#sams sun is barrels

[ikamigami]

Okay, I'll give Sun's fans something..

About barrels and Sun again

So in "Moon is missing" episode we see that Sun went straight through the barrels and knocked them down.. it may be because he's more clumsy due to being more stressed out.. but in deeper meaning Sun just ignores himself and his own well-being and mental health..

Sun is tired of cleaning the barrels.. because he's tired of trying to fix himself and by fix I mean.. Sun is tired of trying to make things right.. cause he was proven over and over again that no matter what he'll do or say it's always not enough and things are getting worse.. so he's tired of thinking what else he could do, what else he should change in himself to finally make something right... So he only stack some of the barrels.. which means that he only works on fixing the facade.. to seem that he's fine.. that everything is fine with him...

As for why Canon stack barrels the way he did - two at the bottom and one at the top - it simply represents that Canon is two individuals merged into one - Sun and Moon at the bottom and Canon at the top because that's how Canon was created... - it's a fun little detail :)

In the "Day in a Life of Earth" episode we could hear that Sun hates barrels... which obviously means that he hates himself.. 🥲

But later Earth told Sun that maybe they should try to place them somewhere.. and then she proceeded to shove them into a shoe cabins... which seems ridiculous cause like Sun said barrels are circle-shaped and shoe cabins are square-shaped.. it immediately reminded me of kids trying to fit colourful blocks into holes but with not matching shapes... But in a terms of action this fenomenon is called squaring the circle which means to try to accomplish something impossible, to strive without the chance of success... and fits Sun's character a lot.. no, it's not even that.. this is a definition of Sun's character... Sun always trying to do his best while feeling like he's evil and nothing is ever good enough.. it's exactly that.. it's squaring the circle...

But we got some hope when Sun finally was able to fit the barrel in a shoe cabin because that means that Sun wants to still try to achieve the impossible and it gives us hope that maybe Sun will get better.. someday...

But it doesn't seem that the someday is near... 😔

[seven-thewanderer]

okay I was listening to The Lobotomy (by Maebi) for the past hours, and managed to make this!!

I don’t usually tend to draw Angst, but I really wanted to make this and I’m proud >:3

[fnaffersblog]

Extra Fun thought!

Since the barrels are coded to Eclipse/Sun, who's to say the Entity can't use them?

[vaguesxrrow]

Hey, I already sent one request, so here's a second (your choice which you write first!)

Can I request a Dean Winchester x werewolf! Reader who can actually control when they turn? Like they could choose to turn to benefit a case whenever they want

The only downside of a full moon is that they turn like other werewolves, but atp reader is more annoyed than anything cuz they keep accidently ruining shirt with the claws or be unable to eat a regular midnight snack bc of the teeth

HII <33 i started with this one, because you definitely got me hooked on writing for dean and now im going through a phase LMAO

dean winchester / werewolf!reader

a/n: do i rmb what werewolves from spn are like? no. did that stop me? also no. (resilience, guys!!)

cws: swearing, mild violence, injury, and blood

wc: 982

tags: gender neutral reader, humour, a splash of sabriel, reader during their full moon shift is me on my period minus the pain and crying

"y'know, babe, this would be a really great time for you to wolf out," dean muttered, turning off the safety on his gun. both of you were hiding behind a stack of barrels, trying to avoid getting your asses handed to you again. your lower back was still sore from when you had been caught by surprise by a demon, and had been flung across the room like a rag doll.

you rolled your eyes at dean's suggestion, even as your pupils changed colour to a dark amber.

dean grinned at the sight, clapping you on the shoulder in glee. "hell yeah."

you bared your fangs at him.

"woah, my bad," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "save the rage for the demons we got coming."

"then let's go," you growled, fingers elongating into claws.

dean looked at you in awe as you stepped out, the slashing of flesh sounding immediately. "can't believe i'm dating them," he whispered. usually, it would be too quiet for you to hear, but now with your enhanced hearing, it was as if he was saying it right next to your ear. you smiled fondly as the first demon advanced.

dean joined you in taking down the remaining attackers, shooting the ones you couldn't take. soon enough, black smoke filled the air and the host bodies went limp, falling to the floor as the demons deserted them.

you shifted back, sharp claws and teeth retracting with minor pain. turning back and forth was easier now - you supposed it helped a great deal that you could actually control it, unlike the other werewolves you knew. practise made perfect, and you’d had many opportunities to practise, namely when saving dean (and sam) from getting killed. of course, you still shifted against your will every full moon, although even then you still had an impressive hold on your wolf.

"you good?" dean asked you, holding out a hand. you allowed him to tuck you underneath his arm as you made the walk back to the impala. you didn't miss the way his critical gaze scanned your body, looking for any injuries.

"back is killing me, but i'm fine,” you responded. “you?"

"busted lip that hurts like a motherfucker, but nothing worse."

"mm." you smiled. "does it hurt too much to give me a kiss?"

"never." he leaned in to give you a chaste peck, chuckling when he pulled away. "uh, you got a little blood-"

you licked it away, toothy grin emerging at dean's expression. "werewolf. i don't mind a little blood." you winked.

he shrugged in acceptance. "okay. hot."

you shoved him away, both of you laughing.

⌦ ----

as the sun set and the moon peeked over the horizon, you groaned, falling dramatically against the sofa cushions. sam and dean were already sat on the couch, fight club on the tv paused at the first frame, and they shot you sympathetic yet amused looks.

"i hate full moons," you complained, reaching for a piece of popcorn. "in a few hours, i won't even be able to eat this."

sam huffed. "honestly, i'm just glad that's the biggest of our problems whenever you shift. at least you don't go psycho on us."

you looked at him reproachfully, flashing your puppy dog eyes. "but popcorn."

he threw a piece at you.

"i'll feed you when you come looking for a midnight snack," dean supplied helpfully. you looked at him lovingly and 'aww'ed, blowing a kiss. he mimed catching it and pressed it to his lips, winking playfully.

sam fake gagged, standing up. "okay, this couple stuff is getting to me. call me when you actually start the movie!"

"as if you aren't as bad with gabriel!" dean yelled after him. you cackled as sam flipped the two of you off.

⌦ ---

you stumbled down the stairs, wincing as your claws scraped against the wood of the railing, undoubtedly leaving marks. your shirt was torn - a recurring accident that happened every full moon. you cursed aloud upon realising you had worn your most comfortable sleep shirt to bed.

once you reached your desired destination - your beloved kitchen - you stared reproachfully at the fridge, which was notably harder to open with your elongated nails.

"don't punch our fridge," a voice said sleepily.

you nearly jumped dean, arms raised, before realising it was him. "jesus effing christ," you hissed. "don't sneak up on me during full moons like that!"

dean merely yawned in response, opening the fridge door for you. he grabbed out various items, listing them as he went. "what're we feeling tonight? snickers, gummies.. aw, c'mon, sammy put pretzels in the fridge again?"

you snatched the pack of gummy bears from his hand, a single claw going right through the packet so it hung lamely from your finger. you sighed, sounding long-suffering and completely done. dean snorted, taking the bag back from you and ripping it properly.

"open," he instructed, throwing a gummy into your mouth. "loving the edgy, emo look, by the way." he gestured to your torn shirt.

"shut up, dean, you know this happens every time," you grumbled, chewing your snack more aggressively. suddenly, a fang pierced your lip, a small jolt of pain going through your body. "ow, shit." you brought your hand to your mouth.

"what happened?" dean asked in concern.

you showed him the blood on your fingers incredulously. "i split my lip with my fangs! are you kidding me right now?"

he visibly relaxed, relieved it wasn't serious. "more for me, i guess." he shrugged, obnoxiously chewing a piece. "mm, this is so good."

scowling, you dabbed the cut with your T-shirt, which was already ruined, so it didn’t matter. a smirk appeared on your face as you swatted dean, attempting to steal the bag from him. "dean, when i catch you-"

he dodged, fleeing to the living room. "nope!"

"oh, fucking hell-"

[aggro-my-beloved]

Angel Face → David Shaw x Reader Imagine

note: i can’t write a grumpy david shaw i’m sorry he’s like .03% tsundere in this re-imagined meet cute between him and angel and his anger isn’t even directed towards them. i’ll be leaving a poll at the end for which paring you’d like me to write for next in this scenario. please like and reblog as it’d really mean a lot!

pairing: david shaw x gn!reader

summary: solstice bar is packed tonight for an up-and-coming performance by a local band, and security guard david is left as a stand-in for the usual bartender. just when he thinks he’s at his wit’s end, a stranger in desperate need of conversation and something to soothe their nerves makes this shifter’s thursday a bit more tolerable.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing, damn crew as frat bois and other shenanigans

wc: 2.1k

estimated reading time: 10.5 mins

“Welcome to Solstice!” 

At a certain point in the night, the patron’s slurred chattering morphs into white noise for David’s ears. While manning the bar, beckons and calls for another round are less distinguishable but still audible if he concentrates hard enough. 

“Kitchen’s closed!” 

“Soda or seltzer?” 

“Special is a…” he turns the still full bottle on the center of the bar to face him. “A Port Charlotte single malt whiskey. You in?” Seconds later, he heaves a mix between a grumble and a sigh. “Course not.” 

“I said the kitchen’s closed!” 

“Try saying it louder,” chortles Milo. His dark stature barrels through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, behind the bar. Amidst his rapid collecting of fingerprint-stamped brandy bowls and red-kissed crystal stems, his hand flies up to release his chestnut waves from the hairnet securing them. “Don’t think they heard you the seventeenth time.” 

“Remind me why I agreed to pick up a Thursday for Sam. I never work Thursdays.” David raises his voice the farther Milo retreats into the kitchen. The clinks of glasses tickle his ears but do little to nothing to ease his nerves. The cook returns with a pristine array of cocktail glasses sat on a black tray. If there’s anything David admires more than his colleague’s house-made wings, it’s how he can make the same dingy glasses sparkle night after night with a quick wash. 

“Because…” he sets down the tray carefully on the open bar space perpendicular to David, in between the ripened limes he prepped hours ago, and the beer taps. “Ash and his band finally wrote enough decent songs for a gig here and we agreed to be here tonight to support him.” What Milo didn’t know is that the extra tips made between David and Asher tonight were in contribution to the soot-covered kitchen drawers at their home–courtesy of the main act’s drummer insisting he fulfill his oatmeal craving. There wasn’t a chance in hell those two were getting the security deposit back, not if the cherry-oak wood soaked in gray and smelling of cinder and their landlord’s new vendetta had anything to say about it. The two shifters were already ripped a new one last week for their scratch marks on the recently renovated hardwood flooring, which they credited to “dog sitting for a friend.”

“And no more animals!” The unempowered and oblivious landlord scolds them, red in the face. 

“Yes sir.” They reply in unison.

Ash tries choking down a smug laugh and fails miserably. David smacks him on his chest. 

Milo grabs a handful of peanuts from a stray bowl set aside to be washed, and pops them in his mouth, savoring the salt dancing on his taste buds. “Also,” he makes out through munches, “Sam’s out tonight from sun poisoning.”

David scoffs at this. “So he says. Tank was flirting with him so much last night, I could hear them from my post at the front giving stamps.” The promises of what his younger sibling would do to the fanged creature behind closed doors cued David to shudder. Before disappearing behind the kitchen door once again, Milo quips:

“Better hearing it than smelling it.” David refuses to ask the cook to elaborate and instead shifts his attention to the front entrance, where drunken yells and chants resound. His lips curl down in a fierce scowl as the melded odor of sweat and liquor becomes six bodies more pungent. Like a cavalry, they march in with arms looped through one another’s to keep stable. If the young faces weren’t already a dead giveaway for what would be in store for David tonight, their tacky shirts did enough talking. Each one color-coordinated for a significance the man was too exhausted to mull over, but all reading: “Straight Outta D.A.M.N” in giant, bold font. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me–Hey, Milo, were you just not gonna tell me it’s the E and E’s Annual Frat Bar Crawl tonight? Because that’s a pretty fucked up thing to do to a bartending security guard!” 

“What!” Milo’s accented shriek rings through the building, and he peeks his head out of the aluminum swing door to view the staggering group of drunkards for himself. “Ah, fuckin’ hell..” He fully steps out from behind the door and cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, hammered frat dudes!” A couple of heads from the group turn in his direction. “Yeah, you guys! Kitchen’s closed!” He turns to pat David on the back of his shoulder, over the white rag he’d been drying glasses and countertops with all night. “You got this, buddy.”

“Uh uh, I don’t think so.” The man shakes his head in disbelief, and a chorus of whines echo from the group of empowered frat members. One brave soul steps forward, the beefiest of them all. He dons a shamrock green shirt with the sleeves (poorly) cut off and a pleading set of eyes. His deep voice floats to the bar from where he stands, almost devastated. “Even for fries?” 

Milo is halfway through his strut back into the kitchen but is halted by David’s hand gripping his shoulder. “Even for fries, Milo?” The man cocks his head to the side, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. They both knew why he was playing so coyly; resorting to the rarely used puppy dog eyes; mimicking the man’s tone from moments before. It was the same reason they consulted Asher’s band to play tonight. As much as either of them try to deny it, the bar needs the business. And if Sam’s claims during their Super Smash Bros tournament from weeks beforehand weren’t all talk, he’d hate to see what the vampire could do with just a walker and pure unbridled rage at tonight’s numbers. 

Through gritted teeth, the shorter of the two mutters something about putting his hairnet back on before continuing his journey to the clean fryers. 

“Come on in, people!” He waves a hesitant arm in his direction, encouraging the clan to venture further. The solemn whines morph into cheers as they proceed their march to the bar.  Though he was dreading it at first, the orders were easy enough. Bud Lite, Rum and Coke, two more Bud Lites, another Rum and Coke, and a Mojito. In addition to this, anungodly amount of fries, but that is for Milo to deal with. 

Halfway through the intoxicated army's orders, he spots a straggler trying to squeeze through the ever-growing crowd anticipating their next round and tonight’s show from the local, up-and-coming Howl’s Highway. Asher thinks the name is awesome. David thinks it’s one step closer to breaching covert to several unempowered beings who may be wandering into Dalia from out of town. They agree to disagree.

“Excuse me,” the voice croaks. “Sorry.” It pipes up every few seconds, complemented by the sight of shuffling bodies. Finally, a face pops up before him, splotched with red and with bloodshot eyes, but not from any addictive or bitter-tasting substance, other than heartbreak. David can sense their aura with the proximity. They are devastated, even more so than the student begging for a plate of fries. 

“Evening, Angel. What can I get for you?” The patron’s mouth falls open, and without intent, David does the same. He was never fond of pet names at the bar, rather he viewed it unprofessional as much as he did embarrassing. This is why Sam mans the bar, and he manhandles the bastards before they can order a drink. But no, tonight he needs to strip off the leather jacket and tough exterior and ask himself: what would Sam do? 

I can name someone. 

Milo, politely get the fuck out of my head and cook your goddamn–

“Uh…” The unempowered stranger gnaws on their bottom lip in thought. 

“Hey man, we weren’t through ordering!” His mouth retraces the snarl from earlier, and he apologetically directs his attention away from the distressed figure and to another fart member. The most inebriated and demanding of them all, if David had to guess from his words coming out like fondue. This one had a red shirt and an overall bad attitude. 

“Ah,” he holds a finger up, allowing the man to pause. “Let me take their order, and I’ll come back to you, okay?” He offers a thumbs up to the man, hoping this will mollify him. 

“No, not okay.” He crosses his arms, a newfound flame lit in his eyes. Oh great, just when I thought I was done putting out fires this week. Now the red shirt makes sense–fire elemental. “We were here first-“

He hopes for his friends’ sakes, he’s much more pleasant sober. 

“Dames,” Greenie butts into the argument. The one in red simmers down at the feeling of the large hand resting on the small of his back and drawing gentle circles. “It’s alright, he’ll only be a minute.”

“Y-yeah, maybe we can go find some uh–some good seats for the band tonight and come back?” A meek voice offers. He’s hidden behind the other members of the group, all that is visible of him is a pair of round frames and a flash of gray on his upper body. Similar to how they breached the entrance of the place, the squad links arms to continue their journey deeper into the crowd.

 

“God, those were some tacky shirts. Straight Outta DAMN? What does that even mean?” The newest customer shakes their head in disgust as they eye the backside of the frat disappearing into the sea of bodies. “Seems like you’ve got your work cut out for you tonight.” 

“Who, the Bud Lite bunch?” He waves a hand nonchalantly. “We get ten of those on nights like these.” 

“Well, I hope that was your tenth and final bunch of the night. I don’t do too well around rowdy people.” 

“So what brings you to one of the most packed bars in town tonight?” David quirks a brow at the stranger. 

“Well, the pictures online made it seem a lot less busy.” They rub the back of their neck with a sheepish smile coating their face. “I just needed to get away from…I got dumped tonight and wanted to drown my sorrows.” David tries not to be offended by how invisible they are to the public and the stranger’s acknowledgment of it. The bigger chains are killing them. More recently, they’re treading on the outskirts of Dalia and monopolizing over each empty plot of land they deem a cash cow.

“Your wish is my command. What’ll it be?” David crosses his arms, causing his muscular arms to bulge against the thin fabric of his white tee. Simultaneously, the hem of his shirt rides up to reveal a very tan, very toned v-line vulnerable to the wandering eyes of the one sitting before him. They try not to make it obvious. Menu, eyes, menu, abs, arms, back to menu. 

“Maybe an Espresso Martini?” They peer up to lock eyes with him again. Truthfully, they hadn’t read a description of any drink on the list and were taking a lucky guess. 

A few seconds of silence transpire before David responds firmly. “No.” They almost choke in disbelief, and their heart rate picks up.  

“Pardon?” 

“You need something stronger.” He decides, ultimately picking up a few bottles that the dejected newbie couldn’t decipher the labels of. Their eyebrows stay furrowed as David fills the cobbler shaker with a handful of ice cubes and a generous amount of liquor. 

“C’mon, trust me. What’s in here,” he shakes the stainless steel vigorously for emphasis, “ain’t gonna kill you.” 

“I think a hole-in-the-wall bar is the last place I should be told to trust  a stranger.” David considers this and hums. 

“I think the alley in the back of this place might take the cake.” Wiggling in the leather barstool from anticipation, their eyes stay concentrated on the clear glass as a slow strain of amber liquid occupies it. Before sliding it to their side of the bar, David is sure to garnish it with some orange zest.

“Go ahead, it’s on the house,” David smirks, before retreating to the kitchen to help Milo plate the heaps of fries. 

“For real? No, I have to owe something.” 

“It’s a new recipe. I wouldn’t even know what to charge you.” The man admits. “Go on,” he insists, prior to disappearing behind the swing door and being greeted with Milo’s sassy commentary on how David’s going to be working overtime to help him clean tonight. 

As the cook is balancing plates onto his arms, he hardly feels the burn of ceramic against his arms. For all his senses are concentrated on his new patron–more specifically, the sound of them sipping his innovation and a delightful hum leaving their lips. 

“Damn, that’s good.” 

He ponders shortly after, amidst delivering fries to the ravenous elemental crew, I think I’ll call it Angel Face.

＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

[tojigasm]

House

Authors note: Here is the long-awaited Sam fic!! Funny thing, actually. I finished this last night only to open my computer and realize it hadn't even been saved, so I've spent this morning or so rewriting all of it, lolz. Anyways, I hope you lovelies enjoy!!

Warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, fem!reader, stepcest, sam is your stepdad, daddy kink, creampie, doggystle, kissing, anxiety

Synopsis:

Home is not the same afterward.

She doesn't notice Sam's more frequent absence as he spends more time in your room. And when you don't have college work to get done, the two of you are talking, making out, or fucking.

Your mother doesn't notice. Because if she did, what would you do.

The stone is hot beneath you – settling a baking ache into your skin that seeps up from your beach towel beneath you.

And the sounds of the rushing waves are heavy and soaked with foam that crawls up the sand as though it's coming to grab at you and pull you into the sea along with it.

You pop a bubble of gum from your glossed lips, swinging your feet behind you. You've finished the page of your book.

"Y/n," Sam's voice calls to you against the windy beach. "Look here."

He's set up a few feet away, and a digital camera stares back at you in his hands. The red recording light pulses above the lense.

You wave bashfully, fingers dancing as you wink to the camera from under your sunnies. "Hi, Sam's camera," you roll your eyes, turning back to your book.

Sam tugs at the string of your pink bikini top, "What's a pretty thing like you doin' out on the beach all alone?" His voice draws in a southern heat to it. He looks from side to side before settling down next to you, "hundereds of boys out here probably waitin' fr'their chance to steal y'away, huh?" He tips your chin, still recording you as you meet his baby blues.

A smirk pulls over your lips and you smile, teasing at the end of the string of your bathing suit top, "oh, nothin' just enjoyin' the view," you stifle a giggle through your southern accent.

Sam nods from behind the camera with a smile before stroking his hand over your jaw to behind your ear, thumb circling the soft of your cheek.

His thumb slips past your sticky lips, he lets you wrap the plush of them around his digit, and he sighs softly.

"You're a naughty girl," the light of the camera catches your eye, and you stare down the barrel of the lense before looking up at him, smirking. "What would your mother think?" The southern accent weans.

You pull away from his thumb with a 'pop', "What would your wife think?" You pull your sunnies up to rest on your head.

Sam gages you under a watchful eye of baby blue. Tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, he lifts the camera up again to look at you through the grainy lense.

Your lips perk under the scene, glossed and plush when you run your tongue along the soft of them again.

"Keep doing that, and you're gonna be in trouble, missy." Sam teases, his voice deep with warn.

You nod, "Oh, of course, daddy." There's a draw to your voice that Sam catches almost instantly. A draw of dangerous wean that suggests something that challenges him.

"Am I a bad girl, daddy?" You peer over your shoulder, "a bad, bad girl?"

Sam doesn't say anything. Rather, he watches you, smirk pulled in loftiness and eyes narrow for a moment before he stands and makes his way near the water.

—

The ride home is gentle and soft as music plays throughout the car.

Your legs are propped out the side window, and the sun blazes over your skin a glittery shine.

Sam keeps a hand on the wheel and the other past the button of your jean shorts, circling the pads of his fingers over your clit.

—

Sat in his lap, thin fabric of your bathing suit pressed into his hot bulge. Sam's hands slide up and down the soft of your back to squeeze at the plush of your ass.

You gasp playfully, arching your back some to press your hands up into your breasts with a soft moan.

Sam groans from beneath you, relaxing deeper into the leather of the couch and spreading his thick thighs.

"You're so pretty." Sam speaks earnestly, resting his head against the arch of the couch.

You bite at your bottom lip, scuffing your hands into his thick tufts of roan. "What would my mom think?" The question is far softer.

Sam chuckles, and you can feel his leg bounce up and down beneath you. His head rolls to the side lightly, "Let daddy take care of you, hmm?"

Rough hands scoop under the plush of your ass to lift you, gently moving you to rub against the hot bulge of his cock.

A sharp hiss passes through Sam's teeth, and he holds a hand at your waist as the other strokes up and down the length of him.

The fat swollen tip presses into your bathing suit, and you whine, followed by a teaching 'shh' from Sam.

"Christ, can already feel how wet you are."

"Please fuck me." Your brows drop into a pout "wanna feel good, daddy." and Sam nods, moving the thin material to the side with one hand before pushing his tip against your sopping folds.

"Deep breath fr'me, angel," Sam guides gently as you take the girth of him inch by inch. The ache pools in your thighs, stretch so delicious your knees ache.

Your head falls forward to his chest, and he takes on a protective role when you've taken the bulk of him. Completely filled with him, balls pressed up against your velvet folds.

Sam presses a kiss to your temple, "feel okay?" He asks, testing a soft thrust that makes you keen in want.

"Please," you sob, tucking your face into his shoulder.

The two of you go on like that for a while; taking from one another and all at the same time fliiing each other up in a suffocating hold that contracts and pulses.

Windows of the living room fog and both you and Sam's skin runs slick with heat.

"M'legs hurt." You mumble, and Sam nods.

"Okay, hon," he helps you off of him before standing and maneuvering you to sit on the slick seat of the couch.

You wiggle in an anticipation and Sam chuckles quietly, running his hand over the globes of your ass.

"Arch yr'back, sweetie," he stands behind you, pushing at the dip of your spine to which you follow, dropping your head to cushioned pillows and letting your knees support your cunt In the air. "There y'go."

His cock fills you so deliciously that you sob.

And it's all so overwhelming; your slick that trickles down the insides of your thighs, the 'pap, pap, pap' that echoes throughout the living room, the weight of him and the stretch of his girth against your gummy walls, and the vulgarity of it all.

"Fuckin' swear you were made fr'me," Sam groans and you cry.

Your cheek presses into the hot leather of the couch, and your nails dig into the rough seat.

Sam's hand trails down your arm to hold your own, grounding you as he gently circles his thumb over your hot skin.

"So deep," you mumble, "feels so good."

His hand slips to hold at your chin, pulling you up to rest your back against his chest.

The angle makes your breath hitch and your eyes screw shut as his cock stretches you open.

"Please," you cry.

And when you cum, your lashes fall to your cheeks and your walls squeeze around his girth.

"M'cumming, daddy, fuck" you sob and Sam soothes you, letting you fall back to the couch, laying himself atop you.

"You're okay," Sam whispers against your cheek, still pumping into you.

The overstimulation sends shivers through your thighs and toes, making you squeal under him.

Sam drops his chin to your shoulder, kissing up the soft of your neck and your chin. The bristles of his beard tickles against your soft cheeks.

"Oh fuck," Sam warns, swollen balls tapping your soaked folds. "Shit, daddy's gonna cum," he bites at the skin of your shoulder when he fills you.

The heat of him spills into you and trickles down the insides of your thighs and Sam gently places you to the couch before scooping his cum back into your swollen cunt.

Large hands run up and down the soft of your legs.

"You okay?" He asks after a moment.

You nod. Lashes closed to your cheeks.

He stands and sits beside you on the couch, pulling you into his lap, holding you to his chest as he rocks the two of you back and forth gently.

—

Home is not the same afterward.

Your mother doesn't return from her trip for a few days, and though she's none the wiser, you know eventually one of the two of you would slip.

She doesn't notice the Sam sitting on your side of the table, his hand soft on your thigh or your foot on his shoe.

She doesn't notice the small splintered pieces of leather from her favorite couch that are missing.

And she doesn't notice how excited you are when she tells you she's planning another girl's trip at the end of the upcoming month.

She doesn't notice Sam's more frequent absence as he spends more time in your room. And when you don't have college work to get done, the two of you are talking, making out, or fucking.

You tell yourself your mother doesn't notice as Sam pulls you into his lap against your headboard, kissing over your cheeks and nose and chin. The bristles of his beard tickles you again, and you giggle.

Your mother doesn't notice. Because if she did, what would you do.

[princessmisery666]

Meeting In The Darkness

Summary: You forgive Dean for what he did when he had black eyes but he can’t forgive himself.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, blood, implied torture, Demon!Dean, MOC!Dean, unresolved angst.

W/C: 2,882.

Pairing: past Dean Winchester x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: “Well one of us has to be wrong, and it’s not going to be me.”

A/N: @justagirlinafandomworld and @pink-sparkly-witch helped with ideas and feedback, thank you, but it has changed a little since then.

Betas: @slytherkins // all mistakes are my own.

Graphics: made by me on canva, divider @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // JAckles Verse Bingo // Main

It’s dark. Too dark. Your gun is out along with your flashlight, scanning the corners of the abandoned warehouse but the darkness seems to swallow anything beyond the end of the barrel.

Something is off and your gut tells you to get out, run fast and far. But you won’t, at least not until you find Dean. He called hours ago, said he was hurt and needed help. He sent the location pin and it brought you here. But it doesn’t feel right, it's too…quiet. Like the shadows are listening to your heartbeat. 

You tried calling Dean when you arrived but it rang out until his voicemail picked up. Sam’s not answering his phone either, maybe he’s hurt too? 

One foot over the other, that’s all you can focus on, not the worry making your heart beat faster. You desperately wish you’d called for back-up. Jody, Donna, hell even Garth. Except it was Dean. Your affinity for the surly hunter often clouded your judgment. He might not have time for you to wait for back-up. If Dean is hurt, he needs you now, not when the sun rises, though you doubt the dawn would penetrate the dark depths of the damp smelling warehouse.

“Dean,” you call out in a soft whisper. “Sam?”

Dean’s location blips on your screen, you're standing right on top of it, but he must be a floor above you because there’s no sign of him, and you’ve checked below. You're afraid of what you’ll find, and looking down at the illuminated screen blinds you further in the blackness that surrounds you.

“This isn’t right,” you say and have the eerie feeling someone hears you. 

Your phone rings, startling you so much, it drops to the floor. Of course it lands face down so you can’t see it.

“Fuck!” 

You scramble around, flashlight scanning for it, and as you step forward, you manage to kick it further away. You follow as it slides across the dusty floor, and the corner hits the wall just as it stops ringing.

You're quick to pick it up and the smell hits you as you straighten up. It isn’t dust… 

Demons. 

You sigh with relief when Sam’s name flashes on the caller I.D again. “Sam.” 

He doesn’t offer a greeting, frantically asking, “Where are you?”

“I’m at the warehouse. Dean called, he said you-”

“Get out,” Sam panics, “get out now, run!”

You freeze, terrified to turn around as the sudden sense you aren’t alone makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. 

“Sam what’s going on?” You ask, slowly backing up, trying to follow the same path to ensure you don’t trip over anything.

“Dean isn’t Dean,” Sam explains, “the Mark, it changed him. He’s a…” he struggles to finish the sentence taking a deep breath, and he utters the word as you back into a solid chest, “demon.”

“Shit.” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean’s voice whispers against the shell of your ear, and it sounds as dark as the shadows. 

He takes the phone from your hand and hangs up, throwing the device over his shoulder. He runs his fingers down your arms, shoulder to wrist. For the briefest of moments, you convince yourself it’s a gentle caress, a sweet ‘I missed you’ in Dean’s language, until he wraps his fingers around yours and the gun.

You forgot you had the weapon, despite Sam’s frantic warning, you’ve never feared Dean, and it’s not like you’d have shot him. But you know you’ll soon regret that thought.

“Give it up,” he instructs, with little room for argument, almost crushing your fingers beneath his. 

You surrender it, cautiously taking a half step forward and turning at the same time when you feel Dean lean back to hand off the gun to someone you can’t see. He’s unnaturally fast, and before you can take a breath, he has you pinned against the wall, arms above your head. The flashlight falls, making the shadows dance, and as if on cue, the room's light illuminates, blinding you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the assault and debate whether to keep them closed, afraid of what else is lurking in the room.

Dean demands, “Look at me,” and you know you’d be a fool to disobey.

Finally, when you find the courage to follow his command, you look up at him. Black drowns his pretty eyes, and his smile is fiendish.

“Please don’t say here’s Johnny,” you quip though you feel yourself start to tremble.

Dean laughs, but it doesn’t hold an ounce of amusement. “Johnny ain’t got nothing on me.”

You look over his shoulder, an army of demons line the walls looking at you with a fatal hunger. 

“Is this…” You can’t say it, recognizing that this is the place Crowley kept the alphas. The room where you saved Meg from Alistair’s clutches. You don’t know what you're asking for exactly; to be let go, to make it quick or something else, but the word falls from you in a shaky breath. “Please.” 

“Oh, don’t start begging yet,” Dean tuts, “you’ll spoil all the fun.”

“Fun?”

“See Sammy doesn’t believe that I’m no longer his big brother,” he explains, sounding irritated and bored.

“Dean, you don’t…” 

His hand wraps around your throat, lithe fingers reaching from ear to ear, and he cuts off your air to stop you from talking. “I’m tired of telling him to leave me alone, so I thought it’s time to really show him what I am. Maybe when I’m done here, he’ll let me go.”

Dean POV

I watch you thrash and squirm in your sleep. I know better than to wake you. Luckily, my reflexes saved me from any real damage but I have the scar to remind me of the knife you keep tucked under your pillow. 

“Dean, you don’t…” you whimper into the dream world.

Only, I know it's not a dream. It's a memory, playing out in full high definition. Unfortunately, I remember what happens next too.

I’ve tried running from the man - thing - I was, but I guess I’m too slow. It catches up to me in waves, winds me so much I clutch my chest, digging my fingers into my skin, hoping I’m somehow strong enough to break the flesh and rip my own heart out. Because that’s what it feels like while I watch you struggle. Every thrash or whimper is a blow to my chest, and I can’t catch my breath. 

I’ve waited at the bottom of a hundred bottles, drowning while I waited for you to come back. Waging a war against myself, punishing myself the only way I know how, abusing my body and falling into bed with any woman willing to sleep with the down and out drunk. 

I denied myself access to you. And you never called me. When finally I thought I had gotten away with it and felt a spark of relief that I wouldn’t ever have to face you again, like magic, you appeared.

That agony swallowed me whole, and I still feel like some big bad is chomping on my insides. It’s no less than I deserve, and heaven knows I’m never getting over you or what I did.  

I remember the pact you made, a vow etched in your blood as I slowly and painfully drew it from your body. “When all this is over,” your lip trembled, but the conviction was in your eyes. So much so, even the demon in me was intrigued with the absolute belief written on your bloodied features. “When Sam has fixed you…” you swallowed thickly, found a last ounce of strength and told me - him - “I can wait for you at the bottom. I can stay away if you want me to, and I’ll wait for years if I have to, but I’ll see you again, and I’ll forgive you, Dean.” 

I thought when your blood dried, you’d take it back, but apparently you haven’t. Because here you are, back at the bunker, sleeping in your old room. Is this what your forgiveness looks like? Pretending like nothing happened, even though you still have the scars, physical and mental, to show that it did. 

Your jerking movements stop and I hope that the nightmare has passed when you roll to lay on your back. I wait a few minutes, watching your body relax, your eyes remain closed, and your frown smooth as your breathing evens out. 

“Dean.” 

It sounds intentional but you still look like you're asleep. You sigh heavily, hand coming up to rub your eyes open, and then you’re looking at me. A mixture of tiredness and weariness in your expression. 

“Did I wake you?”

I can’t help but huff a laugh. You woke me. Seriously? I’m literally the thing in your nightmares, but you’re worried about waking me. It’s infuriating and typical. 

“No, I haven’t been to bed yet.” I haven’t been sleeping much lately, but with you here, I knew it was useless to even try. 

You roll on to your back, stare up at the ceiling and ask, “Where’re you gonna run to?” 

You’re not completely wrong. I thought about jumping in Baby and hauling ass in any direction. I wish I had. I didn’t because I owe you at least an opportunity to tell me how much you hate me, remind me that I fucked us up, all because I couldn’t lose Sammy. Worst part is, I think you know I’d do it again.

Silence deafens me for a long time, and I can’t be sure if you’ve fallen asleep or not, until you deliver a blow I never expected. 

“I still love you.”

I really did do some permanent damage because that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you’ve never said it before today. It’s always been on the tip of your tongue. I could see it in the moments you wanted to say it, especially the moments it wouldn’t have changed anything because then you’d have been saying it for you, to make yourself feel better, knowing I was going to hell or purgatory or wherever I was headed knowing how you felt. But now you're saying it for me because it’s what I need to hear, despite that I doubt the truth of it.

You shuffle to sit up, stare at me through the darkness, repeating, “I still love you, Dean.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You lean over to switch on the lamp, a slight jesting smirk when you look back at me. “Well, one of us has to be wrong, and it’s not going to be me.”

You say it so unbelievably casual as if you're commenting on the weather, and I know you’re trying to lighten the mood, but I just don’t have it in me to make jokes.

“There’s a first time for everything,” I counter, “and this is that time. You don’t love me, you love the idea of me, and I wish I was the guy you think I am, but I’m not and I won’t ever be.” 

You sigh, and though you're too far away from me, I swear I feel it. As if a ghost just showed up, the temperature drops a few degrees, and a cold shiver runs through me when you mutter, “I know,” looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap.

Son of a bitch. Why does that sting like a rock salt shot to my chest? 

“But you're not the villain you think you are, either,” you say, softly, as if you're talking to yourself, and you may as well be because I’ll listen, but I won’t hear it.

“Villain, monster, all means the same.”

“You know what your problem is?” There’s no softness to your tone now. You're getting angry, and that makes more sense to me. You should be angry, furious, murderous even, but you won’t claim it like you should.

Regardless of your right to be furious with me, I bite back, “I have a few, but why don’t you tell me?”

“You don’t think you're worthy of love, that anyone who cares for you has been fooled into doing so, but what you don’t see is that you prove yourself worthy over and over again. The sacrifices you make, you put everyone - damn, the world - above yourself, and that makes you worthy.”

There’s that conviction again, the same undeniable faith you had when I had you tied down and bleeding out. You believe everything you just said, but it's the second time you’ve been wrong today.

“You’re wrong,” I say. “All the sacrifices I make are for selfish reasons, to save Sam, so I don’t have to live without my brother. That’s not commendable. And all the other times it was probably to fix a mistake I made trying to save Sam. I’m not worthy. I’m a screw up.”

You shrug, “Difference of opinion, I guess.” 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I shake my head, looking up at the ceiling as if I’ll be able to see the sanity you’ve so clearly let go of floating around up there. As my eyes drift back down, they land on your duffle sitting on the chair. It’s packed up tight still, the clothes you were wearing when you arrived neatly folded on top, boots on the floor beneath it. 

You’re saying all this, claiming you love me but it looks as though you're ready to leave at the drop of a hat. “Not planning on staying?”

“Hadn’t decided yet, needed to know if I was too much of a reminder or if you could get past it all.” 

“Get past it?” I shout. “It’s not some minor accident, YN. I didn’t accidentally step on your foot. I ran a blade through your skin, repeatedly. I took pleasure in hearing you scream. I was proud of how your blood dripped onto the floor!” 

My rage makes you jump out of the bed. You, quite literally, won’t take this sitting down. You cross the room and get in my face. “I got past it, so why can’t you?” 

I laugh, there’s no humor in it, but it's either that or smash my fist into the door. “You're past it, huh? So I wasn’t just stalking your sleep, walking around with black eyes and a knife soaked in your blood?”

You avert your gaze and take a half step back. I’ve won, I see the fight drain out of you in the way your shoulders slump. I don’t feel good about it. 

“You came here to forgive me.” You meet my gaze and it’s right there, I can see it reflected back in your tearful expression.  “But I don’t need it,” I say, as the first tear slips free, “and I really don’t want it.”

“We can’t go back.” 

You’re not asking a question, you're speaking the realization aloud. But to be sure you understand, I add, “And there’s no going forward.”

Your gaze flicks to your unpacked bag. You inhale slowly and hold it for a long pause. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted,” you exhale, “So when I leave, I’m not coming back.”

That’s not true. You are wanted, more than you’ll ever know and more than I could ever express, but it doesn’t matter. Wanting you is not enough to keep what I did in the shadows.

It’s a dick thing to do, but the hurt I’m causing you now, the pain that is free flowing from your eyes, is nothing compared to what will happen if you stick around. “Finally,” I sigh, “something we agree on.” 

You hand flexes at your side, balls into a fist while you decide whether to strike me or not. I brace myself, expecting the blow. I deserve it. It’s what I need, a flare of anger, a singular moment to show me that I haven’t slaughtered the fight left in you.  

Your hand relaxes, and the resolve, with such a finality I’ll never forget, settles in your eyes. 

You’ve given up on me.

It’s for the best and there’s nothing left to say, so I turn and walk away.

It doesn’t take you long to get dressed, and I can’t bear to watch you leave, but I wait around the corner, out of sight, listening to your movements. 

When you leave your room, I follow your departure through the halls, trying not to inhale your scent too deeply, knowing the memories it will ignite will burn my resolve.

Your truck door slams, but the engine doesn’t start, and I hold my breath. Are you fighting with yourself to leave or stay? 

I don’t know which would make me feel worse. 

The engine starts, and I drift closer to the garage door. I push it open a crack, enough to see you resting your head on your hands that grip the wheel so tight, I can feel the sting on my own palms. Your shoulders heave with your tears that the old cranky engine drowns out. 

I do nothing but stare. The irony isn’t lost on me, I did the same thing that day in the warehouse; waiting, watching. The only difference is, as you drive away I’m the one left bleeding out and tortured.

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Master Lists: Dean Winchester // JAckles Verse Bingo // Main

[galaxyedging]

Special Agent Ortega x f!reader

WC:2.7k

Warnings: P in V sex. F!receiving oral. Canon type violence. Death. Swearing.

Summary: Ortega makes the mistake of crossing the wrong woman.

Trust

Ortega should have known better. The bathhouse had been quiet when he entered. Not enough to raise his suspicions but given it was the most popular bathhouse in the surrounding area, he usually expected to hear the sounds of a good time coming from behind the doors lining the hallway. 

What should have aroused his suspicions is that not one girl had come near him. There wasn't one offer to scrub his back. His favourite girl didn't come by to offer to scrub more than his back. There wasn't any 'accidental' intrusions to see if the rumours were true that he was packing far more than a Smith and Wesson. 

The cigar in his hand was about half way done when he started to worry that turning down the love struck advances of his best girl may have put him in ill favour, Hell hath no fury and all that. That's when the thought struck him and the cold metal met his back. Shit. He'd be worried about the wrong woman.

"Drop the cigar in the water." You nudge the barrel of your gun further between his bare shoulder blades.

He holds the cigar up in his fingers to regard it. "That would be such a waste." 

"You can waste it or I can waste you when you try to burn me with it." You counter.

"Do you think I would do that to you?" He scoffs.

"Oh, I know you would." Ortega lets out a scream unbecoming of a Special Agent in Charge as you tip the ice bucket over him to extinguish his potential weapon.

"Puta!" He shakes the cold water from his hair as it drips down his spine.

"There's no need to be rude, Nacho." You tsks.

"I've told you not to call me that. Only my abuelita and my loving wife call me that. You are neither." He scowls over his muscular shoulder.

With a hand lay over your heart you gasp. "Oh, Ignacio. You wound me."

"Given half the chance I will." He smirks.

Moving back slightly you smile to yourself. "I know and that's why you won't get one. Up. Slowly." 

Ortega stands in the tub, as he gets to his full height he grabs a towel to cover himself.

"Nuh-uh. Drop the towel." There is no way you are giving him anything he can use against you.

"Are you that desperate to see what you are missing?" He makes a point of stretching his long legs as he steps out of the tub. His long cock dangles as he does. Even soft and cold, he's impressive.

Mentally shaking away any thoughts of just how impressive he can be, you tell him. "No. I just really don't trust you."

Ortega laughs. "You're one to talk."

He still blames you for what happened between you? That's rich. "Imagine my surprise to find that you'd gone straight."

"It made sense. They hand those out to anybody willing to sell their soul to Uncle Sam." He jutted his strong chin towards the badge on his vest a few feet away. If you're going to kill and con people you might as well do it with benefits." His broad shoulders shrug and the muscles ripple in his back. A back that used to be marked by trails from your fingernails.

"Sell your soul? I thought I owned that?" You tease.

"Only until death do us part. After that I'm free." He bites over his shoulder as you ogle his ass.

His perfect profile comes into view as he turns to you, highlighted by the afternoon sun.

Taking another breath after the one he stole you snipe. "Oh, you'll miss me."

Ortega turns to you, his tongue wets his lips. He'd like to say he'd forgotten how beautiful you were. As if you didn't haunt him. 

"Never." He challenged.

So many unspoken feelings and unmet desires hung between you. 

The first shot rang out, cutting through the thick air. It was far enough away that the direction that it came from wasn't clear. The direction became clearer when the bullets splintered the wood of the door. 

"Down!" Ortega pulls you down behind the tub with him, his hand cradles your head protectively.

"Do you think they're after you or me?" You asked while loading your gun.

Ortega noticed that you hadn't held a loaded gun on him. It softens him for a second but he doesn't let it show. "Debating if you can throw me to them to save yourself?"

"I mean, even if they aren't after you. You are a very distracting sight." You let your eyes rake up your husband's naked body.

Another two shots break through the door as Ortega reaches for his pants and discarded holster. 

"That was closer but it only sounds like there's one of them." Snatching up your second gun from your boot, you head towards the door.

"Wait." Ortega calls after you as you let bullets fly back through the holes in the door with impressive aim.

A pained shout comes from the other side. Ripping the door open, you find the source of the pained groaning propped up against the wall; his right hand was limp at his side and his pistol was just out of reach. With your gun trained on him you edge forward to check the hallway.

Finding it clear you moved back to take a good look at the man on the floor. He is a complete stranger to you.

"You son of a bitch!" The man growls at Ortega as he appears, now wearing pants.

An amused smirk tugs at your lips. "Well he seems to know you."

Ortega rolls his eyes at you before kicking the man's booted foot. "Who are you?"

"You're one of those damn city boys that killed my brother!" The man bares his teeth. As he clutches the hole in his arm.

Ortega looks bored as he answers. "Your brother tried to draw first. My partner was just quicker."

When the man makes a grab for his gun, Ortega's bullet split his skull. The last flicker of life is the twitch of his finger against the grip.

"Don't you just make friends wherever you go." You bat your eyelashes at Ortega.

"What can I say? I'm charming." He steps closer, a small part of him hopes you remember just how charming. 

His body is reacting to being close to you and he's thankful he grabbed some pants.

"Who told you that?" You try to keep some of your sassy while you also try to remember why you hadn't kissed your husband in over a year.

He steps closer still. "You…once upon a time."

"I was young and naive." Your words don't have to travel far. Your back is almost at the wall and he's still achingly close.

"It was two years ago." Another inch closer.

"I'm still young. Not so naive." You wave your gun to the side of him.

"You wouldn't shoot me." His plush lips are tantalisingly close. "Not to kill anyway."

His breath mingles with yours as you defiantly breathe. "Try me."

His lips finally touch yours. All the hate and bile is burnt away by the passion you still hold for each other. 

As his lips meet yours over and over his fingers grip your waist as he inches them under your shirt. Not for the first time, Ortega reflects on how much he loves that you wear masculine clothes. They are so much more form fitting around your ass and hips. His greedy hands make their way to them. He grasps handfuls, making you squeak into the kiss.

"Such pretty sounds for me. I bet I can make you make more." The words leave his mouth then he's on your neck, sucking and biting from your ear to your collar.

With his lips at your neck feeling so good your heart and mind get lost back in a simpler time. When it was just the two of you in love. Then the world got in the way. The last four years you'd lived separate lives, only seeking each other out when the need for each other became too great. All under the veil of hating each other. The hate there was real so it easy to stretch it over the two of you to cover up the love you still held for each other.

This big score that you were here for could set you both up for life. The reality was that you still couldn't trust the man that broke your heart. It was much better to keep him at arm's length. "I don't know. It's been a while. My tastes might have changed. Someone might have taught me something new." 

"Why do you have to do that? Always running your fucking mouth." His hands find your arms to drag you off the wall. 

For a second you think he's done with you until he grapples you towards an open door with a bed just in view. The bed soon hits your back as he throws you up on it. Your jeans are wrenched from your body then he drops to his knees and the end of the bed while pulling you to the edge of it. Before you can work out what his is doing, his tongue flattens against your folds.

"Oh, Ignacio!" The sensation is completely new to you. 

It feels beyond any pleasure you've ever felt, and Ortega has given you plenty, as his tongue parts your folds to slip inside you. It rolls inside your wanting hole for a moment before travelling upwards. It swipes at something that has you gripping his short hair tightly. Each repeated movement seems better than the last. It doesn't take long for you to feel something that you've only felt with your husband's cock or fingers inside of you. It builds almost to a peak. Then Ortega sucks on the spot he's been licking. A scream shakes the wooden building as you come. You'd heard many a tale from Europe about women climaxing without their partner entering them. This is your first experience with it. The utter delight of it is only dulled slightly by the thought of who taught your husband about it. Maybe it was the beautiful woman you saw him and his partner meet earlier. The thought varnishes even quicker than it appeared as Ignacio's lips find yours, still covered with the slick he drew from you, it's tangy and sweet on your lips. They stay glued to yours as he undoes his pants and removes his holster to slip inside you. He groans against them as he sets a hard rhythm. This is purely about him chasing his own release now but not for the reasons you think. Ortega is intent on marking you, claiming you with his release. He secretly hopes his seed will finally take root and bind the two of you back together. The thought of it pushes him over the edge. He presses his hips flush to yours to pump his thick, creamy cum as deep as he can. You can feel his warmth spread, you hope it spreads far enough.

Neither of you speak while you enjoy the excuse for closeness. When Ortega finally softens, he pulls out. He's too busy getting up and doing up his pants to notice how you tilt your hips on the bed to keep his seed inside you. 

With your jeans unceremoniously dumped at your feet, Ortega finally gets around to what he knows is coming. "What do you need from me?"

The fact that you have to need something from your husband to seek out his touch stabs at you briefly before you get to the matter at hand. "I hear you have a lead on the Sixth Gun."

As if you'd said the magic word, a gun shot rang out outside, quickly followed by another. Two more followed in quick succession until it was a pattern. Two quick gunshots followed by a pause. There must have been ten pairs in all. Each getting progressively closer. There was a long stretch of quiet until heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs, they came to a stop at the far end of the hall. Both you and Otega grip your weapons ready. A single shot rings out and the footsteps retreat. These a moment of confusion before a man, a thing, rushes through the door. It heads straight for Ortega. It moves so quickly he doesn't have a chance to aim properly. He gets a quick shot off to the thing's leg, which barely slows it before it starts to claw at him. It gives you time to get a good aim at the thing's head. One shot and it's down. 

Only with it sprawled on the floor do you recognise it. "He was dead. You shot him between the eyes."

Before either of you can process more feet approach, their steps hurried and stumbling. Thankfully that all come down the same narrow hallway so your position is well defensible. In the ensuing fight you try to ignore how good it feels to be fighting side by side with your husband again. This is how it should be. It's how it always was, the two of you, perfectly in sync. Until that damn job in Blackwater. The trust between you was cracked right down the middle. There was so much damage done the two of you were lost and you still hadn't found your way back to each other. Once the bodies are all dropped, Ortega grabs your hand to lead you. "Come on, we're getting out of here."

You don't question what he means by 'we' as you follow. Stepping over the bodies strewn on the hallway floor you make your way down the stairs and out into the dimly lit night. 

"My things are at the Inn. My horse too. I'm grabbing them and getting the hell out of here." Ortega informs you as the touch of his hand still warms yours. As if he feels it too he adds "I could do with back up getting through the valley. It's not a great ride on your own."

"My things are in a house at the edge of town." Your lips tell him. Your eyes tell him so much more.

"Not so fast there, Partner. I believe we have a deal." The man you'd seen Ortega with earlier, another badge wearing Pinkerton, steps out from the side of the building.

"I've just seen what that damned gun can do. I'm out of here." Ortega turns to leave and winces at the unmissable sound of a gun being cocked. 

"Now, Mercer. Let's not do anything stupid." Ortega finishes his sentence, whirling on his partner, drawn gun in hand.

Following Ortega's lead you point your own guns at Mecre.

"Oh! The little missus is going to back you up?! I thought she hated you?" Mercer Has a dig at his partner. While you look a little stunned. "You don't think he talks about you? He has your picture in his pocket watch. He always flaps his gums about you when he's drunk. All the pathetic regret.."

"Mercer!" Ortega warns.

"Well partner if you want to suddenly trust the woman you've been telling me you can't for the last couple of years, go ahead. How about you? You about to trust him after what he did? Do you know how much that gun is worth?" Mercer's words sew the seeds of doubt between you and Ortega. In another in sync move between you the two of you draw your second gun on each other. Mercer quickly draws one to aim at you. The three of you are caught in a standoff. All exchanging silent conversations with a glance.

"So what it really boils down to is trust." Mercer finally breaks the silence. The silence is further destroyed by gun shots. As one of the three of you falls.

A/N: According to Google (so it might be wrong), Ortega is from the Spanish for nettle, so I googled Spanish first names that came from 'stinging' as I thought it fit him. It gave me Ignacio meaning 'fiery one', then I looked for pet names of Ignacio, and Nacho was too cute to pass up.

[ikamigami]

Hmm weirdly enough people quickly forgot about New Moon killing V2 Eclipse..

Or maybe they never cared lol

Or they forgot how selfish New Moon acted when he found out that Sun was conduit for star's power..

Or again maybe they never cared..

Virus/killcode or not.. one thing is the same about New Moon and Old Moon.. that they're selfish, egotistic individuals..

Cause remember that virus enhances bad traits.. but apparently people only see that with others (if Lunar's line about everyone being infected is true) and not Moon..

"He was just a little bit mean".. a little bit? Really? Humor me more..

I think that Sun might be not infected or virus doesn't affect him cause Ruin - having Sun in him - was a carrier and carriers can at times be affected by the virus they carry.. but I think that Sun is immune to it but he's a carrier..

I mean I think that we may go way back to Creator focusing more on Sun and that Sun stood on the platform in the lab of both Creators.. that would be funny plot twist.. and I think that there might be something in this..

Still family didn't abandon Moon.. Moon cut himself off the family..

And I still want for Moon to realize how selfish he was and take responsibility for his actions and try to do better..

But if it turned out that Sun is a carrier I can't see him bouncing back from it.. I mean it would confirm his worst fears.. and seeing that he's depressed and is developing psychotic episode (or have it but mild symptoms for now).. it doesn't look good for him.. I'm worried about Sun and I fear the worst will happen.. I really think that this is all leading to Sun's death..

I'm excited to see where all of this is going :)

Also I think that I know what barrels can hint to as of recent.. Sun is stacking them like this - Sun and Moon are on the bottom (cause yellow and blue barrels) and Eclipse is on top (orange barrel).. which is how Ruin was stacking them after he was "cured".. I think that this is hinting to Sun being a carrier of the virus.. and he doesn't know about it..

Cause remember how Sun's first thought after Eclipse returned was that Ruin did that but no one listened but it turned out that he was right? And what happened now.. Sun's first thought after hearing that Moon didn't care if Earth would die, that he almost killed her, was that Moon is infected with virus.. and no one listens because they didn't detect anything.. but I think that Sun is right this time as well..

But even after everything will get resolve and I'm sure it will and that family will reunite.. I'm sure that Sun won't ever forgive himself.. he's already blaming himself so if he'll turn out to be a carrier.. I'm afraid that this might be a final push.. alonside Dazzle's secret..

[seven-thewanderer]

okay I drew something, but before I even post it:

It’s not Sun and Moon Show/SAMS/TSAMS related at all. not one bit.

Anyways…

I drew Sun!! :3

(I know it’s a simple bg, but imaginary explanation to it is it’s just the daycare walls, but Sun stacked all the barrels into a straight tall stack, and is very high up against the walls) (yes almost like that moment that happened in the earlier FNAF Security Breach days where Sun & Moon would accidentally start stacking the barrels under themself like they were building in Minecraft)

But yeah I was listening to Kyle Allen’s new Sun song (Best Friend) over and over again, and just eventually got into a DCA mood, and so I drew Sun :3

Honestly I haven’t drawn FNAF SB Sun in so long, I miss drawing him (and sure I’ve drawn Sun from SAMS but like. FNAFSB Sun and SAMS Sun are two different entities to me. So I haven’t drawn FNAFSB Sun in forever)

But yeyeye I’m so proud of this!! Lookat the silly guy, he so happy!!

[sacredbbl]

Fraternity Fever

Jake X reader

Tw: swearing; drunkenness , alcohol, marijuana

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Chapter One

Y/N POV

It all started on a crispy autumn afternoon. You had just transferred to the University of Michigan this year from a small community college in your town. It was weird being a junior, but still feeling like a freshman. Your rock had been Jayden; Jayden was not only your roommate but one of your only friends here. As you walked back from your last class of the day, all you could think about was how excited you were to be going back to your dorm. You could finally finish the book you had been trying to read for weeks. You scanned your ID at the door and crashed into your bed. Just then, you saw Jayden’s face . She was waiting for you to come back.

“Y/N what are you doing tonight?”, dog earring your book to keep your page .

“ I am planning on finishing this book, how about you?” Jayden then jumped onto your bed, her curls bouncing as she got up.

”Y/N don’t be lame, It’s a Friday night, let’s go to Sigma Chi Rho’s party!” She stood up and barreled towards your closet. Jayden was beautiful . Her curly brown hair went down to the small of her back and sat perfectly on her sun kissed skin, Her gorgeous green eyes stared into your closet.

“I don’t know anyone, why would I go?”

“Sigma Chi Ro’s are super cool. I know the president, it will be super fun Y/N! If you hate it you can always leave.” She gave you those puppy dog eyes that she knew you could not say no.

“Fine, but you have to pick out my outfit.” You sighed.

She squealed with excitement. She handed you a black dress that fit you in all the best ways. After twenty minutes of getting ready you decided to take a courage shot and start walking to the sigma house. The air was crisp as you walked the ten minutes to the party. As you got closer, the music became clearer and then you could hear yelling.

“Dude you can’t come in, you are going to kill the ratio!” Say a skinny boy with long hair . Jayden told you he was a pledge who was working at the door tonight. He seemed a little buzzed, and angry. He was talking to a freshman boy whose date already went in.

“What the fuck man, I brought a girl!”

“ You are not going to be fucking let in! You know the rules, if you are not a brother you need at least three girls to get in.”

The guy he was fighting with angrily leaves.

Suddenly we were the next people in line.

“Hey Sam what’s up?”Jayden threw her arms around his shoulders in an embrace.

“Nothing much, Jayden, should be fun tonight, tell me if you run into Danny; That fucker is working door tonight and I am not doing push ups because of him.” He said with a chuckle.

“Sure will!” She replied as she grabbed your hand and pulled you through the doorway. As you walked through the door, you made eye contact with Sam, mouthing a thanks. Then you were whisked away into the bustling crowd.

Jake POV

Another morning. The sun had only risen by the time that you had managed to drag yourself out of the bed. The start of the semester once more - as usual, the entire college would be busy tonight, parties having been organized by essentially every group, every society, but most importantly, every frat. All of you had spent weeks planning this one - games were one of the main things that brought everyone to the house, surprisingly. You never spent the majority of my time playing the games - You always had.. other things to attend to. You had found yourself, tonight, in charge of the music. Playlists had been passed around, but you couldn’t seem to find one that fit right, until an old one passed your screen.

The house was busy already - people hurrying around, trying to hang decorations - you didn’t fully understand it, nobody would be spending their night judging us based on the decorations, and the streamers definitely weren’t the main aspect on everybody's lips for weeks afterwards. Like the others, you found yourself skipping the lectures for the day - it was to be expected.

You had been to the store earlier in the day, bulk-buying anything that could have possibly been needed. Forcing the bottles into the cupboard, just about big enough to fit everything, you turned to Josh once everything had been put away - “Everything’s sorted, I think. Who’s coming?” He stared back at you for a moment, before a soft chuckle left his lips “It’s the first day of senior year - literally everyone that we know. Probably the usual suspects - definitely some juniors” he finished with a wink. To say that you had a reputation would be an understatement. You sighed in return, shoving him slightly before making your way back upstairs. Searching the wardrobe, you found yourself running your hands through your hair. Something felt different.

The usual outfit won once again - black jeans and an old band shirt. Opening the dresser drawers, you retrieved the usual necklaces and rings, pulling them on quickly. It was still relatively early, but people were already arriving, making their way into the house, before quickly to the kitchen. Being a senior, it was your job to keep an eye on everyone. Many a night had been ruined by people drinking too much and inevitably fighting. Josh had been dressed for hours, meticulously planning his outfit as he always did. Shooting him a nod as the house began to fill, the two of us got to work. The music was working well already - with people dancing throughout the whole house. You hadn’t expected it to get so busy so quickly.

Danny and Sam had arrived late, as usual. It was odd having somebody that you grew up with being a new pledge, it felt like getting to know them all over again. The four of you had become even closer than before, spending essentially every living moment together - there wasn’t a single thing that happened in any of your lives that the others didn’t know about.

You watched Sam and Danny as they were talking to people, seeing a commotion starting at the door. A soft sigh left your lips as you began to make your way over. Before you could reach the door, Josh gently pushed you out of the way - as president, he was usually the one who would deal with this sort of thing.

You turned on your heel, seeing the crowds of people move like a wave, before making your way back into your room - your safe haven. Pulling a small bag from your dresser, your fingers wrapped around the joint that had been rolled the night before. You moved out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing as you lit the joint between your lips.

A smile found its way onto your lips as you exhaled, looking up at the stars that adorned the night sky. Your hand made its way into your pocket, pulling your phone from it. As you opened it, you found yourself appreciating the quiet - you could feel the vibrations of the bass underneath your feet, and the cold breeze running through your hair. Scrolling through the usual social media, you wound up watching some of the old frat videos from when you were all younger - josh doing his campaigning for president, everybody had seemed completely enamored with him. It was something that you felt a pang of jealousy for - his ability to talk. Whenever he would begin, you loved to watch people’s reactions, seeming to pause whatever they were doing just to listen to him. You, on the other hand, were much quieter - you liked to keep yourself to yourself.

Y/N POV

As Jayden pulled you through the crowd you realized that you recognized a lot of the faces in the crowd from different classes. She then stopped, and you found yourself at the keg. You grabbed a red solo cup and started filling it up with the cheap beer but anything is good as long as you are drunk. She started talking to the boy next to her. He had a warm smile and big, brown eyes. Suddenly he was facing you.

“Hey, I’m Josh let me know if any of these boys bother you. It is my responsibility for you to have fun. After all, I am the president.” As soon as he finished his sentence his attention turned to another pledge

“Danny what the fuck are you doing in here ?” Josh hurried away. You turned back around to find Jayden but she had disappeared. Typical Jayden. You left the keg and walked around the party, anxiously looking for her familiar face. You took the last sip of your beer and grabbed another drink - this time, the jungle juice. You took a sip and gagged. “God that is strong”.Perfect you thought to yourself, as you moved your way through the crowd to find Jayden. Finally after a couple more drinks you found her. She was on a ratty old couch that had certainly seen better days, basically swallowing the blonde whose lap she was on.

Deciding not to interrupt, you tried to find the bathroom.As you stumbled through the crowded house.You felt the alcohol kick in . You stumbled through the bustling hallway, bumping into partiers , You stumbled up the stairs, carefully making sure that you didn't spill any of your alcohol . Once you got to the top, you glided your hand along the wall as you walked down the hallway. You decided to open the last door on the left . As soon as you walked in, you were hit with the scent of marijuana . As your eyes focused you realized you were not in the bathroom.

Josh pov

As you made your way away from the door, seeing that the guy had walked off, seemingly frustrated, you began to make your way through the crowd. You had already decided to not drink as much as you usually would, taking the time to introduce yourself to some of the newer pledges, and the freshmen that had made their way in. An old friend caught your eye - Jayden.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, making your way over to her. As the two of you caught up, you realized that she had brought a friend. Introducing yourself, you did your utmost to make sure that she felt welcome. Before you could continue the conversation - intending to ask about what she was studying, where she was from - something caught your eye. Danny. Stood in a group of juniors, seemingly trying to show off.

”Danny what the fuck are you doing in here?” You began, furrowing your eyebrows. You made your apologies to the girls, before moving towards him “You’re door!”

He seemed to huff at you as he heard you speak, before nodding his head, quickly making his way back to the door, when Sam stood, seemingly trying to deal with someone who was already way too drunk to be here.

As you continued through the house, you filled your cup with a soft drink, doing your best to watch over the heads as everybody moved around.

“Where the fuck is Jake?” You grumble, despite knowing that he had done what he always did - snuck off with somebody. It wasn’t rare that you’d check his bedroom throughout the party, and find him in there with any amount of girls. Each time that you would check, it would be someone different. He never seemed embarrassed when you walked in, if anything, he was proud of himself. Ever since he had joined the frat, the same time that you did, he had built up a reputation for himself - an absolute womanizer. You could count on one hand the amount of girls in the college that he hadn’t slept with at this point. He didn’t seem to mind the reputation, though - it was something that he relished in. It was easy for him, one conversation and the deal seemed to be done. Watching the crowd, your eyes found their way to the door, where Danny and Sam stood, ushering people in. In all honesty, they weren’t the best at keeping the ratio, but they did seem to try their hardest.

Only a small bit later, you could tell that the majority of people were truly feeling the effects of the night - stumbling in and out of the bathroom, talking to people that they had never spoken to before. You found it fun - seeing how people would change when there was alcohol involved.

Jake POV

Having made your way to the chair on the balcony, you noticed the music only getting louder. Grabbing the glass that sat on the floor, you raised it to your lips, allowing the cold water to fill your mouth. Placing the glass down once again, you reached for the lighter on the table. A small sigh left your lips, in all honesty, you didn’t really care about what was going on downstairs, you knew that Josh knew how to handle it. There was nobody new, nobody that you hadn’t already spent an evening with. You didn’t care for any of them, it was nothing but fun for you, just something that you did to pass the time. As the flame danced around the tip of the joint, illuminating your face, you inhaled, the smoke filling your lungs.

It was then that your bedroom door opening caught your attention. Confused for a moment, you stood up, trying to make out the figure. As soon as your eyes adjusted, you realized that, although you didn’t recognise the girl, she was definitely at the party, having essentially fallen through the door.

”Can I help you?” You called, your voice filled with annoyance. You had come up here for a peaceful night, and yet now there’s a stranger standing in the middle of your room. Waiting for her to speak, you pulled open the balcony door, crossing your arms as you watched her. “I asked you a question.” You speak, raising an eyebrow.

“Where am I?” She chokes out while giggling .

As she replied, you couldn’t help the soft chuckle that left your lips - God.. her laugh.

“You’re in my bedroom.”

“Why am I in your bedroom?” she giggled, her words slurred together.

You could feel yourself softening for a moment as she giggled again. Regaining your composure, still leaning in the doorway, you took a moment to reply. “That’s not something that I can answer. You just showed up.”

As you answered, you watched her face turn as white as paper. You knew that the alcohol had gotten to her as she fell to the ground and puked all over herself and your floor.

“Oh my fucking God.” You spoke, considering for a moment the possibility of calling Josh. Staring down at her, you move towards the bathroom, grabbing a towel for her. Coming back into the room, you placed it down beside her, before reluctantly reaching your hand out for her to grab. You didn’t realize it, but she was whimpering .

“I’m sooo sorry” she cried .

You sighed as you watched her, pulling her up from the ground. Unconsciously placing a hand around her waist, you lead her to the bed, allowing her to sit. You paused, and looked at her for a moment - unsure of what exactly you were supposed to do, you just knew that she couldn’t stay in her clothes. You walked to your dresser and grabbed an old tee shirt you didn’t mind losing and an old pair of sweats. “Arms up” you spoke, as you slowly tried to help her change making sure you don't show your frustration. You took the dress that she had came in, throwing it onto the bathroom floor, before looking into the mirror, “What the fuck are you doing?” You whispered, to nobody in particular. Looking back to the bed, you saw that she was still sat there, clearly feeling sorry for herself. You hoped harder than you ever had before that nobody would walk into the room.

Through tears, she spoke again - “I’m so sorry, I’m drunk ……where’s Jayden”

Continuing to look at her, you crossed your arms once more. “Yeah, I noticed.” You knew Jayden - a friend of Josh’s. “Do you want me to go get her?” You hummed, beginning to make your way to the door, looking back at her.

“No, she is busy,” she whispered. You looked at her dumbfounded, unable to understand why she had been left alone in such a state.

“What the fuck do you mean busy?”

“She is probably hooking up with someone right now!” She slurred

You found yourself grumbling as she spoke, “Yeah, okay, sure” you replied, before making your way to the wall across from her. You weren’t too sure what to do with her, but knew that you couldn’t be seen leaving with her. You knew you had a reputation but this would make it even worse.

“Well guess you are taking my bed tonight” You sigh as you laid her on her side. You pulled her shoes from her feet, laying them beside the bed, before sitting onto the couch that lived in the corner of your room. You debated whether to go out into the party to find Josh to see if he could deal with this, but you knew he had a lot to deal with, especially since the pledges were fucking up their jobs - you could handle this. You had been that drunk before. You could help a drunk girl for once without anything happening. Though you had never been sober before while taking care of a drunk girl.

You found yourself lighting the joint once more as you lay back onto the couch, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. This hadn’t been how you expected the night to go. Sure, you had ended parties with a girl in your bed before, but not like this, this was different. She was different.

[type1dragonwolf]

SAMS fan theory/rant: Is Moon a good brother?

Note: This will be a long rant, but I just want to get something off my chest.

so, is Moon a good brother? More or less, a good brother to SUN? I started coming up with this theory when I read a fan theory of how Sun could possibly die. And some of the reasons were focused around Moon and his relationship with Sun. So, I’m going to deep dive today into the reasons why his is good or bad.

Information 1: Wiki. Im going to start with the Sun and moon show wiki, and see what I picked up from there. I will just be putting examples of how he acts towards Sun. ‘Though he is closed off and puts on an act of indifference towards Sun.’ ‘He can still be mean and insulting, though he seams to try and do this in a playful way. However, he has issues with misplaced anger, often taking it out on Sun.’ ‘His relationship with Sun is not a healthy one despite both parties caring for each other.’ ‘He is also very trusting of sun, despite his gut telling him something is off.’ Those are just a few examples from the wiki. However, something stood out to me. Almost every paragraph I read, it said: ‘Sun comforted his brother’ but I hardly read any ‘Moon comforted his brother.’ You can tell from that, that’s a step down.

Information 2: Personality and impressions. This paragraph will focus on their relationship that we see on the show. When they first met, Moon threatened to kill Sun and make is life torture, just from sharing a body. When they split up, Moon decided that instead of destroying his kill-code he would put it in SUN. That caused the whole Eclipse problem. Soon, they started the show. Something I notice though, is that Sun was a LOT more outspoken, and always told Moon what he was doing. Moon, however, didn’t care. Whenever Sun accidentally said something wrong, Moon would LASH OUT at him. Skip forward a bit, they’re trapped in the bunker. Moon starts blaming Sun for things that Eclipse did, and even PUNCHED his brother. That caused a bit of FEAR in Sun. He left, and hadn’t been the same since. He shied away from his brother, not quite as outspoken as before. Skip forward a bit more. Sun killed Bloodmoon with the barrel. Instead of telling Moon when he asked, he lied, afraid of moons reaction. When moon found out, instead of talking with Sun about it, he locked him in the cellar Sun was scared of. Time travel to after Moon got his memories erased. Sun was having trouble coping. Moon was a lot nicer, and the only thing bad really, was that Moon teased him about his long gone crush on Roxanne. Then, Eclipse. Sun learned star power behind his brothers back, scared to lose him. He even lied to moons face. When moon found out, Sun was In tears from moon yelling at him. Earth even had to step in to help them talk. Fast forward to Eclipse’s ‘death.’ Sun had totally beaten himself up from Eclipse. Yes, moon did care, but Sun was still injured because of Moons mistake. The next few days we’re about moon forcing sun to go to different dimensions. Sun almost died MANY times. Fast forward, eclipse is back. Sun is freaking out, however, he tries to calm his brother. However, like before, Moon just shoved Sun away, yelling at him. The next few episodes, moon teases sun about Roxanne, calls him an idiot, and is just kinda rude. Moon knows this, and though he lost killcode and should be mean anymore, his old anger and hatred is coming back.

Information 3: other siblings and the future

this one will probably be my final paragraph. I really quickly just want to compare these two to Earth and Lunar. When they first met, Earth only have heard of Lunar, she was always sweet. They never hid information from each other, only when it was going to hurt them. When moon first woke up from the reboot, he instantly yelled at Sun. And when earth talked to castor for the first time, she didn’t hide it from lunar, instantly confronting him about it. Sun, however, didn’t tell moon of eclipse, scared of moon response. As for future predictions? Suns death has been teased MANY times. However, many people think someone will kill him. Well, I think that Sun will die, but at the hands of himself. He cares for his siblings, even thought he blames himself. He has mentioned this at his therapy session, though it’s not obvious, that he knows moon talks badly behind his back. I think the only reason he alive right now, is that he wants to fix the problem HE got blamed for, when it wasn’t his fault. And when it does, when he dies, maybe then Moon will finally see what he did.

So, in conclusion, is Moon a good brother? That’s what I want you to answer. I will put a poll with this, however if you have your own thoughts, reblog this and write it or put it in the comments. Thanks for listening to my ramble. 💕

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

First Line Analysis!

I was tagged by @energievie @bawlbrayker and @mybrainismelted

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions.

It was amazing how quickly people adapted. How what was once essential could stop floating to the forefront of a person’s minds as they fade from daily life. In Your Love

The sun in Mexico burns hotter, Mickey’s learned. Psychopomp

Ian woke up alone with a throbbing ache in his leg for the thirteenth day in a row. Lovers' Carvings

The sun was shining through the bedroom window, and for a brief moment Mickey panicked at the thought that they’d slept so late that Terry was going to come barreling into the house any second to discover that Mickey was sleeping with a boy passed out half on top of him, blanketed in sunlight. Mine all mine

There was a nervous crackling anticipation in the air all night. Both Sides Now

After nearly six years of marriage, Ian had one last secret. One last holdout in the space of his mind that used to hold all the shameful and brilliant little lies that he kept all to himself. City on a Hill

Coming home to find his husband sprawled out nearly naked and half conscious on their kitchen floor was becoming a little too expected for Ian’s comfort. Time of the Season

Since I only have 7 works on Ao3, I'm going to share the first line from three WIPs coming to an archive near you

8. “Hey, old man” Ian said gently, a teasing fondness in his voice. Man of Metropolis [Steals our Hearts]

9. Ian had a complicated relationship with earthy hues of red and gold. From chapter 2 of Time of the Season

10. For the rest of his life, the smell of Marlboro Reds would remind Ian of falling in love for the first time. From the WIP that makes me cry every week, Losing Dogs

Analysis: The first line of my fics is really important to my writing process and always has been. I always start with the first line in order to set the tone and the perspective for the reader but I think more importantly for myself, because of that I rarely start with dialogue because it can lack the abstraction that I'm after. Idk, I think the effectiveness varies, I like some of these better than others, but I think the trend is towards improvement.

tagging: @callivich @jrooc @mmmichyyy @catgrassplantdad

@sam-loves-seb @blue-disco-lights @solitarycreaturesthey

@iansw0rld @gallawitchxx

[clydethesnake]

Ocean Eyes

Prince!Bucky Barnes x Pirate!Reader

warnings: cursing, violence (they're pirates), angst, fluff

word count: 5.7k

synopsis: After narrowly escaping the royal guards who were looking for him after sneaking out, Prince James takes refuge unknowingly in the ship of one of the most notorious groups of pirates out there. Now, he not only has to navigate his way through life being captured on a pirate ship, but he also has to deal with the fact that the captain is one of the most attractive women he's met.

a/n: i love pirate aus so much and thought that there is not nearly enough where you are the pirate, so here. this took me forever and im so proud of it so i hope you like <33

The village was bustling with people as Prince James walked out of the warm tavern. The sun was high, making James sweat under the black cloak he was wearing in an attempt to conceal his identity. There were royal guards patrolling, looking for the Prince who left the castle unannounced, so a panic was in the air as they were trying to find the boy.

James saw them, silver chestplated men, swords in sheaths as they frantically asked people about him, while they marched their boots and the hooves of the horses around the fishing village. It was sure to cause an uproar if the people had caught wind of the news of the Prince’s disappearance. He was one of the only fully liked royals since the disease that was making its rounds through the village years ago. Of course, the village had recovered, but the people who lost family and friends had not forgiven the king for his lack of help during the awful times. James was lucky, he was only 14 by then, unable to do anything but watch the anguish come from his people.

Suddenly, the Prince caught the eye of a guard, one he disliked at that. Out of panic, James started running towards the docks desperately, stumbling over poor merchants barrels of food and tables of intricate jewels. Shouting out apologies left and right, his boot clad feet were pushing him onto a large ship, not noticing the cynical eyes of the skull on the flag flying high next to the unnaturally clean sails. He hid behind some crates which fully concealed his body while he watched the guard who just saw him frantically shout some things to the others and take off in the direction he went.

His plan was simple; wait until the guards left to look outside of the village, then leave the ship and make his way back to the castle. Easy right? That's what he told himself before multiple voices started shouting various things in slurred speech that he couldn’t quite make out from his loud heartbeat and bangs from the main deck, before the guards started getting smaller, turning into ants in the distance.

The boy was in panic; breathing becoming accelerated and palms sweating excessively as he did when he was nervous. This is beyond nervous. It was supposed to be an easy day; sneak out of the castle without accidentally notifying the guards, have a drink at the tavern he regularly visits, wander around the village and pick out a necklace or two for his mother’s birthday. And now he was on a moving ship, the village he calls home a mere blur in the distance.

His elongated visit on the ship was only going to get worse as two men approached him. The Prince’s vision went black as the younger of the two hit him over the head, successfully knocking the man out. The older took off the cloak and picked James up by the back of his shirt, hauling him over to the group of people on the other side of the deck.

“We have a stowaway on board, where do you want him, captain?” Sam asked you, Prince still in hand.

“Tie him to the mast.” Your voice came out uncaring as you waved your hand dismissively in the man’s direction, looking over at the horizon. “We’re set for Gamswell.” Gamswell was a nasty place. It was full of cheap prostitutes and drunken pirates. However, your crew insisted on visiting, wanting to experience the thrills and adventures of Gamswell. Having been there a multitude of times, you were hesitant, but saw the excitement on your men’s faces and decided to allow it.

Swinging over the railings you land a few metres away from the mast as the man wakes up. He has a small cut on his right cheek -you assume from the hit from Sam- and is wearing a basic white tunic and trousers. His shoes look expensive, a large contrast to the generally basic and cheap outfit. 

You raise your eyebrow looking at the expensive looking rings adorning his dirty hands, and a single gold chain with a charm laying on his slightly exposed chest. “This guy don’t look poor.” You told Sam, who was still next to you, admiring the expensive jewels covering different parts of his body.

Before the conversation can carry on, the man starts to groan before his eyes shoot open. “Who are you?” He sounds nervous as he figures out what’s happened. 

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at the man before carding your fingers through his short hair and yanking his head up to meet his eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing on my ship!?” You stare into his eyes.

“I’m sorry! I was running away from some guards and ended up here. I promise I didn’t mean to invade.” You look into his steel blue eyes with suspicion, “My name’s James Barnes.” He told you, honesty seeping through his voice. He definitely didn’t want to anger you anymore than you already seemed. You let go of his head and stepped back next to Sam. 

You looked back at the man next to you and shrugged, while he gave you a big, malicious smirk and walked off to take the wheel from Peter.

“Listen, just drop me off at the next port and I’ll be out of your hair.” The man on the mast looked up to meet your eyes once your first mate had walked away.

“And what makes you think I’d listen to you? You sneak aboard my ship and you’re asking to be let free? Boy, you don’t know pirates at all.” You shook your head in mock disappointment before moving closer to him once again, face now serious, “what about you would make me want to let you free so early on? I could use an extra helping hand.” You grinned maniacally before stepping back once again, “Welcome aboard The Serpent’s Revenge, James Barnes.”

You almost felt bad for the man, but this is what happens to stowaways on your ship, they get tied to the mast and damned to the icy depths of the sea after accidentally coming loose during a particularly rough storm. It has happened a multitude of times, each time bringing an uncomfortable weight on your shoulders but it had to happen. Men like these were unfortunate creatures, they get their egos chipped away by you after challenging you to a duel, or attempting a one person mutiny against you as a pathetic try in stealing your pride and joy, The Serpent’s Revenge. However, they never stayed long throughout their attempts at driving a sword through your heart, or escaping the mast, which usually resulted in a shot between the eyes from Clint, who was usually found scouting in the crow’s nest day and night.

It had been days since the stray prince made his way onto your ship. It had been days since he was first tied to the mast. There was a sort of sympathy you felt for the poor boy, something you’ve never felt for stowaways before. Deciding to listen to the angel on your shoulder rather than the devil, you decided to let him down during a storm, which you had sailed right into on your quest to Gamswell.

The rain beat heavily down on polished wood and thunder clapped around you as you were searching for your first mate, who you saw ordering men around, surrounded by people grabbing buckets and throwing water back overboard. “Sam! Take him down to the brig!!” You shout to the man, who dropped the bucket he was holding and ran over to the passed out prince. 

Everything after that was a bit blurry. You were still at the wheel, guiding your crew through the rough waters and loud shouts of overthrown men. After a night of battling the large, desecrating waves you were able to rest, your crew being happy to allow you to retreat to your quarters early morn.

James was still tied up, though he was now in one of the cells that were below deck. Every once-in-a-while, someone would bring down some scraps, a small bottle of rum and whatever else you didn’t need to keep him alive, but just enough for him to not be any real trouble.

You felt sympathy for the boy, knowing what it's like to be kept in a cell, tied up while people's normal lives continued on around you, completely ignoring you. However, you knew what you had to do, and kept him suffering in the iron bars a while longer, though you did decide to throw him out at Gamswell, which, arguably, is worse than being locked in a damp cell.

There was only a couple times that you actually visited the cell, to give the man some food, and to make sure he hadn’t escaped or died or anything. He did get some visitors after a ship had attacked you, a futile attempt at taking down the most notorious group of pirates. However, the visit was short lived once your crew chopped the men down one by one, not before they took a glance at you, however, a well known pirate for leaving no survivors, and the for the fact that you were a woman, of course.

Superstitious bastards.

The monotonous drip of leaking seawater was all that entered James’ ears, along with the drunken singing of your men and harsh footsteps above him. His blue eyes were disorientated as they looked around, not staying in one place for long before studying another part of the worn down wood that made up the ceiling. He lay in the corner of his cell, feeling the cool metal of the cell behind him, taking in deep breaths of salty air that was seeping through the small cracks in the walls. 

Wasn’t he feasting on large, hearty meals and sipping on the best wine only weeks ago? 

It felt like months.

There hadn’t been anyone down to visit him in a couple of days, seemingly forgetting about his body, soon to be rotting in the cold cell by himself. 

During his wallowing in self-pity, his ringing ears didn’t pick up on the heavy footsteps coming down to greet him. His ocean eyes looked up, seeing your familiar dusty brown boots and long leather jacket.

You roll your eyes and shake your head in mock offence, “Don’t seem too surprised to see me.” 

James’ eyebrows furrow, “I’m not exactly pleased. You did lock me in here.” He says before sitting up to get a better view of you, blood rushing back to his head making him feel dizzy for a minute.

“Yeah, sorry about that, love.” You laugh mockingly, before chucking a small flask into the cell as well as handing him a bowl of small scraps of leftover fish and potatoes that they still had from when James first appeared on their ship after stopping. It was probably the most food he’d had in the last few days, which James was happy for.

“What happened to me eating fish bones?” James questioned curiously, looking up to meet your eyes.

You tilt your head condescendingly, “What? Would you rather go back to that?” The brunette backs down instantly, taking the small metal bowl from your hand and sitting back in the corner of the cell and digging in, watching your retreating figure walking casually up the stairs.

Much to his surprise, you come back down only minutes later, a key in your right hand. “Thought you would’ve finished by now.” You snorted in amusement, a clinking noise followed by a loud creak being heard as you opened the door to the cell. You both start walking up the first flight of stairs to the hammocks where one or two men were wiping the floors.

James looked surprised, “Why are you letting me go?” He asks incredulously. 

“Because, we have reached our destination.” You continue to walk up the stairs as he watches you from behind.

He follows you up the stairs with a confused expression, though you could not see it.

“Usually, I would keep stowaways on board until their bodies slip from under the ropes from the mast during a storm and get thrown overboard from not being able to hold themselves up, or keep ‘em in the brig till they rot.” James pulls a face as you continue, “I decided to have mercy on you and drop you off at the next pirate port, though I must warn you, it isn’t the loveliest of places.” You explain to the boy, who is now not looking the happiest and throw him a dopey smile as you reach the wheel.

The moon was high in the sky as you reached Gamswell, the air chillier than expected. You could feel the excitement radiate throughout the ship, though you and James were not feeling the same way. Sam’s face lit up as he took a look at the bustling town reaching the end of the bay at the docks, where you had just arrived. “Thank you so much, Captain.” He shook your arm slightly with excitement before climbing onto the wooden docks taking him into the heart of the village. 

James was standing beside you, watching the relaxed expression on your face slowly dissipate as you docked. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like it here. Maybe he could convince you otherwise, to drop him at a different port. Or maybe he could join your crew? It wasn’t something he ever considered, but surely it would be better than whatever was waiting for him in this vile village.

The water was twinkling like the stars currently in the sky off the side of the docks as you and James slowly followed off the ship. James now knew what you meant by ‘it is not the loveliest of places’, there were prostitutes with their chests out, singing drunken sea shanties with wasted sailors and pirates looking for a good time. Fights were breaking out all over the place, people shooting and stabbing each other over the smallest of issues. It’ll definitely linger.

“Charming little village, ain’t it?” You smiled at the man, who was silently freaking out at the thought of being left here with nothing but a name.

James pinched his nose together to avoid the smell as much as possible as you made your way to a small tavern, which was not too occupied. There were a few people engaged in heated arguments, looking like they’re on the verge of a fight and drunken pirates singing lively songs with women on their arms. It gave a warm feeling, though it was far from James’ preferred place to be. You escorted him to a small table close to the corner, further away from the sudden fist fights and immediately left to get drinks. 

“You aren’t actually going to leave me here, are you?” He gives you a small look as you return with two mugs of mead in an attempt at making you feel bad.

“I’m sorry, love, but there’s not much I can do about that. Unless you are willing to become a part of the crew.” You shrug, taking a big sip out of the mug and smiling at a pirate who winked at you from the bar.

There was a few seconds of silence before he spoke again, “What if I am?” 

You turn around to meet his eyes, finding them completely serious, “If you are, then I suppose we could find you a spot amongst the crew.” Now, normally you wouldn’t offer that kind of hospitality, but you had a soft spot for the man. You don’t know what’s come over you, what happened to no remorse for stowaways? Either way, you couldn’t resist those bright blue eyes, seemingly having found their shine outside of the cell he had been locked in.

“Thank you so much! I-” 

He got cut off by another voice, “Hey! Don’t that look like the missin’ prince?” The voice was gravelly as a dirty finger pointed towards the man sitting in front of you, along with several other voices that agreed with him.

Your eyebrows furrowed as James spoke up, quickly dismissing the dirty man, “No! I’m not.” It was almost suspicious the pace that he did, but you decided to ignore it and return your focus back on the brunette.

“I sure hope you’re not, fuck the royals.” You curse, taking a big swig from your mug of mead.

“Y-yeah, don’t worry. I’m far from a prince.” James mimics you nervously, also drinking.

The night went on with drinking and more drinking, you both becoming progressively more drunk. You were both dancing, arm in arm, to a sea shanty that was being bellowed significantly louder than it was when people were more sober. You were being tossed around, twirling around with different men, only taking a break for a sip from the canteen of rum strapped to your belt. It was well through the night before you both decided to leave and find a room to sleep.

The streets were still lively, though not as much as it was before you entered the tavern. The dirt roads were illuminated by the golden candlelight of the occasional lamps scattered around on buildings. 

You stopped before a large building, from the outside, it looked old, cozy and rather welcoming. Large stacked stones and hardwood pillars make up the outer structure, a golden glow coming from the lamps resting over the glass acting as windows. From the outside, you can see that it’s not that busy, knowing that it is now a lot later than you intended to be, but you could still hear the hustling and bustling of hardworking people on the inside. You both enter, feeling the warmth contrasting the slightly chilly air outside. 

You immediately recognise the man at the front desk, having met him years ago when he joined your crew.

“Y/N! What a lovely sight!” The french man greets you with a warm smile. He almost doesn’t belong here, such a sweet person in such a nasty place, but looks can deceive. Éric Garreau was an ex-pirate, he was a ruthless member of your crew, until one day he decided that he wanted to settle down, having had enough of the unpredictable life of a pirate. Of course you were sad when such a valued crew member and friend decided to abandon ship on your second stop in Gamswell, but you were happy when he came to you to tell you his true feelings instead of trying to hide it. Now he was married with a child on the way and a successful business, and you couldn’t be happier for him.

“Éric!” You opened your arms wide, allowing the large man to engulf you in a hug.

“I see you’ve come here with a man again, a single room I’m guessing?” He tried to joke and you laughed, but James beside you furrowed his eyebrows.

“Unfortunately not tonight, Éric. How about two rooms?” You try to play it off, not letting James see your flaming cheeks at the insinuation. Éric gets the hint and goes behind the counter to grab your two keys. 

“Oh! You must join us for breakfast, Elise has asked about you recently.” He smiled genuinely, passing you and James each a silver key.

“I’d love to.” You nod your head politely; something James had never seen you be before, it almost makes him respect you a little more.

“And your friend is more than welcome to come too.” Éric continues with his teasing, getting a kick out of making his friend blush and attempting to hide it.

“Thanks Éric…” You roll your eyes jokingly at the man before heading towards the creaky stairs in the corner, dimly illuminated with two candles meticulously placed on the bannister. You and James part ways not long after, him creaking open the door next to yours, playfully saluting. 

It wasn’t long after your head hit the lumpy pillow that you fell fast asleep.

Despite your words to Éric last night, it was agreed to set sail early morn with your new crew member, and unfortunately wouldn’t be able to catch up with Elise and Éric. As much as you wanted to, your loyalty and heart lies with the Serpent’s Revenge and devoted crew. You couldn’t even imagine the uproar it will cause when you announce that the previous stowaway is now joining the crew initially, but it will be sure to end in a joyous night of rambunctious laughter and booze.

The sun was high over the horizon by the time you set sail, merchants just setting up their stalls by the docks and deserted taverns reopening slowly. You could smell the sea, the comforting smell settling deep in your bones as you looked over the wheel. All was peaceful. 

It was like that for days. The crew bustled around the deck; James even helped out here and there. 

“Sure you know what you’re doin’?” You question the brunette, watching him hold the wheel and turn it cautiously. “It’s not that delicate, you don’t have to hold it like china!” You scold as he strengthens his weak grip on the wheel and becomes more confident, “That’s it!” You smile at him, something you’ve found yourself doing a lot more around him recently. Maybe he’ll be more useful than I thought.

“A-Am I?” He asks in mild shock, smiling back eagerly. 

The moment was interrupted as Clint shouts down from the crow’s nest, “Uhh, Captain. We’ve got an issue!” He slides down the rope, “Royal Navy.” He says simply, but you can sense the fear in his voice.

“It’s not a problem, we’ve taken them before!” You shout, trying to reassure your crew.

“Yeah, Captain, at the cost of many men.” Sam looks towards you dubiously, eyebrows furrowed as your men agree. 

You scowl, “Raise the jolly roger.” Is your final order before your crew disperse, raising your flag and preparing for the battle. You turn back to James, who has a worried look on his face, “You got a problem?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’ve really fought the navy before?” He seems shocked.

“You don’t just come across other pirates on the seas, James. We’re ‘criminals’, wanted people.” As much as you hate to admit it, you were named criminals for wanting to be free. For wanting a life on the sea. “Good luck.” Were your last words, hearing your crew shout louder as the ship comes closer, firing cannons towards the delicate wood. 

You saw the officers in their blue navy uniforms, delicate buttons and powdered wigs and scoffed. Why should they and the royal family get all of these expensive jewels and money to show off how rich they are when your family suffered for food each day? Why should they get to live in their country estates and grand palaces while they watch their people suffer with disease and poverty? It’s pathetic. For years you suffered, watched your family become ridden with disease when you were only a child before you fled. There was nothing left for you there. From then on, a hatred for the royals grew and grew as the memories repeated in the dead of night. Your crew have all come from similar backgrounds; poverty and disease. Maybe it’s why the bond is so strong. Why you’ve been able to become one of the most feared pirates to sail the seas. And you’re proud of that title.

This crew was the only family you had left.

And you’d be damned to lose them to some entitled snobs.

You had been fighting for hours. 

Your arms ached, ears rang and head pounded. 

You hadn’t seen James for hours, you only wished he hadn’t been killed. It was only then you saw him; injured on the deck. He was hiding behind a crate, in a similar position to how he was found, and he was holding his stomach where blood was soaking into his white shirt. Your heart pounded at the sight, quickly lowering your pistol into the holster on your hip and running to him, sure to avoid any officers.

His wound was deep, likely from a dagger, you assessed as you came towards him. He looked up, eyes squinting slightly as if he couldn’t quite recognise who you were. “Y-Y/n?” He asked weakly. 

“I’m right here, don’t worry.” You applied pressure to his wound, moving his hands out of the way. Luckily you were still out of sight behind a barrel, but you’re sure it won’t be long before you’re found. “I’ve got you, everything’s going to be fine.” You reassure, but it seems more like you’re trying to reassure yourself.

The surroundings were loud; swords clashed in the backgrounds, men shouted and screamed in pain. But it was just the two of you. 

It was then you were brought back to reality as you felt cold metal against your neck. Quickly, you took in a sharp inhale as you watched James’ eyes flutter closed. 

“Quick! I found the Prince and he’s injured!” A gravelly voice shouts from behind you, the one with the dagger to your neck. He leans closer to your ear, his hot breath hitting the side of your face and you cringe in disgust. “What were you doing with the missing Prince, wench?” He hisses meanly in your ear, but you can only focus on one thing.

Missing Prince.

Your mind raced. How could you have let this happen? You let this rich bastard onto your ship. You should’ve realised who it was, you should have realised that night at the bar. The man said he looked like the missing prince. Anger coursed through your veins at the thought of letting royalty onto your ship, something you swore would never happen. 

Then why do you not hate him? A small voice whispers in the back of your mind. 

But you refused to listen as you were dragged up by the man, his soot covered hand leaving a handprint on the back of your neck. You watched the Prince get taken away, being carried as carefully as possible by two sailors. 

Your nostrils flared and you curled your hands into balls as the man behind you grabbed them and shoved them roughly into iron handcuffs. “I suggest you keep quiet.” And for once, you complied. Normally, you’d talk his ear off to annoy him, but you just wanted to figure out why. 

Why would he want to be a part of your crew if he was royalty? He could have anything he wanted, so why would he want to join your crew. He seemed genuine enough, but you should’ve known better.

You were pushed roughly over the gangplank onto the navy’s ship. You couldn’t face your crew, ashamed at the fact you’d allowed royalty onto the ship when everyone had a hatred for them. The officers all sneered at you, faces twisting up in disgust as you were shoved down the stairs and into a cell. The door was left ajar as you were forced into the cell, before being shut roughly and locked with a key the man placed in his pocket. “No escape attempts, alright wench? Or we’ll have a problem.”

You only scoffed, not giving the disgusting man a reaction before sighing deeply and sliding down the wooden wall, facing the cell door. 

How the tables have turned.

It must’ve been weeks before you docked. 

The cell door was yanked open, making you flinch ever so slightly at the grating noise. A gloved hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you up harshly. You were dragged through the ship, walking past your crew who had also been captured, the few cells almost overflowing with people. 

Your dusty boots padded against the wooden floor of the ship as you walked up the stairs. James was nowhere to be found, most likely having already been escorted off the ship. 

The sun was bright, beating down on your face almost in punishment as you walked to the cell, where you would await your death. 

It hardly seemed fair; being punished for wanting to be free.

Alas, you were handed between guards roughly, each of them dragging you through the stone walls of the fort. You knew where you were headed, where the rest of the captured pirates are shoved together in a singular dusty cell as they wait to be called for the gallows. 

You never thought you’d end up here. It was always your assumption that you would live out your life on the high seas, drinking booze with your family and singing sea shanties at the top of your lungs until you passed out on the deck. That was freedom. Not whatever these poor peasants live, and you're sure they would agree. 

But everyone’s high streak must come to an end eventually. 

Everything passed as a blur from then on. Teasing wolf whistles and jokes came from the other side of the cell, but the energy to stop them wasn’t there. You were taken first. Dragged back out through the walls of the fort and into a courtyard. The small stones and hot dust burn your feet as you’re pushed through the crowd. You looked up, bleary eyes looking for his face. Those ocean eyes.

You spotted them, eyes widening as you saw him there. He was back in noble clothes; a long, decorative coat despite the scorching weather, beige knee breeches and a notable frown on his face.

He mouthed something to you.

I’m sorry.

It was all you could make out before you were shoved up the oak stairs, feet slipping slightly due to your weakening body. 

You stood there on the platform, seeing the scowles from the nobles and peasants alike; one similarity you could find between the two classes.

The drums began, loud and menacing, echoing throughout the village, sending shivers through your spine. A loud voice came from behind you, beginning to read the list of your crimes.

“Y/N L/N, accused of piracy and treason against the crown, you are sentenced to hang from the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul.” Your ears rang and head ached with the cheering that followed. 

It wasn’t long after your hanging was announced that it happened.

A shot came from a top corner of the fort, hitting the executioner directly in the head. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he hit the ground beside you. It wasn’t long before the shouting started. The crowd was bustling as people made their way through, pushing the spectators to the ground to get through the crowd. 

You whipped your head around to where you had seen James. He had a large smile on his face before he rose from his seat, climbing down the large step to push through the crowd towards you. 

Sam appeared first, “What? You didn’t think we’d let you die, did you Cap?” He smirked and winked, reaching his hand out to you before realising what he did, “Oops, sorry.” He quickly ran up the steps, stealing the key off the executioner before unlocking your hands and passing you your pistol. 

You smiled at the feeling of it back in your hands, “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” You jokingly kiss the barrel, causing Sam to roll his eyes before the Prince reaches the bottom of the platform. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry!” He shouted over the commotion. 

You rolled your eyes at him, “We’ve no time for that! We have to get out of here.” You looked around at the rest of your crew fighting the guards, the rest of the guests having fled the fort quickly.

He just nodded before taking out a concealed pistol from his breeches. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, “You know how to use that?” You asked, walking down the stairs to stand next to him. 

“I’m sure it can’t be too hard!” He smiled dubiously, raising the pistol and firing the shot directly into the wall. “Uhh…” He turned the gun in his hands a few times, inspecting it, “I think it’s broken.” 

Once again, you only roll your eyes before seeing the many more officers come into the fort through the archways, armed with muskets and bayonets, “Shit!” 

You look towards Sam just as he strikes down another guard and he only smiles reassuringly, “Don’t worry, cap. We got it. Go get your ship.” He points his gun towards the archway out of the fort.

You grab James’ hand and run. He grips your hand back and squeezes, a small gesture of comfort and reassurance, but also a sorry. You smile at his kindness even in stressful times as you come up to the wall. 

He takes off his heavy jacket, leaving it in a heavy heap on the ground and him in just a waistcoat and white shirt. He looks towards you and smiles before stepping up onto the ledge and you do the same. 

The water is deceivingly cold as your body hits it. Despite it being a warm day, the water is freezing. You surface, moving the hair out of your face as you meet James’ eyes opposite you. 

“You know, I always thought your eyes looked like the ocean.” You smirk at him. 

“Oh yeah?” He comes closer towards you, cupping your face in his hands, warming your cheeks slightly before wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“Yeah…” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, slotting your lips over his. He kisses back eagerly, smiling against you before pulling away. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages.” He chuckles, his face going slightly pink. 

“Have you now?” You go to tease him, but loud shouting comes from beside you both. 

“Are you guys gonna get on or what?” Sam shouts down at the two of you before throwing down a rope. 

You grab his hand, “Are you sure? You can’t go back after this.” 

He only smiles, “I’m sure.”

[rxgerthatt]

the girl I met in bodie

Pairing : steve rogers x reader

Summary : Steve is on the run. Who knew he would find you in a ghost town?

Warnings : smut/violence/18+

A/n - been a while. trying to get back into the swing of things. hope you all enjoy!! feedback is greatly appreciated.

He met you in Bodie.

It was a hundred degrees and the pick up truck had broke down, hood breathing smoke along asphalt; sun beating unforgiving against his back. It was bad - and Steve had seen war.

He’d been on the run a few months now. Got separated from Sam after the government got intel and they were close to catching them. Not close enough.

Bodie was a ghost town. Dilapidated wooden buildings - breathe near them and they’ll collapse - plotted along ashen ground burning orange under constant sunlight. It was trapped in time, as he was. The world around it moving forward and it was forever in a period long forgotten.

He found himself relating to it.

The wood tombstones groaned under a shift of hot wind, knocked Steve in the lungs with gravel in his throat. The sun was setting, hues from a flame blazing across the horizon, licking the blue of the sky with a sharp tongue.

He couldn’t fix the truck in darkness.

—

When he first saw you, he thought you were a ghost - nearly shat his pants.

The barrel of a gun pointed towards his head, dangerous look in your eye because you didn’t get many visitors around these parts - that was clear.

Especially not visitors that were superhuman.

You were dressed modern. Denim cut offs, white spaghetti strap and a beat up pair of pink converse. Your skin was slicked, glowing and healthy. You must have been young, Steve guessed early twenties because you had that spark in your eye.

The one that gets snuffed out after time. Erodes away in your hands like dust and bone.

You study him, eyes a picture of nature; green flecked with amber. Wars stopped over those eyes. World at peace in vast green forests in golden light.

“Can I help you Captain?” So you do know who he is.

You make him nervous. He scratches the nape of his neck with a hum, “trucks busted. I could use somewhere to lay low.”

Everyone I know wants me dead.

He sees the clogs turning, the fight in your conscience before your eyes seem to shift and you saunter past him, waving a hand.

“Follow me,” you say. He does.

—

You’re guarded.

You don’t give much away, keep your cards close to your chest and Steve has a hard time reading you. There’s so many questions on the tip of his tongue - why are you alone? What’s your name? What’s your favourite colour?

He asks none of them.

You’ve built a home for yourself. Done up one of the old buildings and painted it blue, a calming blue. You’d built furniture, added your own touch and he wondered if you painted the pictures on the wall.

Your home was immaculate. Cabin in the woods type shit. A neutral colour palette - sepia toned photograph; burnt copper in his mouth. Spotless and well kept.

You’re cooking in the kitchen when he finds himself asking, “do you like to paint?”

He notices the small flicker of a smile as you toss onions in a pan, the soft sizzle becoming all too loud because he felt he overstepped a mark.

“Used to,” you say, adding garlic to the pan and Steve’s stomach growls. “Not been feeling inspired as of late.”

“You’re good,” Steve admires an abstract piece. A meld of red and gold swirling around negative space, a cool stream of blue twisting like veins. It sits above the fireplace in your living room, caught his eye the minute he walked in.

“Thanks,” and he thinks he sees a blush tint your cheeks, a crack in your tough exterior; an inner beauty bursting through for a fleeting moment before you’re serious again.

You place a plate in front of him, sliding a fork across the counter. Tomato pasta. “I can help you with the truck,” you don’t look at him again as you leave the room.

He doesn’t see you again that night.

—

He sees you smile for the first time a week later.

A grin, brighter than the golden gates and it’s at something he said - he can’t remember what because your smile clears his brain of any thought. For a moment he thinks he’s forgotten his name because fuck - that smile.

It lit up your whole face. White gleaming teeth, sparkling eyes - you were breathtaking.

Turns out the truck was beyond repair. Broken engine melting in the heat because it had been running for five years past its sell by date. You offered to let him stay.

“Whatever’s chasing you won’t find you here.”

So he accepted. What’s he got to lose? The Avengers was over. He had no idea where Sam was, and even if he did he had no way of getting to him.

You had also made it an easy decision to stay.

You intrigued him. Lit this fire he hadn’t felt since Peggy and he couldn’t ignore it because what if he missed out on something wonderful. He wanted to know about you, but so far he’d only gotten a name.

“I heard you jumped out of plane without a parachute,” there’s this playful glint in your eye.

“Is it impressive if I say I did?” He smiles.

“Are you trying to impress me Captain?” It’s sultry, match sparking in his loin.

Your hair is wild around your head, swollen with the humidity in the air. A mane of brunette framing a god-like face and how the fuck can you look like that. A forest nymph he’s only read about in story books.

“Yes,” he replies and you laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, sparks life deep into his soul; makes the air catch in his lungs at the sweet melody pouring honey over his ears.

“I don’t think I’m your type Rogers,” you say.

—

You lift a man into the air with your fucking mind.

Steve thinks he’s gone mad at first, but it was very much real. Hand outstretched, concentration unshaken and he squirms as he levitates - chest heaving in fear before he’s knocked out - falls to the ground and Steve’s mouth is open.

It was a flurry up until that point. He was ambushed, men in black - probably sent from the government. He managed to get most, but the one that was sneaking up behind him. The one you stopped. With your mind?

You turn towards him, “are you okay?”

What the fuck was that? - was what he wanted to say. Instead, he stuttered, shaking his head clear of fog before thanking you. You smile at his confusion.

“I suppose I should probably explain.”

Turns out you were born that way, didn’t start showing until you were nine and your parents couldn’t cope. It wasn’t long before you were taken into an institution - used as a Guinea pig. You escaped at 17, a kid with the world on her shoulders, her beating heart in her hand.

The secrecy made sense. Months of avoiding personal questions, a guarded wall he was prepared to climb. There was just something there. He could see it with you - life. A way other than war. Maybe that was naive of him.

You sit on the sofa, legs propped up on the table in front of you; a joint hanging from your fingers. The smell is strong, singes at the hairs in his nose and you laugh at the look on his face.

“Man, you’re really stuck in the 40’s,” you joke, eyes bloodshot; smile slightly off balance but you’re still a dream.

Steve huffs, “I am not.”

“Take a draw then,” you hold the burning stick in front of his mouth. If you’d asked him two months ago, he would’ve said no. It was different now. He didn’t feel like Captain America anymore - he felt like Steve Rogers. The kid from Brooklyn, living one hundred years in the future with you.

Living the life he never had in a fucking ghost town - who would’ve thought.

He surprises you when he takes a draw, tipping ash into a glass tray. After a couple his vision hazes, a calming numbness crosses his mind and his gaze slides over you.

“Wait til’ America hears about this one,” you joke, and Steve laughs. He could see the headlines now - Beloved Captain America says yes to Drugs.

Something changed in your eyes that night, like a barrier peeling from the outermost layer of your skin. He’s staring at you - he knows that - but you’re not looking away either.

He wasn’t good at reading the signs, and something deep in his stomach told him to move.

When he kissed you it felt right.

Soft pillowed lips sliding together he felt like he was tasting paradise on his tongue. You kissed him back - passionate, gentle compared to your icy exterior but that was all it was. Deep inside you were a flowering beauty, filled with secrets and he wanted to know them all.

He wanted you.

“You’re a good kisser for ninety-seven,” you smirk.

“Shut up.”

He kisses you again.

—

You have nightmares - the blood curdling kind.

He bursts into your room to find you screaming into a void - eyes closed, unconscious. He gets beside you, whispers sweet nothings in your ear - you’re okay. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

You awake with a start, panting for breath, holding your chest with a flat palm. Cradling your head you lean forward and he lets you catch your breath. Your back was hot to the touch, as though a furnace had been lit under the surface of your skin.

“Sorry I woke you,” you say.

Steve shakes his head, “don’t be, you alright?”

You nod with a broken smile. The forest in your eyes was dark, glazed over with clouds of exhaustion. What was it like waking up when you were alone? Steve imagined you coped, you were made of tough stuff. Yet, the idea of anyone having to deal with that made his heart twist in his ribcage - especially you.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you. He doesn’t want to overstep. You’d made progress and he didn’t want you to shut him out now.

You surprise him when you say, “stay.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate, and you make room for him; pulling the sheet back to allow him to get in with you. When you rest your head on his chest it’s like home. White picket fences and green green grass and where he was meant to be.

“I get them too,” he admits to you, taking a hand through your thick hair. “About the war, about going in the ice.”

You don’t judge him. A slender finger slides over his chest, makes the hair at the nape of his neck stand to attention because you had that affect on him. Only you.

“I’m glad your truck broke down,” you said.

“Me too sweetheart,” he replied with a smile.

You doze off in his arms. It’s the best sleep he’s had since going in the ice.

—

He makes love to you that summer.

The fire crackles, mixing with the sound of lips on lips - the shedding of clothes. The room is too-hot, sweat slicking bare chests as he lays you down on the sofa.

You grip at each other like it’ll be the last time - he hopes it’s not.

Stripped before him you’re like a fever dream. Tits perfectly sat on your chest, the most beautiful he’d ever seen and how did he strike so lucky in a place like Bodie?

Steve kisses down your neck, chest - anywhere he can put his lips because he’d never tasted something as sweet as you, an addicting flavour on his tongue that he never wanted to give up - not now, not ever.

You groan under his worship, a gentle touch you would never expect from a super soldier but here he was; kneading your body as though he were making bread. Studying everything he wanted to remember, because his luck was running short these days and what if you were another carrot that the universe would dangle in front of him. Just to take it away in the end.

When he pushes into the hilt you moan - the most saccharine sound he’s ever heard. It’s like ice on his spine, trickling down each nerve with ease.

“Jesus doll,” he breaths, a blow of air as your pussy squeezes him in an unforgiving way. You whine in response and he begins to move, a slide of - in, out, in, out - and fuck he won’t last long when you look at him like that.

Your hands are on his chest, muscles shifting beneath your finger tips. You legs wrap around his waist as he makes the sweetest vanilla love - the holiday kind. Sunsetting over the horizon kind of bullshit and he wanted to stay here forever.

You call his name, drag your fingers through his hair and he reaches between you; teases your pebble until you’re arching into him. Steve kisses you again, chases the oxygen you breathe because he wants to steal it from you.

“Please Stevie,” you beg, panting and writhing beneath him. He’s pushed you further up the sofa in his relentless pounding, your neck crooked but you don’t care as you cry out - pushing him over the edge.

You can’t get pregnant. You’d told him they’d made sure of that early on. Babies are a distraction. Steve told you you would be a good mom - you were not so sure.

“Are you a virgin?” You ask him as he settles beside you, pulling you into his chest with a grumble.

“That bad huh?” He smirks.

“No,” you chuckle.

—

Steve decided you were his soulmate after a year.

He stopped trying to contact Sam. What was the point? The world would need him again eventually but right now he wanted to be stuck in time with you. You never labelled what you had, kept it at an arms length but Steve knew how you felt about him.

He had a feeling he wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t feel the way he did.

He catches you making breakfast one morning. Frying eggs as you hum and tap your foot - hair a wild mess around your head, his shirt riding high enough for him to catch the smooth curve of your ass. A domesticated goddess, with the ability to rip him limb for limb and he likes that danger.

Steve wraps his arms around your middle, resting a hand on your flattened stomach and he notices the way you soften there. Each layer of you he peeled back was more beautiful than the last, it was hard not to just say -

“I love you.”

Fuck - he said it.

You turn in surprise - maybe you didn’t expect it, or maybe you’ve never heard those words directed at you. For a moment he feels he’s overstepped, maybe you just enjoyed his company and he’s read this all wrong but then you kiss him. Passionate, it washes over him like a promise because you have this ability to make him feel like he did pre serum.

Small and weak, pining after a dame too good for him.

“I love you too,” you reply.

Who knew that the girl he met in Bodie, would be the love of his life.

[readyforthegarden]

Silver Springs - Part Eleven

Masterlist

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Original Female Character

Synopsis: The year was 1976, the season was summer. The days were hot and the nights were hotter. Music was the best it had ever been, especially rock music. Sam Kiszka has been riding the high of being in one of the top bands on the scene, but when his bands tour is accompanied by another up-and-coming band, with a lead singer that gets on his very last nerve, will everything come crashing down or will they end up making music that changes the world?

Warnings: Angst, intense arguing, slight physical altercation between men 18+ only, Minors DNI

A/N: Sammy Nation, I love you so much

WC: 2442

🎶 🎶 🎶

Coming to the studio hungover was never a good idea. All of the noise and echos and reverb, a nightmare for a sore head. And yet the members of Greta Van Fleet staggered into the studio, worse for wear but there nonetheless. 

“Why’d you guys let me drink so much?” Jake groaned quietly, rubbing his eyes under his sunglasses, jostling them off his nose. Every member of the band had dark sunglasses protecting them from the fluorescent lighting that flickered.

“We all drank that much.” Danny muttered back, rubbing his temples. As they got closer to the studio, music was already playing, causing them to stop. The sounds of a guitar tuning up and someone hitting on drums lazily wandered down the hall to them, muffled through the walls and door.

“Did we get the time wrong?” Sam asked, looking to his brothers. 

“No, surprisingly, we’re on time.” Josh moved towards the door, hangover be damned, he wasn’t going to let someone take up their studio time and space. Swinging open the door, the rest of the band of brothers filed into the recording studio, standing behind the producer. There were a few others in the room today, but the boys ignored the people around.

Looking into the performance space, they saw Harlow, dressed a flow black dress with layered, asymmetrical hems. A black, lace shawl covered her shoulders and arms, cascading down into  bell sleeves at her hands. Behind her were the Blue Jean Babies, focused on their instruments. 

Billy and Harlow shared a look before beginning to harmonize together as Billy finger-picked his guitar strings while their drummer steadily thumped the kick drum. The music felt like what you’d hear in a western standoff, staring down the barrel of your enemy’s gun. Exactly what Harlow was going for.

“Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies.” 

No one pretended not to look directly at Sam. Six eyes set on him, sending his skin aflame. Harlow’s voice was rougher than he’d heard it before, her eyes piercing through the dark glass between them as she stared daggers.

“And if you don't love me now

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

You would never break the chain (never break the chain)”

“I told you,” Jake mumbled to Josh, recognizing the words she was singing as the one song in the kitchen, the one she never sang out loud that night. “He’s never gonna live this down."

“And if you don't love me now (you don't love me now)

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying)

You would never break the chain (never break the chain)” 

Sam made a move towards the door to the recording studio, to stop this in it’s tracks when Danny’s hand on his shoulder firmly held him in place.

“No, you’re gonna listen to this.” Danny told him, a stern look on his face. Sam clenched his jaw, turning back to the performance space, as Harlow and the Blue Jean Babies went into another verse.

“Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light

And if you don't love me now

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

You would never break the chain (never break the chain)”

Sam watched alongside his brothers as they repeated the chorus twice more, as Billy backed away, plucking out a few more notes before letting the bass take over with a solo that gradually got louder as the drums picked up. Billy came back in, playing as hard as he could as Harlow danced around the mic, spinning and shaking her head like a mad woman letting out all her energy. She came back to the mic, the rest of the band joining her, splitting the last repeated verse with Billy. 

“Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)

Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)

Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)

Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)

Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)”

The producer called a wrap, and Harlow stepped back from the mic, placing a hand on her forehead, a wide grin on her face. Sam would have thought it charming had he not been the subject of the song she was so proud of.

“That was phenomenal!” Josh clapped loudly, making everyone wince. He breezed through the door to the performance space, smiling proudly at Harlow. “When did everyone get here?”

“We got here early this morning,” Billy announced, “Harlow scraped together some cash and we booked a little session before you got here.”

“I see that,” Josh chuckled. The bands visited one another, Harlow decidedly talking to everyone else but Sam, as he awkwardly stood off to the side. Did the rest of the band know what the song was about? Did they hate him like Harlow hated him? Why would he care if her band hated him anyway? His thoughts raced, causing his already aching head to throb harder. Looking up, he caught Billy looking at him, a slight glare to his eyes. Two answers in one millisecond.

“Your playing on that song was crazy, man.” Jake said to Billy. “How did you do that?” the two devolved into a conversation, Jake grabbing his own guitar and mimicking Billy’s actions. They caught the attention of the others, and soon the majority of both bands were jamming together on it, playing the song, everyone singing along, save for Sam, who merely half-heartedly plucked his bass.

“Now this is what he like to see!” turning their heads, they saw Mr. Johnson walking into the performance space. “Collaboration is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

“We didn’t know you were going to be here?” Josh looked around, questioning everyone with a look.

“I decided to pop in for a visit, see how the recording process was going.” the man in the suit answered. “And to bring some news.”

“Don’t tell me we’ve been dropped.” Jake cut in, looking deadly serious.”

“Greta Van Fleet is one of our top money makers, it would take a lot to get us to drop you guys.” Mr. Johnson scoffed. “We’ve added a new show at a festival here in Nashville. It’s before you guys set out on the last leg of tour again. It’s a good opportunity to promote for any remaining tickets.

“Congratulations,” Harlow smiled, patting Josh’s shoulder, letting him wrap her in a one armed hug.

“Congratulate yourself, after seeing this little jam session, I think Harlow and The Blue Jean Babies should come together, for at least one song. I can see if I can weasel some extra time for a small set for you guys too.”

“Festivals are big, think, how many bands took off after Woodstock?” Josh murmured in Harlow’s ear, grinning. Harlow nodded, smiling right back.

“Now, get back to rehearsing, this show is next week. And make sure you record that fucking song together, it’s going to smash through the charts after this festival, we’ll want an EP as soon as we can.” Mr. Johnson explained, saying his goodbyes before leaving the studio, the other people that had been in the booth with the producer filing out after him.

“Okay well, let’s get to work.” Jake grinned, starting the guitar work for the song. 

🎶 🎶 🎶

The next week flew by as Greta Van Fleet and The Blue Jean Babies joined forces, work-shopping songs along with the song Harlow had dubbed “The Chain.” Sam tried to talk to her, but she would conveniently disappear when he thought he had her alone. For such a small building, she seemed to have an incredible amount of places to hide. When Greta would switch their time to recording, Harlow and Billy would stay in the building, utilizing a practice room. 

When someone would pass by, the music would stop, as if they were keeping a secret, and more than twice they smelled incense wafting from under the door. Apparently Josh was the only one to know what was going on behind the closed door, having come back from a bathroom break smelling like the incense Harlow enjoyed. He went over to talk to Jake, who glanced up at Sam before looking back at his elder brother, grimacing slightly.

“Listen, whatever she’s up to, I don’t care.” Sam sighed, finally done with the looks. “You’re my brothers, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“And say what, Sam?” Josh tore himself from Jake’s side, walking over to his youngest brother. “Yeah, you did a real great job stringing Harlow along, the whole time you’re still engaged to fucking Cindy! We’re all very proud, Sam!”

“I wasn’t!” Sam insisted sternly, slashing his hand through the air as if to cut through Josh’s words. “I ended it with her before we left for this tour, I swear it.”

“How?” Danny stood up from his drums, hands on his hips. “How did you do it Sam? And don’t fucking lie.” Sam stared at Danny for a solid thirty seconds, mouth pressed into a straight line. “Let me guess, you pushed back the wedding date again, told her you’d talk about it when you came home?”

“We had a fight over it, we didn’t make up!” Sam defended himself, hunching his shoulders and throwing his arms out to his sides. “I figured she would realize it was over!”

“For fuck’s sake Sam!” Jake cried out, staring incredulously at his little brother. “Fucking tell her to her face! Cindy has been in love with you since the seventh grade! And all you’ve done is drag her along for years! And you were gonna do the same fucking thing to Harlow, weren’t you?” Sam made no sound, feeling the anger bubbling up in his body from Jake presuming anything about what he intended with Harlow. 

“I wasn’t…” Sam shook his head. “I wasn’t going to do that with Harlow.”

“Oh bull-fuckin-shit, Sam.” Josh rolled his eyes, stepping forward and pointing his long, slender finger into the tall mans chest. “You were going to keep her as yours until the tour was over. A summer camp promise of love letters and visits that never get delivered, the plane never lands. You don’t deserve someone like Harlow, you don’t deserve either of these women.”

“And who says Harlow wasn’t going to do the same thing back? Huh?” Sam was seeing red now, all of his arguments clouding his head and forcing themselves to his tongue.  He knew Harlow had no intention of just using him, but he couldn’t stand the continued accusations. 

“She said she fucking loves you, Sam!” Josh grabbed Sam, fisting his hands by the collar of his shirt and tugging him closer, glaring at him. “You don’t do that to someone you love!”

“Get off of me, Josh.” Sam warned, glaring down at his brother, clamping his hands on Josh’s wrists, trying to pull him off.

“I should beat the shit out of you.” Josh hissed between clenched teeth. “I should make it so our own mother wouldn’t recognize you when you drag your sorry ass back to her doorstep. But I’m going to give you a chance to make this right.” Sam tried to get out of Josh’s grip, but the shorter of them held tight, pulling Sam even closer. 

The room was deadly quietly, Jake and Danny watching closely as Josh seethed. It was rare that he ever got to a point like this, and they stood at the ready, should they need to tear the bookends of the family apart.

“You’re going to make a choice. You have plenty of them to choose from. Choice one, you break it off with Cindy, apologize to Harlow and grovel on your god damn knees she’ll take you back. Choice two, you apologize to Harlow, end things with her for good, and you treat Cindy like the princess she is for the rest of your life. Or Choice three, you apologize to both of them, and you stay out of their fucking lives forever.” Josh stared Sam down, his eyes boring into him as his nostrils flared. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Sam was finally released, the imprints of Josh’s grip still prominent in the cotton of his shirt as it settled back on Sam’s chest. The air in the room was thick and tense, no one wanted to breathe in case Josh’s wrath somehow turned to them. 

“Good.” Josh flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders back. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

Down the hall, Harlow sat on the piano bench with Billy, staring at the keys. It wasn’t hard to hear the loud voices of her friends, and in the small studio, it definitely wasn’t difficult to hear the subject matter.

“Hey,” Billy nudged Harlow with his shoulder, trying to break her out of her trance. She blinked a few times, slowly before turning to her best friend. “Maybe he’ll wise up now, and choose you.”

“I don’t know that I’d want him.” Harlow clenched her jaw, shaking her head, positioning her fingers over the keys and playing out the tune they’d been working on. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t end up just like Cindy?” Billy watched her carefully, as if he could see the wall she was building around her heart against Sam. 

“I don’t know.” Billy admitted. “I wish I could see the future, tell you that everything turns out the way we want it to.”

“That would be amazing.” Harlow gave Billy a sad smile, causing him to wrap his arm around her back, tugging her into a hug. 

“It would be. But we both know not everything happens like that. It’s not always the way we want it to be, but it’s always the way it should be.” Taking a deep breath in, Harlow released it slowly, knocking her head gently against Billy’s.

“When did you get so smart, huh?”

“If it’s any consolation, I will always, always be there for you.” Billy smiled softly, turning as best he could and kissing the side of her head. “From diapers to deathbeds, right?”

“Right.” Harlow could hear Greta Van Fleet starting up again, and shook out her hands, sitting up. “Okay, we have to finish this song before I lose it.” Billy nodded, picking his guitar back up to work on the strum pattern.

“I think this will be our best work yet, Harlow Lawson.”

🎶 🎶 🎶

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