#sam's bright shiny eyes

[jarpadandjensens]

sam | 10.09

[tanoraqui]

obviously the Historical Figure Episode(TM) of Doctor Who that I’d write would of the Noted Author subset endemic to the RTD Era; it’d be called “Spiders in the Trenches” and be set in the middle of World War One ft. one Lt. John Tolkien.

idk if the main aliens are spiders or if they're just using giant robotic spiders as soldier-minions. Either way, Tolkien is a little too defensive when he says he's not afraid of spiders.

The alien invaders want some sort of shiny mcguffin, maybe as a power source for their ship? Or for a mega-weapon? We do not want them to get it, at any rate. Race to find the Shiny Power Jewel-Thing which has been lost somewhere in this like 20-mile radius of the Western Front.

When our heroes narrowly beat the spiders to the SPJT, Tolkien realizes that the spiders only ever attack at night because light hurts them somehow, so he holds the SPJT up as it flares and shouts, "Get back, foul creatures! Back into the shadows from whence you came!"

(They're from the dark side of a tidally locked planet, and made for extremely low-light conditions? The SPJT flares because it's controlled telepathically and it connected to Tolkien's mind when he touched it?)

Ideally Tolkien's first encounter with the Doctor is that he wakes up in the trench one day (after losing some men to a mysterious monster in the darkness a couple nights ago?), and there's 2 random strangers in weird clothes idly singing and playing an instrument which they stole from someone a couple bedrolls down. (This works well with Fifteen & Ruby's established inclination to music!)

We do need an Eowyn Moment, because that's iconic, but I'd split it: for dialogue, at one point the head boss evil alien boasts, "No human can defeat the Tenebrarachnid Empire!" and the Doctor replies, "Good thing they've got me, then."...

[I don't know if this is a Fifteen line yet. I know it's a very Eleven line]

...and there's a soldier in Tolkien's unit who is revealed to be secretly a woman! Who disguised herself as a man in order to enlist for ??? reasons, and who dramatically pulls off her hat to reveal her long hair.

The third notable local character is the sort who inspired Sam Gamgee, "...the English soldier, [like] the privates and batmen I knew in the 1914 war, and recognized as so far superior to myself.”

^those two can have a romantic subplot if it fits (comrades-in-arms is also extremely good). Tolkien, however, at some point shows Ruby the picture of his wife Edith which he carries at all times, she of the black hair and bright grey eyes, and is obviously ready to monologue about how wonderful she is.

In the same scene(?), Tolkien looks up at the stars and says their brightness shining afar, clear of all the horrors on the ground, is always a source of hope and strength to him.

Maybe also in the same scene? Tolkien is shown to make up stories for fun, or to read them in his little spare time - fairy tales and mythological epics. Maybe he tells them to the men around the fire, maybe he keeps a little notebook, maybe he just admits to daydreaming... When asked why, he paraphrases his quote from later life, " Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?"

At some point (Star-watching scene? when the Doctor inevitably has to explain that aliens exist? when they're all saying goodbye in the end?) there's a line drawing attention to the Doctor's parallels with Eärendil - eternally wandering figure of hope, sailing the stars in a ship with a light on top, not quite mortal...

Tolkien DEFINITELY tries to figure out the alien language, in writing or speech.

Something the aliens are doing is making people sick. Maybe the attacking robo-spiders are venomous, maybe there's a toxic byproduct of the alien ship, maybe it's a deliberate first assault of the planned invasion... By the end of the episode, Tolkien is very ill. The Doctor has figured out an antidote and given it, but Tolkien says goodbye to him and Ruby only to stumble to a medical outpost - from where, the Doctor explains to Ruby, he'll be sent home with this bad case of what's assumed to be trench fever. Between the fever and the brief psychic entanglement, and unentanglement, with the SPJT, he won't even remember most of this, and what he does remember, he'll put down to fever dreams amidst the horrors of war.

But he'll remember some things! He'll remember an eternal wanderer of the stars, unaging and undying and ever-hopeful, heralded by light (and a vworrrp vrorrrp noise).

[theauthorinaugust]

Random redacted headcannons;

Bright is missing one of their canine teeth, so when they drink blood it’s super awkward.

David wears dog tags with Asher, Milo, Darlin, and Angels names engraved.

Sweetheart is super tall- like border-lining 6’5

Freelancer re-dyes their hair every month, their hair is super damaged, but super colorful.

If Honey stubs their toe on like a table or wall, Guy will puff up his chest and act like one of those POV guys like; ‘is this guy bothering you?’

Darlin’s wolf form’s nose looks a lot like a borzoi because in human form they have a Roman-nose.

Gavin likes to put things on his horns so he doesn’t forget them, specifically freelancers keys or teabags.

Asher has attempted to slide over the hood of a car and failed miserably

Sam has a secret stash of shiny rocks/crystals and when Darlin asked about them he, really awkwardly, talked about his little collection.

Sunshine and Treasure are siblings. They hate each other. Why, you might ask? Sunshine’s a Swiftie and Treasure is a Lana Del Rey Stan.

Angel will randomly send photos of dogs to Asher and just be like; ‘dis you?’

Lasko loves to bury his head in his partners chest.

Damien and Freelancer cannot stand next to each other or make eye contact without laughing

[kiame-sama]

wait, you already said what you think the twst cast is as monsters, but what do they look like?

Warnings: my twst monster au, almost all characters with names (other than Yuu and Grim) in monster forms, mythical creatures, deer rack point system, measurements given in ft and cm, animal traits, various animal and plant species mentioned, usually I would say to use your imagination to think it up but I have thought about this way too much myself so I may as well share ideas of what they would look like, feel free to draw these monster men and if you do please share with me because I want to see these goobers drawn, some spoilers for Rollo's backstory,

Divus is a Harp Seal Selkie;

- Divus has a black and white fur coat of a Harp Seal with slight spotting pattern similar to Leopard Seals. His coat is always shiny, clean, and wrapped around his shoulders. Divus appears fairly humanoid and close to his canon appearance other than the sharper than normal canines that are closer to the cone teeth of seals. Selkies do not part with their coats lightly so it is very rare to see one without their pelts on their shoulders. His coat is more natural Harp Seal patterning than the clear black and white lines he has in canon.

Sam is a Shadow man;

- White skull markings along his face with burning purple eyes. He has several black tattoos on his skin that move and can even detach into actual shadow to ensnare his prey. There is constantly a darkness around him that seemed to repulse light, making him appear to be surrounded in constant shadow.

Vargas is a Texas-Longhorn Minotaur;

He has very long and large bull horns with the minotaur expression on his lower half making his upper body appear human other than his horns. His lower half is the same shade as his hair with white speckling on the left leg. His tail is often lazily swinging back and forth as he talks.

Trein is a Mountain Lion Sphinx;

- Lower-half is the body of a Mountain Lion with wings, upper half is Trein's usual upper body. He does have a lot of grey and white furs/feathers due to his age in his coat and it is clear he favors his right back leg as it usually sits at an angle. He can often be seen lounging with Lucius in a sunny spot in his classroom when not teaching.

Crowley is a Crow Fae;

- Similar to his appearance in canon TWST, but his large black wings are more prominent as are the iridescent colors in them and his hair. He actually has talons on his hands and not just the golden talons. He does wear golden caps on his talons however and has a medium length train of black tail-feathers.

Ace is a Saanen Satyr;

- He has short twisted horns and his orange hair is also the same color on his goat half- just a bit darker shade. His hooves are an off-white ivory. He does have the little billy-goat scruff of a goatee due to his Satyr heritage.

Deuce is a Rocky Mountain Faun;

- Deuce has large spiral horns and his blue hair is the same color on his goat half- just a shade darker as well with white speckles around his hooves and tail. His hooves are black. Deuce does not have the goatee often seen on Satyrs and Fauns.

Note; it is part of my AU that Satyrs usually have shorter horns and are closer to farm goats in their animal halves. Fauns are closer to mountain goats and therefore have longer more curved horns often seen on rocky mountain rams. Females of both Fauns and Satyrs grow the same large horns, but their horns are often thinner around than the males of their species.

Cater is a Lake Water Nymph;

- Cater is considered unusual among Water Nymphs because of his hair's coloration being a bright red instead of a more blue or green which is more common for Water Nymphs. Cater's hair is closer in color to a red Ludwigia as he is a lake Water Nymph and the flora of lakes tend to have a fair variation of green to red color hues. Cater's bright green eyes are closer to the usual colors of Water Nymphs and he accredits this to his mother who is a river Water Nymph. In the water Cater gets fins more adapted to lake swimming so he is not as strong in currents.

Che'nya is a Bakeneko;

- He is similar to his canon appearance, but the purple and pink of his hair is also visible on the skin of his arms, legs, and back. He also now has a two pronged fluffy tail similarly striped that is often seen waving mischievously behind him.

Trey is a Kelpie Centaur;

- When out of the water, Trey's Centaur half is that of a white horse with a long tail of the same green hair that Trey's human half has. His horse half is closer muscular build to Scottish Draft horses. When in the water, the white fur of his horse half becomes a lake green with fading blue hues. His tail hair becomes more stringy like lake reeds and his fur takes a more prickly quality. His back legs become a large fin when he is submerged completely in deep water, making him more of a Hippocampus in physiology while swimming.

Riddle is a Unicorn Centaur;

- His horse half has a pure white coat with a long tail closer to that of a lion than a horse, but long bright red hair for his tail. Riddle's hooves are a rather lovely golden color that shine like metal, same with the tight spiral horn that sits in the center of his forehead. There is a faded blue star shape at the base of his horn that seems to tattoo his fair skin, he often covers this up with his bangs. His horse half is similar in musculature to that of an Arabian Horse making him appear more dainty than Trey.

Note; Cater is often seen lounging on Trey's back while Trey swims in the Heartslabyul lake with Riddle laying in the grass on the shore. They often spend their afternoons doing this and Cater will frequently try to get Riddle to swim. Thus far, he has been unsuccessful.

Jack is a Gray Wolf Werewolf;

- Unlike his canon appearance, Jack constantly has that wolf-head and white fur all over his body. He can shift between being bipedal or a quadruped with little issue between the two forms of locomotion, meaning his limbs are closer in length than human limbs. He has fur similar in length to wolves and even has paw-like hands. His tail is frequently wagging whenever he is with friends or those he is fond of.

Ruggie is a Spotted Hyena Gnoll;

- Similar to Jack, Ruggie now has a Hyena head and pelt instead of just the ears and tail. He is still somewhat humanoid, but he is still shorter than Leona or Jack. His back legs are more like a Hyena and he has that same muscular ridge on his shoulders that Hyenas do. He still has his bright blue eyes despite how odd it is for Gnolls, but his coat is the same sandy light-brown as his hair usually is with dark brown spots.

Leona is a Nemean Lion;

- Nemean Lions are golden furred beasts much larger and stronger than any regular lion on top of being impervious to damage from mortal weapons. This translates into Leona's skin having a more golden sheen to it, always seeming to look like he has been dusted with fine powder gold sparkles. His dark hair has several bright gold strands woven in that makes it shiny as well. The fur on Leona's tail and ears is also that glittering golden color which only makes the tuft of fur at the end of his tail look darker. He is a little taller than in cannon and slightly more defined in musculature due to the natural strength of Nemean lions.

Azul is a Coconut Octopus Cecaelia;

- He is very similar to how he appears in canon, but now he has several black marks along his arms and body similar to how he looks in his merman form. Even in a human form, it is clear Azul is still not human due to these dark markings that wrap around his body. A few of these black tendrils frame his cheekbones and make those brightly colored eyes of his only seem brighter.

Jade and Floyd are Moray Eel Mermen;

- Similar to Azul, Floyd and Jade look similar to how they do in cannon, but their merman features are more visible even in their human forms. The fins they have alongside their faces are now present in their human forms as are the colorations of their merman forms on their shoulders and faintly around their faces. Their gills are still visible in their human forms.

Kalim is a Genie;

- Kalim is the closest out of everyone to his canon appearance as his identity as a Genie changes very little. He will likely wear clothes akin to his dorm clothes appearance but have the addition of golden bands around his wrists and ankles. He can form legs to walk on, but often chooses to fly instead, where his legs become more smoke-like in the typical Genie 'tail' that many Genies are often seen with. Kalim now has a golden aura around him that makes him glow slightly with a golden color due to his high-magic Genie nature.

Note; Kalim sleeps in his lamp and keeps many of his treasures in his lamp as his magic allows the lamp to be more like a hotel suite than a prison cell despite the size on the outside. Only Kalim and those he invites into his lamp can enter.

Jamil is a Sand Viper Naga;

- Jamil's upper half is similar to how it is in canon, but his lower half is that of a rather large snake. His shake half is 22ft (670cm) comprised of black and maroon scales. His maroon scales are closer to the color of dried blood and often get dark enough shades that they mix with the black diamond and striping patterns his black scales make. The scales on the stomach side of his snake body are a slightly more red tone than his skin tone. He does have golden scales that line his stomach scales and are in the center of the diamond patterns on his back.

Note; Jamil often sleeps with Kalim's lamp in the coils of his Naga tail. Having come from a long line of Naga that are usually the guards and guardians of the wealth and well-being Kalim's Genie family has amassed through the years. Wherever a Genie from Kalim's family lives, so too lives a Sand Viper Naga from Jamil's family to guard them.

Vil is a Peacock Harpy;

- Vil still has his flawless skin and purple ombre hair even as a peacock harpy, but he does have hair-like cobalt blue and emerald green feathers that often get woven into braids. He also has seven pristine head feathers that are the same 'eye' patterns as his tial feathers that often lay back against his hair unless he is feeling particularly proud, in which his crest will rise up like a crown atop his head. Vill has feathering along his shoulders, upper back and neck that are the bright cobalt blue of male Indian peacocks. Along his shoulder blades are his wings which have a full span of 8ft (244cm) but are often tucked neatly against his back and folded so the flight feathers don't drag when he walks. Vil has the full peacock train of tail-feathers and spends quite a bit of time preening and grooming them to maximum shine. He will only fully display his tail-feathers when being prideful or showing off to a prospective mate.

Rook is an Australian Golden Huntsman-Spider Drider;

- Rook's legs are a long spindly gold that are many times the length of his thorax and abdomen. The thorax of his spider body is larger than the abdomen of the body due to the typical shape of Huntsman-Spiders. The thorax area on Rook's spider body has a large black mark among the back hairs trailing down to where the abdomen part of his body is more narrow and the marks become black lines making their way down. His human half is attached at the top of the thorax where the spider's eyes are usually located. His spider legs are as thick as a Human's legs, his mandibles and pedipalps being similar in thickness. His fangs are to scale and are extremely long as well as being like blacked curved knives, he often keeps them tucked away to not unsettle others.

Note; Rook and Vil have a very mutually beneficial relationship just as they do in regular TWST. Rook helps Vil preen and take care of his feathers, often being the one getting the pin feathers Vil can't reach on his back and shoulders. Rook uses the silk he creates as a Drider to make fabrics for Vil as they are of high quality, and even higher thread count. Both are content to be the others boon companion and will often be seen working together outside of class as well.

Neige is a Mourning Dove Harpy;

- Neige has the same dark black hair and big brown doe eyes he does in cannon but he also has grey-brown feathers throughout his black hair. His cheeks, neck, shoulders, and upper back have the same gray-brown feathers with speckles of dark brown, white, black, and gray feathers throughout giving a light speckling pattern. His wings are that same gray brown color and are 6.5ft (200cm) in length. The ends of his flight feathers are often trailing over the ground beneath him when he is relaxed and he rarely opens his wings fully. Like most mourning doves, he has a lovely soothing voice and his unassuming species of Harpy makes him all the more charming.

Note: I was going to make Neige a Willow Grouse Harpy due to the coloration match with Neige and his RSA uniform, but I have a childhood fondness for the call of a mourning dove and Neige is supposed to have a beautiful voice, so I figured sweet Neige can be a mourning dove and not the goofy sounding Willow Grouse.

Epel is a Beliy Naliv Apple Wood Nymph;

- Epel has white tree bark as skin, occasionally having the slight dark mark or blemish where Epel had gotten into fights despite being a more peaceful species of Wood Nymph. His hair is made up of pale green leaves that are often covered in powder lavender blooms that are the same color as his canon hair color. Epel has the same large blue eyes as he does in canon. Occasionally the blooms on his head will grow into small apples that are white due to his species of Wood Nymph being the White Cloud Apple. His skin is rougher in texture and closer to the texture of bark.

Idia is a Shinigami;

- He still has his blue flaming hair and blue tinted lips and gold eyes. His skin is closer to a light gray in tone now, his nails a natural black. He now has these scraggly black wings that are kind of like bird wings but more haggard in appearance. The feathers are more slick and almost oily in texture and have some traces of blues in them similar to Idia's hair. He can use them to fly, but they make a very loud wooshing sound that he isn't overly fond of so he doesn't often use them. His limbs are just a bit longer than they are in canon giving him a more skeletal and gaunt appearance.

Ortho is also a Shinigami;

- Similar to Idia, Ortho still has his blue flaming hair and golden eyes. He will have the same light gray skin tone Idia does, but his wings are now cybernetic due to an unfortunate accident when Ortho was much younger that caused him to lose his Shinigami wings. Ortho also has several cybernetic limbs as a result of that same accident, making monster AU ortho closer in appearance to canon Ortho, but still able to eat/sleep/behave like a living being. Ortho is not AI but does have several augments to allow his brain to function with the aid of AI due to his unfortunate incident when he was younger.

Silver is a Reindeer Cervitaur;

- Silver is a leucistic deer cervitaur. This means his deer half has white fur as well with light gray spots along his back similar to the spots fawns have for camouflage purposes. His antlers are also an ivory white, and only have three points. From burr to tip of the beam, Silver has two points at the end of the beam and one point near the burr of his antlers. Lilia throws a party any time Silver gets another point on his antlers. Silver's deer half has the musculature type closer to reindeer than whitetail deer.

Lilia is a Vampire Bat Fae;

- Similar to his canon appearance, Lilia looks almost the same in his monster AU form, but his monster AU form has bat wings and a little tail. Most bats have tails and delicate wings, so I decided Lilia should also have bat wings and a little tail. His wings are sturdier than most bats and have several holes in them from past battles he has endured. He is still the Fae variation so he has the same pointed ears, sharp teeth, and slit pupils other Fae type have. His wings are black with Light pink highlights near the tips just like his hair.

Note; Lilia likes to sleep upsidedown in this AU and will often settle himself in the cafeteria chandeliers or even the rafters of various buildings to take naps throughout the downtimes of the day. Lilia is more nocturnal in this AU as well with increased sensitivity to sounds/lights.

Malleus is Dragon Fae.

- Malleus in the monster AU is similar to his canon appearance but has his dragon wings, tail, and various clusters of black scales along his body. His nails are decent length black talons and he has black scales along the backs of his hands and up his arms. His neck and upper back/shoulders have more black scales. His wings are the same deep black with a slight purple tint to them anywhere the skin is exposed. His tail is about as thick as a leg and tapers off to a wickedly sharp point that Malleus could use to impale someone if he wanted to. Black scales frame his eyes like their own kind of makeup and are more colorful around the eyes in purples and green sheens that highlight the obsidian base color of the scales.

Note; Malleus is more in touch with his dragon instincts in this AU due to being more outwardly dragon. He does make a nest out of his bed and is much more inclined to hoard things he is fond of, including but not limited to Gargoyles, unusual stones, and various creatures he takes interest in. Once he considers someone to be part of his hoard, he will be possessive of them and fiercely protective. Only creatures part of his hoard are allowed to enter his nest. Lilia, Silver, and Sebek are three of his living hoard.

Sebek is a Raiju Fae;

- His hair is a bit more wild and fur-like compared to his canon appearance with yellows mixed in to the sage green color. His teeth are much sharper and he actually has more dog-like qualities similar to Jack's canon appearance. Raiju are lightning dog mythical creatures, so Sebek's appearance will be similarly dog-like with the beastman ears and spiky furred tail that has a rougher texture compared to most fur. His tail and ear positioning will often be a dead giveaway for what emotions Sebek is feeling at the time.

Rollo is an Inferno Fire Nymph.

- Rollo's eyes are an ashen gray as is his skin and hair when he is not in his active inferno flame form. Much like a burned log, his flesh will bare the same ashen faded look to it. Rollo is usually in this form as he is not overly fond of the fire he creates and he can keep himself mostly calm despite the constant annoyance of others around him. When in his active inferno fire form, his ashen hair will ignite into flames, his gray eyes turning a bright fire red. Similarly, his skin will take a redder tone and embers will float off of his hair.

Note: Rollo's fire can burn others, but he can also consciously change the temperature of his flames to only warm and not harm if he felt so inclined. He would only willingly do this for someone he deeply loved and cared for as his full flame form reminds him far too much of his deceased brother, hence why he uses it sparingly. There are many types of Fire Nymphs, but Inferno Fire Nymphs are considered the most deadly as their flames get the hotest. Young Fire Nymphs cannot control their fire and can burn themselves out if they get too hot internally.

[xoxoladyaz]

Feeling some Steddie angst hours in this house 🚨🚨🚨

After they kill Vecna, things go back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be. Whatever brief moment of insanity Steve and Nance had ends about as suddenly as it began, and she can’t really meet his eyes once her hand is back in Jonathan’s.

(It’s a blessing when she leaves for Columbia, Jonathan’s beat-up car following right behind her.)

The least normal thing is probably Eddie Munson, or at least whatever Steve’s relationship is with him now. It’s - there’s just something different there, some strange warmth that he feels when he looks at Eddie. And sometimes Steve catches Eddie just looking at him and - well, it gives him that same warm feeling, and maybe that means something? Something that maybe seemed scary before but is nowhere near as scary as Eddie almost bleeding out in Steve’s arms.

He’s in the midst of talking himself up, of figuring out just what he’s going to say to Eddie, when the Munsons announce they’re heading out of town and then leave the next day. Steve’s almost paralyzed with anxiety, but he’s gotta say something, right?

Except Eddie cuts him off at the knees with a weak smile, tells him not to be a stranger, to visit him in the city with his kids and a Winnebago once he’s finally gotten that suburban dream, and then he’s gone.

And Steve doesn’t hear from him again.

To be fair, no one really hears from Eddie; just Dustin, who will chime in that they’ve chatted every once in a while, that Eddie went to LA for a bit and then Seattle and finally settled in Chicago; that he seems to be really happy, but never gives any information beyond that.

And Steve? He packs up his life and follows Robin to college, and when he accompanies her to their first gay bar and sees two metal heads kissing, something inside him snaps and the pair of them end up drunkenly crying in their tiny apartment’s bathroom. But it gets better after that, and two years after their move to Indy, Steve meets Sam.

Sam, who’s got the lightest blonde hair he’s ever seen, cut into a shaggy mullet that perfectly offsets his shiny hazel eyes. He’s got a bright smile and a pierced eyebrow and too many earrings to count and his laugh is loud and joyous and for whatever reason, he likes Steve as much as Steve likes him.

Robin, of course, is ecstatic and takes all the credit for introducing them, which is technically true seeing as she was the one to spill her drink all over Sam before Steve came to the rescue. (Although she then almost ruined everything by throwing up on both of their shoes, so, Steve only lets her gloat so much.)

Three years after that finds Steve and Robin gainfully employer, as teachers of all things, and Vickie finally succeeds in convincing Robin to move in with her, and, well, it only makes sense that Steve and Sam get their own place too because, well, Steve loves him. Loves his ripped jeans and his skateboard and the fact that he’s cheery no matter the time of day, that he wants to have a family probably even more than Steve does and didn’t blink when Steve said he wanted six kids, he only laughed and said “why stop there?” And it may not be exactly what Steve was thinking in that Winnebago all those years ago, but that’s okay, because what he has with Sam? Is way better.

Once Steve and Sam get settled, Sam insists that they have a housewarming party (because Sam makes good money at his tattooing gig, and Steve’s inheritance is nothing to sneeze at, and they’re actually able to get a house, which feels insane but also just right) and invite all of Steve’s kids, who he’s met a few times but never all at once, and Steve is so whipped he says “yes” without a second thought.

(Which he really should have had because Henderson was also living in Chicago now.)

So when Henderson wanders in with Eddie as his plus one, and Sam is nowhere in sight, Steve only gives himself a moment to freak out before walking over to greet Eddie.

“Steeevveeeee Harrington,” Eddie purrs with a toothy grin. “Good to see you man. And good to see you finally getting started on that dream of yours,” he says, slapping Steve on the shoulder. “With Sam, I hear. You two crazy kids getting started on those six kids yet?”

“Uh, not - “

“Not quite yet,” Sam cuts in from behind Steve, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and tucking Steve’s head under his chin. “I still want a few more years of this guy all to myself. You must be Eddie,” Sam grins, sticking out his hand. “Good to meet you man. I’ve heard all about you.”

Eddie just stares at Sam. Stares and stares until Dustin kicks him in the shin. “Right. Sam. Sam. Good to meet you, man,” Eddie says, but he looks pale and vaguely sick and if Steve didn’t know from the few times Dustin had slipped up in the past, he’d think Eddie was homophobic (and he knew that wasn’t the case.)

Sam grins. “Well, good to have you here. Steve, babe, Robin wants you in the kitchen, something about the salsa - “

“Oh my God,” Steve groans, and then all thoughts of Eddie are forgotten in his rush to make sure Robin doesn’t actually poison everyone, and then he gets busy greeting people and saying hi and it’s not until well after midnight, when the remaining guests are smoking up with Argyle and Steve is taking out the trash that he remembers Eddie. Or, more accurately, that he bumps into him.

“So. Sam,” Eddie says, smoking a cigarette by the garage, gazing off into the distance. “He’s a good dude. Got shit taste in music, though.”

Steve slams the trash can lid shut a little harder than he needs to. “Dude,” he sighs, and Eddie must hear his exhaustion because he doesn’t say anything else for a while.

“Did you know?”

“About what?”

“About you? Back in ‘86?”

Steve just nods tiredly. “Yeah, man. I did.”

Eddie hums nervously. “And was there someone - “

“Eddie, man, you know there was. You know.”

“Yeah,” Eddie’s laugh sounds broken. “Yeah, I did. Fuck. Fuck.”

And Steve doesn’t know what to say, because what is there to say? He loved Eddie; hell, part of him still loves Eddie. But Eddie ran at the first inkling of there being something between them, and Sam didn’t. He’s never run, not even when Steve gave him so many reasons to. And Steve could tell Eddie that he’s wondered, so many times he’s wondered, what they could have been. If they could be anything.

But Eddie wasn’t there to hold out his hand, and Sam was. Sam is, and that makes all the difference.

Steve claps his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, just like Eddie did when he arrived, and then he heads into his house.

(This time, he’s the one to leave Eddie behind.)

[freelancearsonist]

Some Fools Fool Themselves

➔ Javier Peña x fem!Reader - 2.7k

➔ You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨ [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

The bright, glaring yellow waves of sunlight reflect off the surface of lapping pool water and cast it in a nearly green light. Javi’s dark eyes are transfixed on it through his polarized sunglasses as he marinates in the beating hot Colombian summer sun.

Javier has never questioned his dutiful determination before. He’s never wondered if the ends actually do justify the means. He’s been in the palm of Uncle Sam’s hand for so long that the lines have become blurry—that the consideration of moral superiority doesn’t cross his mind anymore. Not that it ever really has; that’s why he’s so well-suited for the job he’s in. He follows his orders, no matter the cost.

And that’s why you pose such an issue to him. You make him question everything. Every move he’s made, every goal he’s been so set on accomplishing for so many years. If he sends this shiny-sinister iceberg of a drug hierarchy tumbling down the way he’s always believed it should, you’ll be buried in the debris. And maybe, at first, that knowledge didn’t bother him. Maybe he even believed that you deserved that—to be crushed by the weight of your own empire.

If he did, he certainly doesn’t anymore—and it’s killing him.

He’s never been so shaken and unsure. Maybe that’s why the water has caught his eyes—it’s a visual representation of how he feels. Rippling and indecisive, desperate to cling to you yet eager to let you go just like the droplets that part from your form as you lift yourself onto the concrete lip of the pool.

You stride toward him with slow movements, and the dilemma vanishes completely from his mind.

”You look stressed,” you murmur as you kneel beside the lounger he’s sprawled himself out on and take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

”Just tired,” he hums in response. He runs the rough pad of his thumb over the back of your hand in an unconscious effort to sooth your worry over him. “Long night at work.”

You don’t know what he actually does—as far as you’re concerned, he’s just a lowly janitor at the embassy. You can imagine that such menial labor is thoroughly exhausting, though, and you’re determined to help ease his sore muscles.

”Flip over,” you instruct—and like a good agent, he follows orders.

For fingers that he’s noted time and time again are so much daintier than his own, they work wonders on his sore muscles. They work with skill and intuition, magnetically drawn to the worst knots in his back. The pressure is perfect, and it has him practically drooling.

When those skilled fingers of yours hook into the waistband of his swim trunks and start tugging them down, he doesn’t even think of resisting.

You’ve learned to do something that no one and nothing else has managed to accomplish in all his lifetime—you quiet his swirling mind. There’s nothing beyond the bubble of you and him. Nothing to worry about, nothing to accomplish. No ulterior motives to his presence here, shirtless and lounging like he owns the place. Like this isn’t your husband’s house that he’s supposed to be searching for intel. 

You coax him to roll over again onto his back. He can’t miss the heat of your gaze—the way your eyes shamelessly skirt down the broad expanse of his torso to take in the softly swelling length of his cock. He knows you relish in these moments—when all you have to do is look at him to get him going. You’re proud of yourself for it, for the effect you have on him.

It’s easy to forget, when you have him completely at your mercy like this, that you’re just as weak for him as he is for you.

”Missed you,” you mumble into his lips as you straddle his lap. 

He takes your hips in his steady grip—guides the pace as you rock against him. “It’s only been a couple days.”

”I know,” you whisper. You grind down harder than he means to allow you, drawing a deep groan from his diaphragm. “Still missed you.”

And then, because he finds it nearly impossible to lie to you: “I missed you too.”

He licks eagerly into your mouth before you can say anything, and you accept his tongue without complaint. Your fingers now move to his face, practically clawing in desperation to pull him closer and deepen the already heated kiss.

It’s been nearly a year of him hanging around here, playing his role in the act of your affair. He has you figured out to the most minute details—he knows all your wants, all your needs. He knows the exact sounds that he can draw from you when he sucks over the pulse point on your neck: a squeal as you begrudgingly push him away and mumble something about not leaving marks. He smirks and moves on to the next spot, knowing that you can’t resist for long. Knowing that you don’t even want to in the first place.

He knows that you’re eager for him in the same way he is for you—to please, to take care of. He sees it in action when you reach down and wrap your fingers around his length; when you let out a little breath at the way your fingers can’t quite fit all the way around his girth. You act surprised every time, no matter how many times he finds you in his lap like this. And he loves it—loves the way you practically soak through your little bikini bottoms at just the feel of him in your hand. 

“That’s it, bebita,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum your appreciation at his words, a silent thank you in the twist of your wrist and the tightening of your grip. It makes his hips jump, cock throbbing under your touch as he tries to fight your slow pace in favor of more intense stimulation. But you aren’t having it—you pin his thighs down with your weight so you can languish in torturing him.

He actually growls as your pace slows—a deep, rumbling, animalistic sound that goes straight to your panties. His restraint is slipping second by second the longer you tease him. He’s throbbing, aching in your grip; he would be embarrassed over how quickly you’ve reduced him to such a primal state if he had any blood left in his brain.

”Dámelo.” There’s nothing pleading or polite about his tone. This is a command, an instruction; an order you don’t dare disobey.

You pull away quickly, but you’re back before he can even process your absence. You’ve shifted to the end of the lounger, face deliciously close to where he’s aching to feel you.

”Relax, Javi,” you hum pleasantly. “Déjame cuidar de ti.”

”Then don’t be a fucking tease.” There’s an evident smirk in his tone, and it makes you smile as you slowly trail your tongue along his length, from the seam of his balls up to swirl around the thick, leaking tip of him.

He grunts as your lips seal around him, one thick-fingered hand coming down to gently urge you deeper. He’s not shy of being greedy with you; he knows how much you love the authoritarianism of his dominance. To let go of your mind and let him take the reigns. As much as you love to play at a power struggle, this is what you want in the end. To be controlled, to be guided. To take exactly what he gives you, exactly the way he gives it to you.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans with a buck of his hips that pushes him against the back of your throat. “Take it all.”

And always eager to please, you try your best to do exactly that. You open your throat as much as possible to accommodate his girth and do your best to tamp down the gag reflex that he’s bullying awake. Your nails dig into the meat of his hips as you let him guide you deeper, further—he’ll admire the little crescent moon marks later, alone in his government-issue apartment.

His unoccupied hand slips down the back of your neck and tugs at the string of your bikini top. He doesn’t get quite the view he wants with you choking on his cock, but reaching down to gently pinch and tug at your nipples is enough for him—especially with the little moans and vibrations you let out around his cock.

He tugs your hair a little harshly to pull you off of him when the pleasure compounds. You whine at the loss of his taste, and he groans at the shiny spit that links your swollen lips to his cock.

His breathless moan goes straight to your neglected cunt and makes you squirm with arousal. “Shit, sweetheart. Christ, you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You shake your head and muster every ounce of seduction your lust-addled brain can generate as you trail open-mouthed kisses over his clenched thighs. “I’m real, Javi. And I really want you.”

Normally, he would want to get his hands on you. He would want to press his fingers deep into your cunt and languish in the embarrassing squelch of your arousal as he works you open for him. He would want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until the pleasure is so blinding that you can do nothing but slump into his arms and take it. But you’re impatient today; it’s been more than a week since you last saw him, and that means it’s been more than a week since you felt anything remotely pleasurable. Your husband didn’t marry you for love, or even lust—he married you for convenience, for security. For cover to keep up appearances. 

Maybe Javi’s been taking advantage of that all this time—how deeply you crave the connection that you’re constantly deprived of. Maybe he should call this off now, before he takes anymore than he already has from you.

But he’s not selfless. He has his flaws, and his biggest one is that he’s irreversibly fallen in love with you. He craves that connection just as deeply as you do.

Your desperation bleeds into his veins and makes him dizzy with arousal. He nods as his throat bobs around a deep gulp. “Alright. Dealer’s choice.”

You only have to consider for a moment before you flip in his lap, bracing yourself forward on your arms in between his legs with your ass pressed snuggly against his cock. You grind lightly against him, and it’s almost enough to make him lose his head.

But just as quickly as his sensible thought leaves, it’s right back where it belongs. He grabs your hips harder than he should to drag you against his solid length and relishes in the deep moan you emit.

”Take what you need, baby,” is all the encouragement you need from him. You take him into your hand again and rise up onto your knees so you can tease his spit-soaked tip against your entrance. You look over your shoulder so you can see his reaction as you trace him around your slit; you relish in the hard set of his jaw, the clenched teeth that you can see through his parted lips as he fights the urge to slam you down hard onto him. He’d only be feeding into the bit—he knows your sole mission is to make him lose his composure. 

But it’s so hard not to when you’re looking at him like this—like he holds your very soul in the palm of his hand. The trust, the admiration, in your gaze is nearly enough to make him choke.

Thankfully, you choose this exact moment to sink down the length of him.

The sheer size of him is overwhelming on a normal day, and even more so today when you’ve not had your usual preparation. He bullies his way deep enough to fill your chest, stretching you to your very limit and maybe even past it.

But he’s prepared for it, for how staggering he can feel at first thrust. He grounds you to him with heavy hands on your hips and fits you snug against him. He whispers up at you, little encouragements and sweet nothings. His praise rings sweet and clear as he tells you how good you feel, how warm, how tight, how wet. He basks in the feeling of you soaking him all the way to the very base—in the feeling of your sweet juices dripping down him to soak the coarse patch of hair above his cock.

You pause when you feel his tip kissing your cervix, moaning in tandem with Javi at the way he twitches within your snug walls. It’s like the first time every single time you take him—you wonder if that’s what keeps him coming back for more. You’ve never heard him say he loves you, but you could believe it when you’re like this; when he starts rocking up into you with the sole intention of finding that one little spot that’ll have you shaking and sobbing in his arms.

”You’ve got this, baby,” he grunts in reassurance. “You’re takin’ it so well, honey. Tan perfecto.”

The praise runs up your spine from where you’re connected with him and lodges itself in your brain—it plays on repeat while you start bouncing your hips in an effort to match his pace. It draws a deep, heady grunt from him and pulls him into action. One hand grabs a harsh handful of your ass while you spear yourself on his length, and the other hand slides up the curve of your waist to find a nipple to roll between his expert fingers.

It baffles you, his ability to multitask. When you’re like this—filled to the very brim—all you can focus on is the delicious friction of his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you. But Javi has a precious ability to attend to as many erogenous zones as he can all at once—something you admire more than you can put into words. His ability to rip you apart is completely unrivaled.

There’s a desperate fury to his touch as his hand slides over your hip from your ass, wrapping around you to circle your clit. It’s harsh and fast—the exact pressure that makes you tremble and scream.

And you do; you come with a cry of his name, cunt clenching around him in a vice grip that almost makes it impossible to keep up the pace. But he tries anyway—anchors your hips in his large hands so he can thrust up into you through your high.

The lounger creaks dangerously beneath you, but the sound is lost to your ears when you’re so thoroughly blinded by your pleasure.

Within a few moments Javi follows you, growling deep in his diaphragm as he spills himself hot and thick into your soaked pussy. 

You don’t think it’s ever been this messy before. All you can focus on is the hot, sticky mess slipping down your thighs. Javi can tell that it’s uncomfortable for you, so he reaches down and grabs your discarded bikini top to wipe away as much as he can. You’ve got plenty of others—and even if you don’t, your husband will buy you a new one without question.

He discards it back on the burning concrete once he’s satisfied with his clean up job, then leans back on the lounger and grabs a cigarette from the open pack on the table next to him.

He tries not to smile too much when you stay in place and snuggle into his chest. He really wasn’t a cuddler before you—but now, all he wants is to feel your warmth and weight against him.

It’s not nearly long enough before you look up at him with your pretty eyes and say, ”He’ll be home soon.”

”I’d better beat it then.” He flicks the ash off of his cigarette and pushes himself slowly to his feet—finds his swim trunks discarded on the ground at the foot of the lounger.

”Hey?” He pauses, brow furrowing at how small and timid your voice sounds in just that one word. He’s never heard that quality to your tone before, and it worries him.

”Yeah?”

”Just… please come back sooner,” you mutter. “I missed you.”

Javier Peña is a weak, weak man within these walls. He smiles the softest smile he can muster and pulls you into his arms to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. For a moment, he forgets that you’re not really his. “Okay. I will, baby.”

And he means it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

THE END

➔ Translations: bebita - baby dámelo - give it to me déjame cuidar de ti - let me take care of you tan perfecto - so perfect

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 title is from “love hurts” by nazareth

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :)

[via-l0ve]

Hello! How are you?

I was wondering if you could write a spn preference with each boy's love language.

Love Language (SPN pref!)

a/n: hi anon! i’m doing okay <3 i hope you enjoy this, sweetheart <33

warnings: nothing? one mention of the nickname “princess” in deans part <3

Dean:

physical touch for sure

i don’t care what anyone says i’ll fight you if you disagree

dean was a little hesitant to get close to you at first

but once he could tell you were comfortable he went with it

always has an arm around you

constantly touching you

dean makes you his passenger princess

hand on your thigh while he drives

when you guys walk around town he’s got a hand in your back pocket

he just loves to hold you

but he also loves to be held

PLEASE let him be the little spoon sometimes

he’ll fight you on it because he doesn’t want you to think he’s weak but he’ll literally melt into you

loves hugging you

gives you so many forehead and cheek kisses it’s crazy

—

Sam:

Sam is a quality time guy

he’s researching and you’re laying your head in his lap or sitting on his lap with your head on his chest

the happiest man ever

what a cutie

he loves being around you

showers together bc it ‘saves water’ when he really dosent want to leave you

always being near you on hunts and helping you patch up afterwards

sleeping and cuddling near you

he just wants to spend lots of time with you

he loves you so much

he gives you massages and reads to you :(((

—

Castiel:

cas gives you gifts

but they’re not gifts like a beautiful pearl necklace or a bright shiny ring

they’re deeper

he buys you pins and stuff because he thinks that they remind him of you

he’ll find a bottle cap on the ground and show it to you and give it to you

he’ll make you food and give it to you

“it was made with love.”

“i can tell, cas. thank you.”

he gives you rocks too!

“this one is very smooth.”

“this one is the color of your eyes.”

he’s so sweet

he draws you pictures of you and him as stick figures :( that’s so cute

he buys you clothes too

“this shirt would compliment your skin tone.”

—

Crowley:

words of affirmation‼️‼️‼️

he just likes to be told that he’s good and loved and he likes to tell you that in return

“i love you, darling.”

“i love you too, crowley. but you’ve said it fifteen times already.”

“i cant help my love.”

you walk in wearing a new outfit!!

he is looking at you GOBSMACKED

“y/n. you look absolutely ravishing.”

he just loves you so much

please tell him you love him a lot

“crowley, you’re so pretty.”

“you think so?”

he calls you a ton of pet names and compliments you every day

“you’re ethereal.”

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Prologue

We did it! We did it! We did it! Yay!

Since you guys are awesome and helped me reach 100 followers, here is the prologue to my new Bucky x Reader fic Sorry, I Love You inspired by the Stray Kids song of the same title (also, stream 5-Star on your favorite music app!)

This is a friends-with-benefits - to - strangers - to - something that I haven't written yet. I've got 5 chapters completed and no idea where the story will take me. I'll add tags as we go!

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Friends with Benefits, angst, unrequited feelings, Natasha being a Good Friend. This is just the Prologue, so a lot more to come!

Word Count: 700

Let's go!

You hide your feelings as deep as you can, but they bubble over. You can’t help but stare dreamily when his face morphs in happiness as his eyes squint when he laughs with the guys over a pint of Asgardian liquor. 

You know your face says everything you won’t. When you meet Natasha’s gaze from across the table as Bucky throws his head back in an exaggerated groan at something Sam said, you immediately straighten your spine and wipe all traces of love sickness from your face. She softens her brows and gives you a pitying look you can’t stand.

You stand from where you’re sitting, disturbing the group’s conversation going on around you while you’re distracted by the highlights and shadows of Bucky’s mouth. His bright blue eyes meet yours, slightly fuzzy from the amount of Asgardian liquor flowing through his system, and he smiles at you from one side of his mouth.

“Where ya’ goin’, sweetheart?” Bucky basically yells from three seats away. “The party ain’t over yet!”

You laugh and drain what’s left of your drink before slamming it down and taking a small step backwards. You scrunch your face up and shake your head at the burn.

“It is for me, Barnes. You guys know it’s way past my bedtime.”

Everyone either laughs at your self-deprecating statement or starts complaining about you being lame. You smile brightly as you tell everyone good night and make your way out of the room. You immediately know you're not alone in leaving the table when you hear more exaggerated complaining from the group following someone else’s goodbye.

“Hey!”

Nat’s voice reaches your ears just as she grabs your arm and walks beside you. You both make your way towards the residential quarters where you and Nat share the same floor. The walk is quiet. Neither of you speak all the way to the elevator and the entire ride up. The hand she grabbed you with has looped through your elbow and pulled you close. You both lean back against the shiny surface of the carriage wall, listening to the soft AC/DC coming from the speakers. Freaking Tony Stark, you think to yourself, hiding a small, fond smile.

Nat breaks the silence as the ring of the bell ushers the opening of the elevator doors. Her arm tightens around your own, pulling you closer into her side.

“Are you good to go on the mission with Barnes later this year?” Although Nat asks the question bluntly, her tone of voice is gentle.

You snort and turn to look at her with a confused look on your face.

“Yeah?” you respond. You know that she knows that you know why she needs to ask the question, but you refuse to admit anything out loud.

“It’s just,” Natasha sighs and drops your arm, turning to face you, “this is a close quarters kind of mission – I don’t want you doing something stupid.”

“Wow, Nat.” You huff and cross your arms protectively in front of your chest, continuing down the hallway at the slow pace you’d set. “Tell me how you really feel.”

She closes her eyes and waves a hand in front of her face, acting like she’s batting her last words out of the air.

“Not stupid,” she clarifies, “I meant I don’t want your feelings for Barnes to make you think there’s something there when there really isn't.” Nat gives you a reproachful look when you start to deny it. “I know this is something you and he talk about sometimes, where he says he’s not looking for a relationship. But, hon, you’re always looking at him like you want one.”

You stare straight ahead to avoid her gaze, worrying your lips with the blunt edges of your teeth. A jittery, painful feeling fills you at the mere thought of whatever it is you have with Bucky ending like you know it will. This ‘relationship’ that isn't really a relationship.

“I don’t mean to,” you whisper pitifully.  

“I know,” she soothes, removing your lip from your teeth with her thumb and using the other hand to rub your arm. “It’s just a crush – it’ll go away.”

You both hear the doubt in her words.

PART 1

[gretavanmoon]

Keep Me In Your Back Pocket

Sam x Female Reader

6.6k words

+ Not sure if this is a one shot, a blurb, or just an extended thought, but. Enjoy an angsty little Sammy idea.

Warnings: Cursing, Yelling, Mention of Smoking & Drinking, Mention of Mental Manipulation/Abuse, Arguing, Mention of Sex.

“Alright, lay it on me.”

For the life of her, she never knew exactly what color she wanted her hair to be. It seemed like every month she was rolling the dice on something new, something fresh and vibrant that she’d never tried before. She loved it blonde, she loved it when it was a dark chestnut, even liked it the time she dyed it a bright scarlet with some kind of purple streaks. She was always changing it, always daring to be different and go against the grain of what all the other girls were into that season. Every single one of them suited her, though. As gorgeous and poignant as her features are, every different way she decided to style herself fit her perfectly. 

“I love it,” I reassure her as she asks my opinion, knowing good and well that I’d admire her in any one of her decisions on changing up her appearance. 

“Sam, you say that every time. It’s okay to have a little constructive criticism sometimes,” she scorns me with a playful scoff. “Give me your honest opinion. I can take it.”

My eyes travel to meet hers in the mirror as we both stand before it, the reflection showing my appearance as disheveled and worn, just as it always was when I’d let myself indulge too much the night before. My shirts have always stayed permanently wrinkled and unbuttoned, and my hair was always in a constant state of tangles, tied in a forgotten knot at the back of my head. 

Her, though, as perfect as a shiny new thing just unwrapped and pulled from the box. Every single morning, every single night, every single ticking second of the day, she hardly ever looked like she was out of place. Naturally gorgeous, and she never even knew it. 

She pulls her fingers through her locks, fluffing and tousling and deciding whether or not her newest color-switch decision was a good one. 

"Y/N, I swear..." I reply, my hands coming up in front of my face to show my white-flag honesty.

“Ugh,” she groans, letting her fingers drift through it from her forehead and around to the sides, watching her reflection as the hair falls like feathers in front of her face. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“No, I promise. It looks really good on you. Every time you do this, it looks good. I wouldn’t lie to you, love.” And I’d swear to it. I’m not just trying to make her feel better. 

She was like a sponge to her surroundings, soaking up her inspiration from the dust that lied on the bottom shelves of high bookcases, or from the color of a new spring bud on a flower bush in the park. She saw beauty in everything and lived with nearly no hate in her heart, much to my opposite. She’s expressive and confident, effortless but with the loudest sense of humor and style. Never settling on one facet of life, but living in the sense that she’s able to change it whenever she damn well pleases. 

Mine and Y/N’s kinship goes back longer than I can remember. The ever-changing eras of our lives had been spent side-by-side since we were kids playing Kick the Can at the end of our neighborhood’s street, waiting for the street lights to come on to tell us when to run home for dinner.

I’d seen it all… Her first crush on the boy that sat behind her when we were in fifth grade, and her giddiness when he asked her to the winter dance. I’d seen her fail her driver’s license test four times before she finally passed, giving us both the freedom of inheriting her dad’s old beater flatbed and the open road. I helped her write the letter she wrote to her high school heartthrob, telling him that she no longer had the same feelings that she did when they’d first met. And I caught the subsequent tears that fell from her eyes as she listened to the horrific rumors he’d spread about her to the entirety of the school. I sat with her while she nervously opened her acceptance letter to college. Helped her surprise her parents with their twenty-fifth anniversary gift. I watched her fall in love with a man she met while she was pumping gas at a truckstop on her way home from a Black Sabbath show. And now, just as I always have, I’m helping her to understand the true beauty that she has always had as we stand before this mirror… Me in my pleated dark jeans, and her in her white dress and veil. 

“I just… this hair color doesn’t suit me, it never has,” she argues, trying her best to pin back the bangs she’d begun to let grow out some time ago. “It makes me look older, washed-out, don’t you think?”

I sigh, running my hand over my face as we go over this round-and-round again, probably for the fiftieth time in our lives. 

“Everything suits you, love,” I compliment her honestly, not brave enough to tell her that even though I’m standing behind her and encouraging her to notice her own beauty in her wedding gown, my heart and lungs are full of stones as the reality hits me that I’m not waiting for her at the altar, dressed in a tuxedo.

“Are you not happy with how it turned out?” I press.

I find it odd that instead of her embracing the newness of her copper-blonde strands that match perfectly with the color of the trim sewn onto her wedding dress, she’s instead criticizing it. It’s completely out of character for her. Normally, she’d be falling into the boost in confidence her new color has given her. But today�� 

“No, it’s great it’s just… not me,” she argues. “It’s what Bobby wanted. Said he likes me best with this shade. Says it brings out the real ‘housewife’ side of my features.”

I physically can’t help the grimace that paints my face as it contorts into confusion. “Y/N, how the fuck does a hair color reflect how you choose to run a household?”

“Shhtt, Samuel. We’re in a church for god’s sake!” she turns and hits me across the arm as I roll my eyes at her pretending to care. She turns, careful not to step on the long train of her dress as she makes her way toward me, and away from the mirror. “Sammy this… This is my natural hair color. Close to it, at least."

“Oh…” I murmur, somehow only now realizing that I in fact have never really seen her with her real, actual hair color. Not since we were young kids, anyway, when my memory begins to turn to fuzz. 

“He says he loves me just the way I am, that I don’t need anything extra to make me look beautiful,” she goes on, her face falling just a bit as her eyebrows turn down. She stays quiet as she avoids my eyes, and she knows that it won’t take much for me to become argumentative. It’s easy to do, these days. 

At the risk of me making her mad on her wedding day, I stuff my sullied hands into my pockets, finding a wire nut and a few pennies at the bottoms to fidget with. “That may be true, love, but… is that what you want? You’ve always expressed yourself with all these wild hair colors… crazy makeup and outfits and whatnot.” 

It was true, her means of expressing herself were sometimes a little unprecedented in the grand scheme of things, but that’s exactly what always made her stand out to me. Besides the fact that I’ve been in her life for the past seventeen years, and the fact that I’m madly and incredibly in love with her.

“Yeah, I know… It doesn’t feel right to me, but. If it’s what Bobby wants–”

“Is that why you aren’t wearing hardly any blush on your cheeks? And you don’t have your fingernails painted, and your fingers aren’t dripping with all that silver you’ve collected over the years?” I grab her left hand, yanking it up close to my face to eye the small shiny diamond that now adorns her ring finger. From her betrothed… as her mother called him. Hell, the guy can’t even shoot Jack Daniels without a goddamned chaser let alone notice that the woman he’s to marry has laid down her entire life for him. 

She rips her hand from mine, jerking and forceful as I look back at her face. Striking as ever, even when completely devoid of any fancy eyeliner or powder, or whatever the stuff is. 

“Where’s that sparkly lip stuff you’ve worn every single day for the past ten years? Hm? And that necklace that you never take off because it’s bad luck…” My voice is rising now as she turns her back to me. “Fuck, Y/N, even your dress… You never wanted to wear white! Your dream wedding dress, what was it you always said, ‘I’ll never wear white in my wedding, simply because society tells me I have to!’”

“Stop, Sam! Just… Stop!” she yells, turning to face me now with rage emanating from her.

My jaw is clenched as my hands have long abandoned my pockets, rising into the air now as my voice continues to rise with them. 

“Stop what, Y/N?!”

“Stop being so goddamned honest with me all the time!” she yells. 

I scoff. “You just told me to not do you any favors, this is me not doing you any favors! Exactly like you asked!” I bicker. If there's one thing Y/N and I are good at, it's arguing.

“Ugh, do you know how easy it is to lie to someone?! How easy it is to sugarcoat reality to make it a little easier for them to digest?” 

“What in the fuck are you talking about, Y/N?” I ask, straining my voice.

She’s got tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and her voice is nearly as loud as mine. I halfway want to take this outside, pull a cigarette from my pocket and keep going so that the entire church can’t listen in, but I really don’t fucking care at this point. It feels like something is brewing.

“I’m saying it’s okay to lie to people sometimes, Sam! To make them feel a little bit better about their situations, okay?”

“Why in the hell would I lie to you, Y/N?” I retort, stepping closer toward her. She folds her arms over her chest in what looks to be self-preservation. “I’ve never fuckin’ lied to you, in almost twenty years, I’ve never once not been honest!”

She’s silent as we both begin panting through our rage, having trouble holding our tongues back from what we really want to say, simply because it’s her wedding day. 

But then, fuck it. “I’m not gonna stop being honest with you just because you’re marrying him,” I bite, tossing around the idea of whether or not I should keep it all to myself, for once. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why’d you say it like that?” she says, uncrossing her arms. 

I think about it for a second, and normally, I’d throw my opinion of her fiance right in her face, no questions asked. But today… Today is a little different. And it hurts like hell to hold it back.

“Nothin’, Y/N,” I stammer, pulling the half-pack of cigarettes from my front shirt pocket. I waltz to the wall, taking a seat on an old wooden bench before sticking the unlit cigarette between my lips. I force it all down for the sake of her happiness, shoving my words into the deepest depths of my throat. I eye her heavily from across the room, and the tension is thick. 

Before I know it her high-heeled feet are bounding across the hardwood floor, right toward me. “No, not nothin’, Samuel.” She rips the cigarette from my lips and breaks it right in half, dropping the remnants to the floor. 

“Are you fuckin’ crazy, woman?” I exclaim, bending down to clean up the mess of filter and tobacco from the floor. 

“Damnit, answer me, Sam,” she begins to plead as I’m now face to face with her chest, and all the bright white material of her otherwise very bland wedding dress, for her taste at least. But again, I’d never tell her that. “Be a man, answer me and tell me how you really feel,” she demands. 

I can feel some new type of energy radiating from her, something that I’ve not felt from her before. And it’s then that I begin to suspect that her pleas are loaded with some other type of emotion.

I clench my jaw and stand quickly, letting the cigarette pieces fall from my hand and back onto the floor. 

“Fine, you really want me to tell you how I feel? Then I will, fuck it,” I yell. She doesn’t back down, and now I’m towering over her, watching as her cheeks redden with madness and the tears sit still, glimmering as she refuses to let them fall. “He’s awful for you, Y/N. He ain’t you. He doesn’t deserve you. Every single thing about you has changed since you got with him. He’s made you into his goddamned puppet. His fuckin’ arm candy. Stripped you of everything that you love. Everything that makes you happy–”

“He makes me happy, Sam! Don’t you see that?” she cries, finally letting one tear fall. “Just because he–”

“Does he, Y/N? Are you sure? Or are you just lyin’ to yourself because it’s what you think you want?” I go on, letting the words I’ve kept holed up fly freely. We’re quiet for a beat before I take another breath and speak again. “He gave you the big house, the boat, the money… the status… The last name that will get you whatever you fuckin’ want in this town. And look at you now. You’re a shell of yourself, Y/N. You ain’t even you anymore. You haven’t been you in a long time, and I’m just the bravest son of a bitch to tell you.”

Her nostrils flare as she crosses her arms again, her eyes flitting from the floor to me, and back. “This goes a lot deeper than him not wanting you to be you, doesn’t it, Y/N?” I ask genuinely. 

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Sam,” she says through a choked sob. 

“Then tell me, Y/N! Enlighten me. ‘Cause god knows you haven’t talked to me the same in months, now. Hell, I didn’t even know about this wedding until four fuckin’ days ago…” I go on, the sting of learning about it still hitting me right in the chest. I wasn’t even going to come, but…

She shrugs her shoulders. “He just, he gets me, ya know? He’s sweet to me, buys me nice things, takes me on vacations. His family loves me, tells me he wants to start our own family as soon as we can.”

“A family?!” I practically yell in her face. “Y/N, you don’t want kids, you never have!”

“I didn’t, Sam, until I–” she swallows her words, stopping to wipe the wetness from her face. In any other instance, I’d be working hard to catch them before they ruined the mascara and shadow she spent an hour on, but she doesn’t have a stitch of anything on her face to worry about.

“Until you what?”

I watch as her bottom lip trembles, her body a shaking mess as she lets herself fall onto the bench I’d just stood from. Her eyes shoot down and her shoulders fall; the once vibrant, radiant woman I knew that had a lust for life and an enviable outlook on the world now presents herself as someone who hasn’t seen the light of day in years. Someone who is skittish, unsure, and unconfident. Someone who lives under the thumb of a man who imposes such harsh reverse psychology on her that she doesn’t even see herself changing into something that she wasn’t born to be.

“Until I saw you holding Jenny Watson’s baby boy,” she croaks, anxiously rubbing her hands together.

What?

“What do you mean, Y/N?” I ask, my voice monotone as my thoughts begin to race. I slowly walk back over, and take my seat again on the bench beside her.

She inhales with a harsh sniffle, clearing the still-falling tears away as she tries to get them to stop. It takes her a second, but she looks at me.

“Until I saw you. Holding him. It… I dunno. Made some kinda weird switch go off in my head like, maybe… They aren’t so bad, after all,” she says, crossing one leg up underneath herself. “Like if you can be so natural with one, maybe I can be too.”

I’m left stunned. Hell, I hardly even remember holding that baby at our class reunion just six months ago. The kid was cute, and reached out for me. I couldn’t say no.

“Me?” I whisper, still feeling confused. 

“Yeah, fuck. Don’t flatter yourself. Ok? It was sweet, and cute… And… made me change my mind a little,” she says. “Made me think that maybe with him, I could do it.”

Her words nearly cut me in two. With him.

“But the making them part is what’s got me worried,” she admits, throwing me for a loop again.

“Worried? Why?”

She shrugs again, and I realize I’m slowly breaking through the barrier that she’s put up between us for so long now. She’s opening up to me, just like she always did. But still yet, she can’t find the words.

I search her face as she licks her lips, kneading her hands together again as she searches for the words. Sometimes I think that I can read her mind, but as of late, it’s as though she’s a prisoner to it. I keep my eyes trained on her as she starts and stops her sentences, biting them back as if she can’t admit anything at all. Finally, it clicks.

“Don’t tell me that son of a bitch don’t treat you right in the bedroom, too. For fuck’s sake… he’s a spoiled brat and he can’t fuck?! Wow, Y/N, you really hit the jackpot!” I couldn’t stop myself. 

“Oh don’t you even fucking go there, Samuel, I swear to god.”

“Go where, Y/N? To the truth? Is that not what you’re trying to say to me? That he doesn’t satisfy you?”

“Urgh, I know I shouldn’t have clued you in like that, now you’re just going to make it all worse!” she cries, resting her veiled, copper-blonde head against the aging wall of the church.

“Worse? When have I ever made anything worse for you, Y/N? For years, all I’ve ever tried to do was make you happy, be your friend. A shitty one, sometimes, but don’t sit here and tell me that I’ve ever been anything but good to you.”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes as she cries, finally bringing her hands to her face to cover it. She’s an absolute mess on her wedding day, and it’s all because of me. And my stupid words. And my stupid honesty. Why did I have to go and fall in love with someone who I knew was too good for me? Someone who would never refer to me as anything but a good friend? 

Truly, as degenerated of a person that I am, I’m still a million times better for her than the man she is supposed to marry. And suddenly, I’m wrought with guilt.

“Please stop crying, Y/N,” I beg her, quietly and gently bringing my hand to rest on her trembling arm. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. You’re getting married in fifteen minutes, you should be bursting at the seams with happiness, right now.”

She pulls the coverage of her hands away long enough to whisper a few words. 

“I should be happy, but I’m not, am I?” 

I can feel all the blood drain from my body and straight into the basement of the church, seeping through the crack and seams of the floor as it searches for somewhere else to be. Of course she trusts me to answer that for her. The one person who she knows will be nothing but brutally honest with her, no matter what the question is.

“I wouldn’t bet my last penny on it, love,” I whisper back, hoping that it doesn’t hurt her any further. “Just because it doesn’t take a lot for you to be happy doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be given the bare minimum of something real.”

She pulls her hands away from her face, her eyes blotched and swollen as she finally succumbs to her emotions, letting her arms wrap around my neck and her head rest in the crook of it.

Just like all the other times before.

“Why do you always know exactly what to say, Sam?” she says over another quiet whisper.

I shake my head as I wrap my arms around her waist, giving her the same hug that I have on so many other occasions like this.

“I don’t. I just say what I think. And hope that maybe you’ll listen to me, one day,” I chuckle a little as I feel her lips curl into a smile on the skin of my neck, making my cold heart feel just a little bit warmer.

“When was the last time you danced, Y/N? Like, really danced?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood a little.

She pulls away and shrugs, but she makes a point to let her fingers travel down the arms of my shirt, finally letting her hand fall overtop of mine. “I don’t know. Couldn’t tell you.”

“When was the last time you went to a gig? Or on those crazy long solo road trips you used to love… Or got your art featured in that showcase you used to frequent?” I ask. Again, she has no answer. I can feel my face fall in disappointment. This guy has really done a number on her.

“Are you still making your art?” I ask. 

The look in her eyes is solemn… empty and lifeless as if she’s reminiscing on a lifetime ago. 

She shakes her head. “No. Bobby says it’s silly and pointless to express myself like that. Makes too much of a mess in the house.”

I can’t help the scoff that leaves my mouth, and the subsequent eye roll. Does he even know who she is?!

“God, Y/N… next thing is you’re gonna tell me he made you get rid of Pepper.” Her beloved black lab has accompanied her through more of her life than I have. Her true best friend and one of the best dogs I’ve ever come in contact with. 

But again, she’s quiet. 

“You’re fucking kidding me, he made you–” I can’t even finish my sentence. That evil jackass made her ditch her dog?!

“He lives with my dad, now…” she says, rubbing a stray tear from under her eye. “Bobby doesn’t like dogs.”

I cup my hand around her temple, ignoring the position of her veil as I pull her to rest her head against my chest. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That’s the fuckin’ worst. And that makes me dislike him even more. You don’t take a woman’s dog away from her.”

“I miss him so much, Sammy,” she cries again.

“Where did my Y/N go?” My question is rhetoric, but true, all the same.

Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve learned more shitty things about this Bobby guy in the past twenty minutes than I have in the year that they’re been engaged. Fuck, all I came in here to do was tell her congratulations. Tell her I was happy for her, even though I was going to lie through my teeth. My best friend on the planet, the one person who I can fight to the death with, and make up the next minute like it was no big deal. Though we’re older now with lives and responsibilities, I still count on her to bring me back down to earth. I still miss her when we skip a few days of talking. I still yearn to feel her near me, search for her in my dreams, hope and pray that one day the universe will allow me to call her mine. The one that’s too good for me, the one that I would walk to the end of the earth for if I knew it would make her happy. I’ve never been a romantic man, but I sure as hell know a good woman when I see one. And I’ll be damned if I let someone dull her shine any further.

So I ask, for the first and final time, as I hear a commotion starting to gather in the chapel.

I take a deep breath and gather myself, taking her hands tightly in mine as I force myself to look her in the eye. “Tell me you’re happy, Y/N. Tell me you’re really fucking happy with him, and I’ll leave. I’ll go sit in the pew and watch you vow to keep him happy for the rest of your life. All the while knowing that you’re puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for everyone,” I grit with softness, knowing that time is running out. If I’m gonna get through to her, I have to do it now.

The look on her face sends a shot through my heart, and I feel my throat tighten. Her eyes are lifeless again, and the woman staring back at me isn’t the one that I know.

Just then a soft rap on the door interrupts us, and an older lady peeks her head through to find us. “Y/N, honey, it’s time,” she says softly, her eyes landing on me as I realize it’s her grandma. 

“Ok Mamaw, thank you,” she says, wiping her face free of the dampness. 

“Samuel, I didn’t expect to see you in here,” she coos quietly with a sweet smile. 

“Afternoon Ms. Ellen, nice to see you again,” I say with a wave. 

She looks behind her quickly, checking to see if anyone had followed her. When she knows she’s alone, she lets herself a little further into the room with us. 

“I hope you’re in here telling my sweet Y/N all your long lost secrets before she’s an honest woman,” she says, folding her hands across her stomach. I’ve always loved this woman, the most picture-perfect cookie-cutter grandma with a virulent and exciting past. And, she sneaks and smokes cigarettes with me, sometimes. 

“Ah, maybe a few,” I say as I let Y/N blot her face with a tissue in the mirror. I’ve always felt like Ms. Ellen has been on my team, knowing, or better yet, able to recognize the love that I wear on my sleeve for Y/N. Sometimes those folk just have a sixth sense when it comes to these things. 

Ellen makes direct and intense eye contact with me before she mutters, “Doesn’t my granddaughter look beautiful in her dress?”

“Ah, yes,” I clear my throat, “she always looks beautiful.”

“Shame she didn’t even get to pick it out herself. Didn’t even get to try a few on to see what she might like,” Ellen says somberly. “Just had it handed to her by Bobby’s assistants.”

“Mamaw…” I hear the warning in Y/N’s voice. 

“What, child? Just telling Sammy here that I’m so happy it ended up fitting you like a glove.” I give Ellen a reassuring smile as I stand from the bench, realizing that it must be my time to go. 

Ellen turns and makes it to the door before she stops with her hand on the knob, taking a quick breath before she turns back to us. 

“Do you remember when you two were little, just kiddos in elementary school, and you decided that the two of you were going to have a wedding in my backyard?” she says. 

“Mamaw, shouldn’t you be finding your seat in the congregation?” Y/N warns her again, but it’s no use. 

“You invited all your little neighborhood friends and asked me to help you hem your dress. A bright purple one, I believe it was. Little Sammy spent all day roaming through the neighbors’ landscaping and stealing the perfect flowers to make you a bouquet. Asked me to bake cookies for your guests. Caught all the fireflies in town and stuffed them into a mason jar so that when the sun went down, you’d still be able to see to walk through the grass.”

My chest warms at the fond memory of all those years ago, back when life wasn’t real and time didn’t exist. I steal a quick glance at Y/N, standing in the mirror again as she listens to her grandmother speak. “Sam came inside and started rummaging through my cabinets, stealing the twist-ties off my loaves of bread to fashion into rings… The cutest thing I ever saw…”

“The first time I ever kissed you,” I add, once again stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

I watch as Ellen’s face lights up with joy, and Y/N’s blushes with embarrassment. It was the first time, but it wasn’t the last. One drunken night after graduation, Y/N and I had climbed onto the roof of the old dry cleaner’s and played truth or dare. Of course, I dared her to kiss me on a whim. And by god, she didn’t hold back. It was fast and it was heavy, but I knew deep down that for her, it was all in fun.

Nothing ever went past that kiss that ended in nothing more than just a little intense drunken intimacy. Nothing except the feelings that I had for her grew tenfold, and never went away. 

“Well, anyway,” Ellen breaks the silence. “I’ll be outside, sweetheart.” Ellen sneaked back through the creaky old door, giving me a look that said ‘Last chance, honey. Don’t let her get away.’

All I can hear in the room now is Y/N taking a deep cleansing breath, smoothing the dress out over her thighs as she straightens her veil. I catch her eyes in the mirror again, giving her one last look before I begin to make my way to the door. 

“I kept that ring, you know,” she says, stopping me. “The bread tie one. I still have it.”

I turn back. “You do?”

“Mhm. In my jewelry box at home. I see it almost every day.” She’s walking toward me again, cleaning up her face and running her fingers along her tear lines. 

“Why’d you keep it?” I ask.

“Because it meant a lot to me, reminded me how much you mean to me. And it reminds me to keep my promises, no matter how simple and pointless they are. They’re still important,” she goes on, biting her lips together every few words. “Do you remember what we promised that day, Sam?”

I shake my head, the memory a little fuzzy still. “Kind of…”

“We said that even though we might not marry each other when we’re grown ups, that we’d always look out for each other. Keep each other in check. And we promised to always stay connected, no matter what.”

I nod. “Simple as that…”

She smiles. “Simple as that.”

I fight a tear, myself, as I reach in my back pocket and pull out my wallet, fidgeting through the old, worn in pockets of it in search of what I know is there, buried away but not forgotten. Finally my finger lands on it, and I gently pull it from the narrow slot. I place it in the center of my free hand, tiny, blue, tattered and worn. 

“You kept your ring, too,” Y/N says breathlessly. 

“It’s survived three wallets and an accidental trip into the trash can. But, it made it,” I say, admiring the tiny item that I only see from time to time. 

She walks closer to me, gently running her finger along it’s paper edges. “Sammy, I can’t believe you–”

“Don’t marry him, Y/N,” I blurt, the words escaping my mouth before I can even give them a second thought. “Don’t do it. Don’t marry him.”

“What?” her eyes bulge from her head as she stops in her tracks. It feels as though the entire world is standing still. 

“I said don’t do it. Don’t lock yourself away for the rest of your life. Don’t be unhappy in a relationship with a man who won’t even let you have your dog,” I’m babbling now, my chest tight and my throat on fire. I don’t even care. I needed to do it, I have to say it. 

“But, I–”

“There are no buts, here, Y/N. You still have a choice, and if what you say is true, we promised to look out for one another. This is me looking out for you,” I say. 

She stares at me as her hands drop to the sides, her demeanor less than it has looked all day. 

“That’s all I’m gonna say, Y/N. That’s all I needed to say.” I stuff the ring back into it’s place in my wallet before smoothing my hands over my hair. My breath begins to pick up and I feel my face getting hot. I turn again and head straight for the door, and I hear the music begin to echo off the walls of the church. 

“Sam, wait–”

“You know it’s always been me, Y/N. And if it’s not me, then please, for the love of god, just don’t let it be him. Okay?” I say as my hand turns the knob. “Go in there and marry him, throw away everything that makes you happy, everything that brings you joy. Makes you you. Lie to him and yourself and to everyone in there…”

I feel thick, hot tears blurring my vision as I begin to lose composure from the adrenaline of what I’m saying and doing. I shouldn’t be doing this… But also, I absolutely should.

“But if not…” I raise my hands and let them fall back to slap my sides, nodding to her in a way that I know she will understand. The last look I got of the woman I just confessed my love to was one that will be etched into my brain for the rest of my life. For the first time in a long time, I saw hope in her eyes.

I dash out the back doors of the church and down the concrete steps, out onto the quiet street straight toward my motorcycle. I hear the music swelling inside, making me feel like I can’t afford another breath. I slip my helmet on and I check my watch, 4:59PM. 

I straddle my bike and grab the handle bars, taking a glance every few seconds at the back door I had just burst through. My heart is pounding as I hear the processional music begin, and my hands are rough as I grip the handlebars. I turn the key, revving the engine to let her know that I’m out here, serious, and ready to take her away from it all…

My eyes dash again and again, willing the doors to open. “Come on, Y/N, don’t do this…”

My hands twist the bars, the calluses on my palms harshly rubbing against them as I grit my jaw side to side. The anxiety is almost worse out here than it is inside. “Come on, baby…”

It feels like an hour ticks by as the music inside swells and becomes louder, and the blood pumping through my veins strains harder and harder. My foot is bouncing nervously on the ground, ready to kick the stand at a moment’s notice. But deep down, I know I’d wait out here for her for a hundred years. I’d never stop waiting for her, until she told me to stop. 

The organ music continues and starts from the beginning again, and it’s then that I realize, it’s still playing. 

She isn’t walking down the aisle.

My eyes flit to the door again, and just as I catch sight of the evening sun brightening its golden glow onto the stained glass windows, the back door opens. Slowly, at first, just enough for me to tell it moved. 

Fuck, she’s gonna run…

The door opens a little bit more, and I see the top of her head peek through the opening. I feel like my body is about to catch on fire as I realize she’s most definitely not where everyone is expecting her to be. She slips through the door, shutting it softly behind her as she finds me parked on the street, ready and waiting. I slide my helmet off to get a better look at her, and I swear every single ounce of breath is stolen from my lungs. 

Her veil is gone, and her high heels are off, and she’s tumbling down the concrete steps through the yard, directly toward me. My breath hitches, I can’t fucking believe it. She’s gonna leave. I feel like I’m frozen in place as I watch her run to me, her hair flowing in the breeze behind her. 

She’s glowing, rushed and anxious as she bounds barefoot through the mess of cars clogging up the street. My heart is thrumming from my ribcage, and I’m positive that I’ve never seen a sight more gorgeous in my entire life. 

She’s coming… she’s really coming with me.

Finally she reaches me and the bike, her chest heaving with nerves and lost breath as I give her a surprised and pleading look. I open my mouth to speak, but I really don’t know what to say. 

She rips the helmet from my hands and places it on her own head. “You gonna get me the fuck out of here Sam? Or am I gonna have to beg you?” she boasts with that old confidence she always used to have.

I laugh through my nose as she grabs onto my shoulders and hikes up her dress to straddle the back of the bike. 

“I’d love to see you beg, love. But not today,” I reply, kicking the stand up with my right foot as we find our balance on the bike. Her arms wrap around my stomach as I take off, zipping through the mess of parked cars and straight toward the quickest way out of here. 

“Where do you wanna go?” I ask her, turning my head just a little. 

“Anywhere. Literally any place on earth that isn’t here,” she yells into my ear over the deafening sound of the engine. 

I feel like I could speed up and ride straight into the sunset, and I’m positive that she wants to disappear just as badly as I want to. I feel the touch of her sweet lips land directly on the back of my neck, leaving a tiny peck there that nearly sends me into overdrive. I’m in such harsh disbelief. But moreso, I’m thankful. 

Her lips travel from the back of my neck and around to my ear again as her arms squeeze me a little tighter. “Thank you, Sammy,” she mumbles, and I feel a warmness overtake my entire body. She has no idea that I’m the one that should be thanking her. We both let the sound of wedding bells fall into our memories, only concentrating now on the sounds of the motor running, and the tires rolling across the pavement.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 18 - Water

Duke Was Never the Same:

The lake was blue. It was very blue, as if someone had plucked the purest sapphire from the deepest mine in Australia and carefully placed it into the place where the Skarloey lake was meant to be. It shimmered in the sun, barely a single ripple in the surface to betray the mirror that the lake seemed to pretend to be. It was gorgeous, and yet Duke couldn’t help but avert his eyes.

Rheneas liked gazing out towards the lake. He claimed it healed something within himself, that it made him feel at harmony with the world. It was one of his favourite topics, when he got the chance to get a word in edgeways in between Duncan’s complaining and Peter Sam’s chirpiness. Rheneas seemed to think it was the water, as if it had bubbled up from the earth’s core purely to soothe his soul and bring peace and serenity to the world around it. And sure, it had done just that – Skarloey Lake was surrounded by the lushest greenery on Sodor, thick oaks and vibrant flowers blanketed the banks of the lake where humans hadn’t cut them away to dot their resorts and villages along its coastline. The lake was their lifeblood, it’s waters a siren luring tourists and locals alike up to gaze upon it.

And yet, Duke could barely look upon the lake without feeling like spitting out all his coals. He knew there was something wrong with that – something truly wrong with a steam engine disliking water. It singled him out in a way that just… wasn’t normal. At least the lake was crystal blue or aqua green, depending on the season. Such colours were bold, natural.

It was the inky blackness of the lake at night that made Duke feel truly ill. The darkness of the water, the way that it rippled just enough to remind him of that day. Duke would do whatever job was asked of him, of course, but he tried his absolute best to avoid being out past dusk. This worked out well for him – he got the morning train, when the rising sun would blind him and made it impossible to see the lake for the glare reflecting off it – and in return he was back before the sun had dipped beyond the horizon.

It wasn’t the lake itself that was the problem, no. It was the water. Duke was fine with winding rivers and rushing rapids – the Rheneas Waterfall was really quite beautiful when Duke saw it – but when water was still, it was wrong. It was uncomfortable, it drew memories up from deep under the surface, ripping them out from where they’d been shoved deep down between his boiler tubes and taking everything with them. Duke knew he needed water to run – he was not like Henry, with such an intense phobia that it blinded him from his duties like the rain blinded engines when they were forced to run in it. He was merely… uncomfortable with it.

A new boat was unveiled on the lake. It was a bright, eye-catching red. Duke instantly hated it – red and water did not mix well within his mind. Nothing good came of the two mixing. Red-painted metal was not meant to touch water, not meant to come into contact with the very substance that would corrode it into nothingness. Water was a powerful force, after all. It rusted and it eroded. It pulled entire embankments down when it so desired; it flooded the valleys and left people with nothing left but broken dreams and sodden houses.

It left Duke with nothing.

The boat was shiny – it was not quite the same colour as James, or even any of the other Skarloey Railway engines. It’s red was entirely different, in a way none of the others recognised. Of course Duke was the only one to make the connection, he was the only one who could have ever known. No one else was alive who could say the same thing, they’d all been buried deep under the earth or torn to pieces by scrappers long, long ago. Duke was the only one left, the only one cursed to bear the burden of knowing, of caring.

Peter Sam and Sir Handel liked the boat way too much. Said it was oddly familiar, in a way they just couldn’t quite place their buffers on. Duke hoped they would never remember – not that they would be able to, he had only really been a story and a small hole in a brick wall to them. They’d not been witness to any of the truth, not been around for what really happened. At one point, Peter Sam almost found out, but Duke had been able to redirect him, protect his young puffling from the ugliness of reality. Sure, Peter Sam had suffered in his life – but at least the images that haunted Duke’s nightmares were confined to him alone. Peter Sam could be free, could live his life without ever knowing.

They all could.

Only Duke remembered.

Only Duke knew.

The red boat was not as waterproof as its owners had intended. When the autumn storms rolled through the mountains, thunderclouds beating their chests and hurling rain and lightning down upon the railway and all it served, the rain got into the red boat. It hadn’t been roped to its jetty properly, and one evening it got loose, floating out into the lake as rain pounded it from all sides, tearing at it and trying to find a weak point.

Duke had been the one to find it, on his early morning train. It had capsized, revealing its hull as it smashed against the craggy rocks and sunk until only a small chunk remained visible. Duke had gone as white as a sheet, his eyes far away from the scene of destruction.

They’d had to hoist the red boat out with a crane. By then, the water had begun its natural process, ripping into the boat and rusting anything not waterproofed properly. It happened so fast, aided by the unnatural number of contaminants in the water from the harsh rains. Or maybe they were only seen by Duke, who wasn’t really seeing the red boat at all, but rather something else far, far away and a good fifty years ago. It was placed in the back of the yards, awaiting some unknown order to repair or dispose of it. Duke could only spare sympathy for the poor pleasure craft – the water had done it in.

Water was all too cruel.

The rains left great muddy puddles everywhere; Duke begged off mine duty, desperate to avoid the murky, dirty waters of the mine.

Desperate to avoid the memories.

Duke managed to get his way, taking trains anywhere but the mine. He did the army-camp trains, leaving loaded vans at the entrance to the formerly abandoned slate quarry and picking up empty ones in their place. One time, he was even directed into the slate quarry when the little WD ‘Beetle’ broke down, steaming into a military camp and being oh so thankful for the huge tarps that were strategically hung to keep as much of the camp as possible dry, directing the rain to distant, out of sight drains.

Duke had never been allowed back inside that camp though, not that he wanted to after he spotted an old steam boiler in the corner of his eye and been punched out of his own mind and into memories he was trying to avoid.

Still, the rains continued. The red boat was taken away, and never returned. Scrapped, or so Skarloey said. Peter Sam held out hope for its return, the optimist he was. Duke couldn’t find it in himself to do the same. Not when the red boat had been in such a sorry state, great gashes torn in it by the rocks and creeping rust beginning to form on its interior, now open to the world due to the way it had been tossed around and ripped apart.

Not when it was too similar to before.

The trains ground to a halt, tourists not wanting to venture far from their hotels and the mine not wanting to attempt any major work in the dangerously wet conditions. The entire railway slowed to only its most essential services, and only the fewest engines possible were called upon to handle the work. Duke was one of them, a fact he privately was thankful for – he couldn’t stand being inside the shed for too long, not when it would only ever remind him of those years spent underground, unable to see the outside world, confined to the darkness without even a hope or a prayer of rescue.

Instead, Duke handled the bulk of traffic along the Skarloey Railway’s ‘main line’ while Rusty handled trackwork and Ivo Hugh the few trains needed at the mine – mostly made of equipment runs and hauling away what amount of the rock had been dug out. It was not much, and Ivo Hugh got enough time in between his runs to help Duke out. Sandbags were supplied to the villages in danger of flooding – not that Duke thought they would. Duke knew flooding, and these were not the right conditions.

And Duke was right. The weather cleared up right before the river could burst its banks, leaving the valley to breathe a collective sigh of relief even as Duke kept his eyes determinedly on the way forwards.

The intervention of the rain had distracted Duke from the time of year, and by the time he remembered, it was already too late.

Duke started seeing him everywhere, in flashes of red that ensnared Duke’s attention and drew him in like a moth to the flame. Duke hated it. Duke hated the rain. Duke hated water. Duke hated knowing the truth and never being able to repeat it. Duke felt his boiler tighten with stress, the steel contracting even as his fire tried vainly to warm him through.

It was a losing battle.

And then finally, Duke simmered over. It was that day, after all. It was fifty years exactly. Duke said nothing as the day progressed, leaving the other engines worried for his health. And then he volunteered to pull the last freight of the day; a line of empty trucks for the mine. The others all were stunned. They couldn’t even find a way to voice their shock – or perhaps that was Duke being unable to hear them. He couldn’t hear anything over the scream that had rattled in his smokebox for fifty years, anything over the words that had haunted him since they’d been uttered.

The trip up was quiet. The afternoon was cooling into night, and the trees had only just finished having all their leaves turn brown and red. Within the week, they’d be barren – but for now it was a festival of colour that broke up the traditionally green landscape. The river babbled along by the line on one side while a few cars rumbled by on the other, racing to get home for the end of the day. Only Duke seemed to know what day it was. Only Duke seemed to care what day it was.

Then again, only Duke knew what happened. Only Duke every truly saw it.

Duke slowed to a stop at the mine, shunting away the trucks. Dirty pools of water littered the lineside, him reflected in each. Of course he was – dirty water was what took him in the end. Duke waited until his driver had gone inside to log their arrival before creeping forwards to the beginning of the mine itself.

There were two entrances to this mine: one was a large vertical shaft with elevator that hurtled down deep into the earth, while the other was a long, twisting tunnel dating back centuries. The tunnel was just slightly too small to fit Duke, but the perfect size to push long lines of trucks in. Once upon a time, horses would have hauled the trucks from deep in the mines, but now a conveyer belt ferried everything up to the surface elsewhere.

Duke gazed down the tunnel, and sighed. Fifty years truly did go by fast, and it was everything he could do not to cry.

“I’m… sorry. Stanley.”

***

Once upon a time, there was a little engine named after His Grace, the Duke of Sodor. The little engine worked hard, and kept his little railway in order – but it was clear to all he needed help.

The engine they brought was named Stanley, not that many used his name. To the manager and his crew, he was simply “Number Two”, a rough-riding scoundrel of an engine who never really did anything but derail. Stanley and Duke knew better – they knew something had gone wrong when Stanley had been regauged to work on the little line.

Despite their worries and pleas, nothing was done and Stanley’s condition deteriorated. Crashes and derailments became more common, and Stanley lashed out at Duke in frustration. He hadn’t meant to – goodness, even Duke knew that! But the manager didn’t, and he didn’t care. To him, Stanley had simply been a nuisance who needed to be dealt with. And when Duke tried to keep them from selling Stanley off, they got creative.

Stanley was locked away behind the shed as a pumping engine, Duke spent a year without a new coat of paint – and then the old engine had a pair of new younglings dumped on him. They were so young, and so eager, and so good, but Duke feared for them. He feared what would happen if they too acted like Stanley or even showed a hint of being incapable.

So he went to Stanley, and the pair made up their story.

It worked – Stuart and Falcon behaved impeccably, and all was peaceful on the little railway. Duke and Stanley breathed a sigh of relief, and life settled into place. Sometimes, when the young engines slept, Duke would creep around the back to spend time chatting with his less fortunate friend. He did his best to hide these visits, both Duke and Stanley afraid of what wrath the manager would bring on them if he discovered that they were fraternising.

And for a time, all seemed well. But fate is not that kind.

The pair were discovered one evening during the war, when the manager came out late one evening to warn them of the increasing workload. His punishment was swift and harsh – he made Duke unearth Stanley in the middle of the night and cart him down the line to the biggest mine on the little railway, where they needed a new pumping engine to look after the water in the deepest parts of the mine.

Duke was forced to watch as Stanley was lowered down, down, deep into the mine where he would be run forever more.

Time continued on. The new pumping engine helped the mine reach a new vein deep underground – however to do so they had to constantly pump away a ruptured spring which gushed water constantly. The river the railway ran alongside grew weaker above where the mine’s outflow pipe dumped gallons of water into its rapids; Duke feared that the spring the miners had hit was really the source of the river, though he was unable to voice his concerns.

Duke would never forget his friend, buried alive in the deepest depths of the mine and unable to call for help. The manager made sure of it too – he put Duke on all the trains heading up to the mine, no matter how busy his schedule was. Duke took it all on without complaint – he could see the direction the wind was blowing. When His Grace returned from the war, Duke would plead his case, try and rescue Stanley and the two young engines he’d come to see as his own and make a run for it – maybe get His Grace to transfer them as far from the little railway and its sadistic manager as possible.

Life was not fair though.

It was a cold morning when Duke arrived to chaos.

“There’s something wrong with the pumping engine!” bellowed a miner, sprinting across the yard. “It’s gonna blow!” Then came the scream. It was guttural, full of agony and completely unlike anything Duke had ever been forced to hear before. It echoed through the mine, stunning the men into silence. A thick cloud of smoke belched out of the tunnels all at once, followed by miners running for their lives while hacking and coughing.

The smoke was blown away by the wind, and Duke peered into the mine. He wanted to venture in, to try and find his friend and save him from what he knew to be coming next.

The water that Stanley had been dutifully pumping flooded the mine in a great gushing wave. It’s force caused the entire yard to tremble, and Duke was forced away from the entrance to the mine in fear of it all collapsing. Duke watched on in horror as the mine flooded right the way to the top, the second pumping machine breaking under the strain. Dirty, sludge-filled water began to trickle out of the mine’s entrances, revealing tools, equipment… and one dirty, grime-ridden nameplate.

Stanley’s nameplate.

Duke felt a sob break free. He couldn’t let his youngsters see this. He couldn’t let them see the damage, see what had become of Stanley.

But worse was to come.

Two weeks later, the water level dropped, the spring flushing back out into the river and draining out of the mine. Duke brought a flatbed up, confused.

“Sir? What’s this for?” he asked the manager carefully. The manager didn’t answer. Instead, he simply nodded to several miners. A large crane winch was lowered into the mine, and attached to something.

The crane heaved with all its might, and the something was lifted up into the dusk light. It was what remained of Stanley. His dusty red paint had been washed clean by the surging water – but that same water had also rusted poor Stanley right through. And then Duke saw it. Stanley’s firebox had been blown clean off when he’d broken down, pipes mangled and sticking up at jarring angles. Poor Stanley’s boiler had exploded from the pressure, the dome flying off and his firebox blowing out. He’d been in agony, and then the water had come rushing in.

The water had drowned him slowly, then rusted away at what had been left.

Duke was forced to drag Stanley’s remains to a scrap merchant’s barge at the harbour; thankfully neither Stuart nor Falcon saw him. He wouldn’t have been able to survive them seeing his face twisted in pure sorrow, sobbing as he brought Stanley’s remains to the harbour and watched as they were taken away.

Duke was never quite the same since. He’d been even more protective of those he had left, running himself into the ground for Stuart and Falcon. He’d watched them get sold off, then watched as the world was reduced to a small shed and nothing more.

Stanley never got the recognition he deserved, the manager saw to that. He embellished the story Duke had told Stuart and Falcon and ensured the Reverend heard it. Stanley’s name was forever tarnished, and Duke was left with the guilt.

Duke wasn’t sure if he would ever stop seeing Stanley’s twisted remains and haunted expression gazing up at him from in the water.

Back to the Master Post

[crownedcritter]

Some angsty “because I love you” troupe type shit with Sebastian?

Sebastian had grown accustomed to the dark of his room. The loneliness, the dark, the consistent clicking of his keyboard being the only sound he would hear on some days. It wasn’t that he minded, though. That was how he liked to keep himself- secluded and away from the others in town. On some days, even Sam had difficulty convincing him to get outside and “catch some rays” as he would say, claiming that Sebastian looked like death and he needed to go out more. He knew this wasn’t exactly a healthy lifestyle for him to maintain, but that was how he liked it. That is, until a farmer moved into that old, broken down farmhouse.

Ever since you had come to Pelican town, you made an effort to see him. Him specifically. Out of all people, you made the initiative to visit with him every day, bring him his favorite foods, or trinkets you found in the local mine, just things you picked up that he would enjoy. Given the relationship he had with his family, he was never used to being so attended to. It was awkward for him at first, to receive such things, but definitely not unwanted.

On the occasion, he even found himself… waiting for you to come through his bedroom door. With that big smile on your face, dirt on the knees of your worn out overalls, holding a wrapped plate of sashimi he knows you caught and prepared just for him. He began to thoroughly enjoy when you would ask about his interests and life goals. It was such a refreshing encounter, much different from his family who all urged him to find another job. At the end of the day, though, he just assumed you were being nice. The nice farmer, the one that brings gifts to everyone, even Shane who had been nothing but rude to you since the moment you met. The farmer who provided anyone with anything they could ask for, even if it meant risking being injured in the mine. The farmer who gives everyone that big, bright smile. You were just being kind, and with that, he stopped putting any thought into it, and season after season passed of the same routine.

You never stopped bringing him those shiny things from the mine, or making him sashimi, or pumpkin soup in the fall, or talking to him about his day and the things he wanted to accomplish. You were probably the one person that he would listen to without fail when you asked him to make sure he went outside at least once a day. He trusted you, fully, and would never want to disappoint you by not listening when all you’re doing is looking out for him. He especially didn’t mind when you would join him on those outings, which was often. You would sit with him by the water, taking off your shoes and dipping your feet into the cool, still waters.

You loved those days more than anything. You knew it was doing him good when he would roll up his sleeves after you both had sad down and gotten comfortable, and he would pop his neck and back, and lean back on his hands in the grass. He would just sit there, eyes closed, letting the sun warm up his pale face. Your heart would race in those moments. You would try your best to commit everything about him to memory in those moments. The way his Adam’s Apple prominently bobbed when he would swallow, or how his hair looked in the direct sunlight.

You were happy just to be there with him, loving him in silence, no matter how much that pained you. That, however, was nothing compared to the moment you saw him with Abigail.

Carrying his favorite foods with you, you made your way to his home, excited to play some weird game with him and Sam later, when you saw them. Leaning against his motorcycle, his hands on her waist, their foreheads pressed together, laughter present on their lips. You could almost hear your own breath stop and your heart shatter like a crystal in the mines. You froze for just a moment, hoping your eyes were deceiving you, but as they leaned in to kiss one another, you found the courage to turn on your heel and walk home.

After a few hours, your phone began to blow up with messages, from both Sam and Sebastion. You gave Sam the courtesy of a “not feeling good, have fun tho”, while leaving all of Sebastian’s messages on read.

After that night, it was days before you saw Sebastian again. You were avoiding him like the plague all of a sudden. Did he say something to you?

He hadn’t seen you bustling around town, bringing goods and produce to the people in town, or just saying hello like you always did. It was like you had vanished off the face of the earth. After a couple weeks had passed, he decided that someone needed to come check on you. You were always making sure he didn’t shut himself in, so the least he could do is return the favor.

As he walked up to the farm, he noticed smoke coming up from the chimney- the smoke filling the crisp fall air in thick gray clouds, indicating you were in fact inside. He knocked on your front door, and waited. He heard little creaks in the old wooden floorboards as you walked up to the door. You opened the door, wearing the baggiest t-shirt you own and sweatpants (not expecting company), and he saw your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, before returning back to normal.

“What do you want?” You spoke, shortly.

He hated to admit that even with the sour tone to your voice, he missed hearing it.

“Hey I was uhh..just checking on you? You’ve been gone for like ages now. Are you doing okay? You missed our hangout a couple weeks ago, and you never do that.”

“Wasn’t feeling up to it. And I’m not feeling up to talking right now.. so I’ll see you around..” you went to close the door, but he caught it.

“Alright something is obviously up, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

The stern look in his eyes told you he was being serious, you knew he wasn’t going anywhere. And from the way his nose was turning red told you he was freezing outside. You wish you weren’t as kind as you were, as kind as Sebastian knew you were, and had the guts to let him stay in the cold. But you weren’t, so you stepped aside with a sigh and an annoyed gesture for him to come inside.

He stepped inside, noticing the clutter you’ve allowed to accumulate in your normally tidy home.

“So?” He said, not even moving to take a seat.

“So what“ The tone came back again, obviously annoyed by his question, trying to hold back what you’ve been dying to tell him for ages now.

He looked at you, squinting his eyes at you slightly.

“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere. So can you please just tell me what the hell your problem-“

“ You wanna know what MY problem is, Sebastian?”

He stood, waiting for you to continue.

“My “problem” just so happens to be you. I saw you, Seb…. I saw you with Abigail…” you fiddled with your fingers, but still managed to maintain eye contact with him.

He scoffed slightly, “what are you talking about?”

You hated that you were about to TALK about what you had seen, the mental image almost enough to make you sick to your stomach.

“I saw the two of you… kiss.. in front of your house… and that’s my problem.”

The look of confusion on his face was enough to make you cry.

“Why are you upset about-“

“Because I love you! I’ve loved you since…well, since forever! It’s almost pathetic how much I’ve loved you all this time, Sebastian and you’ve never noticed! I love how you love your work, and how you love frogs, and how you smell, and how you smile, and-“

He stepped towards you as you kept on rambling.

“And I love how you’re always so warm, and.. and.. what are you…”

Then he kissed you.

Yoba, did he kiss you. You were seeing stars and hearing fireworks and feeling a bonfire erupt onto your cheeks. And if this were a movie, you’d have half the mind to let one of your feet pop up.

His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you into the desperate kiss, your bodies pressed together in a way you could only describe as a dream. And Yoba did it feel so right.

He pulled away, eyes boring into your own, his hands remaining on your face. You reached up and grabbed his wrist, just to feel the skin that showed from under his hoodie sleeve.

Then he started to…smile??

He was smirking at you, his eyes roaming all over your flushed face, his thumb running over your cheek and down to swipe over your bottom lip.

“If I knew you felt the same, do you really think I would ever pick Abigail?”

You were dumbfounded. Absolutely astonished in that moment.

“B-but.. you.. and-and her.. you-“

“That was before I knew you loved me back.”

He smirked again, before pulling you into him, the familiar scent that you occasionally got a whiff of finally pressed right to your face. He kept an arm around your waist, the other holding your head.

You smiled, closing your eyes to inhale that lovely smell of his, something you had been waiting ages for.

You’d both figure out what to tell Abigail later, but for now, Sebastian held you tight in his arms, and you had yourself nestled between his pale shoulder and jet black hair- right where you knew you’d always belonged.

( I’m hella tired but wanted to hurry and finish this up so there wasn’t a long ass wait🤧 I’m too used to writing smut that writing PLOT is scawwy to me)

[miserable-sarah]

Finally.

Pairings: Dean x Reader Requested: Hi 😊 would you do a Dean Winchester imagine where youre secretly having a crush on each other but not admitting it. Then one time Sam is out and you're alone at the motel, so it happens you accidentally walk in the bathroom while Dean takes a shower. You get all flustered but Dean takes the chance to grab you and kiss you and you end up in bed making soft love that night. In the morning Sam finds you cuddling and is just happy you finally got together. Warnings: SMUT, loving Dean (It's a warning for the heart.), language, fingering, unprotected sex (Do better.).

"Shit" You mumble your body is aching. You were just thrown around and beat up, then you spent hours in a car, now you're in a motel. You wish you just had a bed, a house, and someone to help you relax. Hunting is such a hard life everyone talks about, how dangerous and how lonely it gets. When you were younger it was all you wanted, you wanted to go out hunt things, kill all the bad things that were hurting people. Now you wish you knew nothing about it. You wish you could just work a 9-5 everyday and go home, have a dog, have a husband.

You get up slowly, you head towards the door and walk out. You're starving and need something to eat. You knock on the door next to yours, the boys have their own room giving you privacy.

"Y/n." Sam opens the door.

"Hey" You say walking in the room.

"Hey." Dean says sitting at a small table with his laptop.

"I'm running out to get food, thought you boys would like some." Dean smiles at you

"Yes please!" He practically jumps up. You smile and shake your head.

"Sam?" You look at him

"Uh yeah, please" He gives you his soft brown eye look.

"Okay, I'll be back soon." You look back at Dean, he looks at you and winks.

Dean was probably the best thing about hunting, you really care for him. You fell in love with him a long time ago but never said anything, working together and living together (Kinda) it could get messy. Plus Dean doesn't seem like the settling down kind of person, he always finds an excuse to not be in a relationship, and you don't even know if he likes you. You just figured it's best if you keep your mouth shut. You get your food and drive back to the motel. You knock on the boys door and leave the food in front of it. You go into your room, you put the food down on the table. You run your hand over your face and walk towards the bathroom. You want to shower before you eat. You strip down to your underwear and bra, you open the bathroom door and walk in, you're so deep in your own thoughts you don't hear the water running. You open the shower curtain and see Dean standing there, you jump and scream. He doesn't move.

"I-I-I" You stutter "what are you doing?" you ask "Why are you-" you stop yourself you realize you're only in your bra and panties. You cross your arms over your chest trying to cover up. "I'm gonna go" You chuckle awkwardly walking towards the door.

You felt Deans had on your arm, you looked back at him and he pulled you towards him

"What are you-" You start but Dean cuts you off

"Don't" he says in a low voice. He crashes his lips on yours. You let out a gasp and kissed him back. Your hands explore his body, he unclasps your bra and pulls you into the shower without breaking the kiss. He puts you against the shower wall.

"Dean" You moan out as he pulls back.

"You good with this?" He asks looking into your eyes, his once bright green eyes are over taken with lust.

"Yes" You nod your head and bite your lip.

"Okay" He says quickly. He kisses your neck and you throw your head back against the wall. His hands go up to your breasts, his fingers twist and pull at your nipples. You let out a little moan, your hands slid down his abs to his V-line. You look at his body pressed up against yours, his body is all wet and shiny from the shower. You bite your lip and slide your hand further down to his member. You start to move your hand up and down and he groans in your ear. Dean removes your underwear and tosses them aside.

"I can't believe this is happening" You say out loud although you just meant to think it.

"What sweetheart?" Dean coos looking at you. His hands rubbing up and down your sides

"I" You hesitate

"You can't believe this is happening? You've been waiting a long time for this huh?" You shake your head yes. "I have too." He smirks at you. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He steps out of the shower and brings you to the bed. He lays you down and he hovers over you.

"Have you thought about this before?" You ask, your curiosity is getting the best of you. He looks into your eyes and kisses you sweetly.

"I have." He admits, he has a slight blush on his cheeks. You bring your hands up to his face you pull him down to you softly and kiss him, he smiles into the kiss and makes it deeper. He softly slides his hand down your stomach to your thighs, he gives them a squeeze and starts rubbing them, teasing you. Your hand goes into his hair pulling it slightly.

"Dean, please." You moan out softly. He chuckles at you and moves his hand to your inner thigh. His fingers work their way into your entrance, you throw your head back and let out a moan. Your body is moving with his fingers letting him know this is what you needed. You needed him, you've dreamt of this, you always wanted Dean you wanted him to take you, you wanted him to love you.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Dean asks, you shake your head and bite your lip.

"Yes, Dean" You say breathless. He continues to pump his fingers inside of you, your back arches and your hands grip onto his shoulders.

"I love seeing you like this." Dean says softly, you'd react if you weren't in so much pleasure. All you can think about is how good his fingers feel, with every curve he hits G-spot. You're surprised you lasted this long. You knew Dean would be good but not this good.

"Dean I'm close" You say, you watch his fingers entering you, his arms flexing, his hair wet from the shower, and he smells amazing. He's grunting into your ear he's getting off on you getting off. Dean pulls his fingers out before you cum.

"Sorry but I want to feel you cum around me." You eagerly nod, he lines himself up with you. He slowly enters with a hiss, you open your mouth and let your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Dean" You say softly.

"I know" He says through his teeth, Dean lifts your leg onto his shoulder, he leans down so he can be close to you, but not all the way. "You're such a good girl, Y/n." He praises you.

"You feel so good." You reply your hands wrap around his forearms. You slightly dig your nails into them not wanting to hurt him.

"You're so perfect." He kisses you softly. You smile at him, you look into his eyes not breaking eye contact. He's the perfect one.

His hands roam your body, taking in every inch of you. You can tell her cares, you can tell he's making love to you. You bring his head down again and kiss him. He rests his forehead on yours. "Perfect" He whispers to you, his mouth is slightly open but you can see his smile. You clench around him, he leans back up and puts your other leg on his shoulder. He brings his fingers down to your clit rubbing it, your body begins moving with his. You try hard not to break eye contact but you can't help it. You close your eyes and let out a big moan. He knows you're close and he's helping you get there even faster.

"Oh god, Dean!" You yell out. You grip the sheets, you feel your legs shaking, your back arching, his hands grabbing your hips and moving you with him.

"Go ahead, cum baby." He says, you can barely hear him. You see white, your body is jolting, you cum, harder than you ever have before. Dean helps you ride it out for as long as possible.

Dean thrusts become sloppy, you know he's close. He still moves your hips with him so you don't need to do any work. You moan out his name a few times, you hear him grunt. He takes himself out and you feel a hot sticky liquid on your stomach. He moans your name a few times before laying down next to you.

"Sorry." He says in between breaths

"It's okay." You chuckle at him. Dean gets up and gets you cleaned up. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." He lightly laughs. He lays down next to you again covering your bodies with the blanket.

"I really enjoyed that." You say to him, he turns his head to look at you.

"I did too." He kisses your temple. "I hope we can do it again." He winks. You laugh and lightly push him.

"I hope so too." You bite your lip trying to hold back your smile. He kisses you passionately.

"I really care about you, I hope you know that."

"I do." You kiss him softly. He wraps his arms around you, you rest your head on his chest closing your eyes.

"Good." He says. You listen to his heart beat, you smile to yourself and drift off to sleep.

The next day you wake up cuddled up with Dean. The room is lit by the sunlight peaking in from the curtain that's open a little. You look up at Dean who is still peacefully sleeping. You lean up and kiss him, his eyes flutter open and he looks at you.

"Mm this is a wonderful way to wake up" He mumbles against your lips "I can get used to this." He pecks your lips.

"Y/n have you seen Dean?" Sam says entering your room. You gasp and cover yourself with the blanket. "Oh god!" He yells turning around. "Well, it's about time!" He says leaving the room. You and Dean just laugh.

**

Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! Also I would like to start a taglist so if you want to be tagged for my supernatural writings please message me or comment! Thank you!

[tangerinesgirl]

Kinktober 2024 - October 29th

Branding // Hunter - Prey // Uniforms

Matthew Crawley x Fem!Reader

Word count: 700>

Rating: 18+, mature

Warnings: mostly fluff again! a few suggestive themes but no sex

Kinktober List || Materlist || AO3

You're in the drawing room with a few other ladies of the house, catching up over a cup of tea.

"My ladies, Mr Crawley is here", Carson greets everyone.

"Ah please, send my husband in", you perk up.

Matthew walks through the door and your jaw is on the floor. He's fresh out of the tailors getting his uniform fitted before going to war. You didn't realise his fitting was today. It's a sad occasion really, but your mind is too busy thinking other things right now. Like how well he pulls it off. If he was hot before he is SCORCHING now.

You practically drool at the sight of him, his long service tunic embossed with his regiment crest. Shirt, tie, breeches...

He takes off his hat as he nods and greets everyone, scrunching it in his gloved hands. Brown leather squeaking softly with the effort.

Your eyes drift downwards, Sam Browne belt across his chest and waist. And my god those leather boots. Still new and shiny. There's barely a crease anywhere, you wonder what they will look like when he's fuc-

"Mrs Crawley, are you quite all right?"

You snap out of your imagination and realise your cup of tea is spilling into the hard wood floor. Sitting back up, you save what's left in your cup and clatter it back onto the saucer in your lap, trying to cover up your daydreaming. Your cheeks flush bright red.

"Yes, I- sorry it... it must have slipped, I do apologise, Mr Carson."

"Quite alright my lady, I'll get one of the servants to clean it up."

You look up at Matthew who is smiling to himself, making a mental note of your reaction to the uniform.

As you settle back down, you notice a big tea stain down the side of your dress.

"Oh, I'm sorry, please excuse me while I change", you nod towards the mark on yourself then towards everyone, before leaving the room, brushing past Matthew. He smiles and nods towards you, watching as you're running up the stairs, clutching your dress.

---

There's a knock at your door while your maid is in the middle of changing you.

"Just a moment", the maid shouts.

"It's Matthew", is the response beyond the door.

"Thank you, I can dress myself now, you are excused", you nod politely at your maid.

She curtseys before leaving the room. You can hear her on the other side of the door, explaining that he may want to give you a moment since you were changing.

Matthew waits until she exits the corridor before entering the room, leaning against the door thinking how to announce himself. Taking a moment, looking at you sat at the dressing table in your silk underskirt and vest.

"I guess I made quite the impression then?"

Turning around, you start to grow bright red again thinking about how you left things with the ladies.

"I'll be the laughing stock for weeks."

"For thinking your husband handsome?"

You pause a moment. He has a point.

"... You're too good of a lawyer."

There's a beat, before you change the topic.

"Anyways, give us a spin, let's see how it fits."

Matthew spins around before coming to abrupt halt to stamp his foot and salute. You start to silently scream and giggle like a schoolchild, nearly sliding off the stool. Matthew smiles before quickly lunging to catch you from falling.

"I didn't realise how much of an effect I have on you", he smiles, his forehead touching yours.

Matthew's breath tickles your face. He smells of earl grey tea. He must have quickly had a cup downstairs with the ladies. You start to trail your hands down his jacket, it's well made, and warm. The material is somewhat rough against your fingertips from the tightly bound weave. His gloved hands rest on the bottom of your elbows, kneeling down to be at your height. You grab at his collar and pull him close into a passionate kiss. The buttons dig into your chest, but you don't care. Your hands run through his short floppy blonde hair, which now dangles over his eyes. His hat on the floor, discarded in the commotion.

Matthew starts to remove his jacket when you stop him.

"Wait... leave it on. We need to wrax it in", you smile, biting the bottom of your lip, looking at Matthew intently.

He nods and smiles back, looking at your lips in desperation. Matthew's into the idea, knowing your scent will be embedded into his uniform, serving as a nice reminder of home, getting him through the war.

[drgrlfriend]

Chrome Plated Heart

It's here! My first-bidder auction winners in the Marvel Trumps Hate 2022 auction graciously allowed me to put their (35k and counting) fic on hold so I could write my second-bidder auction, and here it is -- a Marvel Pacific Rim AU featuring Winterhawk! I've posted the prologue and chapter 1 together, and will be updating one chapter per week until I post the last chapter and epilogue together. Enjoy!

Chrome Plated Heart by dr_girlfriend

Excerpt:

“Hey.”  Steve nudges Bucky’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the door of the canteen.  “New blood.”

Riley and Sam turn all the way around to look, not in the least bit subtle as the newcomers follow Coulson in and grab trays.

They are an odd match to be drift compatible — the man as tall and broad-shouldered as the woman is small and slender.  Similar in age, so probably siblings or romantic partners.  Or just new recruits from the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, maybe.  There’s not a jaeger in the assembly line anywhere near to done, but having a backup team on hand is never a bad idea with how high the casualty count has been lately.  Fewer minutes on the war clock after every event, and he heard Pietro Maximoff took a hard hit in Scarlet Sentry the other day — enough to put him out of commission for at least a few weeks.

“Interesting,” Steve says.  “They could almost pass for —” He stops, the forkful of macaroni arrested halfway to his mouth.  “Holy geez,” he says reverently.  “That’s —”

“Lucky Striker,” Bucky finishes.  “Sonuvabitch!”

Romanoff and Barton.  They’re legends, the very first team to establish a neural handshake once Stark nearly blew out his heart trying to pilot a jaeger alone and realized it only works with a shared neural and physical load.

They have more kills than any other team out there.  Hong Kong, Vladivostok, Lima — Lucky Striker has held the line at almost every ‘dome on the rim.  Steve and Bucky have pored over the footage of every single one of their kills, marveling at the way their jaeger moves.  Fluid, seamless, graceful.  And most of all, of course, deadly.

“Think they’re just visiting or they’re here to fight?” Steve asks.

“Either way, we’ll probably at least get to see them in the kwoon,” Riley drawls.  “Shee-it, won’t that be sweet?  Whaddaya think they’ll use?  Staffs?  Nunchaku?  Or just hand-to-hand?”

“Whatever it is, it’s gonna be fuckin’ beautiful,” Bucky says.  

He can’t take his eyes off of Barton.  In the recruitment posters and news clips he’s handsome, sure — tall and blond with an easy smile.  In person though, he’s not nearly as polished.  His hair is all mussed up like he just tumbled out of bed, his faded t-shirt has a hole near the collar, and he’s got about four days’ worth of stubble shadowing his jaw.  There are bright purple hearing aids looped behind each ear, a Wonder Woman bandaid across the bridge of his nose, and a scrape along his cheekbone.  Bucky thinks this scuffed up and scruffy version of Barton is about a million times more appealing than the airbrushed PanPac posterboy.

As Bucky watches, Barton reaches out to snag a piece of lemon meringue pie.  He puts his thumb right into it as he tries to fit it onto his already-full tray.

“Aw, pie, no,” Bucky hears him say mournfully over the background hum of conversation.  He balances the overfull tray on one forearm, bicep threatening to split the seams of that threadbare t-shirt, and sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking off the smudge of lemon and meringue.

Bucky feels his heart stutter as he watches that thumb going into Barton’s lush mouth and coming back out, leaving both it and Barton’s lips pink and wet and shiny.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes.

[leviathanlazarus]

Smother the Flame in Your Heart - Part XXIII

Read previous parts here or read on Ao3 // Playlist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Word Count: ~3100

Warnings: none:)

<3

---

Finally, with relationships mended and things all settled, Josh’s idea for the group to get out to the “big city” again became reality. The art exhibition he’d previously had in mind had ended but of course, a new one had opened. So on an exceptionally warm and humid June day, the boys all found themselves meandering through the wide and high, glistening tile-lined rooms of the Detroit Art Institute.

Josh was lingering amidst the Indigenous art; Jake was taking his time with the shiny silver armor and wide array of swords that the museum had to offer. Sam and Danny stayed mostly together, keeping close, until Sam got caught up in all of the bright, colorful contemporary art that eventually Danny had felt he’d seen enough of once the stark shapes and blocks of color began to blur together.

He found himself standing in front of a bizarre yet beautiful reliquary, as the plaque beneath the strange object told him. He stared for a long moment first at the piece of bone encased in glass and gold, his eyes moving up to study the thin cross on top, then to each golden angel that held everything together and held it in the air, elevated in its little forever home. He was mesmerized by its splendor and its strangeness.

How would this man, this saint, feel if he knew a part of his body was immortalized and sitting in a museum? Danny wondered as he stared. Maybe he did know. Maybe before he died, he had faith that the people who believed in him and loved him would keep him a part of the living earth forever. Or as long as possible. Once the world ended, the glass, gold and bone would become dust like everything else. 

Still, the piece of that man, the piece of art, had already existed for almost a thousand years already and thousands of people had stared at it and probably pondered the same questions. What had he done to become a reliquary anyway? What made people want to immortalize him and keep him on display? How did he die to begin with?

Danny was glad he wasn’t literally immortal. When he’d first turned into a vampire, that was one of the first things he’d worried about. He didn’t want to spend eternity watching the people he loved die, watching the world burn without being able to help it, to linger and suffer inside with no way to end it. He’d pored over movies and books to try and find answers, but the real answer came when he’d just kept living–aging never stopped, he realized, nor did illness and injury. He’d had sprained arms and ankles that took just as much time to heal as anyone else, colds and sinus infections that required the same OTC meds and antibiotics to get him well again. Everything from his hair to skin to muscles kept changing with time. Thankfully, he wasn’t living on pause and one day his heart would stop like everyone else’s. 

And his heart did stop for a brief but seemingly earth-shattering moment when he made eye contact with a familiar blonde girl walking past. She looked away quickly at first, as anyone would when they make unintentional eye contact with a complete stranger, but then just as quickly she turned her face to meet Danny’s eyes again and he saw a damning flicker of recognition. Her eyes widened just a bit and then he saw fear in the dilating pupils; then anger as her cheeks flushed and her steps stopped, the heels of her shoes echoing. She planted herself in the middle of the room, just a few feet in front of the reliquary, staring back at him for only another moment but what felt like its own tortuous eternity. 

Once their shared recognition and damning memory was over, Danny scuttled out of the room to find Sam, his heart beating frantically, his whole body hot. Sweat was pushing past his clothing, dampening his armpits and his lower back, his hairline, the back of his neck. As he searched through the echoing museum with all this frantic energy, he eventually realized as he paused in front of a huge abstract painting full of cool blues and stark greens, that he wasn’t even sure what he could do. What was there to do? 

Well, he knew he needed to find Sam no matter what. 

Sam had gone in the opposite direction of Danny through the museum. Danny finally located him among the Asian artwork, looking intently at an ancient vase behind glass. 

“If that was in my house, someone would eventually break it,” Sam commented with a gesture at the vase. “It’s crazy how well some things are preserved for thousands of years.” 

“I was thinking the same thing,” Danny said, then he let out a long breath. He looked around, fearing that his past victim might have followed him, but she hadn’t. 

Sam turned to actually look at Danny, and Danny felt the rest of his surroundings blur. It was obvious, he realized, that he must have been a little out of sorts. Especially to Sam, who cocked his head to the side and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Um–” Danny wasn’t sure what to say. Was he overreacting? No, certainly not, he quickly concluded. Clearly the mental fog and disbelief and distance he relied on with strangers hadn’t come to fruition with that young woman. He exhaled again and took Sam’s hand in his, needing his boyfriend’s touch. “I just saw someone.” 

Sam’s head tilted to the other side. “Who?”

Danny groaned and looked around again, but still he was in the clear. “Before we were official. I went to a bar and found a girl–” He huffed, frustrated with himself. “That sounds gross. But I needed to, y’know, since I couldn’t–not with you–”

“Alright, babe, it’s okay,” Sam said, but his own heart began to race. Jake had asked him about this very thing and here they were. It was so naive of him to think Danny would never encounter anyone he’d ever been with in that way. 

Danny ran a hand over his face. “I feel sick.” 

“So let’s go.” Sam was already leading the way out of there, fishing into his pocket for his phone with his other hand. “I’ll tell Josh and Jake that we’re heading out. What do you wanna do?” He was walking faster but Danny was keeping up, then in a second Danny was walking even faster, dragging Sam along instead. 

Danny had no idea what he wanted to do besides escape, and it made him feel like a coward. Like a cretin. Like someone who didn’t even have a fraction of the goodness of a saint, although that thought made a silly, nervous laugh bubble out of him as he swept him and Sam out into the sunshine.

“What?” Sam asked, squeezing Danny’s hand once they were a good distance away from the museum, to make him stop walking.

“Nothing. Just–oof.” Danny inhaled fresh air and tilted his head up as they stood in the shade of a walnut tree. “I just needed to get out of there. Fuck.” 

Sam rubbed Danny’s damp lower back. His own bout of panic had quickly subsided–whatever consequences Danny might have faced for this were in the past as far as he was concerned. “We’re outta there. Now what? I doubt she’s gonna do anything.” The words were out before he thought of how much minimizing Danny’s anxiety might just further upset him. Thankfully, Danny just sighed and leaned into Sam’s touch.

“Probably not. But–ugh, dude. The way she looked at me,” Danny said, shaking his head. “I’m disgusting.”

“No, you’re not, babe,” Sam said, trying to be gentle. There were other things he wanted to say but knew none of those words would be right, so he left it at that even though Danny undoubtedly didn’t believe him. 

Danny backed up against the tree, making leaves shake over his head. “I feel disgusting. She–she totally knew. She remembered.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Danny looked up through those shaking leaves, peering at the sun. “In a way, it’s not. But in another way, it is.”

Sam stepped over to him and linked their arms. “Come on, Daniel. Let’s go get a drink.”

“I’m gonna need more than one.”

Sam managed a laugh. “We can do that, big guy.”

At the restaurant, the first one they could find that was far enough from the museum without being too much of a hike for the twins, Danny was still too stressed to enjoy drinking. He sipped his first beer slowly, hyper-vigilant and head on a swivel, and he still felt painfully sober when he began to drink the second one. It wasn’t until he and Sam went into the bathroom to hit Sam’s THC pen that Danny felt at all stabilized, ironically, and he was able to go back into the dim bar with a little more assurance. 

“I don’t think she’s tailing you,” Sam said, also peering around but he was trying to locate their waiter so he could order some onion rings. Food would also make Danny feel better. “If that’s helpful,” he added, giving Danny a pat on the shoulder. 

Danny took another drink before he said, “No, I know. But now I’m thinking about all the other people I might run into who would recognize me.”

“Well, you never have to worry about it ever again. Now,” Sam replied, finally making eye contact with the waiter. Looking at Danny, he winked and smiled. “You’ve got me.”

Danny laid his hand on Sam’s thigh under the table. “I know. But until you came along, I was like, fucking traumatizing people.”

Sam brought his fingers to Danny’s mouth; he lifted Danny’s lip with the tip of his first finger, just enough to steal a quick look at one fang before Danny shook his head, smiling bashfully. 

“Poor baby,” Sam cooed, more genuine than teasing. “I don’t know how everyone didn’t just fall head over heels in love with you like I did.”

Danny chuckled. “You Kiszkas are messed up.”

“Apparently Josh is the only sane one. If I ever get the whiff of a crush, we’re moving.”

Much to both Sam and Danny’s relief, the twins were as sane as they could be when they showed up. Josh was carrying a little white plastic gift bag from the museum, plopping it onto the vinyl space of the booth next to him as he slid in opposite Sam and Danny, while Jake followed and was quick to grab a menu.

“You guys got through everything really fast,” Josh remarked as he stole Sam’s half-drunk water. “I could have stayed there longer, but Jake wanted to start drinking too.”

“Oh,” Danny said before Sam could reply. “You didn’t tell them.”

Jake looked up from the shiny plastic. “Tell us what?”

Danny looked at Sam, giving him the silent go-ahead. He went back to his beer as Sam relayed the story for the twins, ending just as both of them were opening their mouths to speak but cut off by the waiter coming by again to get their orders.

When the waiter drifted off once more, Josh was the first to get a word in: “I don’t understand. If people can remember what happened to them, why aren’t there tons of people talking about this?”

“Not every vampire leaves their…meals alive,” Jake answered, beating both Sam and Danny to the punch. 

Josh’s face scrunched up. “Right.”

“Not everyone remembers,” Danny went on. “Or they don’t remember things clearly. This sort of brain fog sets in, plus the confusion from the weird act itself. Repression?” He sighed, looking dejected as he slumped over the table. “I’ve always trusted the people–to forget, you know? At least enough to keep me in the clear.”

“And you don’t do it at home,” Sam added, then smirked. “I was just so special.”

“Well, so now what?” Jake asked, and everyone paused as the waiter came back with the twins’ drinks. 

“Nothing,” Danny said, leaning back against the booth, hands braced on the table in front of him. “If there’s not a warrant out for my arrest now, I don’t think there ever will be.”

“You checked for that?” Josh asked, raising his eyebrows.

Danny chuckled and pulled out his phone. “Shit. I will now. I was sort of joking but–yeah.”

Sam squeezed Danny’s knee below. “It’s fine. She’s clearly fine, right? So she had one night with a hot vampire and got some of her blood sucked. Big deal.”

Josh made another sour face while Jake silently considered Sam’s statement before giving an affirmative shrug. 

“I didn’t forget anything either,” Jake said after the four of them sat in silence for a minute, sipping their drinks. “There must be something wrong with us Kiszkas.”

Sam snorted. “I was just saying that to Danny before you got here.”

“It’s just because you both were so enamored with me,” Danny half-mumbled, not looking at anyone as he said it. “You wanted to remember.”

Sam looked at Jake, who stared back at him blankly. Then Sam laughed so Jake did too, and Josh rolled his eyes and grabbed his beer again. 

“You’re not wrong,” Sam told Danny, leaning against him. “You bewitched us.” 

Danny was glad that Sam didn’t really feel threatened by or jealous of Jake anymore, but it was a little unnerving–and, if he was being even more honest with himself, a little irritating–that he was the only one at the table who seemed to be, well, unnerved. He couldn’t blame Josh, who was the most clueless of anyone when it came to the vampire stuff, and he couldn’t really blame Jake, who just wasn’t close enough to expect an outpouring of understanding from. Danny figured no matter how much Jake felt anyway, he’d only be comfortable showing a fraction of it in front of Sam. 

But Sam. Sam normally got riled up about practically anything–how could he be so nonchalant right now? 

Danny tried to stuff his growing irritation down. He tried to drown it with more beer and greasy bar food, then more hits from Sam’s pen, until he felt painfully stuffed with onion rings, Buffalo wings and IPAs, rendering his body essentially useless and his mind a little placated.

The relief, unfortunately, was short-lived. When he got up again to go to the bathroom, he had barely unzipped his fly when the image of that girl’s horrified face bombarded him again. Danny charged into the nearest stall and threw up until he was dry-heaving.

Later, the whole thing was still on Danny’s mind. It was like a relentless itch in his brain that couldn’t be scratched, and he felt exhausted by his own thoughts and the havoc on his body. He actually wanted to be alone for the rest of the night, but Sam accompanied him home and Danny couldn’t bring himself to voice that desire–besides, he knew it wasn’t Sam’s fault that he was back in a loop of paranoia and self-hatred. But even reminding himself of that repeatedly didn’t curb the irritation he felt with his boyfriend.

He wasn’t even hearing the words that were being spoken as Sam yammered on, all while Danny was stripping down in the bathroom to just try and take a soothing shower and wash the day away. Though he normally loved Sam’s voice and whatever he talked about, it quickly became grating.

With only his boxers still on, Danny whirled around to face Sam in the bathroom. He clapped a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth and said, “Shush.”

Sam’s eyes widened and only a second passed before he yanked Danny’s hand away from himself. “Rude,” was all he said, and Danny felt even worse when Sam’s face looked hurt and dejected. He’d half-expected Sam to take it as teasing and just carry on. But Sam turned away and took a step forward, one foot already out in the hallway as he added, “Being mean doesn’t suit you, Daniel.”

Danny grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him back against his chest. “I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms tight around Sam and rested his chin on his shoulder. “I just can’t stop thinking about it. All of it.”

Sam sighed, staying motionless and a little limp in Danny’s arms. “I don’t know how I can help,” he admitted. That was why he just kept talking about anything and everything else–he wanted to be a distraction. 

Danny pulled some of Sam’s hair back so he could press his lips to his neck. “I just don’t want to feel stupid or silly for being worried. Scared, actually,” he said, then inhaled the scent of Sam’s skin and his blood beneath. Sam was the only person who ever made him feel like it was okay to be a monster–vampire. He didn’t ever want to ruin that either. “I didn’t understand why you weren’t upset about what happened.”

“I was upset,” Sam insisted, still stuck in Danny’s hold and made to look ahead into the dim hallway. “But we don’t need both of us to be upset. That won’t solve anything. I thought it’d just make you feel worse.”

Hearing just that made Danny relax more. But when he took another breath with his nose touching the long column of Sam’s neck, the urge and drive he so badly wished he could take away charged forward through his system.

“I’m…a little hungry,” he admitted, slipping his hands beneath Sam’s shirt. 

Sam smiled a little to himself. “That’s probably not helping either. You’ve had a rough day, right?” He turned in Danny’s arms and dragged his fingertips down his sides. “That’s something I can do to make you feel better.”

Danny’s solo shower was abandoned for a shared bath. He touched his wet fingers to the vivid bruise on Sam’s neck, then the bite mark before it faded away with his saliva–Sam’s skin there was hot and damp, and Danny kissed the spot one last time before he leaned back against the cool tile. 

“Feel better?” Sam asked. He certainly did, having been able to again give Danny what he needed more than anything, and all cozy against his sexy, sweet vampire’s warm, strong body. 

Danny scooped up a handful of bubbles from the water’s surface and ran his soapy, wet hand down Sam’s arm. “I do, actually. Thanks for listening to me, y’know, bitch some more. And for your sweet, sweet blood that I’m cursed to drink forever.”

Sam smiled and tilted his head back against Danny’s chest. “Damn right, forever.”

---

Tagging:

@mackalah @sparrowofrhiannon @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @milojames16 @brokebellsgvf @streamsofstardust @heckingfrick @wetkleenex-gvf

If you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

[writinginthesecrettrees]

Kind of obsessed with the idea that everything from before the Cage is like... a hazy sort of "once upon a time" in Sam's mind. Like. He can't remember little things. Or some big things. Maybe he isn't the hacker not because of meeting Charlie but because he's forgotten a lot of what he once knew about computers.

Because it wasn't relevant to anything when he was in the Cage. It was all centuries ago to him.

The only things he remembers with any clarity are either things Lucifer used to torture him... or Dean.

He remembers Dean. Remembers the way he freckles up every summer. Remembers how his eyes catch the light, remembers the tiniest things from growing up. Because those memories... he took them out every day, polished them bright and shiny, because remembering Dean kept him sane, remembering Dean was a place he could go that Lucifer couldn't reach or sully (even when Lucifer wore Dean's face for the torture).