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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 year ago

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SUMMARY : director jensen ackles gets a little too sexy.

PAIRING : jensen ackles x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : jared padalecki, misha collins, laura (oc), mariana (oc)

WARNINGS/TAGS : nsfw(18+), smut, spanking, banter, jokes

WORD COUNT : 4.3k

A/N : title from the song by j-hope of bts. I love danneel, but she can’t exist for these stories, lmao. also, I wrote this while I was sick and I was exhausted at 1.00 am :D XX

Jensen and her had a very professional relationship on set despite being married. She didn’t really joke around or do anything inappropriate unless it was okay for them to be doing that, if it was part of a scene and they accidentally messed up, or unless Jared and Jensen themselves were acting alongside her with Misha. But when Jensen was directing, it was a whole other case of professionalism. A case that she secretly loved and found very hot, something she was pretty sure she could hide from everyone but him.

He was a very private man with everything that had to do with his personal life, but she was a little more open about certain things, definitely not about her business in bed with Jensen, since he got flustered and embarrassed about it being said to others. Unless he was in that mood, unless he was comfortable around the people surrounding him.

For example, Jensen had no trouble talking about his sex life with her if he was talking to Misha and sometimes Jared, but he wasn’t too graphic. He could be a bit lewd, forgetting himself around the boys, and she’d play along because it was fun to either get the upper hand on him or to remain under his.

Still, she couldn’t be fooled by his prudish behaviour in the public because behind closed doors, Jensen was extremely naughty, almost more than her.

The makeup artist, Laura, was putting gel on Y/N’s brows, lip tint on her soft lips, touching up a few other parts of her face to make her look good for the cameras while the hair stylist, Mariana, began gently fixing and spraying her hair in place. Y/N stared at the photos of Jensen, Misha, and Jared, a little smile on her face admiring her friends and herself being silly in them.

“Ready?” Someone asked from the door after knocking, Laura and Mariana responded with a rushed yes and quickly finished up what they were doing before letting Y/N go to the set where she’d previously had a scene with Jared and now, she’d have one with Jensen. A spicy one.

She saw Jensen was already there wearing a black suit and a mossy-green tie, a serious expression pinched his brows together, and he made motions with his hands for the cameraman to know where the cameras had to be angled and what his vision was for the scene. It was hot, watching him be in the zone, directing and leading, giving advice, and correcting certain things. He was brilliant, a genius at these things, and he was so captivating and kind, enthusiastic and thorough, it was not surprising how amazing things turned out thanks to him.

“Y/N,” Jensen said, a serious tone in his voice, so she quickly made her way to him and waited for his instructions. He finished up with the cameraman and a few of the other crew members. Y/N just watched and listened to him, mostly. It was distracting to see the suit tighten around certain areas of his body, like his broad shoulders, his ass, his waist… “…back to you, gorgeous,” he turned to face her, and she smiled, inhaling sharply.

He raised a brow at her for that, immediately figuring out that she wasn’t paying attention to him, but had her mind somewhere else. He chuckled softly, his own train of thought derailed by the way she tried to play innocent. Despite her soft and serious smile, he carefully cupped her jaw and kissed her cheek before pulling away to demonstrate and explain a few things he wanted to change about the script and the things they’d do.

He walked her through the sex scene thoroughly, explaining to her what he’d be doing to her, even guiding her through it physically, putting himself over her and showing her the simple but intimate scene. Part of her was amused, but another part of her was aroused at the way Jensen touched her, or the way he made her touch him.

He remained serious, treating her the way he treated the other crew members and she didn’t even feel the slightest bit guilty about how hot she thought he looked every time he bossed her around.

“Got that?” He asked, once he finished, brushing her hair over her shoulder gently. She eyed his movements, then focused back on him, smiling softly with a nod of her head. “Okay, ready to start shooting?” She nodded again, murmuring a yes to him while trying to stop herself from laughing.

For the most part, the scene was PG-13, but her thoughts weren’t. When Jensen entered the motel room, loosening his tie as he spoke the lines in Dean’s sexy baritone, she was glad the camera wasn’t on her to catch the sharp inhale of breath or the way her lips parted in delight.

She never got tired of looking at him. Every time, he looked more beautiful than ever before and even in her own fantasies when they were separated, the memory of him in her mind didn’t do him justice. This. Him, slipping off his jacket and flinging it onto the bed as he debriefed her on the details on the monster case they were working on, it made heat rush up her face and heat blossomed in her tummy.

She said her lines smoothly, settled on the table like she was supposed to, grateful for that because her knees had become weak when he started to roll his sleeves up, and even more when he walked away, arched beautifully to find a beer in the refrigerator. The slacks tightened around his pert ass and his thighs, she squeezed her legs shut, nearly screwing up when the camera moved to her.

And she said her lines, looking Jensen straight in the eyes when he started walking towards her, easily popping the lid off the bottle and throwing it into the sink before he settled down in the seat in front of her. His legs were spread and when she looked down at his crotch, she didn’t care if the audience thought it was scripted or not because who wouldn’t stare at him down there.

Even the way she licked her lips and the way she said her next line wasn’t part of the script. Now, getting so close to the next part of the scene that she always enjoyed because she got to tease him, and he always got more than what he asked for. When he leaned forward seductively, playing his part as Dean when he delivered his next line, flirting with her still made her blush. Even though it was something Jensen wouldn’t really say, it made her smile genuinely because she had a soft spot for Dean as a character.

Thanks to Dean and her character, she and Jensen got together in real life. All that pretending to be in love, and then spending those months apart during the writer’s strike made things clear to both of them. It wasn’t the acting, it wasn’t the script, it was real. And they gave in and started to date, and it worked, so well that now they’re married. Now, he was hers.

“So? We got time to kill before Sam’s back, sweetheart,” he smirked at her, playing with the sleeve of her dress. She grabbed his hand, moved it away from her dress, his warm fingers wrapping around hers when she kissed the inside of his wrist. It was a tiny act of affection that drove him crazy, and he knew, in that moment, what she was up to. But he played it cooled, when she continued to hold his hand and stood up the way he told her to minutes before.

“Why don’t we skip the flirting then, Winchester?” She murmured, watching him sit back in his chair, his hands sliding up his thighs, puffing out his chest so seductively, the buttons of his white shirt became tight across his chest.

“Sorry, thought you liked it,” he smirked, grabbing her hips and pulling her forward. She stumbled into his lap gracefully, laughing softly. She cupped his face tenderly, admired the way his eyes shined like a puppy-dog before she kissed him. She kissed him as herself and she kissed him as her character, full of love and passion.

“Only when we’re not being rushed,” she mumbled against his mouth, moaning unintentionally, surprised when he stood up, holding her tight against him to sit her on the table.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, kissing down her neck. She was glad her face wasn’t really showing in the scene and doubted that the mic picked up his words. Her face became hot when she moved her hands down to his belt to undo it and he fumbled around under her dress, just pretending to get her underwear out of the way. Although, secretly, they both wished the cameras were shut off and that they could do the real thing because sometimes when Jensen flirted as Dean, he meant every word, and the flirting worked the way it was supposed to on her.

She panted dramatically, buried her fingers into his hair and tousled it when she tugged gently. His little grunt was real, but no one needed to know that, no one needed to know how wet she was right now, and when he lifted his face up from her neck, the deep blush that painted him couldn’t be hidden by the camera and she couldn’t care less. Not when he pressed his lips to hers roughly, pushing and pulling against her body, her other hand clinging to his back, twisting his shirt tightly.

It was so good. It was torture. His hand on her thigh, fingers digging into her squishy flesh, pain that was so arousing to her, his arm was wrapped around her waist to keep her upright on the table. It shook under them, the wooden table gently bumping against the weak wall, and when he pulled away from the sensual kiss, his nose bumped against hers. His warm breath fanned over her wet lips, making her mind hazy, but not hazy enough so when she whispered a name as she was supposed to, it was Dean’s.

And that was it. The next scene would cut with Dean being cocky, helping her fix her dress and lowering her off the table minutes before Sam arrived with news from the coroner. But he pulled away, looked at her intensely as the crew started to talk and Jared came up with Misha. Y/N smiled at them, relaxing on the table despite how aroused Jensen had made her.

“Wow, felt just like porn,” Misha snickered, Jared laughed loudly, smacking Misha’s chest with the back of his wrist. She rolled her eyes at them, turned to Laura so she could fix anything the scene messed up and Mariana fixed Jensen up a little, getting them ready for the next scene.

“Least he gets some action,” Jared cackled and Jensen laughed softly. “In and out of set,” he ‘whispered’ to Misha, who chuckled and shook his head, smiling peacefully at Jensen who was rolling his eyes and Y/N shook her head.

“Well, it’s always better than watching you with a woman,” Misha joked and Jared pretended to sulk, throwing a little bit of popcorn towards Misha, which he caught and ate triumphantly with a grin. “Seriously, it was good, guys.” Misha patted Jensen’s back and he thanked him quietly, watched them scurry off when they were ready to shoot the next scene.

“Was that too much?” Jensen asked quietly, pecking her lips innocently.

“I wanted more,” she murmured quickly, smiling innocently over at the crew members who were giving them a thumbs up to start shooting. He blinked down at her and smiled shyly, he bit his lip and nodded over at the crew to show his own ‘ready to go’ sign. He looked down at his feet and she inhaled deeply, both of them getting into character again.

He started to put his belt back on and she shimmied her dress down her legs, looking down at herself when she slid off the table. He stayed close to her, his breath against her cheek, his warm body nearly touching hers so she could feel her skin buzz with desire. He smirked down at her in a way that made her beam when she looked up at him, enamoured by that dazzling look in his eyes. He towered over her like the moon, his beautiful face just a little pink, his eyes fluttering close when he leaned down to kiss her a final time. His fingers tangled in her hair, her hands curled into his shirt, clutching his thin waist and forgetting just for a few seconds that they were being filmed until Jared came into the motel room as Sam.

“Guys, I-” Sam stopped at the door with a grimace on his face, shutting the door loudly which broke them apart. She looked down at her legs and licked her lips to taste Jensen’s lips again, but Jensen smirked when he turned dramatically to face Sam. Emphasising that he was in a good mood after ‘fucking’, making it really obvious to Sam that they’d definitely done it, but not saying it out loud.

“Whatcha find, Sammy?” He asked, swiping his thumb across his lip. His fingers collected a phantom layer of her saliva, and he popped it into his mouth, in way too enthusiastically when he took his beer and drank it. Sam continued to cringe and cleared his throat before he stepped towards them, ignoring Dean’s weirdness.

“Uh, anyway,” Sam started awkwardly, trying to brush off Dean’s clear arrogance, “it might not be a dragon after all, just a weird, kinky vamp.” Sam put the Manila folder on the table and Dean sat down, looking up at her with a smirk because she still looked a bit dazed.

This time she cleared her throat, glaring at him when she snatched the file from his hands, “a vamp?” She asked, opening it up and looking at the graphic photos of four dead girls, all pretty young. Her face softened, imagining that while maybe monsters weren’t real, there were different kinds of monsters in real life that did things like this.

The rest of the day, it went on that way.

The sexual tension that seemed acted out, but they all knew was real. It was an unspoken thing amongst everyone because Jensen was far too professional to do anything that gets in the way of his job. He takes it seriously, for the most part. His role as Dean means the world to him and she knows that because of the moments back home when he’d naturally slip into Dean. Either in his voice, mannerisms, or words, he was always falling into the endless beauty of Dean Winchester, loving him similar to—but more purely and more intensely—how the thousands of other people around the world did. Including herself.

Jensen flirted, he was sad, and a million other things as Dean while they wrapped up just part of another scene. The wardrobe was impeccable and she found it adorable and amusing when he stole shirts from the set, bringing them home and reminding her of the great times they had together at work. All of them joking, teasing, taking things sometimes a little too far, but nothing too extreme.

She made her way back to her trailer, eyed her next outfit and the robe on the rack in her little space. She smirked after a few minutes of consideration, removed her clothes and took the ones she’d need next with her, sneaking out to find Jensen who was nearby in his own trailer.

She knocked on his door, looked around anxiously for anyone who could be around while she waited for him to open, which he thankfully did rather quickly. He looked tired, but smiled with a little surprise when he came face to face with her, his eyes trailing down her body.

“Hi, Jay,” she greeted shyly.

“Hey, honey.” He moved out of the way when she made her way in, and continued to stare at her body when he shut the door behind him. She made her way to his sofa, laid her clothes neatly over it and he came up behind her, lifted the robe and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her underwear.

She laughed, looking at him over her shoulder when his hands fell to her hips naturally under the robe. He had his ring back on, she could feel the cold metal against her hip bone, his nearly-soft hands rubbing up and down gently.

“Come to seduce me again?” He asked, kissing the back of her head.

“Me?” She asked, checking him out and noting that he now wore a tight, black t-shirt, jeans that electrified the skin of her legs, and those loud and heavy boots that made him taller. “You’re the one who likes pretending you’re Dean in and out of work,” she teased, replacing his hands with hers to pull her underwear down her legs.

“Fuck,” he murmured, stepping back just to see her a bit more, partially to stop himself from wasting time trying to have sex when they could all easily get off work early by finishing up the scenes as soon as possible. He didn’t really hear her words, his reply simply faded into nothingness when she bent over the couch, her underwear hanging on to her thighs when she parted her legs. “Baby, later,” he swallowed, feeling his body start to warm up, his cock stirring in his jeans.

“Need you,” she pouted, pressing the side of her face against the soft sofa, watching him turn pink. His green eyes darkened and his jaw locked, he gripped her hips, positioning her right where she had to be for him to easily slip in and out of her. He kneaded her ass, trying to talk himself out of doing this, but parting her cheeks to see how slick she was for him. “Please,” she begged, wiggling her hips to encourage him, her cunt clenching around nothing when he bit his bottom lip at the sight of her pussy.

“I said later,” he murmured, striking her ass with an experimental and rough slap. She squealed, tensing up at the sting of his hand on her flesh before it became an arousing bolt of electricity that went to her clit, wetness beginning to pool between her legs all over again. She squeezed her thighs together when the throbbing of her clit nearly became unbearable and his eyebrows shot up, surprised and aroused by how much she clearly liked to be spanked.

“That’s so Dean of you,” she smirked, playing it off casually when it turned her on to see him so immersed in being Dean. She wiggled her ass playfully again and pushed her hips back against his crotch, feeling his grip on her hip tighten before he grunted.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, but she moaned softly at his voice. The sound of him so pathetically fighting against her antics encouraged her to keep talking, to keep teasing him, hoping that maybe he’ll give in.

“Won’t be the first time we have a quickie in the middle of work,” she reminded him with a little grin. He spanked her again, his hand falling on the other side of her ass and she yelped, repeating the same actions as before, a squeeze of her thighs and another teasing little wiggle of her bottom.

“I’d fire you if you worked for me,” he threatened halfheartedly.

“Thank goodness that you’re not my boss then,” she chuckled, shrugging the cotton robe off her shoulders so she was completely naked now. She threw it over her clothes with one hand and groaned in annoyance when he just stared at her face. “Jensen, I swear, if you don’t-”

His hand landed roughly on her ass again to shut her up, the flesh jiggled and turned red, so he gently kneaded it with a smirk on his flushed face. Once again, she squeezed her thighs and cursed softly under her breath, this time glaring at him for interrupting her, hating that he may have discovered something she liked and was now going to start using it against her.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said quietly, starting to unzip his jeans. Her eyebrows rose at the sound and she held her breath, excitedly waiting, looking back at him when he lowered his jeans and boxers, revealing his erect penis. He wrapped his hand around himself before the leaking tip could stain his shirt and she couldn’t stop her little moan, watching him tug gently at his cock to prepare himself for her.

“You’re gonna complain about having sex?” She asked, baiting him. He looked over at her, narrowed eyes taking in her face to see what her intentions were, so with his freehand, he spanked her again. He didn’t wait much longer for her to feel the sting, pressed the soft head of his dick against her slick entrance, sliding in slightly to feel the way she tightened and pulled him into her.

She moaned again, fisting the soft cushions of the couch when he pulled out all the way, choosing to slide the length of his dick through her wet folds. He’d focused on brushing against her clit, enjoying himself for a few moments, watching her squirm and pant while she was bent over the couch he napped on occasionally.

“Mister Later? How about you get started now?” He nearly laughed, frozen by her sudden joke in the middle of pleasing himself. She didn’t seem to find it very funny, observing her mostly pouting lips with her brows pinched together, so he rolled his eyes and easily slipped inside her.

He didn’t plan on letting her off easily, his hand shot down sharply, spanking her again, just to feel how much she liked it when he pushed and pulled his hips. He loved it, groaned at the feeling of her slick walls clamping down on him, warmth gushing around his cock. He lifted his shirt, held it up by tucking his chin against his chest and stared shamelessly at himself disappearing inside her. Her walls stretched around him, making him breathless.

She moaned wantonly, snapping him out of his daze when his cock throbbed inside her as a response. He pushed his softer thoughts out of his mind and focused on her needs and desires for him, quickening his pace, focusing on the way she responded to his speed.

He delighted in the sight of her moving upward with each of his thrusts, didn’t change the pace or the way he pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back into her, pulling gasps and quick whispers of his name from her shaking body. He already knew the answer to his questions, seeing her shut her eyes in ecstasy and hearing her moan into the couch loudly, but he still had to ask.

“That okay?” His thighs smacked loudly against her ass, taking in the soft red handprints that marked the skin of her ass. He felt her quiver around him, elated to feel the effect of his voice, so he leaned over her. He draped himself over her back carefully, his lips brushing against her cheekbone lovingly, his hands right next to hers, holding on nearly as tight as she was to the cushiony surface. “Does that feel good?” He whispered breathlessly into her ear.

“Oh, God, yes,” she moaned, her stomach tightening and flipping excitedly. In this position, he couldn’t pull out as much, opting for rolling his hips against hers which she was clearly enjoying far more. She squirmed under him, mewled and clamped down on him again, making him groan so he could feel his own orgasm approaching quickly.

“Better?” He asked, knowing that the head of his cock was repeatedly brushing against her g-spot. She didn’t answer, just nodded mindlessly while moaning his name loudly. He just knew he shouldn’t stop, so he kept at it. The force of his hips remained the same but his thrusts were much more shallow, bringing her closer and closer to her release. While her breaths got heavier and heavier, his own hitched the tighter she squeezed him in her.

Keeping the same pace, he shifted his weight onto one arm, snaking his hand around the front of her body to draw quick circles on her clit. It was the last bit of pressure she needed before she fell apart beneath him. She let out a strangled moan, squeezed him so tight he felt himself throb and spill inside her while she mumbled little praises for him.

She trembled under his body, his fingers on her clit elongating her orgasm until he’d filled her up with every last drop of his semen, his own body becoming exhausted and heavy. He panted against her ear, felt her slim fingers wrap around his wrist as she relaxed and caught her breath with him.

It must have been uncomfortable for her now in this position, their sweaty skin pressed together, his weight mostly on her. So he pulled out of her lazily, hissing at the feeling of her walls pulsing from sensitivity when he pulled out. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her body with his and kissed her cheeks, waited a few moments for her to recompose herself.

“Better?” He mumbled, kissing her shoulder. He moved back slightly and pulled his pants up. She turned around on her shaky legs and smiled at him, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him. Her hands held the sides of his blushing face to pull him down slightly for a kiss, but he leaned down all the way to meet her lips so she didn’t have to stand on her toes.

“Still yes,” she whispered with a smile, giving him a little peck on the lips. He smiled, continued to give her lips small kisses until they both parted to get dressed again and fix themselves for the rest of the day.

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impala-dreamer · 7 months ago

Text

Save Me - Part Two

A Short Story

~ Sometimes, when life seems the brightest, shadows creep in. After announcing their engagement to the world, Jensen's fiancé is kidnapped. With the help of a friend, she tries to fight her way back home to him.~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader, Dean Winchester (cameos by Misha Collins and OCs)

7,160 Words Total. Part Two: 3,950

Warnings: My kind of Super Angst. Blood. Injury. Kidnapping. It's really sad...

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "No one's coming to save you. Get up!"

PART ONE ~ PART TWO

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Snow was falling from a gray sky. Big flakes landed on his shoulders, dusted his hair, melted on his cheeks. His lips were frozen; his fingers numb.

The cherry of his cigarette fell to the icy sidewalk and he huffed. He fumbled with the lighter and lit back up, pulling at the filter as if he were trying to set his lungs on fire.

Maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to set the hotel on fire, the police station, the entire city.

Jensen tipped his head back and exhaled, sending the smoke to mix with the clouds overhead.

“When did you start smoking again?”

Misha appeared next to him, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a jacket. He was visibly cold, bouncing a bit for warmth even as he settled next to Jensen.

“I don’t know. When did the world implode? Four days ago?” He licked his lip and then took another drag. “Then.”

Misha shook his head sadly and Jensen rolled his eyes.

He flicked the butt into the street and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Put your coat on at least,” Misha suggested, tapping his shoulder with the jacket.

Jensen looked down at it as if he’d never seen anything like it.

“No.”

Misha sighed. “It’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.”

“So?”

Not wanting to fight, Misha draped the jacket over Jensen’s shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze.

“Y/N needs you to be strong. You can’t go off and get pneumonia.”

Jensen turned his head and glared; green eyes narrow and angry. “She doesn’t need me to be strong. She needs me to fucking find her.” His jaw clenched so hard he could feel his pulse beat in his temples. “She needs me to save her.”

Heartbroken, Misha closed his eyes and dropped his head. “I know. But there’s nothing you can do right now.”

Jensen scoffed. “Isn’t there?”

“No. The police are-”

Enraged, defeated, hopeless, Jensen spun away, kicking at the snow and pushing Misha’s care away. “The police aren’t doing shit! It’s been four fucking days!”

“I know…”

“They can’t even figure out who took her. The fucking- the security cameras in the parking garage weren’t fucking working! What the fuck good is that!”

The louder Jensen’s voice grew, the smaller Misha felt. There was nothing he could say, no way to comfort his friend.

Jensen wouldn’t be comforted even if Misha knew how. He wanted to rage at the universe. To put his fist through the brick wall behind him. To drive a truck through the Starbucks across the street. To run away from everyone and everything in this godforsaken city and find her. He had to find her.

A snowflake landed on his nose and he batted it away, slapping himself in the face.

He calmed.

His heart ached.

His voice crackled with tears.

“Odds are,” he whispered, “She’s dead already.”

“Don’t say that.” Misha choked back his own pain and cleared his throat. “The detective said there’s no reason to assume-”

Jensen laughed bitterly. “Forty-eight hours, isn’t that what they say? If you don’t find them in the first forty-eight hours you’re not going to. Or they turn up dead on the side of the road or in a shallow grave behind some psycho’s house.”

“Jensen…”

Green eyes closed to the world.

He was trembling, shaking from the cold and the pain of uncertainty and loss.

“I just…I don’t know what to do.”

They stood there in silence, letting January seep into their bones. There was nothing to say, nothing either of them could do.

It just was what it was.

And it was impossible.

A deep shiver moved through Jensen’s body and he shoved his arms through the jacket sleeves, thankful that Misha was looking out for him and the little things. He was too shattered to care about staying alive. Not right now.

He turned back to his friend and the revolving doors, deciding it was time to go back in and shake away the cold.

Flashing lights pulled his attention to the street and he held his breath as the police car turned into the hotel lot. The world moved in slow motion as the car parked in the nearby handicapped spot and Detective Lassiter hopped out. He held a clear bag in his thick fist and his countenance was heavy. He looked at Jensen and shook his head.

Jensen’s universe cracked. He bit his tongue, needing to feel the pain to keep himself conscious as the detective explained what had happened.

“They’re not asking for a ransom,” he said, speech rushed and emotionless. “Not yet, anyway. But this- this is good.” He handed the bag to Jensen.

Y/N’s diamond engagement ring glistened in the dim gray light.

Jensen closed his fist around it. The platinum prongs dug into his palm. “How?” His voice broke. “How is this good?”

“Means they want something. They’re not just going to kill her and be done. This is the kidnappers opening a line of communication.”

Jensen couldn’t hear him, couldn’t follow his words any longer. His fist tightened and the diamond cut through the thin evidence bag. He squeezed until it hurt, until his skin broke, until he could feel the warm trickle of blood.

A drop fell from his fist and painted the freshly fallen snow.

It was hard to stay awake, hard to think.

The pain was still there, but she couldn’t feel it much anymore. It didn’t feel as intense, as if she were getting used to the constant stabbing and shredding of her insides that accompanied every breath she took.

She couldn’t feel the cold anymore either. Her flesh had simply become part of the concrete, all of her warmth had been drained into the darkness.

In and out of the dreamless sleep of unconsciousness, she lay on the dirty floor, barely able to think let alone move.

“Why you?” she whispered, watching burgundy flannel pace back and forth by the steps.

Dean stopped short, his boots making a dull thud on the floor.

“What?”

She lifted her head, cringed at the hurt that erupted in her shoulder.

“I said, why is it you?”

His forehead creased and he shrugged. “I don’t know. Who else would it be?”

Y/N rubbed her right eye. It was dry and it hurt to blink. She was dehydrated and starving; her body was failing, her mind was slipping.

“It’s just odd, I guess.”

Dean sat on the bottom step, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t think it’s that weird. You need someone to talk to, you need someone to help. I’m pretty good at that shit.”

Y/N sighed. “But you don’t exist. I’m just talking to myself.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.”

“There should have been way more demon Dean.”

Jensen laughed and shot her a look that would have knocked her over had she not already been sitting down.

The couch cushion between them seemed as wide as an ocean, but neither were ready to swim across.

“You like bad boys, huh?” He licked his lips and watched hers as she answered.

“I guess everybody does at some point,” she said. “But there was something special about Dean as a demon. It was like… he was finally free for a little while. Like he was on vacation. Just hanging out and getting laid-”

Jensen grinned. “And murdering innocent people.”

She dipped her chin and looked up at him flirtatiously. “Is anyone ever truly innocent, Jensen?”

His smile faded and he stared harder. His lips parted slowly. “Are you?”

She blinked, painted lashes fanning over enchanting eyes. “I can be when I need to be.”

Her hand slid across the space between them and she bit her lip, daring him to match her move, begging him to meet her halfway.

He dropped his hand to the cushion, fingers landing a breath away from hers.

“What about right now?” he asked, leaning close.

She could feel the heat pushing off of him, smell the lingering scent of his faded cologne.

“Honestly?” she smirked.

He nodded. “Always.”

Y/N leaned in dangerously close. “I’m not feeling too innocent right now.”

A tentative kiss. The first taste of his lips; the first feel of her skin.

There were footsteps above her head. Someone running; heavy shoes falling on old wooden planks.

Y/N lay on her back and stared up at nothing. There were long beams above her and she wondered what it would take for them to come crashing down and crush her to death.

It wasn’t that she wanted to die, she’d never want that, but she knew it was happening. She could feel her body giving up. Her skin was hot but she shivered. Her blood had dried but the wounds wouldn’t stay closed. Her thoughts were fuzzy and shadows played tricks on her.

She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they’d tossed her down the steps; didn’t know how far from help she was. Time meant nothing. It could have been hours, a month, a week mostly likely. There was no way for her to guess. No windows to help count the sunsets, no ticking clock to pace her breaths to.

Sometimes, she counted her heartbeats just to have something to do, but they were unsteady. Too fast at times and then far too slow. It scared her to pay attention to the erratic pulse of her blood, so she tried to ignore it.

Mostly, she remembered things.

Mostly, she remembered him.

In moments when the pain overwhelmed her and her eyes refused to stop leaking, she would pull up his face, try to remember the placement of every freckle, count each thick eyelash. She could still feel his hands on her skin, smell his breath first thing in the morning. She could taste the salt on his neck after a workout, hear his delicate whispers in the heat of night. But his eyes were fading away. She couldn’t get the shade right in her mind; couldn’t remember what shirt made them darker, what time of day they looked the lightest.

The green was washing away.

Last winter. A break in filming. Sand beneath their feet; ocean breeze filling their lungs.

The sun was so bright it hurt her eyes, but she refused to close them, unwilling to miss one single second of time with him.

He was already burning in the sun; his shoulders tanning, his chest turning red. Every now and then, he’d take off and run into the water, dip below the perfect blue horizon and cool off. She loved those moments the best, when he came back to her dripping and laughing, his hair wet and slicked back behind his jet-fin ears.

He’d always come back to her, always fall down over her, hold himself up on his big arms and let the ocean water dribble down onto her bare stomach. He’d block the sun for a few precious moments, and all she could see was the halo around him and the love in his eyes.

“Y/N…”

She couldn’t open her eyes. They felt so heavy, so dry. It was all so pointless.

“Y/N, wake up, sweetheart.”

Dean was hovering again, crouched down at her side. His giant hand was hovering over her forehead as if checking her temperature like a mother would for her child.

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” she croaked. Her eyes fluttered open and she was met with his worried smile.

“What should I call you then?”

“A cab.”

He laughed softly. “You’re still funny. That’s good.”

“Is it?”

She tried to sit up but her spine felt like gelatin. She tried to speak but her throat was ripped to shreds. She tried to cry but her eyes were dry and nothing came out. Her shoulders shook and she moaned pitifully.

Dean’s jaw clenched, dimples popped above his lip. “You gotta get out of here. You’re not doin’ so well.”

Y/N curled in on herself, knees and shoulders meeting somewhere in the middle. “Go away.”

“No.”

She covered her face.

He shifted onto his knees. “You gotta get up and find a way out.”

“There is no way out. We’ve looked a hundred times.”

He exhaled hard, frustrated and desperate. “You gotta try again. You gotta get out.”

Her eyes fell closed again, her breathing slowed. “He’ll find me. He’ll save me…”

Y/N was still confused when the elevator door opened. Jensen had refused to tell her where they were going or why they were dressed like they were being photographed for GQ.

‘Wear that purple dress,’ he’d said on the phone with no explanation why.

Her hand clasped in his, they stepped out into a large empty ballroom. Floor to ceiling windows looked out on a gray morning; the L.A. smog was thick and hung like rain clouds in the sky.

Jensen led her deep into the room and turned to face her. He was nervous, she could tell. His chewed his bottom lip, rubbed his thumb over her hand quickly, breathed a little too fast.

She laughed gently. “What’s going on?”

He took a big, calming breath.

He licked his lips and smiled.

“Eighteen months ago, we were both here for that HBO after party. You wore this purple dress and I was wearing…” He looked down at his crisp black button down and charcoal slacks. “Well, this.”

She smiled. “I remember. It was the first time we met.”

He swallowed hard and held her hand in both of his. His palms were damp.

“But what you don’t know is that I saw you the very second you walked in.” He bit the corner of his mouth and took a second to collect his racing thoughts. “I was over there by the window talking to Eric and you walked in… It was like the crowd opened up for you. Every head turned; the music stopped.”

“I don’t think it was that much of an entrance,” she laughed.

“It was for me.”

Her heart raced.

“Jen, what’s going on?”

He smiled and bent down to kiss her lips. He held her face in his hands, ran his thumbs lightly over her cheeks. She kissed him back, licking at his plump lips.

“I wanted to do that the moment I saw you,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open and all she saw was green.

“And this…”

He let her go and dropped down onto one knee.

He took her hand.

She held her breath.

“Marry me, Y/N…”

“I need you to calm down.”

Detective Lassiter was tucked behind his messy desk, his beer gut smushed against the edge.

Jensen refused to relax. He paced in front of the man’s desk, his hands rushing through his hair; fists beating at the stale air.

“I can’t fucking calm down, OK!” His face was red and his jaw hurt from holding his tongue for so long. “You people can’t do shit, you know that? It’s been six fucking days.”

“Mr. Ackles, please-”

“No. No. No.” He turned to the detective and slammed his hands down on the desk. He leaned in, close to growling. “You need to save her.”

The older man sat forward. “We are doing everything we can. They’re working on the emails right now. Still hoping there’s traceable DNA on the ring. We will get these bastards. We will find her.”

Jensen closed his eyes, felt a thousand more tears brewing in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on without having a complete breakdown. There wasn’t enough bourbon in the world to soothe his soul.

Only one thing would do.

Only Y/N.

He was coughing so badly she was sure he was dying. She could hear him from the kitchen, his wet cough rattling above the sound of the screaming kettle.

She poured the boiling water onto the tea bag and grabbed some Tylenol from the cabinet.

The room was dark but the light from his cell phone guided her across the soft carpet.

“Hey…”

He groaned miserably.

“You feelin’ any better?”

He shook his head. “I feel like death.”

Y/N set the mug of tea down on the nightstand and switched on the lamp.

He cringed at the light and shielded his eyes with a forearm over his face.

“You better not die on me, Ackles. I’ve still got plans for you.”

He smiled and sat up a little bit, reaching for the tea. “You can’t get rid of me this easily. Even if it is your fault.”

She gasped in mock offense. “It is not my fault!”

“You got me sick,” he chuckled and took a sip.

“Yeah. You’re right. It was all part of my master plan to steal the Impala from you.” She pressed her fingertips together and gave him an evil grin. “Everything is falling into place.”

He laughed. It triggered a cough and she took the tea from him as his body shook.

“Oh, god, Jen.” Her brow creased with worry and she pressed a cool hand to his cheek. “You’re burning up, baby. I think we should get you to the doctor.”

Jensen shook his head and grabbed her wrist. He closed his eyes and kissed her palm. “Just stay with me, please.”

She smiled and settled in next to him. “They couldn’t pull me away…”

There was screaming coming from above. The words were muffled but the emotion was clear.

They were coming for her.

Y/N lay face down on the floor, her fingertip tracing a crack in the concrete. She was tired, so tired, and cold again. The air touching her skin hurt, the strands of hair that touched her forehead felt like knives.

Dean was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his body locked in a tense defensive pose. He listened to the shouts, eyes narrowed and ears struggling to understand.

“That’s it,” he huffed, spinning around toward Y/N. “You gotta get up. You gotta go. Now.”

Boots pounded above.

Y/N sighed. “It’s fine. He’s coming for me. Jensen is coming. He’ll save me.”

Dean grit his teeth and knelt down beside her. His voice was deep and firm. “Listen to me. You can still fight. You can get up and fight.”

She laughed. “I can’t. Look at me. I’m… I can’t fight. They’ll kill me.”

“Then you go down swinging. You’re not some damsel in distress, Y/N. Get up and fight!”

Gingerly, she rolled over and looked up at him. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just have to lay here and wait for the cops to show up.” She sighed and closed her eyes, waving him away. “I’m tired, Dean.”

The fight upstairs was growing louder, the boots getting closer to the door.

Dean slammed his palms against the floor by her head, making her jolt awake.

“No one is coming to save you. Get up!”

Navy uniforms blurred in his vision. People rushed past the big window, but he stayed put, frozen in the chair beside Lassiter’s desk.

Jensen was in shock; tired and lost. He had barely heard the detective when he explained the situation.

They’d tracked down the kidnappers. The S.W.A.T. team was on their way. Just a few more hours and Y/N would be home.

He just had to wait.

Finally, Dean got her to stand. Her legs were shaky, but her head was clearing. She knew what had to be done.

Behind the staircase was an old, rusted tool box. Inside it, a hammer.

She gripped the wooden handle tight.

Dean urged her to stand in the shadows beside the staircase. He held her gaze, reassuring her every second that she could do this. She could fight her way out. She could run.

The boots above stopped. The kitchen light turned on, illuminating the seams around the door at the top of the stairs.

Y/N steadied her breathing. She bent her knees, planting herself on the spot.

The door creaked loudly as it was pulled open.

Her hand trembled.

Dean nodded reassuringly. “You got this.”

Heavy footsteps bounded down the stairs and a large man appeared, gun in hand.

Y/N’s blood was racing, adrenaline coursing through every cell.

The man turned to the right and Y/N leapt from the left. She lunged forward, swinging the hammer with every bit of strength she had.

She missed his head, striking him in the forearm.

The gun fell.

She pulled her arms back and the claw of the hammer dug into the flesh beneath the man’s chin. He screamed and doubled over, taking the old tool with him.

Y/N stared down at him, eyes wide with shock and terror.

“Now!” Dean clapped his hands, stealing her attention back. “Run!”

She could still feel the warmth of the lights on her face; hear the cheers from the crowd.

Jensen pulled her close and kissed a trail down to her lips. He kissed her forehead, her nose, the top of each cheek. By the time he met her lips, she was laughing into him, so warm, so happy.

His arms folded around her, his beard tickled her cheeks.

She clung to his shirt and sighed.

“I won’t be long,” he whispered. “Just gotta go smile for a thousand photos or so.”

She groaned. “I don’t wanna let go.”

He laughed and squeezed her tight. “Me either.”

The kitchen was bright, the lights burned her eyes. She stumbled into a chair and hit her foot against the island.

Dean was there every step, calling her name, leading her through the worst pain she’d ever experienced.

“You can do this,” he shouted, urging her to move faster. “Just a little farther. Come on!”

She pumped her arms, dodged the sparse furniture in the living room, raced for the front door.

It was locked, bolted and chained.

“Almost there, kid. Almost there.”

She focused hard, willing her fingers to cooperate.

The man shouted from the basement, loud and angry. Dean looked back over his shoulder, and flinched.

“You gotta hurry, Y/N-”

The chain was the hardest part. Her fingers were numb and tingling; she slipped more than once.

Boots thudded on linoleum.

“Come on!”

She wrenched the door open and tumbled out into the cold night air. The moon was full and bright, the sky clear and inky black.

She took a breath and steadied herself; bare feet sinking into the snowy lawn.

Dean was across the street already, silently urging her on with a waving hand and desperate expression.

Flashing lights pulled her gaze away and she smiled. They’d found her.

Sirens blared.

She took a step toward the street.

Dean shouted her name.

She smiled.

A shot rang out and her world fell into darkness.

Jensen collapsed.

His knees hit the ground first, then his hands. His palms scraped against the gravel but the sting was irrelevant.

Someone was touching him, grabbing at his shoulders, trying to help him up, but he shouted and pushed them away. He didn’t want help. He didn’t need comfort. He didn’t want anything.

His chest burned, his heart raged against his ribcage. The earth beneath him opened up, shattered like his soul.

“Jensen…”

He looked up into his own dark eyes. Eyes he’d seen in the mirror for years. Eyes that he’d cried with, laughed with, died with a thousand times.

Dean sighed. A single tear slid down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Jensen closed his eyes and Dean faded into nothingness, swept away by the freezing January wind.

“Keep her safe, Dean,” he whispered. “Stay with her.”

“Always.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

#spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #dean winchester x reader #angst #save me p2

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visionofvoid · 2 years ago

Text

Homewrecker - MV1 Part Four

Summary: “i’m not some prize to be won.”

Warnings: apologetic max

Pairings: max verstappen x oc

Word Count: 2k

Taglist: @octaviareina, @formula1mount @ravenqueen27 @evans-dejong

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

It only really hit her a few weeks later that Max Verstappen was in love with her.

The current reigning World Champion of Formula One was in love with her. Little old plain Jane Blake Collins. Blake Collins who had no surviving family. Blake Collins who had no serious relationships in her lifetime. She didn’t have anything to bring to the table, apart from the fact that she was incredibly organised and had an incredible memory.

So, it came as a surprise that the first time Max had ever sought her out was as the clock struck twelve on the thirtieth of November, marking Blake’s twenty-third lap around the sun.

maxverstappen1: happy birthday, blake.

It was simple, civil and weird.

The last time she had seen Max had been when he was about to punch George in the face and she had been avoiding him ever since. Kelly had been at the last race in São Paulo to try and rekindle things but from what Blake heard through the grapevine it didn’t end well with Kelly rushing home with a red tear stained face and shielding herself from all news outlets.

Blake had tried to reach out to Kelly but she was soon blocked on all accounts and numbers. It was heartbreaking to say the least. Blake had obviously not been aware of Max’s feelings towards herself and she thought she was close enough to Kelly to speak things out. She chose to focus on her relationships with her new found family at Mercedes. She had become fast friends with Carmen, George’s girlfriend and loved how Carmen would always joke about leaving George from Blake.

She kept looking at the message from Max, noticing that she had somehow followed him over the course of the last few weeks, probably by accident or by some dare that George, Carmen or some of the other drivers made whilst drunk. She also noticed that underneath his username and under the small green dot he was still in the chat. She couldn’t leave him left on read now.

blake_collins98: thank you

It was simple, sweet and civil.

She got little to no sleep that night, the message from Max on her mind as she lay away in her hotel room. She went over everything that was planned for the race day and end of season conferences, interviews and got everything ready for the end of year. She knew she would have plenty of time but whilst she was wide awake there was no time like the present. She eventually found sleep, waking up to a soft knock on the door. She left it for a few seconds, pleased with the fact that there was no other attempt to disturb her.

Blake still had a fair while before she had to get motivated and start work but found herself wondering what the knocking could have been. She walked to the door, peering through the hole to find no one standing there but opened the door just in case. There sat a bouquet of sunflowers mixed in with roses and baby's breath. It smelled incredibly fresh but it was also paired with a few different pastries and a fruit platter. If you knew Blake you would know that she was a room service connoisseur and she knew for certain that this was not just any room service. She looked around the hallway to see no one and opted to pick up the flowers and the tray. She would never turn down free food.

Setting the flowers on a bench, a small piece of paper fell out from in between the stems and to the ground. She bent down, opening the small envelope to read the message. It was in an unfamiliar scrawl;

happy birthday blake. meet me on the roof of the hotel tonight at 11:50pm

There was no sign off to identify who it was that sent the flowers. Everyone knew her favourite combo, she would gush over them every time Lewis, George and even Alex would engage in a friendly rivalry to make her feel loved and wanted when she had her cycle but this? This was a whole other ballpark.

The race came and went with Max taking his second consecutive World Championship title, George and Lewis coming fourth and sixth respectfully. She had received many bouquets of sunflowers and roses from mechanics, engineers, other advisors in the company and across the other racing teams. She had many bottles of alcohol she would have to send back to her small apartment in England that was barely unpacked from all the travelling she had been doing. She had never felt more loved and validated in her life. She felt like she belonged.

She sat in her room after disappearing from the afterparty, staring down at the note. Despite all the season rivalries, all the crashes, all the empty threats exchanged, everyone was celebrating the end of the season whether or not it was at the big afterparty for Max or with their own little teams and friendship groups. As Blake was leaving, she recalled seeing Toto in a drunk haze trying to get Susie to dance with him. She told no one she was leaving and no one where she was going.

Blake remained in the same clothes as she was partying and drinking in; a long pair of wide leg pants with a muted green print on it, a black mock neck top and just a pair of nice boots. Her hair was in a bun to help alleviate any sweat she would usually have on her neck had it been down. She was comfortable and that's all that mattered to her. She had ten minutes until she had to be on the roof to meet with the mystery person. It could go one of two ways; it could be a secret admirer that was going to confess their undying love for her or it could be a stalker and she could potentially die. Either way, she grabbed a bottle of Moët and Chandon, some Guylian seashell chocolates. She took them with her and made her way out of her room and to the elevator.

A number of teams were in the same hotel, making it nearly impossible to run into fans of the sport. She smiled at some of the engineers, advisors and drivers as they came in and out of the elevator to head to their rooms, obviously buzzing from the drinks and the afterparty. She arrived to the roof, a small breeze welcoming her as she looked around. No one else was up there, only a number of empty booths with outdoor lounge furniture to keep her company for the time being. She picked a booth that overlooked the circuit, watching as the clean up crew had begun to clean up the circuit. She cursed herself for not bringing a jacket with the breeze and she tried her best to shield herself from the winds as she cornered herself in the booth. The only light provided was from surrounding buildings. Blake was surprised no one had even come up here after the afterparty.

Blake had left her phone in her room so she couldn’t tell how long it would take for this mystery person to arrive or even if she was getting stood up. She tried to calm her nerves by opening the packer of chocolates, one by one followed by a swig of her Moët. She was sure it was a glorious sight to behold.

“I’m surprised you came.” Startled, Blake jumped in her seat as the voice came from behind her. The packet of chocolates bounced off her outstretched legs and landed off to the side of the booth. She turned, noticing Max in the same clothes from his celebration. She furrowed her eyebrows as she twisted her body to look at him.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be back down there?” Blake questioned, her eyes following Max as he walked around and sat on the opposite side of the booth. He noticed her shivering right away, fumbling to get his jacket off and pass it to her. She went to protest but she could feel the warmth from his own body radiating off the jacket and it was just too damn enticing.

“They won’t notice that I’m gone.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be meeting someone and-”

“You’re supposed to be meeting me, Blake.” Blake stared at him, his jacket clearly a few sizes bigger than her frame but she was warm nonetheless. “I sent the flowers.” Blake thought that deep down she knew it was Max but played it off as someone else because she wasn’t too sure what to expect.

“I don’t understand.” Blake confessed, leaning over to place the bottle of Champagne on the glass top table.

“I knew it was the only way I could talk to you, without any distractions, without you running away and avoiding me.” This was the first in person conversation with Max that was civil. There was no glaring, no death stares, no scoffing or rolling of the eyes. It felt nice, though again, Blake wasn’t too sure what to expect from this.

“There's been a reason for that, Max. You’ve threatened my friends, you’ve ruined my relationship with someone who I thought was my friend, my family. You’ve made me out to be some homewrecker. I don’t know what to think.” Max looked down as the palm of his hands in his lap before looking back up, directly into Blake’s eyes. She thought she would feel intimidated by the look after all his past glares but she felt…Warm? He looked apologetic.

“I have no excuse, I know that.” Blake burrowed herself into his jacket, waiting for Max to continue. “But I want to make things right.”

“Why do you love me? You never bothered to get to know me when I was working with Kelly so I just don’t understand.” It was a valid question, but Max had the answers. He seemed to chuckle to himself, it seemed obvious. And perhaps it was to him.

“You don’t care for the life Kelly wanted. You love meeting people, making people laugh, smile, happy. You are a beacon as soon as you walk into a room and everyone gravitates towards you, no matter what. I know lots about you, through Kelly, through Penelope. I know you love sunflowers and roses with baby’s breath because yellow, red and white are your favourite colours. I know you want a dog but want to own a house before getting one, I know you love to cook rather than go out. I know things about you, Blake, more than you realise.” Max finished, looking at Blake expectantly.

“That’s not really giving me an answer Max, make me understand.” He pushed himself from the position on the couch and moved closer to her. Blake wanted to back away, create some sort of distance between the two but instead her heart started to beat faster. “I can’t give you what Kelly had. I’m no model, I rent an apartment, I have no living family. I’m sure this is all just a phase, Max.”

“I thought it was a phase, at the very start. But then I found myself wishing I was taking you out on trips or to fancy restaurants, it was you that I wanted to celebrate a win with. I don’t want Kelly, I want Blake Collins, I want you.” It was romantic, that much Blake could admit, but she wasn’t going to give in that easily. She wasn’t even sure where Max stood in her life. Did she have feelings for him? She certainly didn’t hate it.

“I’m not some prize to be won, I’m not a possession you just have. I’m not even sure I even like you as a friend.” Max clenched his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he fucked up with his words, with his explanation.

“No, no. You’re right, I didn’t mean it like that. Look, I can’t take back anything I did or say and I regret that, I really do. But let me have one chance, one chance to get this right. One chance to prove to you.”

“One chance, Verstappen, and it’s not going to be easy.”

#f1 x oc #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 #formula one smut #formula 1 fanfic #formula one #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader

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graciebrams · 25 days ago

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𓇢𓆸 get to know me

hi I'm ema you can call me em or ems <3 my pronouns are she/her, desi 𐙚˙⋆.˚

✧ i ١٥٧٤ : rose gold, silver jewellery, coffee, books, ribbons, hoop earrings, lipgloss, handwritten letters, choclate, colours pink, brown and sage green, bracelets, cats, ballet flats, sundresses, rings, sunsets, dried out flower petals, collecting old movie tickets, etc ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

ꪆৎ fav artists : gracie abrams, taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, lexi jayde, eileen alister, alessi rose, alix page, maise peters, birdy, the nbhd, chase atlantics, the weeknd, johnny orlando, harry styles, lizzy mcalpine, beabadoobee, girl in red, olivia rodrigo, evanescance, ROLEMODLE, phoebe bridgers, 1D, billie eilish, finneas, lexi caroll, clairo, conan gray, cate, CAS, gracen reign, madison beer, mazzy stars, MARINA, lyn lapid ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

✧ fav shows: gilmore girls, anne with an e, lockwood and co., two broke girls, derry girls, b99, my mad fat diary, opposite sex, YOU, insatiable, the office, the good doctor, dash and lily, the irregulars, my life with the walter boys, the summer i turned pretty, friends, breaking bad, girl meets world, my lady jane, maxton hall, ted lasso, supernatural, gossip girl, the oc, bridgerton, OBX. ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

ꪆৎ fav youtubers: carys rachel, ceri jones, heather wotherspoon, ur internet mom ash, luna montana, audrey mika, basicgorl, just sharon, naomi victoria, anna lenks, niki and gabi, sarah betts, emma chamberlain, ahaspoofy, tia gabriella, caitlyn marie, nailea, sadie aldis, grace's room, sturniolo triplets, tara yummy, benoftheweek, larray, madeline argy, sab quesada, cam and fam, kalogera sisters, quen blackwell, alana lintao, sam and colby, melieya, kailpeery, nick wilkins. ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

✧ other favs: sophia birlem, sadie sink, cailey spainey, lola tung, chris briney, daisy edgar jones, amybeth mcnulty, lily collins, rowan blanchard, nicola coughlan, emma stone, sarah carpenter, cory foeglmanis, diana silvers, nicholas hoult, caitlyn dever, lauren graham, sarosie ronan, anne hathway, tom holland, zendaya, andrew garfield, laura marano, florence pugh, jenna ortega, cooper koch, harrison osterfield, harry holland, sam holland, paddy holland, tuwaine barett. ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

ꪆৎ fav movies: little women (1994 and 2019), the princess diaries (1 and 2), anne of green gables, carrie 1976, roman holiday, sabrina (1954), qala, freaky friday, legally blonde, 13 going on 30, to all the boys, kissing booth, adventures in babysitting, 16 wishes, 16 candles, how to build a better boy, priscilla 2023, the fault in our stars, dirty dancing, love rosie, stuck in love, tolkien, the devil all the time, all spiderman and marvel movies, uncharted,

prev urls : sparksssflytv -> graciebrams

• divider by @issysh3ll

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sadalmostlesbian · 3 months ago

Note

for the ask game: 8, 14 and 16 (sejanus) :))

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

I think the number one thing I hate that the fandom does to Sejanus is downplay his struggles in the Capitol to something akin to high school bullying or even less than that. Anti-district sentiment is directly linked to violence against district people just like how racist ideologies are linked to racist violence in the real world. I feel like some people take what Coriolanus says about Sejanus being ultra privileged as fact and miss the obvious consequences and dehumanization the Plinth family faces at the hands of people in the Capitol. I’ve gone on rants about this before on my page but like… Suzanne Collins wrote a near perfect portrayal of a first generation immigrant family and the struggles that come with that and people cast it aside and instead call Sejanus whiny and stupid because he empathizes with and wants to stick up for his people.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

I’m going with a modern AU for this one because I feel like canon Sejanus just wants to be in the most plain clothes possible because he hates being paraded around in fancy clothes. But… I feel like irl he would definitely wear lots of prints, like silk tropical inspired shirts and a lot of white and green. Also he would wear earrings… idk why. He just would. I hc him in a modern AU as Boricua so I feel like he would take some style influence from Puerto Rican traditional clothing perhaps?

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

I honestly have read probably every ship with Sejanus cause I love him so much. I really don’t dislike any of them as long as the dynamic is well written. But… (and don’t get me wrong I do like Snowjanus) I would say my least favorite ship dynamic is when Coriolanus either magically doesn’t mind that Sejanus is from the districts and they get together OR when Sejanus gives up all of his morals and is completely happy living a life in the Capitol with his dictator husband. Like… create ocs at that point because neither of those characters would EVER do that.

#thanks so much for the ask #tbosas

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morelikeravenbore · 15 days ago

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TREAT OR TREAT BISH!!! 🎃✨

Because anything that comes from you is a treat hehe

Well, well, well. If it isn't chaos angel. You're soo lucky I didn't feel like torturing you today. 😈

You Don't Make Friends With Green Beans.

Or: the new French transfer student gets her “proper Hogwarts welcome” in an unexpected way. A drabble dedicated to Esme Greene, Aurélie's au bestie and brainchild of my bestie @sallowsangel 600~ words, SFW.

'Oi, Greenie!'

Dodging boiled green beans from across the Slytherin table was not how Esme Greene envisioned the beginning of her seventh year to play out, but with a best friend like Sebastian Sallow — whose penchant for being annoying was rivalled only by his inability to sit still for longer than three seconds — one could never guess how even a night as predictable as the Sorting Feast was going to unfold.

In fact, when it came to Sebastian, the only thing Esme could count on with absolute certainty was that he would find a way to annoy her — and tonight, his preferred means of getting under her skin was by flinging beans at her head while she tried futilely to ignore him.

continue below the cut

'Psst, Green Bean! I know you can hear me.'

Esme rolled her eyes as she artfully dodged another bean: the nickname Green, and all the seemingly endless variations of it, had been bestowed upon her one summer after Sebastian had figured out that her full name — Esmeralda Greene — could be roughly translated to Green Green; an unfortunate oversight on her parents behalf, maybe, but more likely a reflection of their desire to continue the family's Slytherin legacy by naming their daughter after their favoured house colour.

Regardless, at just eight years old, and despite her vehement threats that if he didn't stop she'd steal her mother's wand, learn her first hex and turn his hair into snakes, Esme had officially become Green: or Greenie, Green Beans, Grass, Leaf, Treetop or any green-related adjective that popped into Sebastian's head on a whim.

When she had, as expected, been sorted into Slytherin, eleven-year-old Sebastian had laughed gleefully and said, 'With a name like Green Green, it's no wonder you made it in!', to which eleven-year-old Esme had snapped back, 'With a name like Sallow, it's no wonder you're so ugly!', before stomping off to the girls dorm with his twin sister Anne giggling in tow.

Seven years later, seventeen-year-old Esme was still "The Greenliest Gremlin of Greenland", etc — and still perpetually annoyed.

Across the table, smug as ever, Sebastian leaned back and popped a bean into his mouth. 'Ah, well,’ he drawled, crossing his arms behind his head. ‘Guess you're not interested in hearing about the Beauxbatons transfer student, then.’

'The what?' Esme slapped her fists flat on the table and glared at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. ‘Beauxbatons? As in France? What do you know? Tell me right now!’

As if on cue, the enchanted candles above them dimmed, signalling the beginning of the Sorting Ceremony, but as the first years began filing in, Esme's attention was razor sharp on the freckled annoyance sitting opposite her.

Sebastian's smirk widened. ‘Well, well, not so keen to ignore me now, are you?’

'Sebastian Sallow!’ Esme hissed.

‘Green Green!’

‘Tell me right now!’

‘You know, I don't think I will.’

With a swiftness borne from a lifetime of sibling-like rivalry, they each lunged for the last remaining bean on the platter between them. Sebastian, quicker thanks to his years of playing on the Slytherin Quidditch team, snatched it up first and flung it at Esme's face.

Only it didn't hit Esme's face.

As if in slow motion, the bean flew well over her head, soared toward the group of jittery first years and hit a tall, auburn-haired girl smack bang in the middle of her forehead.

A girl neither of them had even seen before —

A girl who was clearly not a first year —

‘Shit.’ Sebastian cowered in his seat as the girl turned slowly to fix him with a deeply offended scowl. ‘That's her,’ he whimpered. ‘That's the new girl.’

#ask morelikeravenbore #morelikeravenbore writes #aurelie collins #esmerelda greene #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy drabble #sebastian sallow drabble #hogwarts legacy oc

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damianmian · 1 month ago

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Day 1 OCtober: Favourite OC

Yes I know I’m supposed to do existing artwork but I’m actively procrastinating. I have two. They’re in love. I love them. So here’s William and Collin (though depending on which universe they find themselves in they have different names). I might explain OC lore at some point because I have PAGES of this shit in my Notion.

William: Guy in purple. He’s one of my first OCs (so watch out on day 3 you’re about to see some olddd art). He’s grown with me, what can I say. Started off as a boy who was shy and incredibly unsure of himself, severely depressed, and a white haired twink (NOW you understand the aesthetic). Now? Still soft-spoken, still sometimes unsure but he’s dependable, kind, and above all happy. And in a couple of universes I’m working on he’s got kids!

Collin: The fella with the green hoodie. Really obsessed with William so husband-guy-energy^tm. Started off as a guy with severe anxiety, still a guy with severe anxiety but with a boyfriend… and better coping mechanisms (the first one is definitely more important). He’s the type of guy he’d go to a party, talk to everyone, get drunk, and appear to have fun even if he desperately wants to go home.

#bweirdOCtober #artblr #my ocs #original characters #my fuckin OCs I’ve never said them out loud before #oc-tober #OCtober

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ramennoodlezzzao3 · 2 months ago

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YOU GUYS, I COMPLETELY FORGIT ABT THIS AU, SHOULD I WRITE IT? (It’s a Harry Potter AU and I found some notes that I wrote down. I’m gonna change some of it but STILL)

Something I wanted to make clear, Miss Kathy, the librarian, is a character I added in memory of my grandmother. My grandmother loved Harry Potter with all of her heart as it was something her and my grandfather used to read together. Her name was Kathy with a K and I thought that if I was going to add a librarian, it has to be her! So I get to share a little bit of my grandmother with you guys as the characters attitude, humor, personality, and description is exactly like my grandmother (or as close as I could get)

Kathy J. 1952 - 2021 (She would have been 73 this year)

Overview/information

Ponyboy lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma, but he lives on a street called privet drive.

He’s not being abused by anyone, and everyone in the gang is aged up. Not only that, this is set in 1991 so Ponyboy was born in 1980, let me put the gangs ages and birthdays rq

Darry - 28, January 21st, 1963

Two-bit - 27, April 1st 1964

Dallas - 26, November 4th, 1965

Steve - 25, December 6th, 1966

Sodapop - 25, October 8th, 1966

Johnny - 24, March 1st, 1967

Pony - 11, July 22nd, 1980

The reason for the age gap between Ponyboy and his brothers is because after Sodapop, the Curtis parents were told they couldn’t have anymore children. Sodapop and Darry always wanted another little brother but were told by their parents they just couldn’t have one.

So when Mrs. Curtis got pregnant a few months before Darry’s 17th birthday, Everyone, including the gang, were very excited, especially Sodapop.

One day, Ponyboy and his parents went to the grocery store, but in their way back got in a car accident and died…well, that’s what it looked like, at least. Voldemort actually tried to kill Ponyboy but ended up failing. (Que the boy who lived!)

Ponyboys parents did know about the wizarding world, their great grandparents were very rich witches and wizards. But after an incident, a curse was put on the family so no Wizard could be born into the family again, until Ponyboy came along.

No, Sodapop and Darry aren’t wizards, they didn’t even know about the wizarding world until now.

Darry was able to get custody of both Ponyboy and Sodapop (Sodapop would have been 15 and Ponyboy would have been 1)

And just so you don’t have to do the math, Darry was 17, Two-bit was 16, Dallas was 15, Steve was 14, Sodapop was 14, and Johnny was 13 when Ponyboy was born.

Yes, Ponyboy has the scar and glasses.

Now, this is my AU so I’m making Ron the youngest because I wholeheartedly hate Ginny with all of my being.

Now, Ron is still gonna end up with Hermione, Neville with Luna, Draco with Pansy, but I want Ponyboy to end up with a boy. Like, he will still kiss Cho, but that’s like, his gay awakening, you catch my drift

(I, personally, am Bi, so I wanna add some LGBTQ element in the story, so why not make it the main love focus?)

I was thinking he could end up with Dean Thomas or Seamus Finigin, maybe even Cormac Laggin or Collin Creevy. Or I could make up a character but I prefer not to add Ocs, so if you guys have any ideas on who he should end up with, let me know.

It needs to be someone that can replace Ginny, but not be apart of the Weasley family.

I’m not gonna give Darry or anyone in the gang a serious girlfriend or wife because I want the ENTIRE FOCUS on pony. I might keep Evie and Silvia, maybe even Cathy (M&Ms older sister from that was then this is now) as two’s girlfriend. But Sandy is gone and Johnny and Darry are single Pringles.

I figured out the statistics for ponyboy and here they are

Patronus (won’t be important till later) - Pieball Mare (a horse lol)Companion - black and white spotted cat with black socks and a mustache (Green eyes) named Oreo (do you guys have a better name idea?)Wand - See chapter 2

Serious black is his Godfather, Lily Curtis and Darrel Curtis made sure of that

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #ao3 #fanfic #ao3 writer #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #steve randle #idk anymore

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mercurygray · 9 months ago

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Merc, what kind of Historical Military Man gets the wheels turning for you? What are the markers of 'Oh, that one, that one is now mine'?

Nat, I'm going to be honest, this question provoked something of an existential crisis. so I went back through, like, 20 years of fandom favorites to see if there's a pattern.

Spoiler: there isn't, apart from a perennial need to be different. This is kind of long .

2001 (ish) - Lord of the Rings is coming out, and you are either a Legolas or Aragorn girl. I am deep in my 'not like the other girls' phase and decide Boromir is actually the superior choice here. (This leads me to watch A LOT of period dramas that are probably not appropriate for for me at this age, including Clarissa and Lady Chatterley's Lover.) It also leads me to the Sharpe books, which are great and awesome. Richard Sharpe doesn't necessarily do anything for me as a character, but that gets me into Hornblower, which gets me into the Aubreyad, which leads me to read a lot about the Napoleonic Wars in high school. Cliff-diving into a different historical period is now something I do every single summer.

I also spend about 5 years (2008-2013) writing a 225,000 word fanfic in which Boromir doesn't die.

2010-2015

Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens) is really only in the army a brief while but who can say no to the blue eyes and the absolute vibe he has going with Mary?

During the Downton phase I decide to raid the library for other period dramas, again, and watch The Forsyte Saga. Soames Forsyte is not a man you love, but Damian Lewis has A Face and I know he was on Band of Brothers, which the library perennially never has a copy of.

2011

I finally watch Band of Brothers in its entirety my senior year of college and am a little disappointed I appear to be missing large parts of the story. (Future rewatches will explain that this is actually a feature of the show, not a bug.) My recollections of this are hazy, but I'm fairly certain my favorite character the first time I watched this was Lewis Nixon (Ron Livingston). He's dark-haired, he's funny, he's an absolute mess with a trust fund. Dick Winters (Damian Lewis) also has one hell of a face. He's a red-head, he's in charge of everyone else, he doesn't say much, and he is tall. I know there must be fic for this show but am also very, very sure it is shippy in a direction I do not want to read, so I do not go looking for it.

TURN - 2014-2017

Ben Tallmadge (Seth Numrich) is the guy to watch on TURN: he's a lieutenant, he's tall, he struggles with rules, but the entire fandom is also crazy about him and the leading queen bee in the OC end of that fandom is a real pain about it, so I decide I will not be writing for him no matter what it costs me to hold off admitting I want to. However, in the next episode we meet his best friend, Caleb Brewster (Daniel Henshall) who is short, bearded, dark-haired and chaotic. The moment he comes onscreen I love him. Sadly, no one is reading fic for him and this project is abandoned.

In Season 3, we meet the Marquis de Lafayette. Historical Lafayette is a tall, awkward redhead in need of a father figure who makes up for war experience with boundless enthusiasm. His letters home are adorable. Show Lafayette (Ben Wiles) is tall and enthusiastic. I love him anyway and I make it everyone's problem for, like, a year.

2016-2017 - Mercy Street

Henry Hopkins (Luke Macfarlane) is a military chaplain in a hotel-turned Union hospital in Alexandria, Virginia. He's tall, he's a little tortured, and he has a knack for putting others first. Wrestling with some past choices, his romance with Emma Green, the privileged daughter of the family who owned the hotel, is sweet and full of pining. I write so much fix-it fic for them it's not even funny. (I love this show because the female characters I love come pre-installed. Please watch this.)

2016 - Dunkirk

I see this movie three times in theaters and love it more each time. Collins (Jack Lowden) is a blonde RAF flyboy with a very adorable face. (Tom Glynn Carney is also a face I like but he's on a backburner for a bit.) I write a lot of fic about it and affectionately refer to this as my first Planes Go Zoom phase.

2020

Two weeks into the pandemic I decide rewatching Band of Brothers is a good idea and buy the book and the DVD set from my local secondhand bookshop like I am doing a drug deal in a parking lot. Two weeks after that I am writing a fanfic for Dick Winters (Damian Lewis) because I am a loon who likes men in charge and painfully slow burns.

2021

Still in the middle of a pandemic I decide to watch The Pacific, because I make good decisions, apparently. Hoosier Smith (Jacob Pitts) is a taciturn, wise-cracking friend of Leckie's who is joked about as being the pretty one. He is. Andrew Haldane (Scott Gibson) is quiet, unassuming, and in charge, and played college football for Bowdoin. Very dad energy. Extremely charming. Dead in three episodes as history intended. Fix-it fic incoming.

2022 Top Gun Maverick comes out. Jake "Hangman" Seresin (played by Glen Powell, who I loved in Hidden Figures and The Guernsey Literary Potato Peel Pie Society) has a jawline you could cut something with and an attitude. My friends think I am mental. Second Planes Go Zoom phase coupled with Devotion, which comes out shortly after.

SAS Rogue Heroes comes out. I have been really looking forward to seeing Tom Glynn Carney in something else and he delivers. Mike Sadler is blond, extremely good at his job, not capable of suffering fools, and far too attractive for the desert.

2024

We do not even make it out of trailer season before I realize I still have a Thing (TM) for Callum Turner's face, which I have known since he was Theseus Scamander in Fantastic Beasts. Watching The Boys in the Boat before this all starts doesn't help - he has regrettably blond hair but thighs for days and shoulders you could hang the universe on. John "Bucky" Egan, is tall, dark-haired, incredibly generous spirited and nominally in charge. I want all of it. The rest of the fandom does too. I try to make peace with that and write anyway. Third Planes Go Zoom phase.

#asked and answered #emilykaldwen #more about me

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callsigns-haze · 11 months ago

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Loves Revolution

Prologue

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw (as Micheal Collins) x Jake Seresin (as Harry Boland) x OC! Madison Cassidy

Word count: 500words

A/n: This is the first post to my new series so please be nice! I'm going to try to make this into a series so please show this story a bit of love and reblog!

Summary: Bradley, Jake and Maddie have been friends for many years ongoing. Bradley from Cork and Jake and Madison from the troubled Dublin, have been close for life. Now fighting in the 1916 Easter rising and the ongoing history to the Treaty and the independence of Ireland their story lives on.

History: Bradley (represents) :Michael Collins (October 16, 1890 – August 22, 1922) was an Irish revolutionary, soldier, and politician who was a key role in the early twentieth-century campaign for Irish independence. During the Irish Civil War, he served as Director of Intelligence for the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and as a government minister in the self-proclaimed Irish Republic. From January 1922, he was Chairman of the Provisional Government of the Irish Free State, and from July till his death in an ambush in August 1922, he was Commander-in-Chief of the National Army.

Jake (represents) :Harry Boland (April 27, 1887 – August 1, 1922) was an Irish republican politician who led the Irish Republican Brotherhood from 1919 to 1920. From 1918 until 1922, he was a Teachta Dála (TD).He was elected as the MP for Roscommon South in the 1918 general election, but, like other Sinn Féin candidates, he did not serve in the British House of Commons, instead sitting as a TD in the First Dáil. Boland was elected to the second Dáil as a TD for Mayo South-Roscommon South in the 1921 general election. He was re-elected as an anti-Treaty candidate in 1922, but he perished two months later during the Irish Civil War.

History :The Easter Rising (Irish: Éir Amach na Cásca), often known as the Easter Rebellion, was an armed insurgency in Ireland in April 1916 during Easter Week. While the United Kingdom was waging the First World War, Irish republicans started the Rising against British control in Ireland with the goal of establishing an independent Irish Republic. It was Ireland's greatest important insurrection since the 1798 rebellion and the first armed battle of the Irish revolutionary period. Beginning in May 1916, sixteen of the Rising's leaders were executed. The executions' nature, as well as following political developments, eventually contributed to an upsurge in popular support for Irish independence.

Warning: Mentions of gun use, ptsd, mentions of death, mentions of shooting, flirting, mentions of abuse, description of dead body, death, blood

"Sir, we got the General Post Office surrounded, Sir! We believe that inside are De Valera, Macdonagh, Clark, Connolly and a lot of other rebellions, sir!" One of the funny dressed British soldiers replies to their head commander, with hand at forehead, ready for a salute. This is how the English planned it all along, for the most important rebellions to be stuck at one place, surrounded with no escape.

"So we have the G.P.O, good, very good, but what about O'Connells street, Stevens green, The Liffey and the four courts?" The head commander asked the young man who still held his hand above his head, not moving an inch. "The areas are empty, sir! Either captured or escaped but the rest are at the G.P.O, sir!"

They're all where they were supposed to be, all in one place, no room to escape and they'll give in to this nonsense, they had no way to continue fighting against the British or loyal Irish. The undertakers or loyal Irish were against the rebellions, fighting against them at this very moment, all they had to do now is give themselves up to the English.

"Are there any women inside, lieutenant?" Any innocent woman that had been stuck inside the G.P.O that had been inside the building for the past five days, did not deserve the faith they may face in several minutes from now. The soldiers aligned outside of the building will not hesitate to kill anyone on the inside but the women didn't deserve it.

"There's women of aid and very little volunteers, sir! We believe that one of the fellow female friends of De Valera's help is inside the building. Her parents put her off name Madison Cassidy, but to the public she's known as 'Maddie', sir!" A woman so apparently known to the public but how? No woman that the commander has heard of went by that name or was 'known to the public', no woman has ever had the might or power to be so known in the streets of Dublin or the county of Leinster. "What do you mean 'known to the public', lieutenant?" "She's a public speaker, sir!"

A female public speaker? And that was apparently known to people. Absurd. An absolute absurdity. Some young girl, that he has never heard of decided to become a public speaker. What a joke! She should be scrubbing the dishes, washing the linen, taking care of the kids or cooking and not wasting her time over public speeches. And who would even listen to her? Some sort of female, trying to put her thought into a speech that is apparently supposed to motivate people to do something.

And she believes that's gonna work, but like the lieutenant mentioned, she did work with De Valera. "Bring her to me, nobody lay a finger upon her, understood?" "Yes sir!"

Current taglist:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@callsign-dexter

@rosiahills22

@horseslovers2016

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

@hardballoonlove

@kmc1989

@dempy

@mamachasesmayhem

@senawashere

@emma8895eb

@buckysteveloki-me

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@a-beaverhausen

#jake seresin #hangman x reader #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake hangman imagine #hangman imagine

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castiels-babydoll · 26 days ago

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Welcome my loves

This blog is dedicated for my story Divine Devotion, a Castiel fanfic, and for Castiel fics in general. There will be smut so under 17 dni with those posts. This account is primarily for Castiel fanfic and Supernatural but I will probably post the occasional ask games to interact with my followers and moots. Further information will be below the cut, please read.

About Me

My name is Cassius and I'm 18 years old. I am a huge lover of Castiel, Misha Collins in general, and celestial beings. I especially love angels and demons. My stories will contain some extreme topics so if you do not like paraphilias and extreme kink do not interact and do not read my smut. I will divulge into that in the themes for my story and fics in the next paragraph. No hate will be tolerated whatsoever so do not come here on my blog spewing it. I will not respect you if you do not respect me. I do not mind asks and moots, I would love them in fact. I hope to make friends within the Supernatural fandom, if you want to know more about me feel free to ask through asks! ^-^ My Wattpad account is Celestial_Lover which is where my story, Divine Devotion, has been and will be originally uploaded. I could not use the same username since someone else has already taken "Celestial_Lover" here on tumblr. I will probably post more frequently here on tumblr than I will on wattpad.

About My Writing

I, as obviously stated before, will only be writing for Castiel, maybe even Jimmy Novak occasionally. EVERYTHING will be x my OC, if you do not like that then do not read my writing. Due to everything being x my OC I do not know if I'll be taking requests but as of right now I will not be so DO NOT send any requests in. They will be ignored and deleted. Please do not hound me about when I will be releasing the next chapter as I have a job and am unmedicated for adhd, it is hard for me to focus/find the time at times. I have a life outside of tumblr so I will not always be posting chapters or fics regularly. I am fictosexual / a fictophile and have a parasocial relationship with Castiel. I love him deeply, truly and intimately, he means the world to me. He's my Celestial Doll.

As for the themes in my story and fics, anything and everything practically. I will be writing smut, romance, fluff, angst, crack, kink, etc. The kinks will more than likely be on the more taboo side and I will also be writing about paraphilias as well. With this in mind, anyone under the age of 17 DO NOT INTERACT, I know I cannot control what you chose to do but I have stated it here and I will on every post that has smut for anyone under the age of 17 to dni. I can't think of anything else at the moment for my writing or content warnings ahead of time but I will add themes and content/trigger warnings to every chapter and fic I post. They will always be at the beginning of the post so you will not be able to miss it unless you purposely chose to ignore it.

With it in mind that I will be writing about paraphilias, DO NOT INTERACT if you are anti para and anti kink. I will not tolerate it. As I have tons of paraphilias myself.

My Supernatural OC

Her name is Cassius Marie Winchester and she is 19 years old. She is 5'2 with green eyes and dirty blonde hair to the top of her shoulders, with a chubby body build. She has a tom boy style and takes after both Sam and Dean, Sam's smart, book worm, history buff side with Dean's attitude, sass and chaos. She likes reading, 80s rock, history and PIE. Her hyperfixation/obsession/quirk are angels and she loves them as well. She is always snacking on candy, and snacking in general, and reading. She has bad anger issues, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, and her love interest is Castiel. She is Sam and Dean's younger sister, as she is also their half-sister; they all share the same father but have different mothers. She is a very deep, true lover and comes off as "crazy" due to her possessive and obsessive tendencies. Like the two boys she has abandonment and daddy issues, Cassius also has Good Girl Syndrome and BPD, in short she has mental health issues along with self harm and alcohol issues.

To know more about her, stay tuned and read the story and fics

I will not be posting links so if you want to find stuff for my story look up "Divine Devotion Chapter *whatever number you're looking for*" on my blog and it will pop up. For fics it will probably be similar just with the title of the fic instead, I am not sure yet. In short, I will be tagging my story chapter by chapter with the story name in the tags and I will probably be doing the same for fics. If you want to find something just look it up through the search on my blog.

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dogmetaph0r · 9 months ago

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SIC 'EM

Chapter 1: Fetch

A/N: We're FINALLY ready to get started here! So excited to share my work with you guys after talking about it for so long. Each chapter will come with its own warnings, tags, etc. but the chapters are not stand-alone. It's... more just because I am a pantser and not a planner so lord knows what will happen in the future.

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

Warnings: mentions of period accurate anti-Romani racism, mental health issues, generally just being a PB fic

Summary: Tommy Shelby needs a rat for the Grand National at Aintree Racecourse. Runaway lovers Samuel Lovell and Florence-Maria Lee need the money. It's a bulletproof plan, an easy job, and a chance to make things right with the Lee family... so what other choice does Sam have?

The other Lee girl was meant to meet him along the road halfway between Haydock and Collins Green just over twenty minutes ago, according to Tommy’s pocket watch. Esme had promised Tommy that Florence-Maria would make good on her word, but her lateness was beginning to wear on his resolve. Still, he had no choice but to wait, cigarette after cigarette burning down to embers at the tips of his fingers. Thomas Shelby was a man who valued the soldierly punctuality that would have been the difference between life and death on the Front. Esme’s sister or not, Florence was still an unknown variable, and the far travels of the Lee family could prove difficult if it came to tracking the young woman down. If she did not want to be found, she would not be found.

She certainly had her fair share of reasons to balk at their meeting. If Johnny Dogs’ story was to be believed, Florence was the first to object to the deal between the Shelbys and the Lees. The sisters were best friends, the closest in age of all of Zilpha’s children. Esme was Florence’s whole world. Strike one against the Shelbys, then, for taking Esme away. John’s account of the young woman was that she was skittish and not easily comforted by the promise of peace between the families. Tommy himself remembered seeing a girl roughly Esme’s age shying away from Cousin Nipper’s offer of a dance, flinching as though a touch from their accursed family could kill. Strike two. Most compelling of all was Esme’s own warning, delivered with the pride of an older sister: Florence does not take unnecessary risks. And Tommy was asking a very, very risky favor. Strike three.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke thick and acrid as he let the wind carry his sigh away. The prospect of making this deal work was too tempting to give up now. It kept Tommy leaning against his car, resolutely opposing the strong wind buffeting his side, the slightly-too-warm late spring sunlight beating down on his jacketed shoulders. If this plan went well, the Blinders could expand to Aintree Racecourse, taking the Grand National Steeplechase and cementing a reputation in Northwest England. While their security with Solomons and his Yiddishers meant they already had a place in booming London, the idea of staking a claim on Liverpool and Manchester was tempting. Tommy was nothing if not enterprising.

A low snort alerted him to the presence of a stout black filly cresting the top of the hill before him, a petite woman astride her unsaddled back. There was no mistaking her: this was certainly Florence. Her resemblance to Esme was evident, from her upturned nose to the brunette curls brushing her shoulders. Even the way she carried herself was familiar, bearing the unmistakable poise and dignity of a daughter of Zilpha Lee. Her dismount from the horse was gentle, nearly soundless even with the oversized riding boots she wore. It wasn’t until Florence turned to face him that Tommy could see the slight curvature of her lower belly below the loose fabric of her dress. When she caught the direction of his gaze, she pulled her colorful shawl more tightly over her abdomen, frowning slightly. Ah. That certainly explained her sudden departure from the Lee family caravans. Her mother was a stern and practical woman. If Zilpha were to find out about her daughter’s pregnancy, she would likely have been married off immediately to save her girl and the family the embarrassment. Perhaps to someone she didn’t know, whom Zilpha would approve of far more than her man. Not unlike how she and I married off her sister, Tommy thought, not without a small pang of guilt.

“Thomas Shelby, then?” She called out to him from a distance, keeping herself close to her filly. God, she even sounded like her sister: birdlike and light, but with a sharp edge of wariness.

“Aye,” he responded. “Florence-Maria Lee?” She nodded, glancing over him suspiciously. Undoubtedly, she already knew about the razor blades tucked unobtrusively into the brim of his cap. That wouldn’t help matters. Slowly, Tommy removed the cap and lay it out on the hood of his car, palms raised placatingly. The tension in her shoulders unwound slightly, though there was still a stubbornness to her voice when she spoke.

“He told me this morning he didn’t want to see you,” she called out. “Said he didn’t want a part in the Peaky devils’ business.”

It wasn’t ideal, that. It was always a possibility, coming all the way out here only to be turned away by the man he’d been hoping to see. But he would be damned if he gave up now, when the North was so close to being his that he could practically taste the factory soot in the air. “What would it take to change his mind?” Florence tilted her head, silently scrutinizing some unknown detail on Tommy’s face as she brought up a hand to stroke the cheek of the little black filly. Tommy had seen this type of horse often, when he’d been young. Only broad, compact horses were strong enough to pull a vardo across miles of open plain without complaint. He wondered if this was the sort of creature that Florence’s man worked with often: sturdy, dependable, solid. Hardly the leggy, lean build of a pedigree racehorse, but it had a unique charm that was difficult to deny. Rough-hewn and efficient, they were all that was needed with none of the frills.

“She’s a beauty,” Tommy said, breaking the silence as he jutted his chin towards the horse. “What’s her name?”

Florence relaxed a bit further, allowing the little horse to press her velvety nose in the cup of her palm. “Fleet Ypres,” she responded proudly. “She’s practically his baby. Not for sale, nor barter. So don’t try.”

Tommy nodded, daring to approach the horse, who eagerly flared her nostrils to examine the newcomer. From his left jacket pocket he withdrew an envelope stuffed with money– Florence’s share of the payment for her share of the negotiating –handing it over so the woman could safely tuck it behind the plain neckline of her dress. From his right, he procured a small pink taffy, which he unwrapped and fed to the eager horse. “He fought in Belgium, then?”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead clicking her tongue at the filly so that she would sidestep closer to the wooden fence along the side of the road. Using the rails as leverage, she mounted Fleet Ypres carefully, a hand resting protectively on her small bump as she pulled herself upright and adjusted her shawl again.

“He’s in a bad way today,” she commented in lieu of an answer. “You were a soldier. You’d know how it is.”

All too well, Tommy thought bitterly, the phantom scent of thick, burnt-sweet opium smoke assaulting his nostrils at the memory of one too many sleepless nights ending in a drugged-out haze. “I’ve seen men behave in all manner of ways, coming home.”

Florence gave him a sympathetic wan smile. She held his gaze contemplatively, a furrow between her brows as another strong wind blew against her back, making Fleet Ypres shiver and shift her balance. Her comfort with silence struck Tommy as unusual. Growing up in a household as crowded and hectic as his own, it was difficult to develop the patience to be so still. Florence, despite her own large, close-quartered family, seemed to possess this affinity for quiet. He respected that; it took discipline and an even temperament. She was exactly the type of person Tommy could rely on to keep this negotiation running smoothly.

A creeping chill settled over them as a thick cloud blotted out the midday sun. In the overcast light, he could see where Florence had become different from her older sister. Where Esme’s defiant gaze was fueled by stubbornness and fire, the younger Lee girl held a quiet desperation behind her cautious dark eyes. Her cheeks were beginning to sharpen despite her youthfully round face, something he’d learned to recognize when food was scarce and his younger brothers were at risk of going hungry for too many nights in a row. The combination of these factors would have typically made him wary, like some sort of primordial survival instinct developed to recognize when a person was at their breaking point. Once again, the girl (consciously or not, Tommy wasn’t sure) protectively rested a hand on her lower belly. No, he thought, not a threat. Someone in her position wouldn’t risk ruining the offer he’d laid out for her.

Florence was the first to break the silence with a resigned huff and a shrug, the tips of her ears pinking with the confession: “Fine, let’s go then.”

Tommy blinked. “Pardon?”

“He’s waiting to speak to you. I needed to vet you out first.” Florence gave him another critical once-over, waiting on his reaction. “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Shelby.”

It took a moment for Tommy to realize what Florence was saying. Then, half a second later, that she’d been misleading him on purpose. The mix between relief that the tension had broken and irritation that she’d outmaneuvered him must have shown on his face, judging by the slight cheeky smirk the Lee girl was struggling to suppress. Sorry my arse, he thought. You’ve been conducting this conversation to the exact tune you wanted. I just happened to sing in key. “Very well,” he sighed, turning towards his car and placing his hat neatly back on his head. “Alright. You have the money, now I’ll need the address.”

Florence scoffed, as if the very idea of such a thing was ridiculous. “There’s no address, Mr. Shelby.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She turned Ypres back down the road she’d rode in on, the horse’s long tail catching the breeze in an unexpectedly graceful about-face. “If you’re going to find Sam Lovell,” she shouted over her shoulder, “you’re going to need to think like Sam Lovell.” Fleet Ypres kicked up a cloud of dust behind her as she cantered off, leaving Tommy to hop into the driver’s seat and start the ignition on his Model-T.

Fuck’s sake. He knew enough about Sam to know exactly where she was headed. He would need to follow behind quickly and keep his eyes peeled for a little red vardo, the one that had gone missing from the Lee caravans just a few months ago. That was the last Zilpha had seen of her daughter, and the last anyone had seen of the elusive Samuel Lovell. From what Esme had said of him, perhaps that’s been for the best. With that thought in mind, he sped off down the dirt path, following Florence’s lead.

At a canter, the horse wasn’t overly fast, but she had a steady gait. That speed wouldn’t do on the track, Tommy reasoned, but it was well enough for a caravan horse. Certainly well enough for Florence, who rode at least ten lengths from the car without a second glance behind her or an ounce of concern for her delicate condition. Even with the rumble of the car engine just out of sight, something startling to a horse with little to no city experience to be heard of, the little filly kept her course without a hint of anxiety. Bomb-proof, he thought, and a wave of relief brought a smile to his face. A horse like that could only come from a handler of integrity, a man who understood mutual respect. The type of man Tommy could do business with and walk away from without sweating over the fear of a bullet in his back.

The path Florence took him down grew dusty and dotted with sparse patches of grass, leading them away from the main road to Haydock. Past here, only tip carts and sure-footed horses disturbed the dirt, the natural grooves in the earth rattling the chassis of the automobile as it sped carelessly over each bump. Tommy could just make out forked sticks left in the grass along the trail as patrin signs urging fellow travelers onward, indicating safe passage and friendly company up ahead.

Just as sunlight broke through the cloud cover, the road curved around a copse of thin trees to reveal their destination: a small, red vardo bedecked with hand-painted blue and yellow flowers. Outside sat a tent and cooking fire, and just before that was another horse tied to a stake in the ground. The chestnut gelding was snorting and pawing at the ground, ears tilted back in warning as a tall, dark-haired man stood patiently outside of kicking range. Florence slowed Fleet Ypres to a stop to dismount by the vardo, and Tommy pulled to the side of the road, closing the car door behind him as gently as he could so as not to unsettle the hotheaded gelding further.

Florence and the man– Sam, he presumed –conversed in hushed Angloromani, darting furtive glances back at Tommy as he approached. With one last reassurance that he was fine, that the state he’d woken in had passed, Sam kissed Florence’s forehead sweetly.

His eyes were the first thing Tommy noticed. Large and dove grey, they gave Sam a distinctly melancholy appearance, like the sky just before a downpour. The bruise-dark circles just below stuck out harshly against pale, sallow skin. Despite this, Tommy couldn’t find himself to be put off by his appearance. Sickly and unassuming as he seemed, he didn’t shy away from Tommy’s gaze. Call it simple intuition or call it recognition of a fellow soldier, but Tommy could tell that this man was not the same one who had enlisted. He must’ve been handsome before the war.

“Mr. Shelby,” Sam greeted, wiping his calloused palms on his farrier’s apron. Tommy removed his driving gloves, shaking his hand firmly. “Sam Lovell. Henry’s son.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samuel. Good to finally see the man I’ve been hearing of,” Tommy drawled, stepping back to take a look at the gelding as a whinny pierced the air. “And this is?”

Sam huffed, shaking his head. “Meska. Danny Lee’s new horse.” He rounded the gelding’s front and patted him firmly on the neck, despite the horse’s loud snorting. “He was sold with an abscess under the left back hoof. Danny-boy dropped him here a while ago to go, ah… have a word with the seller,” Sam looked askance at Tommy, quirking an eyebrow knowingly. “And to deliver a message from the Peaky Blinders. But you knew that already.”

Tommy pulled out a cigarette for himself, offering one to Sam. He declined. Instead, the man reached into his back pocket and revealed two slices of dried red apple wrapped in a handkerchief, popping one in his mouth and letting the horse cautiously eat the other from the palm of his hand. “Gave up smokes after the war. Gives me the shakes.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, trailing a hand along the gelding’s flank until he reached the troublesome hoof, bandaged and padded. “This’ll take some time. He’s got an attitude, won’t let me near without a fair bit of bribery. But he oughta be good for riding by the Appleby fair, God permitting.”

“You’re still a godly man after everything, Samuel?” Tommy lit his cigarette, letting it hang from his mouth as smoke curled around his head.

It was an innocent question, nothing more than a weak attempt at peeling back the layers of Sam’s guarded past, but it earned him a glare as cold and dead as still water in the trenches. Perhaps it was the change in light, the overcast above thickening as it cloaked the sun, but the circles under his eyes seemed to grow darker, deep and sunken. The man's lips were chapped and anxiously bitten to scabbing in places. It didn’t take a soldier’s experience to know that Sam was exhausted, laden with the kind of weight that didn’t shake with a good night’s sleep. If he could even manage such a thing, he thought. Tommy had seen men fall victim to their own minds with a lack of sleep in the Somme, going skittish and paranoid like cornered animals. Yet the look in Sam’s eyes wasn’t desperate, but fixed. Focused. It was a dizzying thing to be the subject of.

“You keep calling me Samuel,” he muttered, the ghost of a scouse accent coating his words as he stepped into Tommy’s space, breathing in his smoke. “God has heard, it means. D’you think God heard me in Ypres?” He leaned in close, right next to Tommy’s ear, lowering his voice to just a whisper. “Because I’ll tell you a secret, Tom. I did a lot of begging for it all to stop.”

Tommy steeled himself, slowed his breathing. It would do him no good to give in to the discomfort and back away, to put distance between himself and the war being stirred up in Sam’s brain. Whatever battle Sam had been fighting this morning had evidently not been won as easily as he’d told Florence it had. While Tommy did not come here looking for a confrontation, it was difficult to determine if Sam knew as much– or, rather, whether his mind could recognize the difference between friend and foe so far into this waking nightmare. The way he spat out God’s name felt like a provocation, tempting Tommy to fight back just to give Sam a reason to bite. Besides the fact that he and the heavens were no longer on speaking terms, Tommy knew better than to escalate. Knew that this was just the jagged edge the Western Front had left behind when it ripped Sam away from the safety of home. Something in the tension the other man held, an anticipatory rigor, told him that he had to keep playing his part in the verbal standoff if he wanted this conversation to go anywhere. He had to meet the soldier where he was at, even if that place was a trench only Sam could see. “And did God answer?”

Sam was the one to back up, hunching slightly to grin sardonically with that same ghostly eye contact. “Oh, yes. He sent me a bullet, right here,” He tapped a rib on his right side. “Nearly sent me up to my maker, it did. But the week I was due back on the front lines, the war ended. Lucky me.” He straightened up but didn’t move farther, just glared down at him like a priest at the pulpit. “So yeah, you could say that I’m a proper faithful man, Thomas.” Don’t fucking ask again, his tone said.

“Good.” Tommy looked him up and down slowly. Analytically. Waiting for the bite to follow his bark. “I like to see devotion.”

Sam’s nostrils flared, betraying his irritation that the older man would not stand down. He cut an imposing figure, Tommy had to admit. It was a shame how hard he tried to shrink into himself before this disruption, lean limbs pulled in and shoulders hunched as though he could hide in plain sight. This, in contrast, this…intensity was a force to be reckoned with. This was someone Tommy could use on his side. He had to teach him to harness that anger, refine him the same way he honed Arthur to a razor-sharp edge and wielded him like a weapon. Break him the way he might break a horse. Train him the way he might train a bloodhound. Their eye contact held until Florence stepped into his peripheral, a hand on Sam’s shoulder to guide him back gently. She whispered a question to him, inaudible over the sound of the gelding’s concerned huffs, to which he responded with a tight smile and slight shake of the head. The warm glow of Tommy’s cigarette quickly reached his lips, and he crushed the butt of it into the dirt with the heel of his shoe.

They didn’t have money, that much was clear. Between Sam’s unhealthy pallor and the frayed hem on Florence’s dress, they gave the impression of a couple working themselves ragged in an attempt to make ends meet. Tommy’s offer could get them out of the cold for the winter, put them up in a flat in the city where the factories could use a blacksmith. That wouldn’t appeal so much to someone like Sam, accustomed as he was to clean, fresh air and the sensitivities of horses, but it was work. Work meant food on the table. That realization must have reached Sam while he listened to Florence, because something like dread settled over his face as he took in the difference in their appearances: Tommy, clean-cut and offering him a job, and Sam, hunger gnawing behind his ribcage and no family left to take shelter with.

“Alright,” Sam returned to Tommy, the ice beginning to melt away from his pale eyes. “I’ll consider doing business with you, but it’ll be no tricks, aye? If I don’t like your plan, or if you change shit up on me day-of, I walk. Got a deal?”

Tommy nodded, emboldened by this show of trust. “Deal.”

Each man spat into his bare palm, and they shook on it.

Sam did not like Tommy. Not at first, at least. He carried himself as if he weren’t the upstart head of a Brummie street gang; an ill-fitting hand-me-down from his father that he had only just grown into, if he’d heard correctly. The tailored suit and shiny dress shoes were a poor fit for the dusty country road, as though he’d been planning to meet over crystal tumblers of gin and tonic at a fucking white tablecloth restaurant rather than the middle of a field miles from anything resembling a town. Sam had no such pretenses. Tommy knew he was just a farrier, knew he was the son of a farrier, knew he was dirt poor and barely scraping by even without the baby. But if Tommy wanted to flaunt his new status and play at the image of old money, he could go right on ahead. It cost him nothing when Sam knew he could see right through it.

Sam had to give him credit for one thing, though– he was a good businessman. The plan was solid, and the offer was just steep enough to be tempting while realistic enough to be trustworthy. He hardly had to act to fill the role he’d been set to play, just keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut at Aintree Racecourse. Tommy needed someone to integrate into the regular staff of farriers, veterinarians, trainers, and stableboys milling about the racecourse over the course of the two weeks leading up to the race, learning the ins and outs of the venue and discovering the weak points in security. After every few days he’d report to their go-between, Paul Knight– which he was sure was not the man’s real name –who was identifiable as a big bloke missing half a pinkie who would wait for him at the Queens Arms pub. But on Grand National day, his role would be the silent, inconspicuous observer posing as yet another nameless grunt in the stables, tracking the movements of every piece on the chessboard: the jockeys, the coppers, the bookies. Up until the minutes before the races start. From the bar, he’d create a distraction: a staged fight with another of the Blinders over something stupid and typical, like betting or women or offhand remarks. He’d involve others. Make a scene. And, with the Blinders’ help, their scuffle would escalate into an all-out pub brawl. The coppers would have no choice but to flood the scene just to untangle the whole mess, and Sam would flee. With no coppers and no eyes on the bookies, the Blinders could burn their permits and rob them of their earnings. A variation on the Epsom scheme, Tommy had said. A modus operandi in the making.

With the price Tommy was willing to pay for his cooperation, it was impossible to say no. He had a child on the way, a family to look after, a home to be the man of. There was already no other choice for him. The age of automobiles was upon him, and the type of people who could afford to pay good money for a good farrier were no longer the people who required his services. He wouldn’t be many clients’ first choice; it was easier to send the Rrom on his way and pay a higher price for someone whose parentage they respected. Anyone who wasn’t like him.

So there was no other choice. That’s what he told himself. It’s what he told Florence, later, when they were alone and settling in for the night. There was no other choice, and the money would be enough to keep them afloat, and she deserved to rest while he made things work. That he would take care of her. That he always did.

“Fia,” he whispered to her, fingers carding through her curls. Long ago, Florence-Maria became just Fia, and the name had stuck tighter than a burr in a wild colt’s mane. “Fia, listen. It’s just one job.”

She sighed, one heaping lungful of air saying more than words could. When it was just the two of them, words were hardly necessary anyway. “It’s always just one job with those men,” she muttered into his bare chest, “and then before you know it it’s just another job. And another. And a horse. And a few guns. And some cash. And a night in a cell.” And your big sister, he thought. It went unspoken.

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll just tell ‘em to fuck off.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just this time, I’ll do it. It’s not much effort, and a lot of money besides. The racecourse’ll pay me for the honest work on top of that. They’ll be none the wiser.”

She pouted. Sam couldn’t see it, but he could certainly feel it against his skin, the way her jaw tightened and her lower lip stuck out just slightly. He resisted the urge to poke that scowl, just to make her laugh. Something about this moment felt like no laughing matter.

After a moment of silence, she spoke up, her voice small and quiet: “I didn’t like the way he talked to you.”

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes with the confidence of a man who knew he couldn’t be seen from her angle. “He hardly did, Fia. Puffed himself up like a rooster and said the vaguest shit you ever did hear, then it was right to business.”

“I don’t like the way he looked at you, then,” she moved, propping herself up with a hand on her cheek so that her chin rested on his shoulder. “Like you were a horse at auction.”

Like a piece of meat, more like. He shuddered. “And what if you’re wrong, eh? What if I do my job and go on my way, and the Peaky Blinders just leave us be?”

Florence shrugged, still skeptical. “Well, if I’m proven wrong, then I’m wrong.”

“My Fia? Proven wrong?” Sam gaped at her, gasping dramatically. “Hell might freeze over before I hear you admit that.” “Wanker.” That, at least, provoked a snort and a poorly-restrained grin to break out over her face. She wriggled up until she was partially propped upright by the pillows behind her, then took Sam’s hand and placed it right over her bump. A flicker of sadness shone behind her eyes for half a second. “Just… don’t let them keep you from being her father, alright?”

Sam grinned, scooting so that they were close again. “Her? You’re convinced we’re having a girl?”

“Oh, we are.”

“Nah, we’re having a boy. I know because I prayed.” He pressed his palms together and looked skyward, “Oh please God, send me a son! Send me a son so that I’m not stuck being nagged by two mares and a daughter and a wife all at the same time–”

She cackled, leaning down and bumping their foreheads together. “Sam, you can’t just say I’m your wife!”

“Gotta say that to keep the Big Man happy, eh?” Sam rolled so that he was hovering over her, nose-to-nose. “How else am I gonna get my prayers answered? Not with sex out of wedlock and spiriting you away from home, that’s for sure.”

That golden smile of hers deflated slowly, turning bittersweet as she stroked an overgrown lock of black hair away from his forehead. Ah. So that’s what this was about.

Sam sat back on his heels, taking her slender, work-calloused hands between his own. “Hey. Hey,” he waited until she was focusing on him, brown eyes meeting grey. “It’ll be okay, Fia. Esme’s the one who had Danny bring you the letter, wasn’t she? And besides, he left his new horse here, yeah?”

She nodded slowly, eyes glistening.

“Right. And if she was angry with you, or if your mum was angry with you… do you think they’d go and do that?”

Florence sniffled, shaking her head vehemently. “They hold grudges.”

Sam smiled. “Reminds me of someone I know. Fia, if your mum holds grudges, and Esme holds grudges, and Danny– bless his little arse-kissing heart –was sent all the way up here just to draw us into the Shelby family nonsense and then ‘borrow’ your mare while I doctored his proud-cut devil of a horse… do you really think they’d be upset at hearing from you?”

Florence sighed, reluctantly shaking her head no. Sam was sympathetic to her anxieties. It was world-shaking for her, finding out she was pregnant so soon after her best friend and older sister left home with a gangster. Their decision to leave in a stolen vardo when her monthly was late was impulsive, but not terribly unexpected. She’d threatened as much a number of times when Zilpha had told her that under no circumstances was she to marry the troubled boy from the troubled family in Liverpool. If Zilpha only knew the truth, her answer might’ve been different, he thought ruefully. It aggravated him, to think that they couldn’t see the way that he cared for her. That he would protect her. Love her. Do anything for her. Would they see that, if they knew why they’d run?

“They’ll have to figure it out eventually. You know that, right?” He tried to control his tone, struggling to keep the accusation out of his voice. Will you tell Esme? Will you tell Danny? Will you tell your mother?

Are you ashamed of me? Should I be ashamed of myself?

Florence rolled onto her side, curling up protectively. “I don’t want to go on about it, Sam. Not right now. I don’t feel well.”

Please tell me you aren’t ashamed.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s okay,” he said instead, lying down to hold her back against his chest. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. I promise.”

The tension in Florence’s shoulders evened out as sleep overcame her. Sam stayed awake, watching her breathe until the sun rose.

#fic: sic em #oc: samuel lovell #oc: florence-maria lee #peaky blinders #peaky blinders oc #peaky blinders fanfic

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