his word count is padded because of serial installments back then, but I’m sorry, I wasn’t that impressed by the child-sanitized versions of Great Expectations and Oliver Twist. They were easily some of the most boring of out of the child-sanitized classics I read. It was the pictures that kept me going and barely at that. No thanks.

Emily Brontë =  look, if I wanted shitty people being shitty to each other, I’d much rather read Joe Abercrombie because at least I’ll get some intentional dark comedy out of dumb shitheads being terrible to each other (Best Served Cold comes to mind). And I know we’re not meant to like these self-destructive people, but I’d rather not hate everyone that much.

Alexander Dumas = Three Musketeers really didn’t age well, just from the TV Tropes page and I’m not really looking forward to an adventure that goes out of its way to valorize its protagonists being adventurous assholes who dueled, drank, and womanized harder than anyone else and we should commend that because they were men. Ugh.

3. An author you have read a couple of books from & have decided their books are not for you?

Leigh Bardugo = like I said, I feel like Six of Crows (and Crooked Kingdom, to a lesser extent) was a flash in the pan and she’s been increasingly running on fumes ever since then. Good and fun with a decent eye for characterization, but hardly revolutionary, considering how I think Crooked Kingdom isn’t quite as good as Six of Crows, and the less said about Shadow and Bone, the better.

Neil Gaiman = I’ve read some of his stuff (and I didn’t quite see the hype over his writing, but liked it decently enough) but having heard that, in his Sandman run, he wrote in a transwoman solely to get killed for an emotional ending and how he defended that choice for awhile left a battery acid taste for me to read more. He’s a formative part of people’s childhoods, so I don’t blame anyone for being fans, he’s just not for me.

Steven Erikson = really nothing against the dude, I’m sure he's probably a decent guy, but I didn’t take to Gardens of the Moon at all and skimming Deadhouse Gates and Memories of Ice (which were admittedly better) made me realize its prose was something I would need a hard and sharp shovel to crack through, and the darting around of many, many POVs made me feel not invested in anyone.

4. A genre you have no interest in OR a genre you tried to get into & couldn’t?

I’ll answer both because I have the time:

I’m not interested in romance, mostly because it’s an entire genre built around the build-up. It’s usually the story about the beginning of a relationship, not the relationship itself. I’d genuinely like to read about the story of a romance that doesn’t stop shortly after the hook-up or before the honeymoon period ends. The City Watch parts of Discworld by Terry Pratchett, The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan and The Sharing Knife by Lois McMaster Bujold all have romantic elements that are relatively undrenched in melodrama or frills, but none of them are pure romances, which is a huge problem. I can take romantic subplots in fantasy, but I can’t take the genre as-is.

Urban fantasy is a genre I’m not against having my mind changed on liking, but right now, I generally find it insipid, a shortcut to good world-building, short on great characterization, and an excuse to lampshade and pretense to being above fantastical clichés in a tongue-in-cheek attitude while still committing to them. I do genuinely like Rivers of London by Ben Aaronvitch, but that’s really the concession I can give the entirety of the genre. I took a crack at Rick Riordan and Cassandra Clare’s stuff, but it didn’t feel like my sort of thing. Again, would like to be convinced, but I’d much rather read a domestic or slice-of-life fantasy set in a more overtly fantasy world than the urban one. 

Also, sci-fi, but I’m trying again with the Wormwood trilogy by Tade Thompson, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon, and either the Imperial Radch trilogy by Ann Leckie, or the Teixcalaan trilogy by Arkady Martine. I snoozed through Azimov’s Foundation and generally bored myself of hard sci-fi books, so I’m hoping contemporary sci-fi changes my mind on the entire genre.

5. A book you have bought but will never read?

A book I personally bought? Honestly, Traitor’s Blade by Sebastien de Castell. No particular reason, I just bought it at a closing-down sale at a branch of my bookstore on the cheap because the cover looked nice and didn’t really take to its blurb. I heard good things though, so if anyone else wants to read it...

I tag @vera-dauriac, @xserpx, @autoapocrypha, @kateofthecanals, @turtle-paced, @insecticidalfeminism, @secretlyatargaryen, @helix-eagle-hourglass-nebula, @xillionart, @jovolovo and whoever else that is following me and wishes to do this tag (I’d like to read your posts, so please tag me! :D)

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟒)

part three

note - i wanna thank everyone for reading once again! i'm currently in the process of writing imagines, those will be posted throughout the week, i don't want to clog up my blog bc i want y'all to see this chapter!

this one switches pov a lil more frequently, so bear with me <3 also not as smutty as other chapters, this is more of an emotionally-charged chapter!!! still a teensy bit smutty thooo. i want to make it clear that while this fic is definitely rooted in smut & sex & sex work, it is not porn without plot & will not ONLY be smut as i put effort and time into plot development / character development! i'm sure y'all know that tho. there will be conflict, there will be plot!!! i feel like that's clear already but there's discourse on smut happening rn and i wanna voice myself! omg anyways luv y'all enjoy the reaaad <3

new taglist!

playlist

word count - 8.3k

warnings - age gap, sex work, smut, vibrator, ANGSTYYY like hella dramatic, dirty talk

That slight shift that you and Steve both felt, that happiness that you realized came from talking to one another, only lasted so long... for you. You could hardly sit in your feelings about your situation with Steve before another thing that occupied all your time came crashing down upon you. Except this time, the thing brought you no such happiness or curiosity.

    You had spent almost your entire senior year working on a special lab project about drought tolerant plants in Southern California where you lived and went to school, and your professor was making completing your project incredibly hard for you. And you felt incredibly stressed out about the entire situation - not only was the project necessary to graduate, but it was your heart and soul for the past year. Now, your professor was basically saying it was "ineligible."

     "Ineligible?" Aaliyah repeated after you, after you told her what your professor had said.

     "Whatever the hell that means," you huffed as you power walked down the street, hand in hand with Aaliyah, your free hand holding a coffee.

     "That's so fucking annoying, holy shit," Aaliyah pressed a hand to her forehead. "He had the whole year to talk to you about changing your topic and...”

     "And he never did," you sighed, frowning. You settled down onto a bench where the two of you sat next to each other, staring out into the busy streets and sipping your iced coffees.

California was a beautiful place, and you were a native, you'd lived there all your life. You knew the ins and outs of your city, knew Southern California like it was your backbone. And you loved it here - loved the sun, the beaches, the way the people were either shady in the best way or incredibly friendly. You'd never really known any other place like you knew this place. You were just glad that if you had to be stressed, you could do so in California.

Aaliyah pouted, feeling for you. She placed her hand on your knee to be comforting,

     "Babe..."

     "It's okay," you sighed. You sucked it up, like always, because you had learned how to fend for yourself ever since you realized that depending on others could only lead to downfall. You would figure this out the same way you figured everything else out... on your own. You figured out your house on your own, your job, your finances.

     "Is it, though?" Aaliyah pursed her lips and squinted at you. Despite how much you tried to fend for yourself, Aaliyah was always there for you. She was one of your biggest supporters.

     "I'll just keep visiting during his office hours and work this out."

Aaliyah rolled her eyes,

     "Men are so annoying, girl. You know what, he probably wants to fuck you. With your fine ass. That's why he's doing all this."

You chuckled, shaking your head and covering your mouth, trilling back in response,

       "Okay girl, don't get too ahead of yourself."

       "I'm serious! Men are evil. Oh, except your fave."

You made a face, nearly choking on your iced coffee. This was news to you,

       "Who are we talking about?"

       "You know," Aaliyah sang slightly, nudging you and leaning against your shoulder. "Mr. Won't Show His Face."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but bit down on your straw with a knowing smile, eyes peeking out over the top of your shades. If you were being honest, this idea of Steve, whoever he really was, had been a fun thing to entertain during this period of stress. You'd been talking and engaging with him for two and a half weeks now, and the connection you two had was undeniable.

But you knew better - maybe he wasn't just another customer, because you could really talk to him and felt like he was real - then again, he was strictly a customer. You liked him, a lot, but you couldn't like him any more than you already did. That would be dangerous and silly, and create unrealistic expectations. It wasn't like you could go on dates or anything.

    Still, talking to him (and performing for him) did help to distract you from your stress, at least for a small amount of time. Steve was becoming less shy, less inhibited. He cracked jokes and was starting to keep up with your innate sense of sexuality, starting to navigate you, find you the way a bee might find its nectar, hidden deep inside the curvatures of a flower.

If you were a flower, you'd probably be a sunflower - bright, yellow, almost always in a positive mood, or at least trying to keep yourself in a positive mood. More than that though, sunflowers were tall and looming - you felt like that represented your put togetherness and how hard you worked, how smart you were. Only sometimes it was hard to keep yourself up and tall, but you always did it, time and time again.

But when it came to Aaliyah's comments about Steve, she mostly just made you laugh.

    "Haven't seen him yet, have you?" Aaliyah asked, raising her brows expectantly.

     "No. And I'm fine with that. He's simply another very loyal customer who I happen to like."

     "Hm," Aaliyah hummed, and you could tell her mind was up to something - some very wishful, and mischievous thinking.

     "What are you up to?" you narrowed your eyes at her and glared at her, and she just shook her head with a lazy smile,

     "Nothing. Just thinking that maybe it would be cool if he really was this really hot guy that you actually knew and he wasn't creepy and y'all... you know... started dating. Just to get your mind off a lot of crap. I know, I know, strictly against the rules, blah blah blah. No feelings for customers, it's basic shit. But in a perfect world..."

      "I know," you sighed without thinking, sipping at your drink.

     "You know?" Aaliyah questioned, surprised.

You shrugged,

     "So I've thought about it. Except, you know, in a perfect world, I'd meet a guy like Steve in like, a farmer's market or something. Not on my shady ass cam shows."

Aaliyah snorted laughing, and at the sound of her laughter, you joined in.

You continued,

     "I mean, not Steve exactly, because that would be weird. I just mean, a guy like Steve."

     "You mean a guy who makes you feel the same way he makes you feel," Aaliyah corrected you, and you glared at her again, pushing her gently.

     "Don't push it," you teased, but you meant it - you might have liked Steve, but that was all there was to it - you liked him, he was a distraction. And maybe even that was too much.

✺ ✺ ✺

As for Steve, he thoroughly enjoyed his time with you. He thought constantly about how you made him feel, how much he looked forward to talking to you. How everyday, his worry about your situation becoming more serious dissipated slowly. He could feel himself easing into you, everything that made up this character you created called Moonrose. Conversation seemed casual, like you knew each other in real life, it felt easy, and there was no pressure.

As for your connection, he had finally acknowledged that it was real, and more than either of you had wanted to realize at first. But now, there was no shame, no worry in acknowledging what the two of you had, because you were both smart enough to keep it at this level. It was like a shallow pool. There would be no drowning.

He mostly talked to Bucky about you when it came to the emotional aspect of it. He still feared that if he talked to Tony, it might come across as an issue, and might put a pause on what he had with you. But everyone noticed how different Steve was acting. Even without the phase he had gone through where he was sexually frustrated and angry, he still acted different.

Lighter on his feet, more smiley. And he was always on top of his work. You weren't distracting him from his duty, so that made the fact that he knew you had a unique connection with him more bearable. Because of you, he was learning to worry less. To have a little more fun.

    It was a bright day that week, the sun filtering in through the large windows of the meeting room where everyone was gathered. Steve was engaging in some mindless conversation with Sam and Bucky in which they were debating whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.

     "No. I'm not sure why everyone keeps trying to put all these twists on pizza. It's pizza," Bucky scoffed, Sam rolling his eyes as a result.

    "You're just closed off. With your old ass," Sam retorted, and Steve made a face. Sam raised his hands up in surrender. "You know what I mean. What about you Steve?"

Honestly, Steve had never even tried pineapple on pizza and he didn't understand why there was such a big fuss about the banal question.

    "I don't really have an opinion," he shrugged, not expecting Sam and Bucky to start clamoring over him and trying to force him to pick a side.

    Before he even got to grasp the situation, he felt Natasha patting his shoulder,

"Hey, mind if I use your laptop? Mine's gone haywire, don't really feel like messing with it right now."

"Yeah," Steve agreed without a second thought, setting his laptop on the table and letting Natasha handle it- she was better with tech stuff than he ever was.

Natasha would use his laptop to showcase some data and start off their morning. It seemed innocent enough —a simple, barely impacting sacrifice. But Steve clearly hadn't thought everything through, because the moment Natasha logged in and hooked up Steve's computer to the holographic projector, more than just data appeared on the screen.

In fact, a whole array of women, all of them engaging in various sexual acts or preparing themselves to, showed up on the screen. And at the top, where the browser was, were the words "girlsonfilm.com."

Steve hadn't noticed all the clamor, too busy thinking (thoughts of you and thoughts of work), until Bucky called it to his attention.

"Steve," he nudged him frantically, his voice a loud whisper.

When Steve looked up at the screen, his face couldn't have gone any redder. He hadn't thought about this at all, and he had clearly forgotten to close out his browser. His heart sunk all the way to his stomach - because it wasn't just Natasha seeing this, it was everybody. And that included Tony, who was glaring pointedly at Steve from the head of the table. Meanwhile, all the others were too busy heckling Natasha and making brash comments about what was appearing onscreen. To Steve's relief, your face didn't show up, but this just might have been worse than only your screen appearing.

     "Woah, Nat, I didn't know you got down like that!" Sam hooted, cupping his mouth with his hands.

Natasha, though she was in shock as well, rolled her eyes,

     "This is Steve's laptop."

Now a hush, then another clamor of confusion and heckling, all directed towards Steve. He couldn't recoil any more, feeling the pangs of embarrassment as his eyes flashed between every one of his teammates. He felt as if there were an asteroid approaching fast, and he was right where it would land, too slow to move out of its way.

     "Steve, what do you know about 'girls on film'?" Sam nearly cackled, reading the name of the site.

Steve sighed deeply, locking eyes with Natasha as he mouthed "turn it off" to her.

     "I am, I am," she ensured him, quickly disconnecting the laptop from the projection, unplugging completely.

A beat passed, everyone staring expectantly at Steve, who was staring down at the table, trying to process his own thoughts. Like for starters, why didn't he log out the last time, and why didn't he remember to log out? And then his mind went to deeper places. He hadn't been intentionally secretive with his actions, but he had been intentionally private. It had to do with his own growth, he was learning how to navigate a world that was new to him and somehow helping him at once. He didn't want to have to share this with everyone, it was nice having this to himself, he had no intentions of revealing what he had been doing in his past time that made him so happy.

One of the reasons he didn't want everyone to know about his situation was because he didn't want to have to be concerned with what everyone else might think. Because to begin with, being on a site for cam shows wasn't exactly everyone's idea of what Captain America might be up to these days.

It was a matter of his image, what values he was supposed to hold. This didn't exactly match, and Steve had just gotten over the idea that he was a bad, sneaky person because of what he chose to indulge in. At least here he knew it was ethical and not causing harm to you as a human being.

He also didn't want to have to deal with the insufferable questioning and teasing his team would put him through, or the judgment he thought they might put him through. He felt embarrassed, exposed, and like he had been ill prepared for a situation like this. He was just grateful they hadn't seen more, because that would've been a disaster. What they had seen was only at the surface level of what he'd been doing.

But his thinking was interrupted by Tony's voice, which broke through all the silence, and made Steve realize again the eyes that were on him.

     "Well, jig's up," Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Care to explain?"

Steve locked eyes with Tony, as if hopeful that he wouldn't have to, but he knew it was best for him to just spit it out. Tony shrugged apologetically, and Steve took in a deep sigh, looking around at everyone at the table.

     "What was that?" Scott whimpered, probably the most distraught by what they had all seen.

Steve nodded solemnly and began to explain himself. He would tell the truth, but that didn't mean he had to tell them everything. You would be left out of this, if anything. He'd just explain to them that sometimes, duty calls - and sometimes, it's not at all work-related.

✺ ✺ ✺

It was just hours before your cam show when another disaster struck, the first one being the fact that your professor was giving you shit about your project. You were in the bathroom, getting ready for your show, fixing your hair up and doing your makeup, laying out an outfit, doing all the things you did to feel pretty before a show.

    Your phone lay beside you on the bathroom table, pinging with messages every now and then. You ignored it, leaning closer into the mirror to get a look at your lipstick, dabbing your fingers into the pigment on your lips.

You smiled, feeling that gratifying sense of achievement. Despite what was going on with your professor, you felt like you were doing well in life. You usually had a positive mindset, enjoyed your work although you sometimes felt as if you were buried deep in all your occupations: student, office worker, cam girl, designer, young woman. Your life was never dull, and you wouldn't trade it for anything. Talking to Steve helped too, but it was more than that.

But that sense of satisfaction all seemed to dissolve when you looked down at your phone, and saw a text from an unsaved number, glaring bright on your glowing lock screen of you hiking with Aaliyah. Still, you recognized it immediately.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

I miss you. Text me back.

✺ ✺ ✺

Steve wasn't exactly keen on joining your live show today, but he did so anyway, because he still had time to himself despite the spiral of events that had happened earlier. There was nothing else to do, and he didn't want to miss out on you after attending almost all of your shows for the past almost three weeks. Didn't want to just leave unexpectedly.

It felt strange that he felt this tug of commitment, but he brushed it off. He was just fulfilling his needs, which should even be expected of him. He was stressed again, after being caught up like he was. And maybe that was all the more reason not to watch your show tonight, but he wouldn't devoid himself of the simple pleasures of life. He'd learned that lesson a while ago, from a special someone called Moonrose.

After everything transpired, he explained himself calmly to his team, slowly to ensure that they'd understand that this wasn't the beginning of a deviant phase, that he wasn't throwing away his work responsibilities to lurk on the NSFW side of the internet. Not that they ever thought that to begin with, they never questioned his abilities or his authority for a minute, not even in the midst of what they'd seen that had shocked them.

This was the product of Steve's own insecurities and his admittedly silly fear that he was somehow letting his team down. He told them that he was on the site, as recommended by Tony, to relieve some "frustration" that he felt he didn't have the time or the means to release in real life. He said that while it had helped him do that, he wasn't throwing away his responsibilities, nor was he dependent on the site or the things on it, or the people on it for that matter.

He knew that if they knew about you, all those private sessions, all those conversations you'd had, the connection you had built between the two of you, it might be a different story. But because they didn't, they appreciated his honesty. They were confused, it didn't seem like the kind of thing Steve would be into, and he ensured them that it was a shock to him as well.

But they didn't mind on the whole, it was just a shock to everyone at first. They didn't think it called for a meeting, thought it was almost humorous how serious Steve was being about such a trivial situation. Wanda had joked about how we've all been there, Thor denied ever having to do such a thing because: "I have all the romantic partners anyone could ask for. I could introduce you Steve, but these Asgardian women are fiery, far beyond anything I believe you could handle." In the end, Steve was relieved, felt like it didn't have the disastrous outcome he'd been expected.

But he could feel his guard slowly coming back up. That was a close call, and it was a little too close for comfort. He didn't want to disregard you, but he couldn't afford to sink further in, and get his team involved. He just didn't want to face the consequences he could imagine if they knew how much he decided to stick with you, how much you talked, how it was teetering off the range of normal customer to cam girl interaction.

It wasn't like he was careless when it came to his interactions with you, but he also didn't want his team to know about his business when it came to you. He didn't want them thinking he was engaging too much, didn't want it to get to the point where he was worrying again or felt like he needed to deny himself such wonderful feelings.

All these things were on his mind while he waited for your live show to start. When it did, and he saw your face, he felt a little bit alleviated. Just for now, he could have this fantasy to himself. If they knew about the site, so be it. At least he had you to himself.

      "Hey guys," you mustered a smile, waving to the camera.

Unbeknownst to your viewers, you had spent the past few hours off camera panicking, on the verge of tears, calling Aaliyah frantically so she could help calm you down. That text from that mysterious unknown number had been from your ex's number. The same ex who made you fall into dependency patterns that you worked so hard to get out of, the one who made you feel like you had to work for his love. Like it wasn't something you deserved, just like anyone else.

You had worked so hard to finally wring out all the effects of him, all the bad habits you had fallen into because of him. That was part of the reason why you worked so hard. Not because you were actively avoiding him specifically, but because you were actively bettering yourself. You weren't looking for a relationship. But you knew that if you were in one now, the same things would never happen to you.

When you got that text, it triggered a flood of memories. Feelings you had to work to suppress and actually get over for months so you wouldn't fall back into the same desperate, needy patterns when it came to your relationships with people. All over a simple text from someone you hadn't heard from in almost a year. It hurt you how easy it was to get you to crack, even if you didn't spill out all the way. But on top of the added stress because of school, you were damn close.

You would do the show tonight, anyway. It helped you to escape, although Moonrose was a part of you, it didn't one hundred translate into real life. So in a way, this helped you escape real life. Just for a while. Just like Steve.

You grinned when you saw concerned comments from your watchers:

johnGuy182

Are you okay, moonrose? You seem a little sad.

zenongirl

Girl r u ok? i missed seeing your face!!!

     "Guys, I'm okay," you grinned. And you actually felt better seeing comments from your supporters. It reminded you to cheer up - they were looking for a good show, not a sob story. You leaned back, revealing your stomach in the sheer, sparkly fringed bra you chose to wear (another piece you had designed by yourself). "It's been a looong day."

Steve watched silently, observing your behavior. He didn't notice drastic changes, but you did appear less chipper. Then again, he brushed it off. He didn't expect you to be smiley all the time, you were human too, and this was your work.

"But I'm okay," you reassured, giving that signature grin, genuine and charming and alluring. You were trying to gently distract yourself, get into your act. "I hope you're all just as lovely as I am. I have a special game for you today."

You directed your viewers to your spinning wheel, which you had been working on crafting that week for a game. You grinned as you spinned it. Each act on the wheel cost a certain amount of tokens, and by the end of the game you would garner a bunch of funds. The show went by relatively quickly as you played the game, eventually ending up completely naked.

As ordered by the spinning wheel, you were to use a vibrator. You held it against your clit at the highest setting as you watched the numbers of viewers and the tokens jump up, Steve watching as he stroked himself leisurely. Your legs shook as you restrained yourself from your orgasm so as to increase the length of your showtime, garner more coins to encourage you to come.

     "Mm," you moaned, massaging the vibrator against your clit, getting wetter and slicker by the minute, sliding the toy between your folds. You laughed, breathless. "Fuck, this thing is so powerful. Someone make me come, please make me come. Just a few more tokens for me to come for you."

Steve was hesitant, but he decided to go ahead and give you the amount of tokens you needed. And when you heard the chime of the tokens being added to your account, and saw the name it was attached to, it was like a blast of euphoria. When your legs started to shake, when you started to moan and your stomach started to rise up and down, it was genuine. It was like you were back in a private room with him, although you weren't.

Your orgasm was blood-curdling in the best way, and you felt like you were releasing part of the stress of the past day, the past week. It didn't get any realer than this, once again you felt like he was really there to satisfy you.

      "Oh!" you exclaimed, your mouth dropping open and your blood flowing, moaning. "Yes, Steve, I'm coming for you. Thank you for making me come, Steve!"

Steve had been stroking himself along with you as he watched, and only let himself come now that you had come, his cheeks heating up as he heard you moan his name, something he hadn't been expected. Something about you saying his name like that where everyone could hear, even though he enjoyed the intimacy of private rooms, felt victorious. It felt lewd, salacious, but he couldn't help but enjoy that aspect of it. He moaned through grit teeth while he came, stroking himself to completion.

You came down, thanking everyone for attending and ending the show. But it wasn't long after that you had requested Steve for a private chat. He accepted, because he had gotten used to you doing this a little more frequently. It didn't scare him any more, he just thought of it as making conversation, taking advantage of this connection you had with each other. So when you requested, who was he to say no.

When the chat log opened, you put on your best happy face for Steve, trying to conceal how fatigued this week, today in particular, had made you. But your tired, bleak voice gave it all away, buried deep beneath your smile,

    "Hey, Steve."

Steve was surprised at the sound of your voice. Again, while he understood that you wouldn't be a happy go lucky fairy like personality all the time, he wasn't expecting this. You were smiling, but the weariness in your eyes was hard to miss. And your voice, which usually told light hearted tales, sounded worn down as if from tragedy. He was concerned, his eyebrows furrowed gently,

     "Hi. How are you?"

     "I'm good!" you exclaimed, trying your hardest to really sound "good."

But you were just tired. Tired and sad, and scared - scared of what the future had to hold. You were already dealing with school stress, and the text from your ex-boyfriend was like a bad omen, an anxiety-provoking assurance that things actually would not get better and they would in fact get progressively worse. You weren't even sure why you thought you should be talking to Steve if you were tired and just wanted to sleep off the weight of the week. It would be a weekend tomorrow, and one of your very rare days off.

Maybe you figured that you wanted to talk to him despite your fatigue, because conversation with Steve was a nice distraction. You had let yourself forget that this was still your job, and that you were too tired for anything sexual — you knew he liked talking to you, but you hadn't put into consideration the fact that he might request a sexual act from you. You would be burnt out if he did. The fact that you didn't think about that should've been telling, but your brain was too scattered to think straight.

Anyway, Steve called your bluff, and laughed quietly, his voice inquiring and pressing,

      "How are you really?"

That was all it took to get a deep sigh to come from out of you, all it took to allow yourself to show your true feelings, at least the surface of them, what you felt comfortable showing a customer. You felt a sense of relief and gratefulness for Steve, like he was letting you breathe. And if anything, he especially wasn't enlisted to listen to your problems. But he wanted to, and for that you felt foolishly grateful.

    Steve noted the deep sigh that came from out of you, and he frowned slightly. He could tell you had been holding this in for a while, and some part of him felt remorse for the fact that even though you clearly weren't in the right mindset, you went on and did your show anyway. He felt some guilt for being a part of the reason why you did your show.

    You answered, allowing your voice to be as honest as possible.

    "Honestly?" you chuckled a little, albeit bitterly. "I don't know if you really want to hear me rant to you."

Steve shook his head.

    "Don't be silly," he grinned. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

You felt a warm rush in your chest from the reassurance, and the corner of your lip quirked up in a small smile, before you decided to dive in. You'd spare the emotional details, spare your private life. But it would be nice to talk to someone, just about the general things, right?

    "Well, it's been a pretty stressful week, honestly. I mean, school's been the main source of my stress. My professor's such an asshole, he's basically been telling me my entire senior project, which I need to complete to graduate, needs to be redone? And I can't even fathom how I would have enough time to do that with like, two and a half months left of my senior year. I mean, he said I can keep most details, but I'd have to rework it, whatever that means."

    You kept your emotions at bay, sighing in annoyance just at the story you told, because it really was irritating you. But then you felt deeper things, even more went into why you really were upset.

    Steve nodded, just listening. He was prepared to offer advice, but in your situation, he thought that maybe just letting you rant would be best.

    "That's gotta be annoying," he shook his head understandingly. "Whatever your project is, I'm sure it's wonderful. He shouldn't be forcing you to rework it or make any last minute changes."

    "I know!" you nearly jumped up, feeling amped up now. "And it's just so fucking annoying because I work so hard and I'm really passionate about this project and it just feels like..."

    It felt like you were about to overflow, like a pot of water that had been left on for too long. You were ranting almost uncontrollably now, maybe because of the fact that it was more than this that was tugging at you. Because you'd been carrying the weight of your life on your shoulders all the time, like Atlas carrying the sky, and it felt like that weight was finally starting to mean something.

    Steve could see you were unraveling and he let you, he let you take the time you needed to feel everything you had been holding. If your connection was strong, it was at its strongest here. Sure, you and Steve chatted about a little bit of everything, even had deeper conversations here and there as the weeks went by. But you had yet to genuinely complain to him, because every time you spoke with him, you were happy go lucky Moonrose, with nothing to complain about to begin with. But now, you needed a release by any means, and you were just glad Steve was there for you, even if he wasn't really there. How unlike you to unfold in front of strangers.

   Your breath stuttered as you took in a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm down, only further driving yourself into your rambling. You felt yourself tear up, your voice becoming watery as you continued,

    "It just feels like all my work is turning to shit, and it's so fucking frustrating because I work so hard all the time, I do so much and I manage so much all the time."

     The "hard work" you were talking about wasn't just school and work-related, it pertained to your journey, and how hard you had worked to be a better person. To support yourself. The emotions pent up inside of you, they were more than just being upset over a school project. The idea of someone toxic trying to re-enter your life, someone who had forced you to rework the entirety of your life, made you feel like you were on the verge of crashing. You knew better, but you didn't want to return to those dark days, where the light at the end of the winding tunnel that was your relationship seemed so far away. It was why you were so weary of relationships today. It was crazy how one person could change your life so easily.

     Now you were crying, before you even noticed that you were crying. Tears just seemed to leak out of your eyes, sloshing wet and sudden against your cheeks and underneath your lashes. You wiped them away quickly with the back of your hand, frazzled at the fact that you were crying in front of a customer right now. Steve said he'd listen to you, he didn't say he'd watch you cry and be your therapist. You instantly regretted it, although you couldn't stop yourself, tears threatening to emerge again. If you were cracked before, you were spilling now.

    Steve was surprised too, at the fact that you were crying. You appeared so put together to him, it was almost something he didn't expect from you. He was in shock at first, so much so that professionalism was not on his mind - it was an afterthought. Right now, instead of wondering if this was appropriate, he was occupied with you.

    "I'm sorry," you murmured, but you still hadn't stopped, tears falling out as you blinked. Composure was nothing now, you were sobbing, your shoulders slumped and your head hung as you sniffled. Still you enforced control, wiping away every tear that fell with the back of your hand. "I'm really sorry, I don't mean to cry to you over this, that's so-"

Steve cut you off, shaking his head slowly,

    "It's okay to cry, doll. We all have those days. I know better than anyone that we all have those days."

    You mustered a smile, feeling cared for, feeling accounted for by someone who wasn't even obligated to have to see you like this. Still you shook your head, sniffling,

    "I know. But it's-it's stupid, I shouldn't be crying in front of you."

    "I'm not judging you," Steve said, so nonchalantly and firmly, so genuine that it almost scared you.

You blinked. He should've cared, and he should've judged you. To cry in front of Steve, a customer, was to imply he had some duty to comfort you when he probably just wanted a show. You knew that you didn't have to do anything you didn't want to, but even you had rules when it came to what your customers got to see, and to you, that meant they didn't have to deal with your blues.

     "Really?"

     "Really," he reassured you with a nod.

    Was Steve scared that by giving you this reassurance, this entire situation could become deeper than either of you could handle? Yes. But did he let himself shut down because of those pervasive thoughts that he might get himself into trouble? No. He didn't see you as a liability right now. Right now, even though the situation was certainly questionable (and this was something he had no doubt about. When emotions get into the mix, things could get tricky- he knew this), he saw you as someone who desperately needed someone to talk to. Maybe it wasn't smart of you to make him that someone, but regardless, he was, and who was Steve Rogers not to listen to a person in need?

    You blinked away the last of your tears and swallowed hard. You were making this choice consciously, to tell Steve what had really gotten you to your breaking point. And maybe telling him meant you had trust in him, maybe too much trust for someone who, while great, was still a customer. But you felt like there was nothing you could lose from telling him. Maybe you'd even feel better after the fact.

    You looked down, picking at the body glitter on your arm that you had applied before the show. Your voice was considerably quieter now perhaps because you were looking back on the moment with a clear mind for the first time since it happened. You hadn't been thinking straight ever since you received the text just hours ago. Now your brain was a little quieter with the help of your tears and Steve's reassurance.

       "I think that the stress of this school project is making me resent how hard I work for everything, just to be met with this kind of result, you know? And it's even worse when... things seem to be going backwards. You know, like when you make so much progress, moving on from things that don't serve you, and you've finally done it and you get to flourish in it and then, it just gets taken away from you. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but that's just how this feels."

     Steve nodded, his jaw ticking as he let your words settle in. Somehow, although your situation was so different from his, he felt like your words perfectly described how he felt with the world sometimes. It was even part of the reason he'd held off on talking to you like this, held off on getting too involved. He too had made so much progress in this world, which took so much getting adjusted to in a way that absolutely nobody else could relate to.

    It was a world that he didn't even know, a world that he had never been properly introduced to. He'd had to fend for himself. He did his healing on his own, just like you had. And yet sometimes it felt like he had no control, like the universe was going the opposite way of all his plans. Then he felt stupid for even having plans to begin with, because in life, making plans was like comedy for the gods.

    There was a weird feeling in his chest and stomach, like he'd been stabbed with a gutting realization, and the knife was just turning inside of him, churning his insides. He began to feel a sense of unease, because this deep conversation was beginning to feel incredibly personal. Even though you were talking about your own situation, he couldn't help but think about how much he resonated, and the fact that he felt like he could relate to you on such a deep level scared him. This was more than the conversations you'd had before, more than the simple similarities you and Steve shared. This felt like a conversation that might be too telling for his good and your own.

     He swallowed his words as he listened to you continue. You chose your words carefully, but you had shed yourself of your inhibitions when it came to being truthful.

     "Earlier... I heard from someone I hadn't heard from in a long time. And it kind of pushed me over the edge," out of your mouth stumbled a laugh. You were calmer now, and looked up at the camera, Steve swallowing hard when you did so. It was all so real, just like it was when you touched yourself and moaned Steve's name. "I think it just made me feel all those things I just explained. Because I feel like I worked so hard to rid myself of this person and them trying to come back just feels like all the things I worked so hard on are going to unravel. Even though I know they aren't, it feels like a setback. And that was like, the icing on the cake to this already terrible day, I guess."

      You let out a breathy laugh and smiled gently, shaking your head slowly.

     "I normally wouldn't be telling this to a customer. But here we are. Again, I'm sorry... I feel like I shouldn't have said anything? Should I... have said anything?"

In the brief silence that followed your question,  both you and Steve were thinking the same thing - were you going to regret this? Intimacy both physically and emotionally was good when you capped it at what you both knew to be appropriate. When it came to the physical aspects, you each let your fantasies unwind.

    And on the emotional aspect, though you had both grown closer and more open, some things just didn't get touched upon. But now you had just cried over the screen, and spoke from the depths of your heart. It was scary to open up in such an uncertain situation where your own privacy was an aspect that got involved. There was no doubt that it was too much. It was just a question of whether the result would be negative.

     Steve sighed deeply, a crease forming in his forehead as he furrowed his brows together, folding his arms over his chest.

     "I don't know..." he trailed off, took a breath, a leap, his body practically lurching forward. "But... it can't be a bad thing that you feel comfortable talking to me about this, can it?"

      And there it was, that glint of hope he was trying his hardest to conceal. That feeling he got when he got off that call with you, the one where you both started giving into those unspoken thoughts. That this couldn't be so bad, that you could enjoy each other's company without worrying.  

     You smiled gently,

    "I guess. It does feel weird though, it's not something I normally do. It feels like something I shouldn't be doing."

    You could hear Steve breathing in deeply, and for a moment, you imagined what he might look like, envisioning the outline of a troubled face, eyebrows knit together. You snapped back to reality and made a face, confused by your abrupt thoughts. You had long gotten over the very brief desire to see Steve's face- why was it coming back again?

    "I'll be honest, same here," Steve agreed with your sentiments.

    "Do you always feel like you have to restrain what you say when you talk to people? Or is it just with me?" you added that last part in a quiet voice, biting your lip.

Steve chuckled briefly,

      "Are you asking me if I have trust issues? Because I'd tell you, but I'd have to trust you to do that."

You shook your head and laughed at Steve's stupid joke, and shrugged.

     "I could say the same thing, I think. This person I heard from earlier is... I developed those trust issues because of them. Or, my already existent trust issues became worse. But what's funny about it is that this person was once someone that I loved," even as the words were coming out you questioned why you were letting them, why you were allowing yourself to be so truthful in a situation like this at a time when you were so vulnerable.

      Steve didn't reply, again feeling that sick feeling in his stomach that stemmed from his fear. The fear that this conversation were too serious, fear surrounding the fact that he was able to relate so much to such a personal situation of yours.

    You spoke again, daring to ask the question that felt like a final blow to Steve's stomach,

    "Have you ever been in love, Steve?"

Now Steve knew he was in uncharted territory. Not because he feared you might try to exploit him, but because he was so struck by the fact that he had allowed himself to feel so safe with you and get so close to you. He was surprised at himself for letting you feel safe enough to have these kinds of conversations with him. It all felt like a mistake now. He wanted a way out, any way out. He knew if he even attempted to answer that question, he would be making a big mistake. He had shared some of his most intimate moments with you, but always keeping in mind a very sharp line he didn't want to be crossed.

And in his mind, he thought of the one love he'd had, the one love that hadn't been fulfilled because of the situation he had been thrown into, one he had never signed up for. He thought of how the things he cared most for in life had been discarded, how, like you, he felt like it had gone to shit. How sometimes, though he tried his best to be grateful and had taken that journey of self-healing just like you, it all felt like some sick joke.

Could he even call it love? He wasn't sure. And he wasn't going to answer. He wasn't going to answer at all, because he wouldn't be talking to you again. There would be no chance for this dilemma to resurface, not with you, not on this site. He made the decision with haste and a heavy heart - he was done here.

      The discomfort was well evident in his voice, answering loud and clear, though his voice was morose and a bit closed off. You sensed the shift immediately.

     "I... I can't talk about that right now. Listen, I have to go."

    You felt a pang in your chest at the sudden switch in his demeanor, straightening up and trying not to frown. All this time you had been letting the words spill out, telling yourself not to worry so much, reassuring yourself it was okay to make your feelings known. Now it felt like you should've never said anything at all. You started to stammer.

      "Oh, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I was just... I feel like I got a little overwhelmed." You laughed nervously. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Steve felt his throat ran dry as he blinked, feeling emotions come up to surface that he wasn't quite familiar with. Maybe he was grieving in advance, regretting the decision he was making to no longer speak with you, regretting the fact that he was letting fear get in the way of what he wanted so badly to be a good thing.

    "No, I'm sorry. I feel like I let things go too far," Steve apologized, but the apology felt more like an insult.

Was he implying that whatever this was, you couldn't handle it, and that it was his fault for somehow leading you on? You had both made the connection with each other, it was an equal effort. And why was he acting like the two of you communicating at all was somehow below him, somehow a risk? If anything, you were the one risking it just by talking to him the way you did. You were opening up to him. 

     You almost felt betrayed - you had convinced yourself that he wouldn't want to listen to your problems and you told yourself it wasn't his responsibility to listen. And then he listened anyway, told you that he wanted to hear it, and you cried to him. You felt like you had made so many unusual accommodations just for him to scare off like this. He was just another person you had expressed your feelings to, only to regret it in the end.

    "Too far?" you questioned, furrowing your brows.

Steve swallowed. In your voice he could hear a hint of frustration, but even worse- hurt. It pained him more than he cared for you to know.

    "I don't think we should talk anymore," he said instead.

    "What?" you were taken by surprise. "Steve, I'm... I'm not understanding. I... I don't usually open up to people like this, I mean, I thought maybe it was fine here, because I feel like I know you. But you're still a stranger. I understand you're a customer but I thought we were talking, I thought we broke through that wall-"

    "We did. And we shouldn't have," Steve said, his voice so calm and firm that it was almost cold.

    By now you were just staring into the computer camera, as if you were looking at him and waiting for him to come to his senses. But as you did that, you slowly came to your own. Because you weren't looking at him. You were looking at a black screen with his voice behind it. You realized you hadn't known Steve, not enough to talk about these things. And just like him, you too were full of regret. You kept all those walls up for the sake of customer relations, only to put them down and be met with this disastrous result.

    Steve almost couldn't bare to look at your face anymore. You were confused, hurt. He could tell you regretted the fact that you had opened up. He was hurt too, but he wouldn't show it, or let it overcome him to the point where your methods of communication with each other became something neither of you could control. Still, yes, he was hurt.

    But he had been through plenty of hardships in life. What was one more, even if it shouldn't have come to this point anyway?

    "I'm sorry, Moonrose. We can't. Goodbye."

Chat over.

[massivelycreepypineapple]

An Army Of Two

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N is battling depression and is doing her best to hide it from her new neighbour Dean who is hell bent on talking to her. But little does she know that he’s smarter than he lets on. 

Warning: Depression, angst and some fluff.

Word Count: 2959

A/N: You know how you have an idea and it’s all brilliant in your head? Yeah that was me. But I just had to ruin it by writing it down. But even so, I’m curious to see how this has fared. So by all means critique away!  

Masterlist

❅ ❅ ❅

Y/N sat on the middle of her bed hiding under the blanket. She had gone beyond her limit for the day and she was struggling to keep it together. And what a rotten day it was. She was hanging out with one of her friends. They were at a cafe, catching up after a while. It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t like her, she just felt like being left alone for the most part, so she didn’t really have the same level of enthusiasm as her friend. But she was still polite, and talked as much as she could, not letting F/N know just how bad her mental state had gotten since the last time they spoke. But things soon went south.

~flashback~

“So Y/N, what’s going on with you?” Asked F/N.

“Oh you know, just a lot of work. it’s pretty fun, I work in the travel section of the magazine and they send me to a lot of places to write about.”

“Sounds wonderful!”

“Yeah. Although the travel does exhaust you, It doesn’t hurt that you get to sample a lot of the local cuisine for free.” Y/N chuckled.

F/N laughed at that, “Yeah, now it all makes sense!”

“What does?”

“The fact that you’ve put on weight. Is that why you’re single?”

~flashback end~

Y/N was shocked at that. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t realise she had put on weight, or the fact that she was single because of that. She had a lot of things to feel insecure about, it was after all her constant state of being. The voices in her head never stopped. But the one good thing was she never really thought of her body as bad. But after that comment, everything came crashing down. Another insecurity got added to the growing list. To think she was actually having a pleasant time.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, however. F/N was always a bit of a bitch. She didn’t have enough empathy and the ability to be sensitive to someone’s situation. But she was one of the few people who even acknowledged her in college, and they did kind of become friends. So when F/N wanted to meet up, Y/N didn’t know how to say no. So after that dreadful lunch, she came straight home and hid herself under the blanket.

Every horrible thought she ever had came to her and soon new ones related to her body arrived and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Suddenly she heard her doorbell ring, bringing her out of the funk. She was hesitant at first, then slowly made her way to the door and opened it without removing the latch. She peaked through the small gap and met with a pair of gorgeous green eyes.

“Hey, Y/N”, Said Dean with a soft smile.

“S’not a good time, Dean.”

“Oh okay, I just wanted to borrow a couple of eggs. I’m in the process of baking a cake and I’m running short.

Y/N sighed and closed the door, opening it up fully signalling him to come inside. She walked to the fridge and pulled out the egg crate of half a dozen eggs and gave it to him.

“Keep it.” She said.

“I just need two.”

“No take it. I don’t want it” She snapped slightly, soon regretting it.

“Y/N… what’s wrong?”

She shook her head at him, “Nothing.. just keep the eggs, Dean. I hardly ever use them.” Which was a lie. She loved bacon and eggs. It was her go to breakfast.

“Okay..” He said hesitantly. He didn’t move and just stared at her with worry in his eyes. She hated it. She didn’t deserve it.

“Something else you want?” She asked.

“Umm no. This is all.” He slowly turned to leave.

She followed him out and closed the door not waiting for him to say anything else. She leaned against the door and shut her eyes. Damn Winchester. He only recently moved into the apartment and she was already developing a major crush on him. They met in the hallway when she was coming back from grocery shopping one evening. He seemed like a nice enough guy. They’d always chat when they bumped into each other. Which was kind of often considering they lived opposite each other. He was always trying to find out more about her, but she’d just politely make an excuse to get away when things started to get too personal. it was a wonder he was still nice to her. She felt like an absolute dick.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate him. Caz she so did. He made her smile when she didn’t think she could. She welcomed his chats and his corny jokes. She found him absolutely endearing and it didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. But she was afraid he’d find out about her depression and anxiety and she’d soon become this burden of a person for him to be careful around. Even if she could never get someone like Dean to like her back, she still enjoyed what little time he spent talking to her and she didn’t want to ruin it by accidentally letting out too much.

She made her way back to bed, falling asleep without dinner and dreaming of green eyes and handsome neighbours.

Next Day

Dean’s POV

Dean was excited. He had baked a cake last night for his extremely adorable neighbour. He knew there was something special about Y/N. The second he met her, he was smitten with her, but she was so aloof. Every time he’d try to get to know more about her, she’d clam up and make some excuse to leave. He knew why she did that. He’d seen that kind of behaviour before. But it wasn’t his place to bring it up. If she wanted to tell him stuff, she could in her own time. So all he did was make sure she smiled at least a little when they talked.

He picked up the cake and went over to ring the bell. He knew she was home. Call him a stalker, but he tends to pay more attention when it comes to Y/N. She opened the door and raised an eyebrow at him with a small smile. God how much he loved that smile. He wanted to see that often. She never smiled enough. In fact she almost always looked so sad. He shook himself from his thoughts and put on a shit eating grin.

“You did provide the important ingredient after all, so half of this is for you.” He said. “Can I come in?”

“I suppose so” She replied after a beat and led the way in, leaving the door open since his was. Dean walked to the dinning table and placed the cake while Y/N went to get a knife and a box for her half. He looked around her apartment and found the place to be pretty messy. He didn’t really pay attention last night when he was here. He was too busy questioning her foul mood. But looking at it now, raised alarms in his head considering she was normally a tidy person.

Y/N placed the box on the table and handed him the knife. Dean raised an eyebrow at that, “You don’t want to have some now?” sounding a bit hopeful. He wanted her to taste his cake. He was a good cook, but his desserts were to die for, or so his friends and family would say.

“I just had something to eat. I’ll be sure to have it later.” She said tucking her hair behind her ears.

He knew things weren’t okay. He knew she was going through hell because her behaviour reminded him so much of a childhood friend. He wanted to be there for her.

“Please? Just a small slice.” He gave her puppy dog eyes that could rival his brother’s.

Y/N looked at him for a while seemingly contemplating what to do next. He understood that her instincts where telling her to not eat. He had somehow put it together when she forced the eggs upon him. He knew for a fact that she loved eggs and bacon. He smelled it every morning on his way to work.

Dean’s eyes lit up when she finally nodded. He cut up a slice for her to eat and he took some himself. He watched her take the first bite and her eyes closed in bliss.

“Dean, this is absolutely heaven! I didn’t know you could bake like this.”

He chuckled at her, “Yeah I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Oh by all means don’t hesitate to show me some tricks if this is how they taste!”

Oh she was good. She’d make a good actor. He knew she meant it, but he could see the hesitation in her eyes and the slight shake of her hand when she took the first bite. He couldn’t help but feel his heart clench. Who hurt her? She deserved the damn world. He was taken aback by that thought. He had never felt so protective of someone except his brother, Sam.

He grinned at her, “I’m glad you liked it, sweetheart. I really am”

“You should open a bakery. This is honestly so good.”

“I don’t know. I just might.” He smiled. At that moment and to his disappointment he heard his phone go off in his place and he excused himself to go answer it.

Y/N’S POV

God he was a fantastic baker. He really was. And she meant what she said. But she couldn’t stop the voice in her head that plaguing her since last evening. “The fact that you’ve put on weight. Is that why you’re single?”. God she felt so ugly and fat. She could feel Dean’s eyes on her. So she had to fake this till he left. But luck for once was on her side when his phone rang and he left.

She closed the door after him. The voices came back full force and she was getting hysterical. She didn’t know how to stop it. She was gonna lose this battle. She was gonna succumb to her demons. She was so tired of doing this by herself. She ran to the bathroom to wash her face, hoping the cool water would help but it didn’t do much. She stared at herself in the mirror finding all the flaws and insecurities that have haunted her for years now. She finally saw what F/N saw. She had indeed put on weight and she felt so disgusting and ugly. No wonder boys don’t notice her. Dean was only being nice because he had yet to find friends in this part of town. Once he does she’d be just a neighbour, nothing more. It’s why she tried to be aloof. But he was just too damn stubborn and adorable, he made her feel safe. She hadn’t felt safe in a long long time.

Totally disgusted with herself, Y/N went to the toilet and shoved two fingers down her throat and started puking out everything she had eaten so far, which wasn’t much to begin with. Suddenly she felt a hand rub her back and the other holding her hair up.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it all out.” Dean whispered to her. Y/N was sobbing and gasping at this point.

She didn’t realise that she left the door unlocked. She puked some more before gasping out, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Why are you here?”

“Shhh Y/N, don’t apologise. I came here to see if you wanted to hang out. And then I heard crying and came in here to see you… hurting.”

Y/N started crying harder as Dean held her tightly on the bathroom floor. Once she calmed down a little, he helped her to the sink so she could clean up. He then picked her up and placed her gently on the bed, resting her against the headboard. She was still sniffling, but she calmed down from before.

Dean leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on her forehead and sat in front of her. She was afraid to look at him. So she settled for watching her fingers as they fiddled with her top. Dean didn’t make her talk. He just sat there and rubbed her legs and gave her time to get her thoughts in place. But Y/N couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“I’m broken and fucked up.” She whispered.

“You’re not fucked up, sweetheart. I promise. You’re just fighting a very hard battle.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“Why, honey?”

“You saw me. Now you know. I’m gonna be a burden to you. And you’ll feel forced to be careful around me and that’s gonna get exhausting and you’ll resent me and-“ She started breathing heavily. Her vision was getting blurry again and she realised she was crying. But she couldn’t breathe and her lungs were burning.

“Y/N it’s okay. Just breathe, sweetheart. I got you. I ain’t going anywhere ok?” He cupped her cheeks forcing her to look into his eyes. “I need you to breathe with me.” He placed her small hand on his chest. “Feel that?” She nodded. “Good. Now just follow my breath.” He guided her through the breathing and kept praising her in between. She then finally calmed down.

“I’m sorry, Dean. You don’t have to be here for this. You can leave.” She said her voice breaking a little.

Dean stood up and removed his jacket and got into the bed beside her. He wrapped his strong arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Y/N, I’ve known for a while that you aren’t doing well.”

Her eyes widened at that and she looked at him, “What? How?”

Dean was quiet for a while before he spoke, “I knew someone who went through something similar. He was a childhood friend and I had known him for years. My brother and I were his closest friends.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died a year ago. He lost his battle.” Said Dean looking at her with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry” She whispered.

“Your behaviour, the way you’ve been acting, it kinda gave me some clue because I had seen it before with him. I figured you weren’t eating well when you gave me the eggs.”

“How?”

“You love bacon and eggs, Y/N. You make it every morning. I can smell it when I leave for work.” He chuckled.

“Oh…” She blushed embarrassed.

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. Like I said, you’re fighting this battle. And you’ve been doing it all alone for a while now. It ain’t easy. I brought you that cake hoping you’d eat something. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t realise that things were so bad that you made yourself throw up.”

“It got worse.”

“What happened?”

“I went to dinner with a friend of mine last night. And she said something.”

“What did she say?” He said, arms tightening around her.

“She said I had put on weight and then asked me if that was the reason why I was still single. I know it’s so stupid and it’s such a small thing. But it stung. I’m so pathetic! And she didn’t even say anything wrong. I am ugly and no one would want me.” Y/N started crying again.

“Oh sweetheart. You listen to me and you listen to me good, ok? You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Your smile is the most brightest part of the day. I’ve wanted to ask you out on a date for a while now. I never did because you seemed aloof. So I figured you didn’t want that with me. You had enough going on as it is. An awkward neighbour is not something I wanted to add to the list.”

“You want to date me?” Y/N was shocked. Of all the people, this gorgeous man wanted to date her.

“Yeah” he chuckled. “But that can wait, Y/N. You come first right now.”

“I’m no good for you, Dean. I’m gonna exhaust you and be a burden and you don’t want that.”

“I’ll decide what I want and what’s good for me okay, honey? And I’ve decided that it’s you.”

“But-“

“Shh, Y/N. You’re amazing just the way you are. Even if you don’t feel the same, I’m here ok? I’m not going anywhere. You’re not gonna fight this alone. A battle may be smaller than a war, but it still needs an army. And this is gonna be an army of two. Together we will shut those voices up.”

“Thank you, Dean. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He smiled brightly.

“And what if I want to date you too?” She asked hesitantly.

“You do?” He asked a light blush and a cute smile on his face.

“Y-yeah…I’ve liked you for while. I didn’t think you’d see me as anything more than a neighbour. Especially when you find better people to hang out with.”

“Baby, you can’t get rid of me even if you tried.” He squished her really hard making her gasp and laugh. “I love your laugh and smile. I’m gonna make sure you do that more often.”

“Okay” She said smiling up at him. “That won’t be too hard if it’s you doing it. I don’t know how, caz I’ve only known you for a short while but you make me feel safe.”

Dean pulled her in his lap making her squeal and kissed her on the lips making her ears turn red. 

“Your ears are cute when you blush.” He grinned at her.

She whined and hid her face in his neck making him chuckle even more. He was there for her. He kept the voices at bay. She felt safe now that she was in his arms. Maybe she could win this battle after all. Just maybe she could come out of the other side with her life intact.  

❅ ❅ ❅

TAGS BELOW

@akshi8278 @hobby27

[imagines-r-s]

The Irony of Soulmates

Chapter 2: Mount Everest // Labrinth

What happens when soulmates and mobs collide? An already messed up world combined with the idea of a person set to be perfect for you, something is bound to go wrong. When soulmates are brought into the world of the three most powerful mobs in London, what will happen? This is all bound for destruction, but love appears in the most ironic ways sometimes.

taglist @spideyyeet​ @quaksonhehe​ @whatdoyxumean​ @ineedmorestyles​ (comment or send an ask if you would like to be added)

WC: 2.8k

A/N: sorry that this took so long, I was struggling on writing from his POV for a second there, anyways enjoy! feedback is welcome and appreciated

  Series masterlist  ||  prologue ||  chapter 1  ||  chapter 2  ||  chapter 3 ||

TOM’S POV

Tom was well aware of how easy it was for the mob life to break any type of relationship in his life, he had witnessed it for himself on many occasions. Before the accident, there wasn’t the divide between the families like there was today; at one point all of you were friends. 

Although Tom knew that things would never go back to how they were, he wished that nothing had changed; he wished that him, Harrison, and Z were still close, he wished Harry and Sam still had their best friend, and he wished y/n was still there for him.

Now only Harrison and Z were still friends, Harry and Sam only had each other and their other brothers, and Tom and y/n hardly ever saw each other and when they did it just wasn’t the same. At one point Tom knew he could always go to y/n with anything and everything, she was always there to comfort him and he missed having her over at the mansion all the time. Hell, he missed having all of them over at the Holland mansion.  

After the unexplainable death of their parents, they placed the blame on each other. They drifted a lot since then and the rivalry only grew. There was always something left unspoken between y/n and Tom; everyone knew it, but the two of them tried hard to deny anything. Tom knew he had a lot he wanted to say, but he wasn’t ever going to.

He didn’t even want to think anything about soulmates. Yes, he had a soulmate mark; he just didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he did. 

His job had ruined too many things for him and he didn’t want another thing to be ruined. It wouldn’t just affect him this time, his soulmate was also affected. He would do whatever it takes to avoid bringing another person into this line of work.

14 days before 

  The Gala of London being held in the Holland mansion added a lot of stress to the Holland brothers after their parents died. They used to only have to do minimal work and look nice while at the Gala, but now Tom, being the eldest, meant that he had to organize and plan everything. He knew everything he had to do, it was just a matter of getting everything together. Sam and Harry were able to help more, but with Paddy still at boarding school, they were down a couple of helping hands. 

Sam and Harry were used to the basic rundown: keep an eye out for any Osterfield or Hughe, make sure everyone stays civil, and don’t be the cause of any trouble. There had been way too many occasions where the twins were the ones that caused issues at the gala or even times back when y/n was still friends with them that they were behind everything. 

The trio of y/n, Sam, and Harry were well known for their mischievousness, whether that be in school, home, or anywhere else. Tom, Haz, and Z were the peaceful trio, as their parents called it, and the three others were the chaotic trio. When everything happened Tom noticed that their brothers had calmed down quite a bit, so he didn’t have to stress as much about them starting problems as they used to. 

Tom had already contacted all the caterers, decorators, and musicians who would be playing at the Gala, everything would be set up in just a matter of days. Tom looked over the balcony that led to the ballroom, this was always a place that reminded him of better times. 

During the Gala the year before the death of their parents, y/n and the twins had snuck off to do Lord knows what; Tom was in a rush to find them before they got caught. Everyone at the event was luckily distracted by dancing or eating to even notice the absence of the three teens. Tom had assumed Harrison caught on when they both crossed paths.

“Did you see them anywhere?” Tom said, passing Harrison and walking in the opposite direction. 

“Fuck, I was hoping you knew. Ok, uh, where would they have-” Harrison was interrupted by the sound of a scream. The two ran quickly in the direction of the scream. 

When Tom had turned the corner, which was luckily nowhere close to the other guests, he ran right into y/n. Before she could run anymore, he held onto her shoulders holding her in place. “Oh, uh, hi, Tom,” y/n said, looking over Tom’s shoulder. “What have you been up to, love?” 

Before she could answer, Corinna Hughe drenched in water came around the corner. As soon as she saw y/n, she had her fists clenched and ran up to her; Harrison stopped and held Corinna back as soon as he noticed. “You bitch,” she screeched. “Corinna, you do know you’re only supposed to jump into the pool when in your swimsuit?” y/n said, laughing. 

Tom could hear his brothers laughing as they walked back towards the commotion. “Corinna, what happened to you?” If looks could kill Tom knew that all of them would be dead after asking her that, Tom couldn’t hold his laugh in, finding the scene in front of him too funny to ignore. 

“Tom, if you’ll excuse me,” y/n leaned up to peck him on the cheek, “I had so much fun, but I have to go now.” 

The two 17-year-olds watched carefully as the three 15-year-olds ran back downstairs to the ballroom, just as their parents were walking up to investigate the scene that had taken place on the balcony. 

During the cleanup that night, Tom watched the trio get yelled at for disrupting the peace of the Gala, all of them holding back laughs during the lecture they were receiving. Tom also noticed how y/n’s eyes traveled towards his every now and then. 

Tom knew that the twins and y/n were going to have their annual ‘After Gala’ movie night, so he was also aware that as the oldest he’d have to drive her back to the Osterfield mansion. 

The car rides between the two of them were always relaxing for him, he had known her for essentially all his life, so he knew how much she enjoyed car rides, he also knew how she always asked to take the backroads so the ride would last just a little longer. 

“That was an interesting stunt you pulled back there, love,” he watched as her smile turned to a mischievous smirk. Yeah “She deserved it,” was all you said in response. 

“You know it’s probably not smart for you, Harry, and Sam to be treating her and her brothers like that.”

“Yeah, we know… it’s still funny though.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

Tom watched as her eyes met his, the twinkle in her eye that never left was shining as she smiled. The rest of the way home was left in comfortable silence as the quiet music hummed in the background. He watched her carefully, the way she’d strum her hands on her thigh to the music and how she’d quietly sang along.

Tom missed having that with y/n. There was something there, the two of them just never confronted the idea because of multiple reasons. 1.) Even though Sam and Harry wouldn’t dispute they didn’t want to mess up the relationship, 2.) the stupid soulmate mark that had yet to prove anything, 3.) when Tom finally got the courage to tell her, the accident with their parents happened. 

Tom hated his soulmate mark, a constant reminder shining on his skin that he couldn’t have the one person that he wanted, even if their marks did match. He had never seen y/n’s mark, but he secretly hoped they matched. 

“What are you thinking about, mate?” Sam brought Tom out of his racing thoughts. “Oh, just the Gala,” Tom responded just a little too quickly, causing Sam to throw him a suspicious look.

“You know y/n will be there, is that what this is about?” Sam said, raising his eyebrows. Tom wasn’t an easy person to read to anyone else, but the twins had figured him out after many years of doing so. Tom could only stay silent in response, causing Sam to smirk. “I miss her too, and I know it wasn’t the same type of bond, but I miss seeing you as happy as you were whenever she was around.”

“Do you think things would be different if we knew what happened? Even five years later we still have no idea and it caused the riff between all of us?”

“Tom, honestly I don’t know, but I do know you have the chance to fix things with her. Obviously, you two haven’t had a decent conversation, other than you both being the stubborn asshats that you are-”

“I get the point,” Tom said, hitting Sam upside the head. 

“You obviously still love her.”Tom turned his head towards Sam so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “I don’t love her.”

“Whatever you say, Tom, whatever you say,” and with that Sam left the man to his own thoughts. He definitely did love her, but after so many years he didn’t know how or why he still felt the way that he did. If the marks didn’t match, then his feelings were all for nothing; even if they did match, there was no way they’d be able to be together with how they worked. 

Tom headed down to the actual ballroom, as opposed to the balcony where he didn’t have to face the memories that flooded his mind every time he went down to the ballroom. Many times in Tom’s life he had ‘saved’ y/n from whatever was troubling her that day, there were also many times where she had saved him, and many of those times had happened in this ballroom. 

When Tom was 11, he gave y/n her first actual slow dance. When Tom was 13, he helped her ice her foot after Corinna tripped her. When Tom was 14, she was there to comfort him when a girl rejected him. When Tom was 16, he made sure that even after she got drunk with Sam and Harry that she got home safe and didn’t get into too much trouble. When Tom was 17, he fought Maxwell Hughe because he had called you a slut for rejecting him and that same night y/n helped nurse him back to health and they drove home after the ‘After Gala’ movie night. 

There hasn’t been a point in either of their lives where the other wasn’t present, up until when Tom turned 18. From the age of 18 to him now being 23, all they would give each other were small glances, he could tell that she never recovered from their parents’ death as the glimmer in her eye that once shone brightly was no longer there and her once soft exterior became cold.

6 days before

As there was less than a week until the Gala, everything was falling into the place. The decorations were all set up and everything else was planned. The only thing left was for all of them to get their suits fitted and ready. 

“So, I heard Harrison won’t be at the Gala this year,” Harry said, filling up on the pancakes they were having during breakfast. 

“What about y/n?” Tom said, causing the twins to look at each other, in a way that Tom couldn’t quite read, “what is it?”

“Nothing, Sam just owes me $100,” Harry said, nonchalantly. 

“You divs, I don’t know what you were trying to prove, but all you did was prove that you have a gambling problem.” Tom knew that they had proved something, but wouldn’t admit to it. “Anyways, I have to talk to Mr. Sullivan about the business deal, so if you’ll excuse me.” 

Tom also became a very cold person when it came to anyone other than his brothers. He promised himself a long time ago that he would never go down the same path that his father did, he always remembered his father becoming this cold, ruthless person; even though it would be easier to act that way, he never wanted it for himself. 

For a while after the accident, the pressure got to him. He missed his parents, he could sense that he was losing his closest friends, and he was losing the one person he cared about the most. He kept hope that they’d be able to fix everything and things would go back to normal, but time only showed that people change. His coping skills were extremely unhealthy; drugs, alcohol, and women. It helped him feel numb rather than the feeling of loss. The only thing that stopped him was that both twins mentioned their father and y/n. 

After he had finished taking care of Mr. Sullivan, he met the tailor to get him and the twins’ suits ready for the Gala. Tom went with his usual black suit, Harry in a navy blue suit, and Sam in a blue jacket-black slack combo. 

2 days before

“I want extra eyes on the Hughes and Osterfield, but especially Osterfield,” Tom had organized a meeting with all security that would be working the party. 

“Yes, sir. I will make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible,” and with that being said, Tuwaine, head of security, left the meeting room, which left the Hollands. 

“Why do you want extra eyes on her?”

“You know- uh- she’ll start issues, especially alone,” he said, seeming uneasy saying that explanation out loud. 

“You know better than anyone that she only caused trouble when she was friends with us-”

“-and it was all three of us,” Sam interjected. 

“Plus, even if she does anything you wouldn’t hurt her,” Harry said, causing Sam to nod his head in agreement. Tom wasn’t wanting to deal with any of this, so he got up and left for his room, without another word. 

Day of the Gala 

Tom didn’t get any sleep that night. He was anxious as to how this Gala could go, and he wanted to talk to you this time since Harrison wasn’t there. What would he say? Would you want to talk to him? Did you hate him? Were you going to try something?

He was tired of listening to his thoughts, deciding to start to get ready for the day. He started off by taking a cold shower, the water hitting his skin, quickly waking him up. As he got out of the shower, he caught glimpse of himself in the mirror. His bruised knuckles and random bruises littering his body. He knew how he got here, but being at the point where it was just an average day for him was what bothered him. 

Tom had decided that he would go and pick up the suits for later this evening, he needed to be able to drive. Anytime his mind was racing, he would go driving, it was a temporary escape from everything. He needed to be as focused as he could tonight, knowing if anything went wrong he’d be the one to take care of it. 

When he got back home, he saw all the final touches being put up around the ballroom. “You know, I was thinking,” Harry said, stealing one of the tiny desserts from the tray, “what if she’s your soulmate? I mean Haz wouldn’t let it work, but like imagine.” Harry was obviously joking, but with minimal sleep and how bad he was feeling, it got to him. “Harry, if you don’t shut up about the Osterfields.” Harry’s eyebrows raised at his tone and statement. “It was just a joke, I promise.”

Tom didn’t stay to listen to the rest of what he had to say and headed to his room.

A few hours later, Tom started to get ready, only doing his hair first and worrying about his suit later. He slicked his hair back as neatly as possible, knowing he needed to look as presentable as possible. “Tom,” his thoughts were interrupted by knocking at his door, “you ready?”

“Yeah, hold on, one sec.” When Tom exited his room, he could already hear the echo of commotion from in the ballroom. With Harry on his right and Sam on his left, he made his way to the center of the balcony. The commotion stopped momentarily as everyone looked up at the Hollands. 

Tom didn’t even notice because as soon as he made it to the center of the balcony, he locked eyes with y/n Osterfield. 

[twoblueheartslocked]

Para: December/January Flashback.

Rating: PG.

Pairing: Seblaine. (And Seblaine is still very much the endgame.)

Sebastian: @colorsicantsee

Blaine: @twoblueheartslocked

Time: Four years before the events of ( Hold On To The Memories, They Will Hold On To You ) Events taking place in December/January of Blaine’s Senior Year and Sebastian’s Junior Year. Blaine (17) Seb(16).

Location: Sebastian’s House. Westerville, Ohio

Info: Blaine’s parents are tragically killed in an icy car accident on Sunday, December 28, the day after Blaine and Sebastian spend their incredible night together. A devastated Blaine deals with the aftermath of his parents death in the only way he knows how which results in two very broken hearted teenage boys.

Warnings(PLEASE READ THIS): This para includes mentions of parental death(Both) and a whole bunch of self loathing. There’s a break up and it does not have a happy ending for our boys. This was not fun to write at all, but remember they’re very much endgame- soulmates.

Extra Warnings: (This RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Notes: Some canon events remain in place while others have been changed. Some things may even be out of order. You can consider this sort of canon divergent AU. A few changes are that Blaine’s parents are different from the show (His mother is Filipina), he didn’t cheat on Kurt or date Dave and Sebastian is younger than Blaine. Feel free to send a message if you have any questions!

Blaine’s POV:

“There was ice on the r-road. God, they’re gone, Blaine. I-I don’t know how else to say it. Mom and dad are gone…”

He could still hear his brother’s panicked, weepy voice ringing in his ear. Could still feel the icy chill run through his body as the words sunk into him, pulling him down into a darkness that he’d never felt before. That Sunday, after having the most incredible night, Blaine went from feeling the best he’d ever felt to feeling like he was suffocating in despair. It felt like someone had thrown him into the Arctic with nothing but the clothes on his back. He remembered waiting for Cooper to come home, remembered how quiet and too big the house had felt, how the silence had pushed into his brain and it was maddening...that fucking quiet. But, on the inside his thoughts felt loud and chaotic and he was screaming, screaming, screaming. But if you walked by and saw him you just see a teenager, small and lost just standing there numbly as people in uniforms and nice suits talked at him about what would happen to him next.

That had been two weeks ago. Will and Imelda Anderson had been laid to rest and Cooper had moved from California to Ohio while Blaine finished out his Senior year. All the therapists and people in charge had told Cooper it wouldn’t be fitting to take him out of school to move across the country at a time like this. So, against everything he wanted, Cooper was back in Ohio, miserable and trying to figure out how to be a parental figure while in mourning and in a house with nothing but ghosts and memories that were still too fresh- so fresh that they cut like knives to think about.

The weeks had gone by in a blur, he hadn’t been back to school yet, and was dreading the day that he’d have to. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to function as a person when his whole world had been shattered. The only thing he’d been able to bring himself to do was see Sebastian, and even that hurt him because he couldn’t even smile for him. He’d been at the Smythe’s almost every single day since it happened, he’d tried to go see Sam but all he got was pitying looks from Sam's parents and he couldn’t handle it. Sabine, Seb’s mom,  had simply pulled him into a hug and in her soothing lilt told him she was there for him and that was that.

Today was the fourteen day since they’d been killed, and it had been fifteen days since Blaine had last gotten to hug them, or speak to them in person,  and it was the twelfth day since his parents had been put in the ground . He wasn’t doing well at all. He was wrapped up in Sebastian’s arms on their couch in his basement, his back to the room, his face turned and pressed into Seb’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around Seb’s slender frame, as he fought his hardest not to fucking cry again as the mumblings from some movie played in the background. Going to Seb’s house was the only place he felt a fraction of okay, but he also felt like absolute shit everytime he went there.

He always started out his trips promising himself he would find a balance and every time he went over there he’d tell himself today would be the day he’d smile for Sebastian, and today would be the day that he’d give him a real kiss, not just a peck, but a real one with that showed all the pent up feelings he still had for him- they had just been pushed down because Blaine didn’t know if he had anymore room for anything other than pain. He wanted to follow through, wanted to smile for Seb and kiss him properly because Seb deserved that. He’d been nothing but supportive and sympathetic, and had stood by him like a dutiful boyfriend (even though they didn’t say that outloud) throughout everything and Blaine was the worst kind of person because he couldn’t even muster a half smile for his person.

It occurred to him right then that he may never be able to smile again. He may never be able to properly kiss Sebastian the same way he had two weeks ago when everything was as perfect as a winter snow globe scene. Sure, Seb didn’t seem to mind and also seemed content to hold Blaine close and talked to him like a person instead of a ticking bomb, but it killed Blaine that Seb’s life was just put on hold because of him. Blaine’s broken heart ached impossibly more at the thought and he felt like the most selfish person in the world for dragging the other boy around. And all at once he found himself sobbing again, big,  loud, wailing and snotty sobs that sounded so raw and the front of Seb’s shirt would be wet again. Fuck, Sebastian didn’t fucking deserve this. He deserved so much better than this version of Blaine. This broken carbon copy. He felt like the old version of himself died with his parents, leaving his friends and person with a hollowed out, crybaby version of himself.

He cried, and struggled to catch his breath, and clung so tightly to Seb that when he finally stopped there were black spots in his vision and he felt weak. Possibly because he’d hardly eaten, but mostly because crying was exhausting and that’s all he did lately. Everything hurt, mentally and physically. His voice was high pitched and pathetic when he finally found it.

“God damnit, I’m so sorry, Seb.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian hoped he was being helpful. He had never had to console somebody, had never even attended a funeral before. Never had to stand in the back of a stuffy room full of too many black ties and random casseroles and  the scent of carnations heavy in the air. He did it all, though. Sebastian picked out his best suit and hung back until Blaine needed him, squeezed his hand during the procession to the graveyard, sent flowers by instruction of his mother and took a prayer card home and brought Blaine water and crackers when he cried so hard he started to heave. He did it all quietly and patiently and spoke his condolences in hugs and kisses on the cheek. Sebastian knew that saying sorry wasn’t enough and that Blaine needed time, which nobody could give him.

Sabine had made it clear that their home was open and that the other boy was welcome. Sebastian spent so many nights holding Blaine as random movie credits rolled in the background, his boyfriend sobbing until he fell asleep. He was thankful for the little slices of peace sleep brought to Blaine. Eating was pretty much out of the question but Sebastian always offered granola bars and fruit snacks. He never minded when his shirts got soggy with tears or sweat from a nightmare that Blaine had. He just wanted Blaine to feel better, just wanted him to survive this.

Seb clung tight to Blaine as he sobbed. He wished his hands could force the broken puzzle pieces of his boy back together again. He rubbed circles in Blaine’s back and kept quiet, just let him cry it all out as he stared at the flashing tv screen. Sebastian watched as Snow White ran through a haunted forest and thought to himself that it seemed like Blaine was stuck in the same place but instead of trees, it was all ice and crashing metal and broken glass.

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Sebastian shook his head. “I have plenty of shirts.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine forced himself to sit up on the couch, he held onto Seb for leverage,  his body swaying a bit as the dizziness took over him. He knew he needed to eat something soon, knew that he needed to take care of himself if he ever hoped to feel better at all. The thought of food made him feel nauseated, everything he’d eaten in the last two weeks had tasted like dust on his tongue and had been even harder to swallow.  How long was he going to feel like this? A hopeless pit of despair that pulled him under more and more each day. Would he ever feel better? He looked over at Seb, embarrassment and pain evident on his face and the fact that his first thought wasn’t how happy the other boy made him feel anymore, but rather how miserable Seb must be sitting here with him day after day, all the hours blurring into one never-ending session of comforting Blaine as he cried or asked why over and over again knowing there wasn’t answer- was devastating to Blaine and he didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

They’d been following this pattern for two weeks, Seb had come as soon as Blaine called him that day and had been by his side every single day since. Sure, Blaine knew this is what couples did, know that when you cared about someone you were there for them, you held them close and kissed their head and told them that you’ve got them the way Seb had been doing. But, Seb was a sixteen year old kid and his junior year was slowly slipping by him while he put everything on hold for Blaine. Lacrosse would be starting up soon, how could Blaine ask Seb to miss it? How could Blaine be so selfish to keep him here when he had no clue when he’d feel better.  Seb was going to hate him for this eventually. He just fucking knew it.

Still, the thought of being without him. The thought of not getting to touch him,  kiss him, or press close to him under the covers, or to eventually tell him that he loved him- Blaine still hadn’t gotten to tell him, made him want to throw up and again, he didn’t know what to do. He swallowed hard, his mind running wild with the thought that Sebastian was secretly sick of him and his breath hitched and another little sob escaped which turned into another one. It didn’t occur to Blaine to take a deep breath, and maybe tell Seb that he loved him now, or that Seb might say it back. Blaine couldn’t convince himself that Seb was okay just holding him, that Seb was happy to be there for him while he mourned. Blaine had been slowly convincing himself since the first time he sobbed into his shirt that Seb was miserable. And that he was just being selfish by keeping him around. He sniffled, Seb’s words making his bottom lip wobble in their sweetness.

“God, you’re perfect.” He sobbed out, not able to keep the control over his words like he needed. “I lo-” He wanted to say I love you so much, you’ve been amazing, I just don’t know what to do right now, you need to live your life…And his mouth wouldn’t let him say it, and all over again he felt sick, like he was actually going to throw up even though the only thing he had in his body were a few crackers and some water from hours ago.

“I can’t. God, I don’t know what to do.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian wished he could read Blaine’s mind. He couldn’t decipher anything on his tear stained face except for pain. He just nodded as the other boy struggled for words, rubbed his back in what he hoped was soothing circles.

“You don’t have to know what to do, B.” He knew his words were never going to be enough but he couldn’t let Blaine’s hurt hang in the air ignored. Seb was okay pushing his homework off until Blaine left, was okay with driving to Blaine’s directly after Warbler rehearsal, could tolerate watching one million Katy Perry videos and old movies in an effort to cheer the other boy up. He was down for anything even if it meant sitting in silence. Sure, he missed how Blaine was just a few short weeks ago. But, he knew he’d never get him back unless they dealt with the monstrous tragedy that clung to his guy. If that meant tear soaked hoodies and half drunk water bottles and cracker crumbs then so be it.

“Do you want me to go get you anything?” Sebastian hated forcing Blaine to eat but he knew he probably needed something soon, he could feel him shake. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine could feel his breathing pick up, he was balancing on the edge of a full on panic attack and he didn’t know how to reel it all back in. He teetered there, and he knew in his hearts of hearts all he had to do was reach out and ask Sebastian to help him through it. All he had to do was lean on him for a little bit longer and eventually he’d be there, he’d get through all of this but… his brain seemed to be blocking him from accepting that. He’ll wake up one day and he’ll find that he hates you for ruining what’s left of his junior year. He could have been out having fun, but he stayed cooped up in a basement for god knows how long you feel like this and he missed out on everything good. He won’t be able to concentrate on Lacrosse or the Warblers because of you. He’ll miss out on dances and prom and touching and sex all because you’re sad, Blaine. You've got to let him go.

He looked at Seb, really looked at him- Taking his beautiful face, his green eyes wide and eager to please him, ready to help him however he could. And Blaine had never loved another person besides his parents as much as he loved Sebastian Smythe in this moment. Tears slipped quietly down his face as he cupped Seb’s in between his hands and leaned forward to press a kiss against familiar lips. The kiss tasted salty from his tears and Blaine wondered if he’d ever get to do it again.

“You, god Seb, you’ve been so perfect.” His words were choppy and his breath hitched and he felt so sick to his stomach. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to be unselfish when all he wanted was to cuddle back up and let Sebastian take care of him? “I-I think we-” his words felt heavy and wrong and he stood up, wrapping his arms around himself and he felt so small and if only his mother were here, she’d help him understand why he was about to break his own fucking heart. She’d tell him how to deal with his feelings and keep what he loved in the process.

A little voice in his head that sounded very much like himself, only weaker spoke up, pleading with this new, sorrowful version of Blaine. You don’t want this, Blaine. He’s the best person for you to be around, he’s the only one that makes you feel halfway okay. Just fucking tell him that you love him finally and that you’ll feel better one day and thank him for being there for you. But, Blaine’s mouth said something different and what was left of his tattered heart broke right in two as he spoke and he sounded like a stranger to himself.

“I think we should maybe take a break for a bit.” He could hardly look at Seb, his person's handsome face went from confused to shocked, like he had been slapped, in a split second. “I want to be with you, I just don’t know how to be right now, Seb and it’s not fucking fair to you and I think maybe if I could just try to figure how to breathe maybe I could be better for you and I think the only way I can do that is if I-I do it alone.” You’re so stupid, Blaine. You’re so wrong. Don’t do this to him. Don’t do this to yourself… More miserable tears fell, this time wetting his own shirt and not Seb’s. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how else to do this…”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian kissed Blaine back but it didn’t feel like the kisses they usually shared. It felt too slow, tasted like salt instead of cherry, and it felt like the last one they’d share. He blinked a few times and tried to shake the empty, sunken feeling that started to fall through his body.  Suddenly Blaine was speaking but he didn’t sound like himself and Seb felt like he was having an out of body experience. Was he being broken up with? What had he done wrong? Blaine constantly told him how good he was but now it felt like he wasn’t good enough and that was too familiar of a feeling for him.

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, Sebastian really didn’t want to burst into tears, the thought made a swirl of anxiety rush through his head. He also didn’t want to beg but everything in him was screaming for another chance.  Sebastian put his hands up in an effort to stop Blaine from speaking. He suddenly felt so pissed off his hands trembled.

“You don’t get to decide what I need or want. Nobody gets to decide any of that except for me!” His voice was higher than he had intended and he hoped Blaine didn’t notice the warble of tears trapped in his throat.  Sebastian stood up from the couch. He wanted to punch the wall, wanted to knock the tv over, wanted to run to his room and burrow into the covers, wanted to scream and cry into his pillows.

“This makes no sense. I thought I was helping you. You….you said I was good. You just….get to throw me away like everybody else.”

The tears finally fell down his face and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was so mad at himself for giving into crying, for looking weak in front of the only person he wanted to impress,

“Get. Out. Get out! I don’t fucking want you here anymore.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back and his feet stomped up the basement stairs, past his mother in the kitchen, his back was pressed to his bedroom door before he let himself take a deep breath that ended in a sob. 

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine watched as Sebastian struggled through what he’d said, the other boys face breaking his heart just that little bit more and Blaine wanted to reach out to him and pull him close and tell him that he didn’t mean it. Because he really didn’t mean it, he didn’t want to do this. He knew that with his whole heart that he shouldn’t have done this, that there had to be a better way to deal with his hopelessness, but he didn’t know what it was. He was just trying to save Seb from the inevitable catastrophe of being stuck with someone that was only half living. He wanted more than anything, except maybe to have his parents back, to stay right here and let Seb bring him back to life one day. But, he knew it was selfish, even if Sebastian couldn’t see it right now.

“Seb you are good, please, that’s not what this is about. You did everything right! I’ m not doing this beca-” The rise in Sebastian’s voice cut him off and his breath hitched at his angry words and Blaine tried to reach for him as he pushed past him and took off up the stairs, but Seb was fast and his words were still echoing in his ears minutes  after he had left. The space where he’d been still felt charged and full and Blaine wondered if he’d always feel him there.

The air around him felt suffocating and and the room was so still, so quiet that the voice in his head was screaming desperately at him to go up the stairs and to find Seb and tell him that he’d been wrong to say that, that his head was just messed up and that he needed him by his side while he figured everything out. But, his self hatred had already started to settle and he had already convinced himself that he didn’t deserve that comfort. If he could make that wonderful, beautiful boy sob like that how could he ever think he deserved to keep him around? His body ached as he forced himself to put his coat on and then his shoes and each step up into the main part of the house felt like glass on bare skin and he prayed to a god he didn’t know if he believed in that Sabine wasn’t still in the kitchen. He hoped she’d gone to Seb, hoped that he wouldn’t have to see her disappointed face. Though a tiny little part of him hoped she might hug him like mother’s do but he knew he didn’t deserve that and that it was selfish to want it.

He managed to get himself out of the house without running into anyone and without looking at anything, lest the memories grab hold of him and pull him under. It didn’t occur to him until he was outside in the cold January air that he hadn’t driven here. He’d been too nervous to drive since his parents' accident, so afraid that he’d slide off the road too so Seb had been picking him up and bringing him to his house. Blaine’s bottom lip quivered at the thought, how sweet it was that Seb would go out of his way like that so he wouldn’t have to think further about his mom and dad. He pressed a hand over his mouth as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to ignore the background photo of him and Seb smiling up at the camera. He thought about calling Sam to get him, but Sam was in Lima and it would take him too long. Instead he was forced to call Cooper. His big brother made it known that Blaine was being an dumb and that he wasn’t thinking clearly and why would he do this, but something in Blaine’s face maybe told him that he knew all of that and Coop shut up for the rest of the ride home.

He’d managed to make it into his bedroom before bursting into a new wave of tears. This time with an added loss, one of his own making. He cried so fucking hard he threw up, he’d only eaten crackers and water so it hurt and he thought maybe he deserved it. And as he pressed his forehead to the cold toilet seat it hit him how much he didn’t want this. He knew he’d fucked up. He knew it without a doubt and regret and self loathing filled him up and he threw up once again. Finally he managed to pull himself up and he put himself into pajamas and cleaned his teeth and face before curling up on his bed. It had been four hours since he’d left Seb and each hour hurt so badly he thought he might die. He’d never experience this kind of thing before and he wondered if he’d ever feel good again. With shaking hands he tried to reach Sebastian, one last plea for understanding or maybe forgiveness.

Blaine(8:02 pm): I know you don’t want to hear from me right now, but please give me this chance… Blaine(8:07pm):  I’m not throwing you away, you’re not something anyone could do that to, you are so much more than that. You’re an amazing person that deserves so much more than I can give you right now. I’m trying to keep you from hating me in the long run. Why would you want to spend your time trying to fix someone that may not be able to be fixed? I don't know if I’ll ever feel right again and god… Blaine(8:13pm): You’ve done everything right. I need you to know that. You’re perfect. The best thing that’s ever happened to me, you mean so fucking much to me. I didn’t do this because I don’t want to be with you. I want to be with you more than anything... I just don’t know when I’ll ever feel like me again and that’s not fair to you. Please, don’t think it’s because of you. I’m the messed up one and you deserve better. Blaine(9:15pm): Please, Seb. Talk to me. I’m begging you. Anything, I’ll take anything. I miss you so much already.

He curled into himself, his phone clutched in his fingers like a life line and while he thought he might not be able to cry anymore he managed to cry himself into a fitful sleep. When he woke up the next afternoon, the only messages he had were from Cooper and Sam and he cried all over again. He’d broken his own heart into tiny little pieces and now he was sure he’d done the same to Sebastian, he regretted it more than anything he’d ever done and probably anything he would ever do again. He stayed in bed and ignored everyone for the rest of the day. His heart aching with each beat as if it could also feel the three giant holes December and January had left in him. He’d not only lost his parents, but he’d lost his person, someone he was sure he was meant to be with and he’d done it to himself all because he couldn’t figure out how to exist anymore.

He’d give anything for his dad to tell him he’d be okay and to feel the squeeze of his hand on his shoulder, or to feel his mothers arms around him again, whispering how much she loved him, or to see Seb’s for Blaine only smile light up the room and take his breath away. None of these things were possible. He felt worthless and alone, and still so very much in love and he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he’d feel this way forever.

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian didn’t know when he fell asleep. It was somewhere between his mother softly knocking on his bedroom door and the snow beginning to fall outside his bedroom window. His entire body felt tired and heavy in a way he had never experienced, not even after Lacrosse games or Warbler rehearsal. Sebastian reached for his phone in the tangle of blankets out of habit and saw the splash of texts across his screen. Seeing Blaine’s name brought up another surge of confusing emotions- sadness, anger, loss. He didn’t want to respond. He wasn’t sure how to articulate how he felt and his gut reaction was to say something mean. Seb decided to not say anything at all and deleted all of the messages. Maybe it wasn’t fair but was it fair that Blaine was already saying he missed him?

In the back of his head, behind all of the stubbornness, Sebastian knew that Blaine was going through a lot and this was all a part of his mourning. He just couldn’t let go of the hurt or the embarrassment or the fact that the other boy decided to make the decision for the both of them. Sebastian threw his phone across the room, he didn’t want to hear from anybody for the rest of the night or maybe even the rest of the week. He wondered if his mother would let him skip class tomorrow or if his father would let him move onto campus during the week (it might help in avoiding Blaine).

Sebastian stared at his dark bedroom ceiling and a million feelings and thoughts infiltrated his mind and body. He took a deep breath but it wavered with the threat of tears. He wanted this to be over, wanted to numb how sad his heart felt and how unwanted he was. How terrible was love anyway? You give everything for another person, you let them see every ugly part of you and you give up all of your time for them and you still end up thrown away like old newspapers. Was it ever enough? Everybody reminded him all of the time he wasn’t worth it and Blaine had solidified that for him. Sebastian decided he’d never fucking do it again.

Seb snuck into his father’s study, stole  a bottle of whiskey and made it back into his bedroom without being seen. He drank until he didn’t feel anything but the floaty, dizzy spin of too much alcohol. The whiskey lulled him to sleep but he dreamt of Blaine the entire night.

/fin.

[hellas-himself]

🌻🌾🌺🌼 for my girl Zahara!

ahhhhh cait !!!!

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

One thing that makes her happy is hearing her loved ones laugh. She loves to see the way their dimples show or their nose scrunches up. She loves the sunrise, a reminder that she’s survived another day though eventually, she does more than just survive. She holds on to things from her “mortal life” like still going through the motions instead of using her powers to get something done. She’s obsessed with taking pictures and writing, keeping memories (and if i told you why you’d hate me lmao) Books and food (pizza and dessert specifically) are the quickest way to her heart. 

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

oh hohooooooo hmmmm I’ll go with Samson this time because I never really bring him up because my friend hasn’t gotten that far in the story lmao I LOVE HIM OKAY and I love writing in his POV So for context- when Samson died, if you’ve ever read the bible you know he had his eyes removed right? so anyway, in the story, he is brought back but cursed to see only the soul, nothing more. so he has never actually seen Zahara physically (so far in the story)

Zahara is fire made flesh. I lost a wife to the flames once, but I knew the moment I saw Zahara’s soul that even if she had been the one that started that fire, I would have followed her to the very depths of hell itself. Her soul is like the brightest star in all of this endless darkness. Her soul turns pink when I make her blush, but most of the time, it’s a storm of blues and greys. Sometimes, it’s so dark it rival’s her father’s. It is then when she seeks me out, if I haven’t already gone to her, but she says she doesn’t have to pretend with me, and that is when my past doesn’t feel like something worthy of shame. Her soul is the color of sunflowers when she’s happy, and I could listen to her read those books she loves to much for hours to see the blues change into yellow. Her hands are soft and small in mine, and she is always reaching out to hold my hand. To lean into me. And I welcome it- Zahara is safe. She feels like home, as she is so keen to say about me. 

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

Zahara suffers from nightmares often. She wears a ring that belonged to Samson that she tends to twist around her finger when she’s nervous. She sleeps in someone else’s shirt (Usually Samson’s or Emmanuel’s) When she’s scared, she likes to joke around but she will admit her fears to her bestfriends and her parents. She needs to talk about them to avoid staying stuck in her head. When she is alone, she tries to breathe and ground herself to avoid panicking but she will sneak into Emmanuel’s room and hop in bed with him. He hardly sleeps so half the time, he’s already waiting for her. (She meets him before Samson and they’re all bestfriends. She starts doing the same with Sam once she gets closer to him). 

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

Her bestfriends are June Rosado, Andrea and Frank Morandi (they’re married). She met June and Andrea in first grade after writing her name on pennies and leaving them under her bed for the devil to find (this is a legit thing my grandma raised me on and forbade me to do ok lol) She wished to ‘never be alone’. Those three do everything together, still have sleepovers and have girls’ night when one of them needs it. 

Frank met them in middle school and June says they were all drawn to Zahara like ‘a moth to a flame’. Frank is very much like an older brother to Zahara and June, and while he can be a pain in the ass, he is such a protector and would do anything for them. 

Before Frank became Andrea’s boyfriend, the girls had their fun together (take that as you will). But June is now seeing Josiah who is part of Zahara’s ‘found family’. Josiah is the closest to a brother Zahara has (after frank), and those two are so protective of each other they’d do anything to keep each other safe. and they have- which is why we find them in the problems they are in currently >_

Emmanuel is also part of her found family. Those two have the most insane chemistry and the tension is fucking thicccccc she meets him as her father’s body guard but she notices that there’s more to his line of work than he lets on so she teased him constantly about it. They bicker constantly and make fun of each other, pull pranks. but he is so ridiculously giving and understanding of her emotions and he loves her so much there is very little he wouldn’t do for her and the same goes with Z. 

David Velez was the closest thing to a father she had before finding her family but that got taken from her too :)

Zahara and Samson become inseparable after some big life things happen and for the first time in her life, she isn’t afraid of feeling or letting herself be more than friends. she has been through some shit and Samson has faced the same traumas she has. THOSE TWO THO. the second Samson was written into the story that was it. 

Zahara values honesty over everything. Her entire life was built on a lie prior to finding her family and she forgives so easily- as long as she wasn’t lied to/as long as the person didn’t harm her loved ones. this girl can hold a grudge and I almost feel sorry for those who cross her. (but i’m really not.) She can and will (and has) shed blood to protect those she loves. She is so fiercely loyal and if she can be herself without fear of being taken advantage of, you’ve won her over. (giving her sugared donuts also helps)

@myfeyrelady thank you for asking me about her!!!! I loved answering them!!!

[lost-in-men-of-letters-bunker]

World's Collide: Chapter 1

A/N: This story will take place from Season 11 and have moments later down on the line in Season 13 if I decide so, Not every chapter will be one episode of the show. Cause let's be real I am not writing that many chapters. Cause that's way more than I plan to write. 😌

I have no beta reader, so all mistakes are my own. This was inspired by a dream I had and I went off with it. So I uh hope you like it, enjoy!

"It's funny how world's collide

Taking it all in stride

Seemingly satisfied with this divide." - Louden Swain

Chapter 1: Unexpected

Samantha's POV

I groggily opened my eyes and found myself in unfamiliar surroundings. I jumped up immediately on alert. I spoke outloud to myself, "What the?! Oh hell no I am not getting kidnapped today or ever!" I was in a motel room and who knows where this motel maybe. I scarcely heard male voices coming from down the hall outside. I didn't have a chance of getting a hold of 911 on the phone. They would likely not make it in time to help me. So I grabbed a book I saw on the small table. It was was pretty large but I didn't pay much attention to what it was about. I hear one of the men unlock the door and I'm ready to fight and make an escape to get help. I wait and the door opens and quickly fire the book at a person's face

"OW WHAT THE HELL!?"

I try to make a break for it, but the other man grabs me and I yell at him, "Hey put me down!"

"We aren't going to hurt you, just calm down alright?"

I'm placed back down on a bed as the door is shut and locked. With the adrenaline slowly wearing off, I realize who I hit with a book and who grabbed me. I could hardly believe who was standing in front of me...Holy shit It's freaking Sam and Dean Winchester!

"You okay Dean?"

Peachy! I just love getting hit in the face with a book, Sam!"

I felt pretty bad now for doing that to him. I just hit one of the best hunters in the world with one of their own lore books. "S-Sorry...I was pretty sure I was being kidnapped so...

Dean rubbed his forehead and said "You clearly have a mean throw...Geez."

"Sorry again."

He said, "I'll be fine, what's your name kid?"

"Samantha Dixon."

Sam smiled and said, "Nice to meet you. How did you end up on the side of the road?"

My eyes widened in surprise as I said "I was found where!?" Dean said, "We found you unconscious on the side of the road on the way into town. You've been out for maybe five hours. You don't know how you got there?"

"No, one minute I'm walking back to my house from the library and then I wake up here."

The brothers exchange looks and I figured I should bring it up, "I actually know who you two are already."

Dean sighed and said, "Let me guess, you've read those books called Supernatural?"

I said, "Actually...I know you from a tv show. I'm starting to think I'm not in my universe anymore. Although there are books..."

Sam asked, "Wait you're from that world Balthazar sent us too?"

"Well that was really just them mocking the process of filming the TV show. Mostly for meta reasons..."

Sam said, "Okay...That's weird..."

I then said, "Yeah...Do you think you guys can help me get back to my world somehow?"

Dean said "Yeah we'll help you out, kid." I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm eighteen so I am not a kid, Winchester." He said, "Well you're a kid to me." I tilted my head and said, "So you're intentionally calling yourself old?" Sam snorted and tried to cover up a laugh. Dean glared at him and sounded offended "How dare you!?" I snickered and said "Not my fault you signed yourself up for that. I mock my older sisters all the time." Sam said, "It's fun isn't it?" I smiled and said, "Yes, yes it is." Sam said, "He's coming up on 40." I said "Oh yeah that's old." Sam and I laughed as Dean said "Now I'm just gonna be wary of you two." I said, "It's not like we're gonna prank you." He said, "I take no chances." Sam and I laughed at Dean's ridiculousness further.

If anyone could get me back it would be them. I realized by Sam's hair length this wasn't Season 13...This was Season 11. Which meant they were dealing with Amara. But I felt I had a worse issue then her...Castiel may have said yes to Lucifer by now. Which means I am in deep shit cause then the boys wouldn't know his secret yet. He finds out I know way more than I should....Nope don't even want to think about that. I could tell them, gosh I could tell them so much of what was to come like their mom coming back, the British Men of Letters, Jack, Gabriel actually being alive but tortured by Asmodeus, the alternate universe's Michael...I could prevent a lot of crap from happening to the boys and their allies. But I swear if The Doctor were here his advice would be, "DON'T CHANGE THE TIMELINE BY TELLING THEM THEIR FUTURE!" Come to think of it if Supernatural was real in some other universe then a lot of other things could be real too. As much as I wanted to tell them, I also knew about the Butterfly effect. I didn't want to risk anything, so I decided to keep my mouth shut on my further knowledge of their future.

Soon they were all packed up and we walked outside to the car. Since they finished their latest case.

"By the way I love this car!"

Dean smiled and said, "Ha, a kid after my own heart! See she appreciates Baby, Sammy!"

Sam groaned and said, "Why did you have to say that?"

I said, "I'm not gonna lie, this car is amazing."

Dean continued to have a grin on his face. I got into the backseat and and the boys got in and Dean started her up and we pulled out of the motel parking lot and drove out of town. A few hours pass and Led Zepplin's Black Dog was playing on the radio. I hummed along and scrolled through Tumblr on my phone. I was slightly peeved that the bag I had with me on my way home, seemingly hadn't come here with me. Dean said, "You know classic rock?" I looked up and said, "Yeah it's Led Zepplin, Black Dog. I grew up listening to classic rock."

"Ha! I love this kid!"

I had to laugh, Sam shook his head at his brother's ridiculous grin. I said. "If it's any consolation Sam, I'm a huge Harry Potter fan and find research to actually be fun."

Dean said, "So you're a book nerd too? You go Dumbledorks." Sam and I looked at him and gave him bitchfaces. Dean said, "Okay it's creepy you both did that."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

I leaned back in my seat and snickered. Then I yelled when Castiel appeared in the back seat next to me.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

Sam chuckled and said, "Don't you know he does that?" I took a deep breath and said, "Yeah but that doesn't mean I anticipate it and won't lose my shit!" Castiel was giving me a strange look. I wasn't getting a weird vibe from him, call me crazy but I was sure my previous thoughts were right...This wasn't really Cas.

"Uh who is this?" He asked.

Dean spoke up "Cas, this is Samantha. She comes from another universe. We found her on the side of a road. None of us are sure how she got here either."

Sam said, "So get this, this other universe we're all fictional characters in a TV to her. Basically she knows everything since we started looking for our dad."

Wait to freaking go gentlemen...You unknowingly just gave Lucifer information that I wish you didn't. "Cas" continued to stare at me and said, "Interesting..." I could sense something from that tone and none of it was good.

I am screwed...

A/N: Here's chapter one of my new fan fic! I hope you like it so far! I also got an idea for another fan fic based on another dream I recently had but that one is in what I like to call writing production. However I do have it's summary and will be releasing that in another post later. So keep an eye out for that folks!

If you look in the tag World's Collide in my tags you will find this story. Since I'm not sure how to make a masterlist. 😌

If anyone wants to be tag send the request to my ask box or asking in a reply to this post if you so choose.

The Taglist so far...

@devoted-to-boyking-samshine @grellaofasguard @assbutt-still-in-hell

[mandyfanfictionmcu]

Who I Am (pt 1)

A WinterWitch Fanfiction

A/N: This is my first fanfiction I’m posting on tumblr. Feedback is very much appreciated. This will be a severall-part-story. This is just something I’ m writing for the fun of it. Hope you enjoy! Love, Amanda

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Bucky Barnes (eventually) 

Warnings: self-hatred, self-blame, a fue curse words?

Words: 2517

 Who I Am (part 1)

Confined to the compound

Wanda’s PoV

 The television seemed to only hum silently, so distracted was she. Granted, it was nice, being alone. It was a relaxing change too be able to enjoy the silence, even if the tv was on, and not have everybody’s minds hammering at her own. It wasn’t like she read everybody’s mind whether she wanted to or not, she did not always hear a steady flow of thought as if the people in the room were speaking them out loud, but she could always sense them. The kind of way you can sense a hand placed inches from your back even though you can’t see it. She could always read their energy, whether they were sad or angry or happy or annoyed, but she couldn’t tell if they were annoyed at her until she dug into their minds, and she couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. On the one hand she could now ignore their annoyance and try to convince herself that it wasn’t directed at her, but all the same, it was terrible to have to always feel everybody’s feelings hand debate internally whether or not they were for her or something else and wonder if she dared peak into their minds, afraid of finding that it was indeed her they were annoyed at.

But today she was all alone in the Avengers compound. Apart from Vision. But Vision’s thought and feeling, with him not exactly being human and all, were always steady. For some reason he didn’t have the same tendency to spike in anger or suddenly become severely depressed as the others did. Their feeling was like jabs from out of nowhere at her consciousness, but Visions flowed. Although he could become angry, it wasn’t at all the same. His feelings were more like shadows or echoes, and that made it so much more pleasant for her to be around him.

As of today, however, Wanda wasn’t sure she wanted to ever be around Vision again. His words as he attempted to cook her dinner still rang inside her head like a horrible bell.

“Not yours” 

No, not for her safety. Not for her safety was she stuck here at the compound. She had suspected that Tony had ordered Vision to keep her here. And she had been right. But it had not been, as she had come to think, and oddly come to terms with, to protect her.

When Vision had volunteered to go to the store to get more toilet paper (it had run out) she had realized that she had been right, Tony didn’t want her to leave. Vision never went anywhere. Sam would go on toilet-paper-runs sooner that Vision! Vision (and all the other avengers) had understood pretty soon that Visions appearance might disturb toilet-paper-shoppers and therefor he hardly ever left the compound. He couldn’t exactly pass as a normal pedestrian. But this morning he had left, and Wanda had realized that she was indeed on look-down.

So, naturally, first she had been angry. Did they think she couldn’t take care of herself? She realized however that in the event that she needed to “take care of herself” she might cause even more of a problem for herself. As the news reporter had stated this afternoon:

”...many seem to be angry at Wanda Maximoff herself for her interference in Lagos”...”

It hurt of course. And she was still bout angry and disgusted at herself for what had happened. It was her fault. All of it. That Steve and Tony were fighting and the Socovia Accords. Even if Natasha had sat down before she left for Vienna and told her that the UN would have come up with the Accords sooner or later and that they either way had probably been talking about them and planning them for ages, Wanda couldn’t help but blame herself.

So, it would have come as no surprise to her if she had been attacked for her actions in Lagos while out toilet-paper-shopping by someone who blamed her just as much as she blamed herself. And because she had already realized this she had told herself that Tony had looked her in the compound for this reason, to protect her from said fictional attacker and to prevent the government or the media from blaming her further if she was forced to use her magic in self-defense.

Now however... She had a hard time explaining even to herself how hurt she was. Vision had said that he “wanted people to see her the way he did but what he had said before that made his statement confusing. How did he see her? As a monster that didn’t have control of her own powers? As an even worse monster because he believed she didn’t care?

She had heard of course what Secretary Ross had said too:

”If I miss placed a couple of dirty megaton nukes you can bet there would be consequences.”

And she had agreed with him, but it had still hurt. Because he hadn’t been talking about weapons, he had been talking about human beings. But apparently that was the same thing in his eyes. And that was what she was, a weapon. So did Vision simply mean that she had adjusted to being a weapon so well and that he saw her as strong for dealing with her terrible powers?

In that case, she didn.t know if she wanted to be strong. She wanted to be a human being. She clung to the words Sam had shouted during his hour-long argument with Rodey:

”...we’re human being not weapons!”

She ran the words through her mind again, trying to find some comfort in them. Even if she wasn’t particularly close with Sam she had always liked him. He had a fun sense of humor and even if he was afraid of her powers he didn’t pip toe around her and treat her differently for it.

Turning the volume of the tv up higher, trying to block her own thought from her head, she jerked around as a fireball erupted outside of her window. Running to the window she stopped right in front of it as Vision came gliding up out of the floor.

“What is is?” she asked.

“Stay here please.” Vision responded.

Her thought ran wild inside her head. Vision glided out through the wall and of to check on the source of the explosion. Had they come for her?

A motion, a therein of thought sneaking up behind her.

She summoned her energy and spun around, launching the knife that lay on the table at the man in the doorway. It stopped and hovered right in front of his face before he lifted a hand and nocked it sideways. She let go of the energy and the knife fell to the floor as she realized who it was.

“I guess I should have knocked.” Said Clint with a tiny crocked smile on his face.

“Oh my god,” Wanda vispered, then raising her voice said “What are you doing here?”

”Disappointing my kids.” Clint walked forward, and for reasons best known to him shoot two seemingly useless arrows that fasted themselves on opposite sides of the room. “We were supposed to go waterskiing. Cap needs our help, come on.” He grabbed her hand and lead her towards the door.

They made it half way to the door before Visions voice rang out behind them, shilling Wanda’s bones to their core. She didn’t want this to become a fight.

“Clint. You should not be here.” 

Turning around slowly Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I retire for like what, five minutes, and it all goes to shit.”

”Please consider the consequences of your actions.”

“Okay, they’re considered.” 

Suddenly, as Vision pasted between them, electricity shoot from the base of the arrows and Vision couldn’t move.

“Okay, we got to go.” Clint said, seeming both terrified and surprised that his plan had worked. He turned around, jogging towards the door. But Wanda didn’t move. She was fingering her shirtsleeves and looking down.

It was her fault. All of this. And now Vision was hurt to. And Clint, Clint who should have been waterskiing with his kids was being dragged into this mess to, all because she couldn’t control her powers. And whatever Cap needed her help with it would most likely involve using her power and then she’d mess that up to and they’d get in even more trouble and by the looks of it he had pissed of a lot of important people and if she helped him she would to and honestly she was scared of important people and yeah, of course she didn’t like them they hadn’t helped her or her brother when they had needed them and they had used her and turned her into what she was and most likely she would soon be too much of a problem to be kept alive and all of this ran through her head as Clint realized she wasn’t following him.

“It’s this way.” He said, pointing at the door.

She couldn’t sort out her thoughts. She wanted to scream out all the things she had been thinking, that Ross thought of her as merely a weapon and that in the eyes of no one was she a human being anymore and she didn’t want to fight, she had lost her brother to a fight that had been her fault and come to think of it Sacovia in general had been her fault cause she had let Stark take the septer and if she had just done what see was supposed to have done Ultron and Socovia would never have happened and if she had just conformed to being Hydras little weapon Pietro wouldn’t have died and maybe she should just sign the Accords and let people use her because she just messed thing up anyway.

But the only way she could word this at the moment was by saying:

“I’ve caused enough problems.” 

Clint sighed, and she felt, like she always felt, the change in his emotions as his mind reacted to his words. As he ran over to her she tried to understand what they meant. Pity? Anger? Annoyance? Did he think she was supposed to surrender? Come quietly? Do as he said but not as anyone else said? Did he want her to think for herself or blindly follow? Did he want her, think she could, forget about what she’d done? What he just going to tell her like Steve did that it wasn’t her fault? That she shouldn’t blame herself?

But he didn’t say that, instead he said something that made her feel, for the first time in a long time, stronger.

“You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, you can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get of your ass.” 

She could read the rest in his emotions. I’m not going to tell you it isn’t your fault because it partly is. But I’m not going to let you sit her and wallow in it. I’m going to make you get up and fight.

“Shit.” Clint’s emotions changed from a rallying confidence to panic in a heartbeat. It was like having a knife stabbed through her mind, especially as she had been reading him.

Behind her Vision broke free of the electric restraint and ran at Clint. He fired an arrow that went straight through Vision who a spit second became solid and slammed him in the chest, making him roll across the floor. The fight that followed was over fast. Wanda barely had time to get it through her head and make a decision of what she wanted to do and who she wanted to listen to before Vision had Clint with his back to him, his arms around his throat.

“Clint, you can’t overpower me.”

“I know I can”t. But she can.”

He shoot her a look, and wondered if he knew what battles had been raging in her head just a moment ago. But she had made up her mind as they fought, and however much she just wanted things to go back to the way they had been five days ago and wanted her friends to get along she wasn’t going to be anyone’s weapon. She was going to be a human being, and made amends for what she had messed up. And Vision wasn’t going to stop her.

The energy came easily to her hands when she called for it. Realizing what Clint had said Vision turned his head to look at her but she shut his feelings out of her mind and put every owns of energy she had into the conviction that she would make amends for her mistakes.

”Vision, that’s enough. Let him go. I’m leaving.”

“I can’t let you.” 

But she was overpowering him, and Clint slipped through his arms as Visions knees buckled.

“I’m sorry.” She vispered, but she had made up her mind.  

“If you do this they will never stop being afraid of you.” 

There it was again. “They are afraid of you”. But this time, she had her answer ready.

”I can’t control their fear, only my own.”

Summoning all the anger she had felt today she pushed the energy, taking Vision with it, through the floor. She didn’t stop until the energy almost drained her. She couldn’t even see Vision anymore.

”Uh...” Clint seemed to almost not believe his eyes and she worried for a second that he wouldn’t want her to come along anymore, until he nudged her arm and continued, “Come on. We got one more stop.”

He turned and walked towards the door again. After being frozen on the spot for a moment she hurried after him. Panting she asked:

”One more stop?”

“Yeah, Sam wants us to pick up this guy in San Francisco.”

San Francisco?

”That’s like 40 hours!”

“We aren’t driving.” Clint laughed.

With Wanda trailing after him, jogging slightly to keep up, Clint lead the way down to the garage and order her aboard a jet. A little ashamed of herself for not realizing that this would of course be their means of travel she fastened her seatbelt and stared out of the window.

Vision had been her friend, and she had most definitely hurt him.

“Wanda.” Clint was looking at her. And she could sense by his mental state what he wanted to say to her.

No, she though. Please.

“I’m going to get some sleep.” She said, closing her eyes.

Clint didn’t say anything, but she could feel his thoughts as if they were vispers coming from behind a glass wall. They felt the way they always felt when someone was about to tell her all the things a nineteen-year-old should be doing, instead of battling the world. But she didn’t want to hear it. Because honestly, even if she had the chance to be normal, she wasn’t sure she even knew who she wished she could be anymore.

[roxy-davenport]

My Future

Pairing: AU Endverse Dean x Reader

Word count:  2,737

Beta: The awesome @raspberrymama :D

A/N: This was written for @paigeinastory Paige’s Country Song Fic/Sentence Prompt Challenge with the prompts, “When She Calls Me Baby” by Jason Aldean and “I don’t know what it is but damn.” This was also written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s Dating Dean Writing Challenge with the prompt, being called sweetheart. As well as for @dancingalone21 Lau’s AU Funny Quote challenge with the prompt,“That was scary!” AU slightly with Future!Dean. Romance, smut vaguely referenced. Hella fluffy. These are snippets of moments between endverse Dean and the reader. This is told from Dean’s POV

Also on AO3

Some days it’s tough just gettin’ up

Throwin’ on these boots and makin’ that climb

Some days I’d rather be a no show

Lay low ‘fore I go out of my mind

When Balthazar first came to drag me out of the future, I fought him off fiercely. First of all, in my time he was dead. So I was quite confused how and why he was here. He said some bs about wanting to give me some happiness away from “heaven’s drama”. Of course I looked at him like he grew two heads. But can you blame me, really? I growled, spat at him, even shot him but in the end, I was so happy he did it. I owe my happiness to him. I surely would have died in that timeline either by the Croatoan virus or by how hard and cruel I had become.

Balthazar placed me back in my previous timeline before there was any talk of Sam being Lucifer’s vessel, back to the good old days, just me and Sam hunting like we used to. No more apocalypse, Lucifer Sam, no more virus, just simple cases. Of course, I remembered the other timeline but I had a chance now to change it, maybe even get out of the life.

Naturally it took a while to conform to the “real” world but Sam was very understanding. Balthazar explained that he rescued me from a different timeline. Sam took it in stride because I was his brother after all, timelines or not. Sam taught me how to act in the world again with civilization. I could tell he wanted to ask which timeline but he didn’t and I didn’t tell him. There was no sense in burdening Sam with the truth.

I got right back into hunting like riding a bike. I guess a hunter never forgets how to hunt. And through hunting I met Y/N. I never thought I’d love anyone. I never thought I could. Y/N thawed out my cold heart and reminded me what it felt like to feel.

I love calling girls sweetheart. That’s my MO in relationships and dating. Some girls liked baby but I liked that used for me. I’m baby, she’s sweetheart. On rough days, I would close my eyes and remember our first date, the first time I called her sweetheart. It was after a hunt actually. We ran to the motel to clean up and then went to a dinner together.

I was shaky and about to back out when Sam urged me to go and gave me the mother of all pep talks. I sat across from her, my leg shaking underneath the table. I offset my nervousness by being extra cocky. The second I sat down I felt butterflies in my stomach. My eyes were on her almost the entire time. Y/N wore a dress and I got to see her shapely legs. She looked amazing in that dress. I could tell she was nervous, too, because she was fidgeting with her sleeves. I could stare at her all day.

Clearing my throat and tearing my eyes away from her for a second to look down at my menu I said, “You look a lot better without-.”

Y/N cut me off and smirked stating, “So do you, handsome.” I blushed - actually blushed...  like a girl. How embarrassing.

“What can I get you two?” Y/N looked up and I saw her frown. I followed her eyes and looked up at the waitress. She was definitely my type, well before I met Y/N that is. My eyes quickly returned to Y/N. A cocky smile appeared on my face as I shook my head and very obviously looked Y/N up and down. I took in her blushed face and the way she bit her lip. I wanted to make sure she knew the waitress while attractive, had nothing on her.

“I’ll have an omelette.” Y/N replied.

Nodding Dean added, “Same with a beer...Sam Adams if you got it, if not then a Guinness will be fine.”

The waitress nodded and left. I saw out of the corner of my eye, a longing look from the waitress but my attention was on Y/N. It would always be on Y/N. No girl would ever satisfy me again. No more one night stands and that’s one of the reason why I was nervous to go on this date. But once on it, I couldn’t wait to claim Y/N as mine.

“So sweetheart how did you get started in hunting?”

“My father is Crowley.”

My eyes went wide as I spit out my water all over the table. Y/N giggled and offered me napkins.

“Never got that response before.”

Curiously and tentatively I probed Y/n, “What’s the usual response?”

“Really? You? Or just running away but not spilling water everywhere. That’s a new one.”

Y/N spoke again answering the unasked question.“I hunt because I refuse to be my father’s daughter.”

Her past, like mine, doesn’t define her. She isn’t her father, she’s my light in the darkness, my rock. She pulled me out of myself and showed me that I deserved to be happy.

That night we started with no lies. I told her how I got into the business, the timeline I came from, everything. By the time we finished eating, I felt like I had known her for years. I put my arm around her as we walked back to the car. I called her sweetheart every day since. I feel lucky to hold her hand and call her mine. Sam is grossed out by the massive amount of PDA but he’s happy I found someone I love.

But when she says baby

Oh don’t matter what comes

Ain’t goin’ nowhere

She runs her fingers through my hair

And saves me

Yeah that look in her eyes got me comin’ alive

And drivin’ me a good kind a crazy

When she says baby

Oh when she says baby

She’s still asleep. I always wake up early just to watch over her. She looks so peaceful. On days away from her, I get no sleep. I need to feel her body against mine. I need to hold her.

She stirs before her alarm clock goes off and she turns in my arms murmuring, “baby.” She nuzzles into my chest as i reach over and turn the alarm clock off. Slowly she lifts her head up and looks into my eyes.

I reach down and stroke her cheek. “I don’t know what it is, but damn. You had me at hello.” She laughs at the corny but true line. God, do I wish I could make her laugh all the time. Her face crinkles in the most adorable way and she has the cutest dimples.

I hug her close to me and kiss her forehead. Her fingers cart through my hair and I moan happy to have her hands on my body. I’m happy to have made it back to her again. I’ve had a bad hunt, deep cuts, a worried Sam and one hell of a fight to gank that mofo but here, I’m saved. Here, none of that matters, it’s only me and her. I can be the real me. I can tell her what really happened on the hunt and she takes it all away. She eats the pain and suffering and replaces it with love. She’s my own personal sin eater.  

I look down at her and see her eyes are filled with such love and a hint of mischief. When her lips find mine, she kisses me without abandon. I melt into the kiss and hold her tight against me. She knows what I need without me having to say it. She’s determined to remind me how much she loves me. Every touch, every word, every moan she releases from me reminds me that I am hers. Her tongue, her whole mouth is like magic. She has hardly any gag reflex and can take me inside her warm mouth all the way to my pubic hairs. She licks the underside of my cock and I’m already fighting not to cum. Even if I’m trying hard not to come, she’ll make me come in a matter of minutes.

She’s a goddess in the bedroom. She knows how to read my body and I know how to read hers. Whenever I have a bad hunt like today, she gives me free reign over her body. She lets me take her anyway, in any position, anywhere I want. Nothing is off limits. How can I resist that? How can I focus on the hunt with a proposal like that? Which is exactly the point.

I missed her soft skin, her delicious curves, the way her body responded to me. It all drew me in. I‘m a breast man. I like asses and she has an amazing one but breasts are infinitely more fun. I can play and fondle them to my heart's content and watch her writhe and moan under me, begging me to fuck her. I love teasing my sweetheart. And when she cums, it’s the most gorgeous look ever. She says my name over and over again along with the word baby almost reverently like I’m everything to her. And in truth, she’s everything to me. 

Every time I’m on a hunt or in a motel room, she’s on my mind.

Some nights I come home fightin’ mad

Feel like runnin’ my fist through the wall

Is it even worth what I’m fightin’ for anymore

Feelin’ torn, oh the hell with it all

I came home again, another bad hunt. She could’ve told me to stop, I was making quite the mess but she didn’t. She let me get out my rage. She started throwing things into the center of the room; a bunch of pillows, some papers, a lamp she always hated and a couple of knick knacks. She just let me tear things apart. She gets that sometimes I need to just destroy, vent, and scream, especially on hunts where Sam and I nearly die.

She took a pillow and held it up to her mouth screaming into it. I copied her screaming into mine over and over again. I felt better. She always makes me feel better. I offer to explain but she puts a finger on my lips.

“I don’t need to know, baby. The point is that it bothered you to the point of rage. Tell me one thing...is Sam okay?”

“Yeah he is.”

“Good, then let it all go, baby. Forget the hunt. You’re with me now and nothing else matters.”

I get lost in her embrace, her kiss and just submit to our desires. The trigger to let go is always the way she calls me baby. Some might think that’s ridiculous but if you heard how she said it, you’d understand.

But when she says baby

Oh don’t matter what comes

Ain’t goin’ nowhere

She runs her fingers through my hair

And saves me

Yeah that look in her eyes got me comin’ alive

And drivin’ me a good kind a crazy

When she says baby

Oh when she says baby

I had to go on a hunt with Sam. I really considered just getting out of the life, I was married for Chuck’s sake, but as much as I tried to deny it, hunting was in my blood. I would sit and eat breakfast with her and read the newspaper and see people in pain, suffering knowing what monster it was and that I could help. She understands. She knows I have to be the hero and she’s okay with it. This hunt goes without a hitch. Instead of calling her or facetiming, I just barrel out of the hunt like a bat out of hell. Sam is holding on for dear life while I make sharp turn after sharp turn till I get to my baby.

Everything gonna be alright

Just lay down by my side

Let me love you through this life

She’s a perfect shot of faith

When every bit of mine is gone

Somethin’ I can believe in

A best friend, a heaven sent

Love to lean on

When I get home, I find her looking at the wedding video. It was simple. Elegant with only close friends and fellow hunters there. Jody Mills helped document it. The camera work was on the shaky side but Jody caught all the quiet moments, all the moments I whispered to a nervous and happy Y/N about how much I loved her and how much I wished I could take off her wedding dress and make love to her right then and there. In fact, I made her cum with my tongue five minutes later in the woods. I watched myself and her on that video and remembered all over again why I loved her. We looked so young and idealistic then.

She looked like an angel in that dress. I looked amazing in that suit. I had to hand it to Crowley for letting me borrow his new tailor. No one questioned that the King of Hell was our officiant or that Y/N was his daughter. Everyone just accepted our happiness and left it at that. 

Y/N got up to a segment where me and Sam were talking about her. I didn’t know Jody was filming us at the time.  

“Hey congratulations, Dean. You found your soulmate. After everything, you deserve to be happy.”

Clapping Sam on the back I added, “Thanks Sammy, now we gotta find you a girl.” Sam smiled at me and nodded before giving me a bear hug.

When the hug ended, I took a deep breath out and confessed, “That was scary!”

Sam looked at me confused, “Scary? How so Dean?”

“Well she’s my everything and I don’t do chick-flick moments.”

“Or so you say.”

“Not helping Sam, anyway, It took me a week of staring at her. We stumbled into the same hunt and every hour we did research, my eyes went to her. God, was I creepy. Finally she helped me out and gave me her number. After the first hunt, we kept hunting together, flirted with each other and man did we have a bunch of sexual tension.”

“Had sex, finally. You waited for two months for it, remarkable really.”

Ignoring Sam’s comment Dean continued, “And then we just moved in together. We never talked about it, it just happened-”

Sam interjected, “Or she basically showed up with stuff and you beamed at her nodding.”

“Same thing.” Dean stated quickly.

“Anyway it was scary asking Y/N to marry me. I’ve been with other girls but never felt a connection like with her. She was my tether to this world, my reason, my life, my everything and so it took me days to get the courage up to ask her. Right after she killed a werewolf to save me, I just bent down on one knee and whipped open the ring box. I wanted it to be romantic but with the adrenaline pumping, my fear was gone, I didn’t trip over my own words they just spewed out. She cried and chanted yes and baby so many times. I really am the luckiest man in the world.”

“And I still am,” speaking loud enough for her to hear me over the noises from the TV.

She looked away from the tv and ran into my arms. “I have more good news to tell you Dean.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

She stepped back and put her hand on her belly. My eyes widened and she nodded. I cried, not able to stop myself. I finally had a family. It wasn’t just me and Sammy anymore. I had a life, a future. I had no idea what would come next or whether I would keep hunting now that Y/N was pregnant but I knew that whatever did happen, we’d do it together.

But when she says baby

Oh don’t matter what comes

Ain’t goin’ nowhere

She runs her fingers through my hair

And saves me

Yeah that look in her eyes got me comin’ alive

And drivin’ me a good kind a crazy

When she says baby

Oh when she says baby

Yeah that look in her eyes got me comin’ alive

And drivin’ me a good kind a crazy

Tagging

Forevers: @purgatoan, @killerofthesouth, @charliebradbury1104, @chaos-and-the-calm67, @chelsea072498, @everyday-supernatural-af, @kalliravenne, @toogardenenthusiast, @winchesterprincessbride, @one-shots-supernatural, @take-me-tonirvana, @hellsmother, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @faegal04, @deals-with-demons, @mamaredd123, @atc74, @hamartiamacguffin, @donnaintx

Dean Folks from my list: @buckysmetallicstump, @faith-in-dean, @bennyyh, @ruprecht0420 @supernatural-jackles, @jesspfly, @webcricket

@aprofoundbondwithdean, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @dr-dean, @nichelle-my-belle, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @thegreatficmaster, @salvachester, @blushingsamgirl, @bkwrm523, @whispersandwhiskerburn, @lipstickandwhiskey, @impala-dreamer, @samsgoddess, @frenchybell, @scorpiongirl1, @for-the-love-of-dean, @jelly-beans-and-gstrings, @fiveleaf, @deansleather, @curliesallovertheplace, @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname, @waywardjoy, @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious, @kayteonline, @supernatural-jackles, @idreamofhazel, @wevegotworktodo, @ilovedean-spn2 , @quiddy-writes, @wi-deangirl77, @deantbh, @mysaintsasinner, @chelsea-winchester, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki, @fandommaniacx, @teamfreewillimagines, @deanwinchesterforpromqueen, @castieltrash1, @supernaturallyobsessed, @memariana91, @writingbeautifulmen, @captain-princess-rose, @plaidstiel-wormstache, @idreamofhazel, @revwinchester, @supermoonpanda, @ageekchiclife, @i-dont-know-how-to-write, @vintagevalentinexx, @ohwritever, @ruinedbydestiel, @winchester-writes, @mysupernaturalfics, @thinkwritexpress, @sammit-janet @bowtiesandapplepie, @itsemmyb, @ezauraemmaline, @matteson-crazed, @castielspahdehrah, @charliesbackbitches, @crzcorgi, @gryffindorable713, @deerlululucy, @walkingencyclopediaoffandom, @MrsJohnSmith, @manawhaat, @growleytria, @thegleegeneration, @samtomydeanwinchester, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki, @i-never-said-a-pilot, @thewinchestielboys, @supermoonpanda, @sis-tafics, @amaranthinecastiel, @kittenofdoomage, @samanddeanwinchester67, @prettyxwickedxthings, @ferferelli @lilyoflothlorien, @myfand0msandm0re, @olitzisbae, @iridianuniverse, @the-morning-star-falls,  @shortandlongstories, @strange-inhumanity-blog, @ackleslaugh @noisilyyoungpuppy, @fangirling-instead-of-working, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @chrisatplay, @kayteonline, @spnsimpleman, @faith-in-dean, @gimmethepieandnoonegetshurt, @for-the-love-of-dean, @mamaimpala, @zanthiasplace, @sleep-silent-angel, @pada-ackles-reads, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @gadreelsforbiddenfruit, @trenchcoats-and-bees, @curliesallovertheplace, @jencharlan, @not-so-natural-spn, @skybinx-blog, @thebunkerismyhome, @feelmyroarrrr, @beachy2014, @fandom-book-nerd, @tia58, @sams-little-toy, @sunriserose1023, @saving-things-hunting-family, @winchesterswoonathon, @jotink78, @lucifer-in-leather,  @babypieandwhiskey, @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave, @supernatural-jackles, @avasmommy224, @angelwingsandsupernaturalthings, @mysaintsasinner, @chelsea-winchester, @besslincoln-bruh, @wheresthekillswitch, @maraisabellegrey, @notnaturalanahi

[lost-in-men-of-letters-bunker]

Winchesterprincessbride’s Princess Bride Quote Challenge

Hello all my lovely people, I decided to do a challenge and I hope you all like it cause it’s my first time writing a oneshot. Also the first time I ever posted a fan fic on Tumblr.

Quote #5: There’s not a lot of money in revenge

Samx(Female)Reader

Y/N: Your Name

Y/E/C: Your Eye Color

(Not my gif)

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Mary Winchester (Brief appearances), Rufus (Briefly mentioned).

(No Beta)

Warning: OC Character(s) death, mentions of torture, strong language at one point, angst

Normal POV

You had been hunting with the Winchesters brothers for several years now. When you first met them, you were offered to join hunting with them. You refused the first time because well…you were a stubborn ass woman. You were also afraid you would get too close to someone. The only reason you started hunting in the first place, was because you wanted revenge. Fresh out of college, you wanted to go to your parents home for a few days and visit them. When you got home you were met with an awful sight…Your parents were dead. Signs of torture were clearly visable, also the person who did it was still in the house. They held a knife to your throat and dragged you to a chair.

The person with the black eyes, tortured you for hours. You thought you were going to die, but a man saved your life. He said his name was Rufus and that he was a hunter. He also told you that a Demon is what killed your parents. The Demon on the otherhand had disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. Ever since that day, you dedicated your life to track down the Demon yourself and get revenge.

It’s not like you didn’t like the Winchesters, you were just use to working alone. You rarely ever worked with any hunters in the community. You had a few drinks with them at some bars occasionally. While Dean constantly flirted, you shot him down everytime with a witty remark. Sam thought it was hilarious and you and him would chat for hours. You had to admit…You never felt this close to anyone in a long time. Eventually, you started hunting with them and gradually took a case here and there. A few months later, you were staying in the Bunker with them and going on every case. That didn’t stop you from trying to find leads on the Demon that took your parents from you.

Before you knew it, you had managed to find a lead on the Demon in a small town in Arkansas. You were not going to let this opportunity slip by. So, you started packing your things up to go for this case. You heard a knock on your door and said “Come in.” Sam opened the door and walked in.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just taking a small case.”

“Oh, you sure you don’t need my help or Dean’s?”

“Yeah I’m sure, Sam.”

Sam looked over at your laptop at the article, He walked over and read it. He said “Y/N, this is a Demon and by the looks of it has killed a lot of people! You’re gonna need back up.” You tried to hold back a little anger that was bubbling up inside you.

“I can handle it.”

“It’s killed over 15 people in this town!”

“Drop it, Sam!”

“Y/N, what has gotten into you? I’ve noticed how you act towards Demons when we have cases involving them. You act different towards them then Dean and I do. You act colder than any hunter I know…What is wrong?”

You looked at Sam’s hazel eyes, he was giving you the puppy dog look. You never could resist that look no matter how hard you tried. You sighed and sat down on your bed, Sam walked over and sat down beside you. You hoped your face wasn’t turning red. For the past few months you had started to have a crush on the younger Winchester. You took a slow breath, then explained to Sam everything about your past. When you finished he said

“There’s not a lot of money in revenge.”

You replied with “Hunters don’t get paid.” He gave a light chuckle and said “That’s true, Y/N, you have been letting this eat you up inside. I know what it’s like to want revenge. I wanted revenge on Azazel for killing my mom and Jess. He turned me into a freak while he was at it too.” You said “You’re not a freak, Sam. You’re the kindest and smartest hunter I have ever met.” Sam smiled at you and said “Thanks that means a lot.” You nodded and silence fell between you both. You wanted to tell Sam how you felt about him, but as always you were too scared to admit you had grown close to someone. You didn’t look at Sam, you kept your head down. You then felt his hand lift your chin up and turn it to face him. He seemed nervous, you had never seen Sam like that before. His hazel eyes stared into your Y/E/C one’s.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something…It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way.”

Was he really saying what you think he was? Did Sam harbor the same feelings for you like you did for him? You could hardly speak a word.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time. I never said anything cause I thought that…that it would end badly or you didn’t like me…But Y/N, I love you.”

You looked never took your gaze off Sam, you smiled and said “Sam, I’ve felt the same way for a very long time. I was just too scared to say anything because…I had never been this close to someone in a long time.” Sam smiled and said “Guess we both were too scared uh?” You said “Yeah, I guess we were.” Sam looked down at your lips and back to your eyes silently asking for permission. You closed the space between you and your lips met in a kiss you had been wanting for a very long time.

Unbeknownst to you both outside your cracked open door, Dean and Mary were watching you guys. They both walked away quietly, happy for you both. Mary said “Alright you owe me fifty bucks.” Dean grumbled and pulled out his wallet.

A/N: Hope you liked it, I had a lot of fun writing this!

Tag: @winchesterprincessbride