Adam Milligan imagine requested by anon. “Can I request an Adam one shot where Sam and Dean are trying to set Adam and the reader together but it keeps failing despite the fact they like each other and they end up in a mishap without Sam and Dean’s all on their own?” Hope you like it!
“I’m not taking a single step outside of this changing room,” you hissed, your voice low and sparking with embarrassment. You heard a shuffling of feet beyond the thin cotton curtain that separated you from the rest of your hunting party, Sam’s voice sounding just beyond the moth-eaten veil. He, too, spoke in a low whisper, out of respect for your flailing emotions as well as to conceal just how unwilling you were from your newest employer. Your fingers toyed with the string at your hip, your cheeks burning crimson despite the fact that you were turned away from the hazy mirror someone had propped against an aging brick wall.
“Y/n, you’re the only one of us who can handle being bait tonight. You know we can’t do it,” you groaned, cursing yourself inwardly as you fidgeted with the straps of a shoe more cage than anything else, your hands trembling visibly.
“Dean’s a good looking guy, I’m sure someone out there would appreciate seeing him. Those green eyes, that prowess,” you paused momentarily, your ears perking for the exasperated huff you knew meant Dean was listening into your conversation with his brother. “Hell, Sam, you could do it too. Lumberjacks are all the rage these days. Your selling card could be “climb me like a tree.” We’ll be lucky if they let you leave,” Sam chuckled under his breath, the coarse sound of his calloused palm scratching against his stubble seeping through the curtain.
“Got an argument for Adam, too? He’s as much a looker as the rest of us waiting patiently out here for you to suck it up so we can kill something,” Dean spoke, his voice lilting with mischief and irritation, your mind conjuring the exact image of his face as he shot his half-brother a sly smile, perhaps even going so far as to nudge him or wiggle his eyebrows. That man never passed-up an opportunity to throw you into his brother’s lap, or vice versa, and you were sure tonight was no different. Your hand reached through the curtain, the glitter painting your skin catching the dim light from the fluorescents above, shimmering seductively as you pulled Sam close by his lapel, his fabricated federal identification falling to the floor in the process. You brought your mouth close to his ear, your voice a mere breath as you spoke, watching the man regain his balance as he lost his composure, his eyes raking over your ridiculous costume.
“I want to call off the hunt,” you breathed, your voice rigid with conviction, your words dropping from the air as Sam straightened before you, rolling his eyes to hear your plea. “Sam, I mean it. I don’t care anymore how many sleazy men get their minds turned to jello. I’m not going to dance around like a show dog while you gank a siren. I can help, you know. I’m more than just a pretty face,” you spat, the temperature of your cheeks rising as Sam shook his head, your aggravation clouding your mind to the lack of logic in your argument. “Sam, tell me where on my body I can hide a weapon while I’m out there, and I’m your girl. I’m nothing but a target with no way to defend myself in this… skimpy…” your voice trailed off, your fingers plucking at the bottom of the corset you’d been handed by the club’s boss. Sam sighed, smiling grimly before shrugging his shoulders in mock defeat, his hand parting the curtains before you could think to stop him. Your eyes immediately flashed to the two Winchester you hadn’t appealed to, their mouths hanging open in shock. Dean guffawed, slapping Adam on the back before moving to stand from the plush love seat he’d taken up residence on. A low whistle slipped from between the lips of the eldest Winchester as he wordlessly praised your attire… or lack thereof. Your gaze fell on Adam’s face, his eyes wide on yours as he scrambled to pick his jaw off the grimy backstage flooring, stammering for the briefest of moments before settling on silence. You caught a blush mirrored on the curve of his cheekbones as he followed Dean’s lead, his eyes never leaving his boots as you stepped from the dressing room, glaring daggers at the older Winchester brothers before marching your way towards the stage door.
“Give ‘em Hell, Y/n,” Dean crooned, your head shaking as you stepped onstage, abandoning all sense of security for the flashing lights of the siren’s hotbed. You meandered towards a gleaming metal pole, unwilling to touch the mysterious sheen out of fear that it had been… you didn’t know… greased with something before you had taken the stage. Two girls on the opposite end of the stage were twirling about, partaking in some seriously impressive acrobatics, their legs splitting easily and all but melting through the air as they danced for their audience of male suitors. A wad of cash was thrown at your feet, followed by an exceptionally vulgar remark. You toed the bills away with the flattest surface your stiletto could offer, your palms slick with sweat as you grasped the poll before you, your mind floating far from this wretched experience. You reminded yourself how and why you ended up on the stage, of the siren lurking in the shadows of the popular strip club, and you focused on the thought of where you were going to hide the body once the rest of your hunting party (who, for the sake of the record, were not pulling anywhere near as much weight as you were right now) managed to track them down. You thought of the forty ways you could kill the Winchester brothers for forcing you onto this stage as bait. The last thing you needed was a distraction, be it the thought of how you were unarmed and unprotected on the stage in the literal den of a group of monsters, the bills that fluttered around your feet as you twirled against the poll, or the thought of Adam Milligan seeing you at your most ridiculous, albeit your most seductive.
Another wad of cash flew past the base of the stripper’s pole and settled by your feet. You continued your dance, gyrating your hips, your cheeks blazing with what you hoped passed as a gentle flush from exertion, your eyes closed to the masses of middle-aged men just inches beyond, their hands clamped around the edge of the stage. Suddenly, an arm closed around your bicep, your eyes flying open in preparation to fight, your balance thrown as you instinctively stepped into your fighting stance, your heels vehemently protesting the movement. Your tension relaxed as you recognized the face of the owner of the club, his pencil-thin mustache poised above a firmly set mouth. He jabbed a finger at the floor, calling your attention to the folded bills you’d ignored.
“Come on, new girl, that right there’s enough for a lap dance. You’re here to keep our customers happy. I’m not paying you to stand up here and shimmy to your heart’s content,” he released your grip, your eyes locked on his. Something about him was different… but you couldn’t quite place it. The man addressed the audience. “Which one of you fine gentlemen threw the stack of twenties?” he sleazed, his blue eyes absorbing the violet light as it flooded his skin. A hand rose in your peripheral vision, a familiar voice stopping your breath in your lungs just as you realized the man’s eyes had changed colour from brown to blue. Your head whipped around, your eyes livid as you absorbed the sight before you.
“Right over here,” Dean called, his hand clapping Adam on the back, stepping aside as another lingerie-clad dancer set a folding chair at Adam’s feet. The youngest of the Winchester brothers shot Dean a cautionary glare, his jaw a hardened line of disapproval, but you were already on your way over, your mind more focused than ever before. You staggered down the steps, abandoning the stage as you waltzed toward the Winchesters, your target redirected by the hands of the club’s owner, his firm grip angling you toward Adam. You froze-up, watching in horror as Sam’s hands on Adam’s shoulders locked him in the chair, Dean’s eyebrows wiggling as you approached. You sneered at the older brothers, shaking the owner from your body as you approached, Adam’s eyes glued to your face with a concentration you knew meant he was afraid of being caught looking elsewhere. You sighed heavily, ignoring the prying eyes of your audience as you walked around the back of Adam’s chair, your hand trailing over his chest and along the plane of his back. You were careful to tread heavily on Dean’s foot as you passed, watching the hunter step backward, pain causing his jaw to clench. “I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he grimaced, buttoning his jacket and melting back into the shadows of the club. You continued forward, spinning until you were facing Adam, your hands on his shoulders. He shook his head lightly, apologies scribed in the crystal of his eyes as clear as the day was long.
“You don’t… you don’t have to do this, Y/n. They’re just pulling my leg,” he whispered, your bodies close enough to hear his explanation over the pulsing beat of the music. You shook your head, eyes sparkling with theatrical lust, widening your stance as you moved to straddle his hips, your lips brushing by his ear.
“Club owner’s a siren. He shifted his appearance from the first time I saw him. I’m a target.” Adam’s hands closed gently around your waist, his touch electric on your hips, your train of thought derailing as you struggled to recall if there was any more information you had to share. “Pretty sure you’re not allowed to touch the performers,” you reminded him, your voice weak to your own ears, your body alive with fire as Adam’s hands trailed up your back, clearing his throat as he did so.
“I know. I’m getting you out of here.” He turned his face until your foreheads were nearly touching, his eyes bright on yours. “Play along,” he requested, his voice deep and husky, your head nodding of its own accord. He redirected his attention to the stage, raising his hand to hail the club owner. When the siren approached, Adam’s hands fell once more to your waist, his grip tightening on your flesh. You grinned, happily playing along, your hands smoothing over his chest. Adam cleared his throat once more before speaking, his eyes hardened by lust. “You got any rooms back here?” The club owner began to deny Adam’s very illegal request, but the hunter dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans, retrieving a rolled-up stack of ten dollar bills. “Come on, man, I’m not a cop. I’m just looking for a good time.” The man pocketed the cash, whispering directions into Adam’s ear close enough for you to hear you were heading to the second floor of the building. Adam’s hands around your waist lifted you from his lap as he stood, his fingers threading with yours as he tucked another bill into the owner’s front shirt pocket, whispering a quick, “Make sure we’re not disturbed,” before leading you away from the stage. You opened your mouth to inquire about how he managed to get his hands on so much money, but he answered you before you could formulate a proper question. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get that money back by the end of the night.” You followed him through the halls of the club, the hair on the back of your neck prickling to attention as you turned each corner, your mind so focused on what may be lurking behind you that bumping into the Winchester brothers nearly gave you a heart attack. Adam caught you before you could tip backwards, his hand in yours earning a suspicious glance from a seemingly pleased Dean Winchester.
“Where are you two sneaking off to, huh? Knew you two only needed a push in the right direction,” Adam’s unchanging expression slowed his older brother’s advances. “What’s going on? Did you find one?” Adam spoke lowly, his hand tightening around yours protectively, your hand returning the pulse.
“No, but Y/n did. Club’s owner. We managed to slip out, but he’ll come looking soon enough,” Sam tucked a bronze dagger into your hand, eyeballing your limited hiding space, your eyes projecting every nonverbal I told you so you could express. He tilted his head in apology, his eyes shooting to Dean’s. “She’s gotta gear up. Siren’s making plays, shifting to fit her standards. We’ll be upstairs if you need us,” Adam began to move, stopping himself mid-stride. “But… don’t.” You followed him up the stairs, your eyes wide on Dean’s, whose face was a mask of utter disbelief and achievement as you passed him by. The last thing you saw was Sam holding his hand out to Dean for a high-five before the duo disappeared completely. Adam ducked into a side room, closing the door securely behind you, his hand falling slack to his side when he realized he hadn’t separated from you. He exhaled slowly, turning to observe his surroundings, his eyes searching for clothing to cover you with. He retrieved a satin robe from a hook by the vanity, extending the fabric for you to take. You slipped your arms through, his eyes burning holes in the ceiling. “So… what did the siren pick up on?” You chuckled, tucking the dagger between your robe and the string you used to tie it closed.
“Blue eyes,” you responded, catching yourself a moment too late. You lifted your eyes to meet Adam’s, which were conveniently as blue as the Caspian sea, an easy smile spreading across his face.
“You like blue eyes, huh?” He laughed aloud, your giggles joining his, the both of you docking your volume as a pair of boots walked by the door. He pulled you close, dagger in hand, his eyes locked on the wood that separated you from whoever, whatever was roaming the halls, his heart beating against your chest. The footsteps faded as the distance between you and the unseen stranger increased, Adam’s hold on you relaxing some. His eyes ducked to yours, then, the limited space between your faces burning with the heat that rolled off your cheeks. Without thinking, your hand snaked around the back of his neck, pulling his face to yours, your lips melting together seamlessly. He returned the kiss immediately, unhindered entirely in the privacy of the separate room, his hands exploring your back. You parted from him, the soft suction of your lips punctuating the stagnant air, your pulse roaring in your ears, your voice emerging as breathless as you felt.
“Not blue eyes. Just you.” He closed the distance between you once more, his lips finding yours with an unpracticed ease you hoped would become far more commonplace. You were sure the Winchester brothers hoped for the same.
Though it may hurt now, ultimately, you will realize that it’s for the better.
Now is the time for your personal growth.
Some people believe that holding on and working on it is what makes you strong; sometimes it’s letting go that is the strongest act that one can do.
I’ve heard it all.
I have pages and pages of a marble notebook filled with the many different quotes and words of advice that I’ve been given in reference to divorce from Dr. Jill, my parents, Issac, and friends. Though I didn’t do it out right, I eventually laughed at every single one of them for loosely offering advice for a circumstance that none of them have gone through. Human beings tend to believe they’re expects on every situation when it has nothing to do with their life and livelihood. There’s an arrogance within that. It often comes into play when life is good on their end. For that reason, they can happily assess your incompetence or shambles of a life, to figure out where not to go wrong in their own, and finally to offer you a charade of advice. It’s always from their perspective; what they would and wouldn’t do if they were in your shoes. It’s rare to have someone step outside of themselves and actually view what’s happening to you from your eyes; to feel the pain and severity of the situation and finally, to understand the hardship. I’ve flipped through those pages endlessly, reading every single piece of advice I decided that a mental note was enough for, and none of it soothes me or has prepared me for what I am facing today. It hasn’t aided in the much needed closure I don’t believe I’m ever going to get. Instead, I’ve been left internally conflicted and confused because I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is the correct way to go about this. I’d love to have the divorce party, where my friends and I cheerfully toss back endless amounts of alcohol, dance to our favorite tunes, and verbally trash every single trait about my husband. If not that, I’d love to sign those papers and walk out of there in my high heels feeling liberated and confident in the decision that I personally made for the betterment of myself. I’ve imagined it all by letting it play out like some heavily directed alternate universe scene out of a dramatic sitcom but my reality is anything but that.
I really like how underskirts improve my coords. I think it is because longer skirts suit me better for some reason. Also they add some interesting details in a subtle way. Also, the F+F cage skirt petticoat is my favorite. It gives the perfect amount of A-line poof, without all the layers! It is the most comfortable petticoat that I have.
“This is another opening look by Pucci for the Sydney show. It’s a beaded dress, with beaded fringes on the shoulders, and a sheer mesh cut out. We paired them with caged high heel shoes by Stuart Weiztman.”
Jack White (The White Stripes, The Dead Weather, The Raconteurs)
Blood Red Shoes
Cage The Elephant
Death Cab For Cutie
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Queens of the Stone Age
Orange Is The New Black
Okay, Bethyl shippers, listen up! (Or just keep reading.) I’m SUPER
excited about this post and I needed to get it posted sooner rather than later because big things are happening for TD right now.
As I said yesterday, I’ve been trying to write it since Sunday and I keep
changing it and adding things because SO many things are coming together. If
this theory is right, it not only brings together like seven major theories TD
has been harping on for some time, but it also means we’ll see Beth in less
than a month. *fingers crossed*
***I am going to talk about comic book spoilers in this post. We can already
tell things won’t play out in the show as they do in the CBs but if you don’t
want to know at all, don’t read. You’ve been warned. I’ll also mention some
very mild filming spoilers.***
I’ve thought since the end of S6 that ep 7x06 would be about Beth bc of the Slabtown clock, right? Don’t worry, I
still think that. But since she and Dawn are arguing about whether she can
survive on the outside in that scene, I figured ep 6 would be all about that:
Beth surviving on the outside.
But TWD loves its non-linear story-telling. Remember in season 5 when Daryl
and Carol took off to look for Beth in episode 2, then Daryl returned, sans
Carol in ep 3? But we didn’t even know if it was Carol with him until they
showed us what happened in ep 6?
Yeah, they do that all the time to keep people
watching. So I kind of figured Beth would show up before ep 6 and then ep 6
would be about her.
Last weekend, while talking with @thegloriouscollectorlady, I started
wondering, what if ep 6 is NOT about Beth. What if it’s just about
Tara? What would that mean?
Then I thought about episode 7. And the more I thought about it, the more
likely it seemed that episode 7 might be all about Beth. Here’s my reasoning: