#like my friend is in genuine shock people like sam

[deanofsam]

was just talking to an irl friend who used to be really active in spn back in 2014. she knows and respects my beliefs (wincest) as i respect hers (d*stiel) but i was laughingly telling her about all the samgirls posting about jared at ACL and she said “huh, weird i cant believe there are actually samgirls out there” and i stared at her…. frozen…. our experiences ….., could not be more different….. i am surrounded by samgirls …. they are all i know.., i think i probably exclusively follow samgirls…. what is going on over at d*stiel headquarters

[kneworder]

not to be like mean or smug or annoying bc i do mean this in the nicest way possible but some people who run brackets are absolutely not meant for it. pulling 'i will not tolerate people being mean in the tags. that's so rude' (they are talking about when someone said 'what tf is wrong with you........' in a poll with a tough matchup). rbing pages and pages of unrelated stuff or other polls with their opinions as though people following the bracket care about anything besides the bracket. like just make a sideblog and only post polls. people are gonna say shit in the tags idk what to tell you. it's more work than you think it's gonna be but i thought the basics were pretty clear. like i know it's not that serious at all and this is a silly thing for me to try to criticize i just keep seeing poll mods having like full on meltdowns or posting shit i do not care about after i follow them for the bracket and i feel like we can save ourselves a lot of grief by being cool about shit. idk. do an absurd amount of seeding and graphics-making in a fevered frenzy becoming simultaneously over-invested in your own poll and desperate to keep the bracket itself as fair and professional as possible to give yourself something to feel in control of and ignore your own deteriorating mental health over the course of like two or three weeks like the rest of us.

[samsspambox]

*shoves face in hands*

so as some of you may know i used to date someone but not anymore bc he was an asshole that thought video games were more important. point being i've been single for like,,, 6 months and i kinda got promoted at my little jobby job a month ago so im in a completely new location and being trained by new people

tell me why when i decide to hunker down and start working on myself properly someone asks for my number

*looks up at universe* PLEASE I NEVER ASK TO BE IN THESE SITUATIONS

[freshxsturniolo]

haunted jealousy - chris sturniolo x femreader

summary : you had been a sam and colby fan for years and when they asked the triplets to film with them, your boyfriend chris could not wait to tell you and bring you along for the weekend. it was also common knowledge that colby was your biggest "celebrity" crush, but chris thinks nothing of it until you actually met and start to get along, and his jealousy takes over him.

mentions / warnings : fluff. smut. slight angst? swearing. pet names.

"are you not scared that your boyfriend might be about to get possessed?" chris says, throwing his arm around your neck as he walks by your side to the restaurant you were planning on meeting sam and colby.

you look up at chris as his fingers graze your shoulder, his other hand in the pocket of his hoodie.

"youre a pain in my ass now, never mind possessed." you joke, and he pushes away from you in a joking manor.

"might mean you can run off into the distance with colby" he said, a joking grin on his face as he came in front of you, walking backwards as you continued to step forward into him.

"with any luck" you joke, and you laugh as chris slams his hands to his heart, letting out a cry.

it was no secret you had had a crush on colby brock since you first found their channel, way back before chris and his brothers had even started their channel, way before you and chris even considered their could be anything more than friendship between the two of you. colby was your "celebrity fantasy" if you will, and your guilty pleasure. chris loved to tease you on it all the time, but it was always in jest.

"we're here" matt shouts from in front of you, and chris turns around, coming to a stop so you accidentally walk straight into him.

"fuck" you whisper, stepping back, and he turns to grab your hand, laughing once he realises youre not hurt. your relationship with chris was always like this. making jokes, having banter, being the best of friends. but he was in every single heartbeat your loving, caring, boyfriend too.

you step to the side, gripping chris' hand in yours as you walk across to both matt and nick, as you stand and wait for sam and colby to arrive. tomorrow, they would be filming their video, where they go and investigate a popular haunted hotel, but tonight they wanted to formally meet for the first time. they had all been sending messages back and forth for the last few months, so they already felt like friends. of course, you were just the little tag along that wanted to be involved, but when chris' had made everyone aware you were coming, they were more than happy.

after a few minutes of waiting, your eyes finally land on the blonde and brunette walking towards you. it felt weird to be excited, but it equally felt weird your boyfriend and best friend where fast becoming friends with them too. once they reach you, they all dap each other up, a chorus of hellos, how are yous, how was the flights, before chris introduces you.

you say hello to them both, both of them coming in to give you a hug.

"shes a huge fan" chris chuckled behind you.

"chris" you give him an eye as you pull away from your hug with colby, looking back at him to see him laughing down at you.

"we appreciate it" colby says, and you give him a nod before he turns and walks into the restaurant.

its super lowkey, not many people in, but its lovely all the same. as you take your seats, chris sitting to your left, you cant help but be shocked when colby sits beside you and you give him a smile. checking the menu you all order food and drinks, before sam starts to tell the triplets exactly what it is they'll be doing tomorrow. youre invested, of course, being a fan of sam and colby and genuinely interested in their content, but youre caught off guard when you hear colbys voice.

"what are you doing tomorrow?" he asks, taking a sip of his drink.

"whilst you're acting ghost busters?" you joke, and he coughs on his drinks which makes you laugh, before giving you a nod. "ive bought plenty of books to keep me occupied. i know you guys film until early hours so i'll probably try get some sleep before they all come bouncing in." you laugh, and colby laughs with you.

"chris says youre a huge fan?" colby says now, and you give your boyfriend a side eye before turning back to colby.

"i swear im not crazy. ive just watched you for so many years, this just all feels a little surreal" you admit. but before you know it, you're chatting away like you'd met a thousand times. your food comes and you slowly pick your way at it, listening to stories from videos they had never put out, or things they've seen when they aren't even filming, your eyes widening the more and more he speaks. before you know it, you're laughing and joking with him and you realise you haven't paid attention to anyone else in the room. when colby announces he's going to the bathroom, you turn around to face the rest of the boys youre seated with. matt and nick are still having a conversation with sam, who looks at you and gives you a smile, but when you look to your side to give a smile to your boyfriend, you can tell his entire mood has changed from what it was earlier.

"you okay, babe?" you ask. and he snaps his head to look at you.

"hmm? oh, yeah. im good." he says, picking up a fry from his plate and nibbling at the end.

"not nervous for tomorrow, are you?" you give his shoulder a little shove, and finally a smile appears on his lips.

"no" he says. "just thinkin."

"about what?" you press, but before he can answer you hear colbys voice again from behind you.

"i paid the bill guys."

"oh god, how much do we owe you?" you say. he smiles at you.

"dont worry about it!" he says enthusiastically before sitting himself down, leaning over slightly so he can see chris.

"your girl knows a lot about ghosts" he says, and you look to chris with a smile who gives a chuckle.

"shes probably watched your videos a thousand times, bro" he says, giving, and then the two start talking comfortably, you sat in the middle, looking between the two of them and having your say every now and then.

when the night draws to an end, and you all say your goodbyes to go to your own separate hotels, colby gives you a hug.

"so lovely to meet you," he says, as he pulls away he puts his hands on your shoulders. "i'll find you on instagram and give you a follow. chris tagged you in some stuff, yeah?"

you let out a laugh. "yeah! please dont feel you need to" you laugh, and he gives you that famous colby side eye.

"youre a friend now" he laughs, giving your shoulders a slight tap before he moves to say goodbye to everyone else.

when they turn to walk away, nick is the first to come to your side, wrapping his arm in yours. "girl, did you fucking hear what we are doing tomorrow?" he says, and you laugh as you pull yourself closer to him, his warmth a comfort in the winter chill outside.

"yes. are you nervous?" you say, starting to head in the direction of your hotel.

nick starts to talk about how excited he is, the things he wants to do, the things he hopes to see, that you dont even notice when you get to the front of their hotel.

"chris," nick says, and you turn around to catch the eye of your boyfriend as he chats away to matt. "are you coming to our room?" he says, giving you a smile as he does so. you smile back and look to chris for an answer, but the look on his face already tells you its a no.

"im tired." he says, and you hear nick let out an "oh" before turning to you.

"i suppose you wont leave your knight in shining armour for an hour to keep me company, will you?" he says, a pleading look on his face. you have to admit that with the adrenaline from the last couple of hours, you were defiantly not ready for sleep yet, but chris speaks for you.

"no. shes coming with me." he says, and you screw up your face as you look towards him. chris had never been demanding, and you had spent many times with his brothers without him, but the look he was giving you now, you knew there was nothing wrong.

"i guess i'll see you tomorrow then." nick says, giving you a hug. you hug him back before making your way to matt, giving him a hug too, before chris comes over and grabs your hand, practically pulling you in the direction of the hallway that your separate room was.

"ouch, chris. whats wrong with you?" you ask, and the tone to your voice makes him loosen his grip.

"nothing. sorry. im just tired" he says as you get outside of your room. you take the key from your purse and unlock the door, stepping inside and throwing your purse down.

you let out a stretch, a small moan coming from your lips, before you move over to your bag to get out one comfier clothes. you hear chris slam onto the bed and you turn to look at him, his eyes on you as he places his hands behind his head.

"chris, whats wrong? and dont say nothing" you say, a stern look on your face. he chuckles.

"nothing. im sorry. honestly i am. its been a long day" he admits, and you give him a sympathetic smile as you see the bags already forming under his eyes. luckily, filming wasnt until tomorrow night, so you had the whole of the next day to catch up on sleep.

you turn away from him now and slide your jeans down your legs before you hear your phone tumble to the floor. "fuck" you whisper, as you forgot you'd put it in your back pocket rather than your purse, and you bend down to pick it up, the home screen illuminating from the fall.

"oh," you laugh, turning round to face chris and making your way across to the bed, throwing yourself down on it so you were on your front, nothing but one of chris' fresh love hoodies on your body now. "colby actually followed me. and sam" you say, opening up your phone to double check the notifications.

but chris snaps. whatever had been bothering him suddenly become too much, and he stands up off the bed in a huff, walking over to the bathroom and slamming the door. you watch in astonishment, waiting for the bathroom door to open up again, and after a moment when it doesnt, you take your way over to it, knocking lightly.

"chris?" you say, but it takes not even a second before the door is flung open. you stumble back in surprise, chris with one hand on the door handle, the other on the side of the frame.

"you're mine, you know that don't you?" he says, and you almost laugh.

"excuse me?" you choke out, looking him up and down. he does the same back.

"you're mine." he says again. this time you do laugh.

"im so fucking confused, chris. what on earth are you talking about?"

but your laugh, and your obliviousness to what hes taking about only angers him more, and he rolls his eyes as he goes to slam the door in your face. but not before you manage to wedge your foot in the way, hand coming to the side of the door. chris spins around and looks at you, shock on his face, but the anger is still there.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" you say, pushing the door fully open now and stepping into the bathroom.

"doesnt matter" he says, turning on the tap, but you step at the side of him, turning it off.

"of course im yours, you idiot. who else's would i be?" you say, but the no answer makes you laugh as you realises exactly where he is going with this. you connect the dots immediately.

"youre joking me chris. its because i spent the night chatting to colby, isnt it?" you say, and you see his eyes screw up slightly. you laugh again. "are you jealous?" you say.

"ive heard you talk about how much you love him for years" he scoffs, eyes traipsing down your body, down to your bare legs.

"yeah, when i was fucking 16, chris. are you serious?" you laugh, but your laugh and lack of seriousness is infuriating him.

"he wanted to know what youre doing tomorrow" he says through gritted teeth.

"he was making polite conversation" you confirm, eyeing him up. you'd never seen him like this before. you had never and would never give him a reason to act like this. you loved him deeply and your eyes had never scanned for another man since.

he doesnt answer you though, and he pushes your hand away from the sink so he can turn back on the tap. you step to the side and look at him through the mirror, but he isnt letting up, and your frustration is building.

"so youre going to ignore me. because i spoke to someone ive been a genuine fan off for years. we were talking about GHOSTS, chris, do you even understand how ridiculous youre being?"

he notices the tone in your voice, and he looks at you through the reflection of the mirror, before bowing his head again to continue washing his face. you scoff in astonishment, before making your way back into the main room of the hotel. you throw yourself on the bed, picking back up your phone, when you hear chris coming back in.

"what are you doing?" he asks, and you roll your eyes.

"texting colby" you joke. you know its a low blow, but the frustration you feel is next level. youre actually about to text nick to see if you can stop by his and matts room for an hour, to let chris chill out, but you dont get chance before you feel the bed dip and a pair of hands on your hips, flipping you onto your back.

"chris" you squeal.

"texting colby, hmm?" he says, and then his fingers are looped in the band on your underwear, pulling them down. the heat that comes in between your legs is instant, and you know exactly where this is going to go.

"well, we were having a great conversation earlier." you say.

"oh yeah? you wanna go spend the night with him?" chris says, your underwear now at the bottom of your feet and in on swift swoop theyre in his hands, before he shoves them into his back pocket.

"well my boyfriends being a jerk, so" you start.

"didnt notice how he called you my girl?" he says now, but then his hands are on your hips and he drags you down the bed. you cant hide the gasp that escapes your lips. "well?" he asks now, dipping his head to inbetween your legs.

"didnt notice. was too busy looking at his face" you say, but your breathing is hitched.

"i'll fucking show you who's girl you are" he says, and then his tongue is in your folds and your arms outstretch instantly, gripping at the bedding.

"fuck, chris" you pant, his tongue working wonders in-between your legs, hitting all the right spots, your back arching as his teeth scrap against your folds. you move your hands to his head, pushing him further into you, before his head snaps up.

"chris-" you pant, looking down at him, but he grips both your wrists with one hand and pushes them behind your head, his entire body coming with them so his face is inches from yours in one quick swoop. you look into his eyes, and he gives you a smirk before his free hands moves down to your wet folds, fingers teasing you.

"chris-" you say again, and he lets out a deep chuckle before his fingers enter you.

"oh, god" you utter and you close your eyes as he starts to move his finger back and forth, thumb coming to your clit and rubbing gentle.

"open your eyes" he says, and you do as he says. "who's girl are you?" he says now, fingers moving more vigorously now, hitting your g-spot perfectly. when you dont say anything, unable to from the pleasure youre feeling, he stops abruptly, a small whimper escaping your lips.

"who's fucking girl are you?" he spits out.

"yours, chris. im yours" you cry out.

"good girl" he says, before his fingers start working again, pumping you so hard you're seeing stars but your eyes fixed on him, not wanting him to stop.

"im gonna-" you start, unable to finish your sentence.

"let go for me my girl" he says, and the words on his lips bring you to your climax, legs buckling and squeezing into his hand tightly as you ride it out. when you finally settle, your breathing harsh, he pulls out his finger and gently removes his hand from your wrists.

you lay, in utter bliss and also disbelief as he removes himself from your body, gathering yourself before you sit up on your elbows, looking straight at him as he walks off back into the direction of the bathroom, but before he does, he turns back to you and gives you a grin.

"i dont know about no ghosts," you start. "but that jealousy possessed you." you utter, and a laugh escapes his lips as he enters the bathroom finally.

you stand up, finally going back over to your pyjamas you'd abandoned just moments before but you hear the shower turn on, a smirk comes over you, thinking about how you're going to return the pleasure he just gave you.

[starry-bi-sky]

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

[princessmisery666]

Just Don't Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean believes you have a good thing going. When you tell him your moving on, he realizes he needs to reassess the relationship and his life before it’s too late.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, miscommunication, unrequited love, friends with benefits, implied smut, Dean doesn’t get a happy ending. 

W/C: 4,776.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Sam Winchester. 

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

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: Just Please Don’t Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Alpin.

A/N: I tried to fix the angst, but it’s not happening, so the unhappy ending will remain (for now). Special shoutout to @kazsrm67 and @pink-sparkly-witch for helping and offering words/comments of encouragement.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own. 

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

You knock on Jody’s door, taking a deep breath to calm yourself, some residual adrenaline still playing havoc with your nerves. It’s been a long and insightful day. 

Dean opens the door with a smile, but it quickly morphs into an appreciative grin as his eyes travel the length of your body. “Wow,” he says, “who knew all that was hiding under that uniform.”

You laugh, stepping through the door, not in the least bit phased by his comment. It's not the first time you’ve been told that. “Yeah, that uniform is like an invisibility cloak. I put it on, and no man sees me. Guess you're no exception,” you explain, turning to look at him again. 

“Well, I see you now,” he says, quickly lifting his focus from your ass to your face. “Um, they’re through there,” he gestures for you to go ahead of him. 

“There she is,” Jody says, embracing you with one arm while she places the huge bowl of salad on the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Guess I’m still a little shell-shocked, but I’m okay.” 

“Well, we’re all here to help you…adjust,” Sam offers with a kind smile.

Discovering monsters are, in fact, very real and not just a Halloween marketing ploy is definitely going to be an adjustment. But what choice do you have? These people have given you an in. They’ve let you into their secret club, and honestly, you feel privileged that they trust you and think you are capable enough to help.

If you weren’t capable, neither Jody nor Dean would be here right now, a fact Sam keeps thanking you for over dinner.

“Thank you for being so cool about this,” he says again, lifting his beer bottle to clink it against yours. 

“I’ll freak out later,” you joke, though you probably will. 

“Seriously, you rushed in there, no hesitation, and you held your own,” Jody adds to Sam’s praise. “You certainly proved I picked the right woman for my team.”

“And I can’t thank you enough for that,” you say, genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work with her.

You’ve had some awful bosses and equally shitty jobs over the years, so it's nice to have found Sheriff Mills. Okay, so you’ll be fighting real-life monsters occasionally, but what’s a little compromise? 

They answer all your questions, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little overwhelming. Dean keeps flashing a tight smile in your direction, and you’re not sure if it's meant to be reassuring or if he’s biting his tongue and trying not to be rude. Regardless of his intention, Jody and the boys’ promises to help you come to grips with it all make it seem manageable.

“Am I going to get to hear the story of how you met those two?” you ask Jody in the kitchen later. 

“Definitely, but not tonight,” she explains, handing you a clean, soapy plate to rinse and dry.

Dean and Sam laugh in the other room, and Jody smiles wistfully. It’s so sweet and motherly it chokes you up a little.  

“The years have not been kind to those boys,” she says, focusing back on the dishes. “They keep their circle small, and I’m grateful that they let me be a part of it, and now you get to join it, too.”

“It’s a damn good-looking circle,” you confess.

Jody chuckles, “Ah, so you noticed Dean as much as he noticed you.” 

“Don’t go all matchmaker on me again,” you warn, “do I need to remind you of the disaster that was Paul?” 

“No, you do not. I’m just making an observation. The circle is indeed good-looking, and Dean has been doing a lot of observing of his own.” 

“Yeah, not sure that’s for the reasons you’re implying,” you say, “Dean doesn’t seem like he wants me to be helping out.”

Dean’s voice startles you, “You saved our asses.” You jump, twisting to look at him, “that’s enough.”

“But if I can do more…”

“The life of a hunter isn’t a life I'd recommend,” he explains, reaching for a beer from the fridge, “ it’s messy and painful and usually ends badly.”

“That’s life in general,” you counter, “and if something is happening and I don’t do anything to help, I’m part of the problem.”

“That’s fine,” he says, throwing his bottle top into the trash. “You’re a bigger part of the problem if you get into a situation you can’t get out of.”

“Dean,” Jody scolds, “take it easy. You said it yourself, she saved our asses today. She’s proven she’s capable.”

“All I’m saying is I’ll help where and if I can,” you explain. “I’m not going to go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer and start patrolling graveyards.”

It’s faint, but a slight quirk tugs his lips, breaking the building tension. 

“Besides, I’m sure our uniform makes us invisible to monsters as well as men.” 

He laughs properly at that, “Not invisible to me anymore,” his tongue sits behind his teeth, and you're suddenly jealous when he wraps his lips around the bottle.

“Good to know,” you say.

You hold each other’s gaze, perhaps a challenge to see who will shy away first. 

“Cool it, you two,” Jody warns, flicking water off the tips of her fingers at you both. 

“Sorry, boss,” you laugh. “And on that note, I’m gonna get going.”

“Need a ride?” Dean asks, a smug smirk in play. 

“I would love one,” you wink, but follow up with, “but it’s a nice night. Think I’m gonna walk, work off some of that wine.” 

“Why don’t you walk her home?” Jody suggests. 

Dean nods, “lead the way.”

When you’d balked, telling Dean you didn’t need an escort, he’d countered, saying he needed the fresh air, but you think it’s more to check up on you and maybe flirt a little more without an audience if your instincts are correct. It’s been nothing but small talk since leaving Jody’s until you're standing on your porch facing one another.

“So how are you really taking all this?” he asks. 

“I had a little freak out before I got to Jody’s,” you answer honestly, “but truthfully, it makes me feel a little better about the world.” 

He huffs a laugh, and his confused frown is adorable. “Okay, that’s a first.” 

“There’s so much evil in the world. It’s scary enough without knowing what I know now,” you explain, adding, “Maybe some of the unexplainable evil that’s all over the news is explainable. Maybe it’s not humans being horrible. Maybe it’s actually something evil.”

“Huh, I never thought of it like that.”

“I’m not saying I’ll remember that the next time a vamp is kicking my ass,” you laugh. 

“Hey,” he scolds, “you agreed, no hunting.” 

You hold your hands up, surrendering. “I won’t go looking for it, but if it comes to Sioux Falls, I’m all over it,” you promise, but your body has other ideas as an overall ache spreads through you as the day's events catch up with you. “Well, maybe in a few days when I’ve recovered from the last one.” Subconsciously, your tongue rolls over the cut on your bottom lip.  

“That hurt?” he asks. 

“I’ve had worse.” You shrug. The way he’s looking at you dulls the sting of the cut, and the tired ache in your bones shifts and reshapes into a simmering itch that needs scratching.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, pointing over your shoulder toward your door. The implication of you being alone goes unsaid.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, trying not to roll your eyes. “But maybe you want to come in? Have a coffee or something, distract me a little longer so I don’t freak out too much?”

He smiles, wetting his lips. He knows that’s not what you're asking, and you wonder how often the offer of ‘coffee or something’ has been used successfully on him. He looks down at his shuffling feet, heaving a sigh. “I should get back.” 

The hesitation is clear, yet he doesn’t move. A surge of adrenaline spreads through you, and your heart rate increases. When he looks up, catching your eyes, the intensity of the long, loaded pause is enough to make you wonder, if monsters exist, then maybe that electricity everyone talks about is real, too, because it feels like if you touch your hand to Dean’s face, sparks will fly.

“Thanks again for the save today,” he whispers.

“Anytime,” you smile. 

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you're as one, mouths connected, exploring the other’s, hands groping and gripping, and your lip stings for a split second, but then Dean has you pinned against your door, and you forget about it.

He pulls away and kisses your neck, “Maybe,” he says, scraping his teeth against your jaw, “we should take this inside.”

Your arrangement with Dean works. No pressure, no expectations. Summer comes, and winter fades, but your relationship remains mutually beneficial. 

He rolls through Sioux Falls, that charming smile - that you’re not sure he knows quite how charming it is - “passing through,” but he stays a few days. He always claims it’s to catch up with Jody and the girls, but he spends most of his time at your place, and it’s too coincidental that you’re never on shift or scheduled for a few days when Baby pulls up outside.

Jody insists she has nothing to do with it. Yes, she's the sheriff, yes, she’s your boss, and makes the rotas, but “The only thing I swing is that I get to work with you,” she’d promised, winking. And you love her for that. Some of the men are still stuck in the past, and though they don’t say it, you can tell they don’t think women can do the job.

If only they knew. You’ve helped on a few hunts now. There’s no doubt in your mind that your relationship with Dean wouldn’t be what it is if you didn’t know about the real evils of the world. But each hunt ended the same: a dead monster and your body beneath Dean’s. 

You're in your room lacing up your little white summer pumps when the Impala’s engine announces his arrival.

You jump to your feet, quickly check yourself in your mirror, smoothing down the already smooth summer dress, and call out, “It’s open,” when his knock echoes around the house.

“Wow, look at you,” he says, freezing partway over the threshold to admire you as you bounce down the stairs.

You deliver your usual greeting, a swift kiss to his lips, and the unmistakable aroma of leather and cheap motel soap assaults your senses - damn, you’ve missed him - but you won’t say it. Instead, you show it, making the kiss deeper.

He shuffles inside, uses your hips to steady himself as he kicks the door closed, and then wraps his arms around your waist to hold you tightly against him. 

Your phone rings, and you fumble to find it on the table by the door, but as soon as you do, Dean releases you, kissing your neck and collarbone. 

“Hey, hi,” you answer. 

“Hey babe,” your best friend sings, and you know it's because she needs something. “Can you grab some ice on your way over?” 

“Yeah, sure, okay.” 

“You okay?” 

No. Yes.

Dean is kneading your breasts, nibbling on the skin that spills out the top of your sundress. “Yeah, just rushing, I’m running late.” 

“So late,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Well, hurry more,” she says before hanging up.

“Oh fuck, Dean, you gotta stop,” you whine. 

He groans, dulling the sting of his bite with a sweet kiss, and pulls back to look at you. “This a bad time, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling as disappointed as he looks. “It’s my friend's birthday. She’s having a barbeque.” 

He sighs, leaning his head on your shoulder and mumbling into your neck. “Damn it.” 

“I have to at least show my face,” you say, using your hands on his cheeks to pull his head up to look into his eyes. “But you can stay here, take a shower, watch a movie or something, and maybe in a couple of hours, I get a headache and need to come home.” 

Wetting his lips, he smirks before delivering a brief kiss. “Or,” he draws out the syllable, mild hesitation clear in his eyes, “Maybe I can come with you?”

Since Chuck is no longer an issue, Dean has been making an effort to live in the moment, opening himself up, if only a little. So you try to quell the shock of his suggestion. It quickly evolves to a pleased grin when your mind flashes to your friends' faces when you walk in with the infamous Dean. They will lose their shit. You like spending time with Dean but don’t want to cross any lines or make assumptions. “I’d like that,” you smile, “but you really don’t have to.”

“I’m sure I can survive a couple hours with your friends, and you know I can always eat.”

“Okay,” you nod, smile widening. “If you’re sure.” 

He kisses you again, a simple but effective peck on your lips. “But maybe we both get a headache in a couple of hours.” 

“Deal,” you agree, sealing it with another casual kiss. “Maybe lose a few layers. It’s summer.”

He laughs, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m sure I have a clean Fed shirt in the trunk.”

“Perfect,” you say, grabbing your bag and keys. “Want me to drive?” 

He rolls his eyes, jesting, “Did that kiss fry your brain?” as he follows you out the front door.

He opens the passenger door for you, and before you slip inside, you tell him, “Oh, and whatever my friends say I’ve said about you, it’s all lies.”

He grins smugly, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

The shower has done wonders for your developing hangover. Your friend's barbecue lasted longer than you had anticipated, but the day couldn’t have gone better. 

Dean fit in well with everyone and crushed it at beer pong. It was a success all around, and when you’d quietly asked if he wanted to leave, he’d said no, that he was having too much fun.

The fun continued when you got home, and Dean is undoubtedly still feeling the effects as well. It’s almost midday, and he’s still sound asleep in your bed when you enter your bedroom in clean sweats and your bra while you towel dry your hair. 

Dean is lying on his stomach, with his face smushed adorably against the pillow he’s hugging, taking advantage of all the space now that you’ve vacated.

You crawl across the bed, leaning over him, and he still doesn’t stir. You put your lips close to his ear and half whisper, “Morning.”

His brow instantly creases, and he squeezes his eyes tighter, groaning, “No, no, you have to go away.” 

“You gotta get up. It’s almost midday.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “You have to take your horrible talking, talky mouth away from me.” 

“Okay, you asked for it.” You laugh, sitting back and wringing your hair out so the excess water drips on his naked back.

“Ah,” he groans, arching up off the mattress.

You jump off the bed, laughing as you walk to the mirror to start doing your hair. Turning over, he rubs a hand over his face and then both through his hair, causing it to stick up adorably. He catches you staring in the mirror, and you quickly avert your eyes. 

“Damn, your friends can drink,” he says, sitting up against the headboard. 

You laugh, that’s an understatement. “They definitely know how to have fun.” 

“They seem like a good bunch.” 

“They liked you too,” you smile at his reflection, and he grins back. “Laura told me to invite you to her and Chris’ wedding.”

His expression shifts, staring off into the distance for a singular moment as if he’s imagining how that would play out. But as quickly as it appears, it drops when he scrubs a hand down his face to put the mask back on. “That’s cool, but I can’t make that kind of commitment.” He swings his legs off the bed, putting his back to you. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”

You hadn’t expected a solid answer, but the double meaning behind his words settles thick disappointment in your stomach. You’ve never asked for any commitment nor discussed the arrangement between you, but hearing him say it aloud singes the hope you always try to contain.

Dean quickly gets to his feet, swaying at the abruptness. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” He mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he heads to the bathroom.

It’s been less than ten minutes, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through your phone, when he finds the courage to face you again. He’s talking to Sam on his phone, obnoxiously loud, as he descends the stairs, trying to make a point of his hasty need to depart.

He appears in the kitchen doorway, jacket in hand, hair dripping onto the shoulders of his henley. You guess you should be grateful he wasn’t cowardly enough to have just shouted goodbye from the door. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about before.” He moves closer to the table, eyeing you as he raps his knuckles on the polished wood. “It’s just that, even with Chuck out of the picture, I’m not sure how things are going to play out. I can’t make any, uh, long-term commitments. Sam and-“

“I get it, Dean.” The last thing you want is any tension between you, so you nip the growing uncomfortableness. “We don’t need to have any awkward conversations.”

He bobs his head, hope swimming in his eyes. “So, we’re good?”

You take your mug to the sink, and once your back is to him, you say, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“You sure?” You didn’t hear him move, but the air shifts behind you, bringing his warmth along with it.

Plastering on a smile, you turn to face him and nod. “Take care of yourself.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward, and he kisses your forehead before heading to the door, “Talk to you soon,” he calls before the door clicks shut.

Fools rush in. Dean is no fool. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like being one sometimes. Usually, it’s when he’s on the road, heading home from a hunt or supply run, he daydreams about how things could be with you. 

The daydream isn’t much different from how things already are. The sex would just be coupled with more official dates – dinner, movies, watching him, which for some reason turns you on, ‘do his thing’ as you call it when he’s hustling suckers at pool. Hell, even grocery shopping. He’d sneak unhealthy snacks into the cart because you promised Sam you’d take care of him, and you would. Dean knows you’d be good to him, that you are good for him. But he’s lived that life. He doesn’t need a wake-up call to know how it ends.

It’s a nice daydream. It gives him a much-needed boost of serotonin when he’s in short supply. But like the gas that fuels Baby, the thought has vaporized by the time he shuts off the engine.

Chuck isn’t calling the shots anymore, but that doesn’t mean the big bads aren’t still gunning for the Winchester's demise. Sam has it all figured out with Eileen, and Dean wishes he could be as sure about what he wants life to look like now. But he can’t be sure of anything, at least not yet. He’s still working on adjusting to a life not consumed by hunting. Trying to come to terms with the fact that there isn’t something lurking around every corner, that the choices he makes – good and bad – are truly his and not fueled by some life-ending curveball Chuck tosses at them. 

The doubts bore deeper, and as always, when he’s drowning in his own head, he thinks of you.

He remembers how you busted down the door with borrowed equipment from Sioux Falls. You’d looked frantic but still in control. Your mere presence had calmed him, and not because you were there to rescue him. You didn’t waste a breath with a witty comment like he would have. You let off two shots, dropped the ghoul about to take a chunk out of him, and then untied him.

You’d been cool and calm, checked him for injuries, but didn’t believe he was truly okay till he kissed you breathless. That adrenaline-filled, kiss-swollen lips, slightly frantic edge to your eyes, is the picture he conjures whenever he thinks of you. 

It’s been a while since he’s seen you. You’ve exchanged a few calls, but now that his mind is stuck on that picture of you, he has to see you.

He shoots Sam a text, telling him he’ll be in Sioux Falls if Sam needs anything, and then pulls an illegal u-turn to put himself in your direction. 

Dean’s not phased that you aren’t home when he shows up. It’s not like he called ahead. He never does. But now that he’s here, he doesn’t want to waste time tracking you down, so he calls. 

“Hey,” you greet brightly.

The smile in your voice brings out his. “Hey, yourself. I’m at your door.” 

“Shit, sorry, I’m not there.”

He chuckles, “Are you around, or does my timing suck again?” 

“No, no, it’s kinda perfect, actually,” you say. “I was gonna call you later anyway. But I need a half hour or so.”

“I can wait.” 

“Greasy Sal’s?” you offer. 

He smiles, already salivating at the thought of a Greasy Sal’s cheeseburger. “Throw in some curly fries,” he requests.  

“Okay, got it,” You laugh.

Dean sits on the Impala’s hood while he waits, head tilted toward the sun, eyes closed while he catches the day’s last rays. The sound of your car’s engine isn’t as distinct as Baby’s, but he knows it well enough that as soon as he hears it, he opens his eyes and watches you turn onto the street. It’s not until that moment that he realizes how eager he is to see you. Maybe Greasy Sal’s can wait; he has another hunger he needs to sate.

He waits till you shut off the engine to open your door, “such a gentleman,” you quip, taking his offered hand to step onto the sidewalk. “Or are you clambering for food?” 

“Not what I’m hungry for,” he says, guiding you against your car. He presses himself against you, feeling the coolness of the air conditioning on your clothes. He circles the tip of your nose with his own, whispering, “Hey,” against your lips before claiming them as his own. 

Frustratingly, you push a hand into his chest after the first brush of his tongue, and he pulls back to look at you. You're looking up at him from under hooded eyes, and he feels like his heart skips a beat, or maybe he’s just a little out of breath. But he knows that with you gazing up at him like he’s a beautiful sunset, he really has missed you. 

“Maybe we should take this inside.”

“Absolutely,” he says, slightly impatient that he can’t get you naked then and there.

He walks to the trunk to get your shopping bags and follows you up the path. He has a bag packed with his essentials but never brings it inside until the next morning. Something about bringing it in before you’ve had sex seems presumptuous, which is crazy because, as per the arrangement, that’s exactly what he’s here for.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, entering your kitchen with him close on your tail.

“Yeah, you too.” He genuinely means it. It’s like things fall into place when he’s around you. 

“How’s Sam?”

“He’s good,” Dean explains, placing the grocery bags on the countertop. “He’s taken Eileen away for a couple days.” 

“Good for them.” 

You unpack the groceries and take a beer from the fridge; as always, it's his favorite brand. Though he never warns you of his pending arrival there is always a supply cooling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks in the cupboards. 

He takes the open bottle from you, leaning in to deliver another kiss, but you turn to grab more groceries, and he realizes it's a not-so-stealthy way to give him your cheek.

It seems to be the day of revelations because he’s super aware of how easily you flow around each other in the small kitchen. Dean plates up the burgers, grabbing another beer for you from the fridge, and he’s surprised to see that it’s the only one left. That, coupled with the kiss avoidance, gives him pause. Something’s wrong. 

You sit at the table and take a large gulp of the beer. “You okay?” he asks once you’ve swallowed the beer and the nervousness you're exuding. “You seem a little…off.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, then inhale deeply before adding, “Actually, no, I’m not. We need to talk. And I hate how cliche that sounds, but I don’t know how else to bring it up, and I don’t want to get all emotional on you, but I need to tell you something.”

He feels the panic fizz in his gut. You can’t be pregnant. He's seen you take birth control, and he uses protection every time. So it can only be one thing …you're about to ruin everything.

You're going to utter those three words, and it's going to be the death blow to all the good stuff between you. 

He takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please don’t,” he begs, looking you dead square in the eyes. “What we’ve got going on is good, we’re good…” 

“Dean, I …” you try, but he holds a hand up to cut you off.

“Don’t say it.” he pushes his chair back and rubs his hands on his thighs, palms suddenly sweaty. “I like what we have. It works, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it or that I don’t miss you. But I just got back a little peace of mind and…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word, “caring about someone…” he shakes his head, reaching to wrap his hand around his beer bottle. “...Loving me, even with Chuck gone, it doesn’t make it any less of a death sentence. So please don’t say it.”

You reach across the table for his hand, clenched around his beer, but he’s quick to pull back. “Dean,” you choke out, the remorse you feel slipping from your eyes in a single tear. “I’ve met someone.” 

He stares at you, mouth agape, not sure that he heard you correctly. 

“It’s still new,” you continue, rushing to explain as your tears spill. “But it’s going somewhere. Somewhere great, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

Of course, you haven’t been sitting at home waiting for his sporadic visits. You’ve been out living your life as you should be. The possibility of meeting someone else, someone you could say those three words to, and it be a life sentence and not a death sentence, had occurred to him more than once. It poked at him like a swarming gnat, knowing you deserved to find someone better than him, but selfishly, he swatted at it until it went away. 

He’s holding his breath and will get light-headed soon if he doesn’t find the ability to breathe again. 

“Dean,” you coax, “say something.”

He feels as if you’d blindsided him, come out of the left field, and taken his legs out from under him. Now he’s on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and waiting for the feeling in his limbs to return. 

Abruptly he stands. He sees the panic in your eyes and knows what’s coming. As you plead, “Don’t leave,” he says, “I gotta go.”

He strides quickly toward the door. You call his name as he goes, but he doesn’t stop. 

He rushes out your front door, leaves it open, and as he reaches Baby, he has a singular moment of wondering what will hurt the least - holding on or letting go.

“Dean, please,” you call from the door. 

He slides behind the wheel, deciding to let go.

Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

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Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

[gretavangroupie]

Exposure

Word count: 11.3k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking. Smut: Kissing, Stripping, Photo Exhibitionism, Touching, Oral F!Receiving, Fingering, Oral M!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.

A/N: Oh! Didn't see you there! Happy February! Welcome to the very first installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy this first story in the set of four. We can't wait to share the rest with you! See you real soon!

You pull your jacket snug against your chest, your camera bag hanging heavy on your shoulder as you make the trek up to the front door of the house. You can hear music coming from the basement already, likely the bands warming up before the show starts. You sneak through the front door, breezing through the mostly empty house in search of the basement. Following the noise, you walk down the stairs and into a small swarm of people all bustling and busy trying to get things set up before the show. How you got roped into shooting a basement show on Valentine's day of all days is beyond you, although it’s not like you have anything better to do.

Your eyes search around for any sign of your friends but you know they’re probably either running late, which is not shocking, or busy unloading their gear outside. You typically never shoot events like this- well, this small, but a favor for your best friend was long overdue. You stand at a small table loading the film into your camera, her one begging request of her set being captured on film, about to be fulfilled. You look around for any other photographers but you see no one, and it’s then that you realize just how small of a gig this really is. 

You did your best to blend in tonight, donning the industry standard of black, but realizing now that it almost wouldn’t have mattered what you wore. You kept it simple with a black long sleeve shirt, and a pair of black leather pants, adding a heeled boot to give yourself a little extra height behind the lens. 

You grab an extra roll of film and shove it into your pants pocket before placing your camera bag beneath the stage for safe keeping. People are quickly starting to fill the small basement, and you’re thankful for this weeks’ cold snap, knowing that this basement would be sweltering otherwise. You pull your phone from your pocket checking for any signs of life from your friends, laughing as you see a ‘we’re running late’ text. Shaking your head you put your phone back in your pocket and start to check your settings, adjusting to the lowlight of the room.

The basement is fully packed at this point, the first band stepping on to the stage and starting things off with a blaring guitar intro. The lights dim even further, causing you to adjust your settings again, and you wonder if you need to grab your flash attachment. You feel a tap on your shoulder, a rush of nerves in your chest as you spin around to see who it could be. 

“Are you shooting film?” A pair of dark brown eyes asks, a look of genuine curiosity painted across the irises. 

You smile and hold up your camera, “Yeah, I am! How did you know?” 

A smile sweeps across his face, his long dark hair hanging well past his shoulders, but partially obscured under a red beanie. His cheeks are flushed red, either from the cold outside, the alcohol in his system, or the weight of his cable knit sweater. “I’m a bit of a hobbyist. Specifically film. I recognized your camera.”

“You did? This thing is pretty old.” you say, pulling your hair from beneath your camera strap. 

“Yeah, I have the same one. Mines the silver version though.” he says, leaning in closely so that you can hear him over the loud music. 

You look up at him, and nod, leaning back in towards him as you respond. “Oh really? Does yours have the battery door issue?”

His hand lays softly against your shoulder as he leans in closer, ready to respond but your attention is ripped away as you see your friends in your peripheral. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, my friends just walked in and they are actually supposed to go on next.” you say holding up your camera to show your purpose of being here in the first place. 

“You’re fine, go ahead.” he smiles, pulling away from you and taking a sip from his seltzer. 

You send him a soft smile, taking a final look at him before turning to meet your friends. As you walk up to meet them you can’t help but to look over to where you were just standing, finding the mystery man gone. You scan the room as your friends talk at you, looking for any sight of him, but you’re snapped back to the present as they are called up to the stage. 

With a hug from your best friend and a kiss on the cheek she darts up the small stairs with a smile. “Wish us luck! And make sure you get my good side!”  

You make your way towards the front of the stage, checking your settings one more time as the band starts to play. Admittedly, they sound a lot better than they did the last time you saw them perform, and the crowd behind you really seems to be into them. You even notice a few people wearing their merch and wonder when that happened. Had you really been that absent?

You duck down as you work your way across the front of the stage, snapping photos of your friends as they play their hearts out. You quietly apologize to the people you block with your camera, taking a quick glance behind you with each step you take. About two songs into their set you’ve made your way to the opposite side of the stage, looking behind you only to catch a glance of your mystery guy, standing against the wall with his drink. 

You try to pretend you didn’t see him, but it’s no use as you trip over an electrical cord and make a complete spectacle of yourself in the process. However, when you don't collide with the concrete of the basement floor and instead are met with a pair of warm steady hands, you feel a sigh of relief hoping that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t see you trip after all. Turning to face your hero, you’re met with none other than your hobbyist.

A grin spreads across his face as he helps you to stand, one hand in his, and the other firmly planted on your camera. 

“Falling for me so soon? At least tell me your name first…” he jokes, letting go of you as you steady yourself on your feet. 

“Y/N…And thanks, I– guess they ran out of Gaff tape and I found the only cord not taped down.” you laugh. 

He smiles and shakes his head in faux disgust, “Rule number one, always carry an extra roll in your gig box for the ladies. I’m Sam, by the way.” 

“Well, Sam, thank you for not letting me fall in front of all of these people.” you laugh. 

“Oh, I was actually saving the camera… Precious vintage...” he winks, pursing his lips together. 

“Oh, of course. Yeah.” you stammer, suddenly feeling ridiculous. 

As if he can sense your distress he places a hand on your arm, “Wait no, I was kidding. Of course I was saving you. Let me– Can I get you a drink?” he asks, trying for a peace offering. 

“I think I’m kinda out of hands…” you laugh, snapping a photo as you focus through the viewfinder. 

“I’m not…” he counters, “Whad’ya want? I’ll grab it for you…”

You lick over your lips, deciding maybe a drink assistant wouldn’t be too bad. You turn over your shoulder as he leans close letting you talk into his ear. “A seltzer, I don’t care what flavor, surprise me.”

He gives you an understanding nod and turns on his heels, disappearing into the crowd.

You watch your friends start to close up their set and you compose another set of photos you think will be the shots of the night. 

“A drink for the lady…” he says, as he holds a drink up in front of the lens. You lower your camera and spin around to grab it from him, watching him crack the lid open before he hands it to you. 

“Prickly pear, huh…” you pause, taking a sip of the fizzy drink. “Did you know that was my favorite or just a lucky guess?”

“Well, I figured… you have great taste in cameras…” he trails off, taking the drink back from you so you can continue to shoot. 

You feel him lean into your shoulder, his warm breath on your neck. “The red light really does nothing for photos, does it…” he laughs. 

“No, and I’m half convinced that’s why they do it.” you retort. 

“Oh, it definitely is. Trust me. That and it looks badass.” he laughs, stepping back again. 

As the set ends you watch your friends leave the stage, ready to drink and party with the rest of you. The room quiets to a dull roar as the next band starts to take the stage, ready to set up their equipment. You lower your camera around your neck, letting it hang freely as you turn back to Sam. 

“You get the shot?” he asks, sipping the same Prickly Pear Topo Chico. 

“I think so, looks like I’ve got…” you pause, checking your dial. “Two left on this roll. Should probably change over before the next act. Here, smile.” you say, holding the viewfinder to your eye. 

He blushes a little, holding both of the drinks in his hands and giving you wide open mouth smile. 

You capture those last two images and hear the winder start to spin. “That’ll do it!” you say, dropping your camera around your neck and pulling the extra black film cartridge from your pocket. 

“Oh here, let me help you. You have your drink…” he offers, holding out your can. 

“No! You don’t have to do that, it’s totally fine, I’ve got it. Just need to find a table or something so I can–”

“I know I don’t have to, I just– want to. I wanna help.” he says, his eyes sweet and genuine. 

You think about it for a second, and consider that you really don’t have anything to lose. He wouldn’t be offering if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

“Okay, sure, I’ll hold your drink now.” you smile.  

His eyes are focused as he works to remove the used film, replacing it with the new roll as quickly and efficiently as he can, making sure not to expose the roll. He clips the door shut and makes sure it's secure before placing the camera strap back over your head, pulling your hair out from beneath the straps as gently as possible. 

“There. Perfect.” he says, a warm smile on his lips. 

“Thanks Sam.” you answer, offering his drink back to him. 

“You can call me Sammy. All my friends do.” he says, accepting the wet can. 

“Oh, are we friends now?” you ask playfully, all the while thinking that you might want to be a little more than that. 

“I’d like to think so. Or– I hope so. I think you’re cute, film camera girl.”

“Do you?” you murmur, holding the can to your lips. 

As if feeling a little shy, he ducks his head a little and licks his lips, “I do.”

Before you can reciprocate his sentiment the third band starts, and somehow they are even louder than your friend's band previously. The drums are blaring loud and you can tell they need their mics turned down about three notches. You take a few photos, figuring you can never have too much in your portfolio, but after a few shots and the crowd becoming a little too rowdy, you quickly decide you are done ‘working’ for the night. You lower your camera down and spin to talk to Sam, but you find he’s gone.

Your eyes scan the crowd for him, but again, you see no trace of the cream colored sweater or his red beanie in the sea of people. You do, however, spot your best friend off in the corner of the room being hit on by someone you know to be exactly her type. You lock eyes with her, raising a brow and she just smiles at you as she continues to talk to the tall dark haired man. 

Letting her have her time with him, you make your way back to the stage to grab your camera bag. You head up the stairs, grabbing a new drink from the bar area and again searching for any signs of him. You mingle with a few strangers, making pointless small talk about work and the latest gossip before excusing yourself to the bathroom to pee. As you wash your hands you sigh at the missed connection with such a thoughtful and good looking guy, but chalk it up to being Valentine’s Day and not wanting to fall into that stereotype. 

With your new friend gone, you decide to seek out some of your old ones. With your gear bag slung over your shoulder, you head towards the thick crowd in the main living room. As you make your way through, your neck cranes around the bodies in your way, searching for a familiar face. Looking out the back window, you see your friends near their band’s van. You push open the squeaky screen door and are greeted with a harsh gust of freezing cold wind. You retract, and before you can regain your senses, you hear someone calling your name from a little ways away. 

When you get your eyes open, Sam is standing against the side of the house, exhaling a puff of smoke. He’s giving you a sweet, closed lipped smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. You feel a few butterflies in your stomach as you take in his sweet face, relieved that he’s happy to see you hasn’t disappeared like you thought. You approach him with a sweet smile, holding on to your bag strap with both hands while your main camera hangs around your neck.

“It’s cold as fuck out here.�� You say honestly, suppressing a grin. He nods, taking another inhale off the cigarette between his fingers, his smile making it a little difficult. “I thought you left.” you add while he exhales the smoke away from your face.

“What, without you?” He says with a quirked brow and a playful smolder. You laugh, stunned silent by his charisma. He realizes and laughs it off, reaching towards you. “You need a hand taking that stuff to your car?” He asks, dropping his cigarette onto the lawn and stepping on it. He offers you a hand and you willingly offer up your bag, even though you really don’t need to. 

“I didn’t really feel the need to get any more photos of the third band. I didn’t think the headache was worth it.” You say, a little tongue in cheek as you walk. Sam laughs loudly once, like it slipped out, then shakes his head looking at the ground in front of him. 

“I was trying not to be too judgmental but, yeesh. They’re really something, aren’t they?” You laugh and pop open your trunk and he sees inside as he puts your bag in.

“You have a Pentax too?” He asks, seeing the other bag you left in the trunk.

“I do. I have a couple lenses for it, I use it when I shoot… bigger stuff.” You say, not trying to sound braggy. 

“That sucker is heavy though. You must be jacked if you’re holding it up for an entire show.” He jokes, reaching for your bicep and squeezing twice. You flex a little, giving him a wink before you break character and laugh with him. You pull your camera from around your neck and slip it into its case.

“No but, I uh, I have a couple lenses too. I have a pretty big collection… It’s actually getting a bit out of hand at this point. If you ever want to borrow anything...” He mentons, helping you close the trunk. When he reaches up, his sweater rides up a bit and reveals that he’s got a white shoestring laced through the loops of his pants like a belt.

“I’d love to check it out,” you say honestly, rubbing your arms to try and warm up. The wind is brutal but the conversation is worth freezing for.

“This may be a bit forward… but the weather sucks, this music sucks… We could go have a drink at my place and I could show you?” He offers, shrugging a little bit. 

“Well…” you start, looking over at the van on the other side of the yard. Your friend seems to be deep in conversation with the guy who was helping her load up, so you’re sure she won’t miss you if you slip away. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.” 

“Two things, though. One, we have to take your car, since my friend was my ride. Two, I’m driving, because you’ve had a few.” He says, giving you a boyish smile and holding out his hands so you can put the keys in them. You eye him with playful suspicion for a moment, but then figure you’ve got nothing to lose. 

“Fine.” You flick open your car key and offer it to him between two fingers with a grin. 

As he gets in, you can’t help but micromanage his actions with your car as you buckle your seatbelt. “The emergency brake is down by your left foot, and just ignore the light on the dash.” 

“I guess I should have told you that I have, indeed, driven a car before. I’m qualified.” He says, starting it and adjusting the mirrors. He’s a good bit taller than you, so he cranks the rearview upwards quite a bit. You roll your eyes at his comment, letting the radio play quietly rather than anything from your phone for fear of judgment. 

“There aren’t any street lights on these back roads. You should put the high beams on.” You comment, looking over at him for a moment, taking in his side profile. He cracks a wry smirk and flourishes his hand, turning them on.

“You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?” He asks, not looking away from the road. You snicker softly.

“When I want to be.” 

Before he can say anything in response, his phone starts to buzz in the center console. He reaches for it, swiping quickly across the screen to answer the call from a contact named Danny.

“Daniel!” He shouts, putting the phone on speaker. Without hesitation, you take it from him so he can use both of his hands and drive. He doesn’t object as the voice from the other end of the phone pipes up.

“Where’d you get off to?” 

“Uh, I left. Are you good to get home?” Sam answers, flipping the brights off when a car drives by on the opposite side of the road. He puts them back on once the coast is clear.

“I’m fine, yeah, just checking in. Didn’t know you left. You bag that chick you were chatting with?”

You huff a laugh and look over to Sam shaking your head. Is this really how guys talk on the phone?

“Daniel, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell…” he jokes, sending you a wink.

“Right, are you going to that event tomorrow?”

“I had forgotten about it until this very second, but yeah. I said I would. Are you?” Sam says, and you pick up a bit of an accent. There’s a long A in forgotten where the second O should go. You smile softly as you watch the road and listen to them talk. 

“Hell no. Neither is Jake. You’re stuck with Josh and his girl. So, have fun with that.” Daniel says, and you can hear him getting into his car on the other end of the line. 

“Fuck. Alright, get home safe.” Sam says, sighing. They end the call and you’re more than tempted to ask him the meaning of all that, but he’s pulling into his driveway and the nerves start to take over, shutting you up. “Sorry about that,” he says, parking your car in his driveway next to his own. 

“Do you live by yourself?” You ask, getting out of the passenger seat. The wind is still strong and it chills you to the bone. Sam sees and picks up his pace as he leads you to the front door.

“Yeah, it’s just me.” he says, looking over his shoulder as he puts his key in the door. It’s warmly lit inside his house once he steps inside and flips on the lights. There’s an array of musical instruments scattered about as soon as you enter, amps and drums and guitars either hanging on the wall or resting against each other. You raise your brows, looking over at him.

“You’re a musician, too?” You ask as he puts your keys on the cabinet near the front door. There are sliding doors across the front that are opened just slightly to reveal a substantial vinyl collection. 

“I have many hobbies.” 

You smile as you follow him through the house, looking around at the art covering his walls. It smells like incense and it’s warm- a little warmer than you would keep your house, but it’s cozy. 

“I keep everything in here,” he starts, flipping on the lightswitch in one of the bedrooms. It’s furnished with a daybed, like a guest bedroom, but the opposite wall has a desk and shelving full of cameras, cases, lenses, accessories, attachments galore. You raise your brows, surprised, but mostly impressed.

It’s a solid half hour that you spend going item by item, gently looking over everything he’s collected, from vintage to like-new, functioning and under repair. He makes a point to tell you where he got each one, the quirks and intricacies of them all. 

“That one’s really my favorite for portraits,” he says as you look over a lightweight film camera with a noisy lens, clicks filling the room. “She’s got a way about her that makes everyone look good, you know?” You nod, looking it over, peeking through the viewfinder.

“I dunno, I might be a lost cause.” You say, a little self deprecating. He sucks his teeth at you in playful disappointment.

“I just mean that, you know, as photographers, there aren’t many photos of us. I don’t think I’d know how to pose myself for a portrait.” 

“Well, you don’t pose yourself, silly.” He says, looking up at you, not lifting his head and moving only his eyes. There’s a little smirk on his lips. “We should try it.”

You give him a suspicious look, laughing nervously. 

“I look like a mess from the wind and… I’m hardly wearing any makeup..” You say, starting to rattle off excuses as your cheeks heat up.

“So? You look perfect. I don’t want to take… fuckin’ headshots. I want to capture you. This version of you, the pretty photographer that I’ve spent my evening with.” 

The two of you lock eyes for a moment, his honeyed irises so warm and kind and sweet that you probably can’t say no to him if your life depended on it.

“Okay.” 

That’s how you end up in his sunroom, sitting patiently on his couch as he gets set up, sipping a glass of wine. The room is full of plants and you brush your hand against the burnt orange velvet upholstery of his couch underneath you. You watch him move around the room, pushing the ottoman out of the way, adjusting the throw pillows on the opposite end. He reaches behind his head and pulls his thick sweater off, his shirt riding up to show that little shoestring belt and this time, a light dusting of hair above the waistband of his pants. He tosses aside the sweater, leaving him in a white t-shirt. You swallow a gulp of your wine, feeling a little warm.

“I like how you said, ‘as photographers,’ like you looped me in there with you,” he muses. “You’re a professional. I don’t belong in the ranks with you.” He says, grinning as he uses an app on his phone to mess with the lighting from the lamp in the room. It’s a hazy, warm light when he’s done, absolutely flattering to the eye, so you can only imagine how it’s going to look when he captures you.

“If you take pictures, and you enjoy it, you’re a photographer. I don’t think it’s fair to gate keep art of any kind, or… something that brings people joy, you know?” You say, watching as he grabs a cream colored, cable knit throw reminiscent of his sweater and drapes it behind you. 

“That makes sense. Not all photographers are as humble as you, though.” He says, looking down at the camera and making some adjustments. He holds it up and looks at you, then he pulls it away. He looks again, then he hums like he’s thinking about something.

“This black shirt is kind of one-dimensional. I feel like it’s swallowing you up, you know? I feel like there's too much contrast with the colors in the room.” 

You sip your wine and think for a moment, looking around. He’s probably right. 

“What do you think about green?” you ask, leaning forward, placing the wine glass on the table in front of you. 

“Do you have another– oh…” he starts, but is effectively silenced when you start to pull your shirt over your head. Underneath, you’re in a sage green longline bralette, the band of lace under your chest covering a good two inches of your waist. It’s not too revealing and from the shoulders up, it probably looks like a shirt. You shake out your hair and look up at him, tossing your shirt aside.

“Does that look better?” You ask, smirking at his reaction, pretending to be all business. He looks at you through the viewfinder and you hear him clear his throat.

“Much better. Yep. Uh huh.” he says, hiding his face behind the camera, but you know he’s looking at you. “Sit up for me?” 

You adjust the way you’re sitting, sitting up straighter. He lets the camera hang around his neck as he approaches you, reaching out to gently position you. He puts your hand in your lap, then gently pushes some hair behind your shoulder. The other side, he wraps around his finger once, making sure it lays in a flattering way. He looks at you, not scrutinizing you, but deciding what he wants to do with you. His touch makes you feel like you’re on fire, his hands warm and so gentle, his motions purposeful and confident despite the delicate way he handles you.

He crouches down in front of you, holding the camera to his eye, and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. You suddenly feel exposed in front of the lens, and it must be evident on your face as he moves his finger from the shutter release and lowers the camera from his eye. “You feel nervous.” he states with the nod of his head. 

You shrug ever so slightly, finally feeling the nerves your clients tend to feel. You try to shake it off, but Sam, ever perceptive, pulls the camera from around his neck and sits it next to you on the couch. He pulls his own shirt over his head, leaving him in the same state of undress as you are. “There. Even?” he asks with a cheeky smile. 

You smile and nod, doing your best not to stare at the small smattering of a happy trail at the top of his pants. You bite your lips together before looking back into the lens, hearing the shutter click and the film wind. He brings his hand up to your chin, tilting your face to the side with the gentle touch of his index finger. He pulls it back quickly, returning to the shutter button and snapping another photo. He hums from his place behind the lens, standing quickly and scanning the room for something. 

His heavy footfall pads across the room, snatching something from his piano bench before returning to his place on the floor in front of you. In his hands is a multicolored jewel tone pashmina, soft and worn, and clearly a staple in his wardrobe. 

“Can we try this?” he asks, holding it up against your skin. 

“Let me see…” you answer, grabbing it and draping it over your chest. With your torso completely covered you reach beneath it, pulling the green bralette over your head as he watches you with wide eyes. You toss it to the floor next to him, and reposition the fabric to just cover your chest as you lean back into the couch. 

He swallows nervously as he stretches up towards the couch, adjusting the fabric how he sees fit. Your stomach shows beneath the edge of colorful fabric, the curve of your breast just peeking from the top. 

“I– I think this is gonna be a good shot.” he says, looking at you through the lens. “Lean your head back a little more, and turn it to the side, just a touch.” 

You follow his instruction, knowing the angles of this shot have to be incredible from his place on the floor. 

“Perfect, I just…Didn’t want any shadows on your throat…” he whispers from behind the camera. You hear the shutter click, and a murmur of ‘fuck’ leave his lips. 

You stay where you are as he lowers the camera, his breathing picking up a little bit as he tries to remain calm. “Your skin is so…pretty…” he breathes, letting his eyes sweep over you. 

Your eyes connect with his, and in an act of insanity you pull away the pashmina, letting it pool at your side. His eyes can’t help but to flick down to your chest, his jaw dropping slightly before he notices and looks back up at your eyes. 

“We don’t have to–”

“Do you not want to?” you ask, settling back onto the couch. 

“No, I very much do.” he answers a little too quickly. 

“So go ahead. Capture me.”

He takes a deep breath, holding the camera to his eye and lowering it back down. He grabs your hand and places it gingerly over your chest, letting your fingers rest just over your nipple. He brings the camera back to his eye, and takes the photo. “Fuck you’re gorgeous.”

Your cheeks blush and you hear the shutter click again. 

“Sorry, but I think that's the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.” he says. 

You smile and shake your head, letting your hand trail to the button of your pants. You slide the button through the loop and pull the long zipper, until just the smallest glimpse of your thong is visible. 

You watch him swallow nervously again, focusing the camera on your hand as it lays across your stomach. As he captures the photo, you watch him try to recenter himself, knowing that he is probably just as turned on by this as you are, if not more. 

“Take them off…” you suggest, watching his eyes flick up to yours. 

“You sure?” he asks again, making sure you’re still comfortable. 

“Very. If you are, I mean.” 

“Lay across the couch. On your stomach.” he instructs, moving himself to sit on the edge of the chaise to your left. You position yourself against the plush couch, propping yourself up on your elbows, as you look back at him sitting behind you. 

“Yeah, just like that. Stay there. Look at me, beautiful.” he says, growing more confident. 

He leans forward, swiping your hair over your shoulder, giving him an unobstructed view of the curve of your back. And just as your eyes connect with the lens, he presses the button. 

“Perfect.” he breathes, lowering the camera again. He stands from his place behind you, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, pulling them gently down your hips until they rest at the apex of your ass. Your thong is fully visible now, only the floral lace resting against your hips. 

He moves back and you feel the couch dip as he kneels behind you, straightening the seam of the pants to rest perfectly in the center, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. You feel the goosebumps rise, and you hear the shutter, smiling as you know he’s caught the moment. 

“Are you always this responsive to touch…” he asks, sliding your pants further down over your ass, pulling each leg free until the leather fabric is in a pile on the floor. 

“No. Only when it’s really good…” you answer. 

“Lift your hips up for me, rest on your knees a little, and arch your back.” he says, kneeling on the edge of the couch. His hand slides down your back to assist you, and slides back up, stopping at the hem of your panties. Two fingers hook into the fabric, pulling it down just slightly as you hear the camera shutter. 

You can feel your arousal between your legs, not too far from where his fingers linger, but he releases your panties, sliding them back into place and letting his hand drift over the curve of your ass. He stands up in front of you, and you drop back down, stretching fully across the couch. You lay your head on your hands as you look up at him, watching him crouch down in front of you. He pulls a few pieces of hair over your shoulder, and moves your arm further up to reveal the swell of your breast as it presses against his couch cushion. 

“Pop your hips up just a touch...” he breathes, holding the camera to his eye. “Look at me, baby.”

You bat your eyes as you look at him, seeing the photo in the reflection of the lens as he takes it. 

His chest is heaving as he pulls the camera away, crawling towards you on his knees as he dusts his fingers over your spine. “You make an incredible muse…”

“A good photographer knows that seeing isn’t enough. You have to feel it.” you answer, melting into the feeling of his skin on yours. 

“I think I feel it too much…”

He slides his hand down your arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to a sitting position. He reaches for your wine glass, turning back to you and placing it into your hand. You bring it to your lips, but as you tip the glass a stream of red wine trickles down the stem, dripping rapidly onto your stomach. 

His eyes flick to yours, then down to the small streak of red against your skin, leaning his head forward and letting his warm tongue lap at the spilled alcohol. 

Your eyes close on their own, a breath leaving your lips at the feeling of his lips on your body. He pulls back from you, waiting for your eyes to open, and as they meet you can see he’s asking for permission to continue. 

You open your legs allowing him to move closer, and he takes that as his consent to move between them. He pulls the camera from around his neck, placing it gently on the couch next to you, before grabbing your wine glass and placing it on the coffee table behind him. 

His hands slide up your thighs, his eyes examining every inch of your skin until he meets the edge of your panties. His eyes meet yours and you nod, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on your skin again. 

He hooks his fingers through the fabric and pulls them over your hips, tossing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He takes in a deep breath, lowering his face to your heat, but never breaking the eye contact he has with you. You let a hand slide through his silky waves, silently telling him you wanted this, and he obliges, pressing a kiss to your groin. 

You feel his tongue swipe up through your center, long and slow, hot and soft against you. You fist his hair at the contact, a hum leaving his lips as they vibrate against your clit. Your legs open wider, allowing him to hook his arms beneath your legs, pulling you down the couch to meet his mouth. His tongue works at your clit, flicking back and forth as wet sounds fill the air in the room. His cheeks are flushed as his wet lips suction around you, his brown eyes fluttering closed with every pointed lick. 

You can hardly tear your gaze away from him, your chest heaving as he brings you closer and closer to your release. Your hand reaches out to grip into the cushion, instead landing on the body of the camera next to you. It feels cold against your hand, and as you look at him you realize you might feel it a little too much, too. 

Grasping it in your hand you pull the viewfinder to your eye, positioning him in the frame as he continues to work you towards your orgasm. As his eyes flick up to you, he's met with the camera lens, hesitating momentarily before pulling an elastic from his wrist. He doesn’t cease his actions as he pulls his hair into a messy bun, resting low on the back of his neck. He places his soft hands on the insides of your thighs, looking up into the lens with his blissed out eyes, ready for you to capture the scene below you. 

Hearing the shutter, he grips into you harder, sucking your clit into his mouth with more force, desperate to get you there. His fingers brush your entrance, and with a carefully timed swipe of his tongue he presses them forward until his thumb replaces his tongue applying pressure to your clit. His fingers work inside of you until your legs start to shake with desperation. He replaces his thumb with his lips once more, the warm, wet sensation inching you closer and closer. 

You take a few more shots, hoping to capture the way his dark lashes kiss his cheeks, and the way his nose brushes against you so delicately. Knowing the most vulnerable shots are usually the best. 

He ruts his hips into the couch, desperate for some relief and the groan that leaves his chest is all it takes to push you to the edge. You drop the camera to your side, pulling his face to your body as your orgasm rocks through you. A pathetic sounding whine leaves your lips as his mouth slows, he pulls his fingers from you as gently as possible. 

You’re left a panting mess as you ride the waves of your high, but as you open your eyes and see him licking his fingers, you reach for the camera once more, capturing the act forever on film.

He stands, offering you his hand with a smirk. You can’t help but to notice that his fingers are still pruny and soft as you place your hand in his, letting him pull your shaky body from his couch. He bends over and snatches the camera from the couch cushion before pulling you down the hallway towards his bedroom. 

As you step over the threshold into his bedroom, you’re met with the dark walls and rich earth toned bedding. He drops your hand, and checks his film, before setting the camera on the edge of his bed. He grabs your hand again, and pulls you into him, snaking his other hand around your waist and pulling you close to his body. His eyes search yours before his lips crash to yours, a heady mix of cigarettes, red wine, and you. 

Your tongue tangles with his as his hands grip into your hips, his hardness pressing against your bare stomach. You pull away, locking your eyes on his as you fall to your knees in front of him. You slide your hands up his thighs until you reach the thin white shoelace at his waist, pulling the tip until it unknots itself and slides to the floor. You feel him reach for the camera, letting it hang around his neck once more as he watches you.

You unbutton his pants, feeling the brush of his length against your hand. You work quickly to pull the pants and boxers to the floor, letting him step out of them as you take in the sight of him bare in front of you. You lean forward to kiss at the smattering of hair at his happy trail but you’re quickly stopped before your lips ever make it there.

He grabs your chin in his hand, placing his thumb over your swollen pink lips, pulling the plump flesh down to expose your bottom teeth as the camera snaps the image above you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can think of nothing but the feeling of your mouth around him. 

Unable to wait any longer you grab him in your fist, stroking him a few times back and forth as his eyes study your movements. You wet your lips in preparation for him, letting your tongue dart out to lick a hot stripe up the underside of his cock. 

He pulls the camera to his eye again, “Stay like that. Just like that baby. Look up at me.”

He rests the tip of his cock in your open mouth, snapping a few shots as he leaks onto your tongue, before tossing the camera to the bed. “Fuck, are you sure you’ve never done this before? You look so fucking gorgeous.”

You smile around him, closing your lips and humming in response. You let your tongue slide up his length, taking him as far back as you can the first few times before working into a steady rhythm. Your eyes are locked on his, a look of awe and desperation written into his features. 

His hand finds grip in your hair, moving with you as you work him, gentle whines falling from his lips as you swirl over his tip with each upward stroke. 

Swallowing around him he sucks in a harsh breath, letting you slide back up before repeating the action. You tense around him as you gag, your eyes blinking away tears wanting to continue. Your eyes roll back as you taste the saltiness on your tongue knowing he is nearing his release.

He pulls away from you, cupping your face in his big warm hands, his thumbs swiping away errant tears.  

“I– You’re– Get on the bed for me, sweetness. Wanna ruin that pretty cunt before I cum.”

You look up at him, swallowing thickly, a little shocked by the side of himself he just showed you. You take his hand with a grin as he offers it to you, standing and hopping up onto his bed, laying yourself back on his pillows. He follows you, leaning over to reach for the camera on the nightstand before doing so. He leaves it on the pillow next to your head, focusing all of his attention on you for the time being. 

He’s tender for a moment, leaning down to kiss you briefly before he situates himself between your thighs. He kneels above you, looking down at the sight before him. He traces a gentle line down your sternum, then back up, dragging lightly against the expanse of your clavicle, then back down once more. His eyes seem to roam over every inch of you while you wait patiently for things to advance.

“You…” he starts, a breathy laugh leaving his throat, like he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “So gorgeous.” 

“You’re sweet.” you respond, parting your thighs a bit more for him. He hasn’t stopped his feather light touches just yet though.

“Is that how you like it?” he asks, catching you a little off guard. Your eyes flick up to his and you can’t help the way you squirm a little at his directness.

“I…” you start, but he promptly silences you with a pinch to your nipple, pulling a wanton moan from the depths of your chest.

“Ahh. There she is.” He says, smiling. He lets go and leans down to give it a kiss. “Just trying to get a read on you.”

He palms your breast as he pushes back up, unable to take his eyes off of you. You watch the wheels turning in his head as he squeezes firmly, his eyes cutting to the camera next to your head. 

He picks it back up, adjusting it with lightning speed. He looks through the viewfinder once before reaching for your tit again, your nipple slipping between his long fingers. He snaps a photo, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration while the aperture adjusts, the settings on auto now to save time. 

“That artistic part of your brain just doesn’t turn off, huh?” you ask, reaching up to run a hand down his stomach, your patience running out.

“Blessing and a curse.” he mumbles, reaching forward into his nightstand. As he’s leaning over you, you can’t help but take a moment to place a few wet, searing kisses to his jaw and throat. You know they’re appreciated when he bucks his hips against you, his dick dragging against the inside of your thigh.

He sits back up, tearing the foil of the condom with little difficulty and flipping it over once or twice to check which way is right. He eventually distinguishes top from bottom and starts to slide it on, looking down in concentration. 

After he’s done, he leans down towards you, placing hungry, wet kisses wherever he can find purchase. He reaches between your bodies, taking himself in his palm and brushing the head of his cock through your folds. 

“Wait…” you say, and he rests his head on your chest for a moment, looking up at you with patient eyes. 

“Yes, sweetness?” he says, pulling back, unsure if you’re about to call the whole thing off. You take a deep breath, reaching down to touch him gently. 

“Can we take this off?” You murmur, your hand waiting to pull it off the moment he gives you the green light. 

“God, yeah,” he says enthusiastically, a little chuckle leaving him as you haphazardly pull the condom off of him and toss it by the wayside. “Absolutely. Fuck. I want to…” He trails off, like he’s about to say something else, but once you slip the tip of him inside of you, he can’t get a word out. 

He pushes in about halfway, stopping to settle and watch your reaction. You gaze up at him, reaching up to play with one of your nipples. He takes in a sharp breath at the sight before pulling out a little before he pushes all the way in, slowly. 

“Oh… oh my god,” you manage to get out, unable to help the way the words scratch their way out of your throat. Sam’s eyes are glued to your center, watching himself enter you. 

“Everything about you…” he says, taking a trembling breath, “...is fucking picture perfect.” 

You smile at the compliment and watch his face for a moment, the way his dark lashes move quickly with his blinking eyes trying to process everything at once. He starts to move slowly, the drag of him making your breath hitch. 

He fucks into you slowly, deeply, your head swimming at the sensation. It’s good, but it’s not quite enough, and you can’t help but speak up. 

“Sammy…” you begin, calling him by his nickname, like he asked, affectionately. “Harder. Please.”

He snaps his hips into you in response, giving you a dirty smirk from above.

“You’re a backseat driver in the sack, too?” he quips, moving back on his heels a little to change the angle and give himself more range of motion.

“Shut up and fuck me. How’s that?” you bite, grinning up at him. Before you can even prepare yourself, he snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head in just one of his big hands, your slender wrists slotted between his lengthy fingers.

He looks like he’s about to snap back at you, but then his eyes narrow a little. He reaches for the camera again, holding it against the side of his body to flip the switch and open the aperture. He lifts it to his eye and snaps a picture of his hand pinning your wrists together, the strap of the camera falling a little bit into the frame.

Once he’s done, he drops the camera again and braces himself with his free hand, picking up an almost brutal pace. You can’t complain, because it’s what you asked for, and god did he deliver. The sound of skin on skin, his body meeting yours, rhythmically bounces off the walls of his bedroom. You cry out at the feeling of him, reeling at the sensation of him so deep inside you. Warmth starts to build in your stomach, your head getting dizzy.

“Are you getting close?” he asks in your ear, slightly breathless. You whine in the affirmative, spreading your legs further as if you need him even deeper. He lets go of your hands, sitting up a little straighter but still thrusting into you hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your eyes start to flutter closed, your back arching, and you feel his hips stutter slightly as he moves a bit on top of you. 

There’s some clicking and you know what he’s about to do, but you can’t be bothered to change a single thing about what you’re doing. You reach for your chest, holding your tits steady as he pushes you towards the edge, waiting for the moment. 

“Gonna cum…” you warn, your brows knitting together. 

“Come on, beautiful. I’m ready.” he coos as it hits you, your lips parting, your head tilting back as you gasp for breath. You don’t register when the shutter sounds, but you feel the camera hit the pillow again and Sam’s got both of his hands on your waist, so you know he must have gotten the shot. 

He slows his pace, allowing you to catch your breath and come back down to earth. His hand slides up to your throat, running his thumb over your lips in the same manner he did earlier, but this time instead of letting him tug at your lip you suck his thumb into your mouth.  

“Fuck…” he curses under his breath, pulling his hand back and slowly pulling out of you. “Turn over for me.” 

You blink up at him, a little bashful, your eyes darting to the camera, then back to his. You try to suppress a grin and give him a little shake of your head.

“Do you trust me?” 

Feeling a little giddy, you roll over, pulling your hair over your shoulder before propping yourself up on your knees. You keep your face in his pillow, your eyes watching the camera laying near you as he presses inside you, the position allowing him somehow deeper.

His hands find your hips and as he starts to move, the grip tightens, pulling little hiss from between your teeth. You’re glad he doesn’t hear because you’d hate it if he stopped. 

“Gotta be careful…” he mumbles, his voice strained. “Feels a little too good.” 

You hum, a little laugh leaving you. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, and definitely different from anyone you’ve ever slept with. His playfulness mixed with the dominance that peeks out on occasion is a potent combination you can’t seem to get enough of.

He uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into him, his pace slower, but the feeling of him nudging at your cervix with every stroke makes up for the change in speed. He rubs a hand over the curve of your ass as he slows down and releases his grip.

“Goddamn, that’s beautiful.” 

The camera disappears and you push up on your forearms, suddenly shy and nervous and feeling like a shot of that isn’t quite as artistic as the rest of your photos. You look at him over your shoulder, a little suspicious.

“No, no no. Your back, your hair on the pillow,” he reassures you, a warm hand on your back. You giggle a little, laying back down. He splays your hair across the pillow, then taps your arm. “Move this up under you.” You do as he says, one arm and hand under you, the other hand above you, fisted in the sheets. His hand drags slowly up your back before he speaks again. “Arch a little more. Like you were before. Yeah, perfect.” 

Click.

It lands on the bed, then he starts to move again. He groans, a bit louder than he has been, and you know he’s hanging on by a thread.

“Are you… Are you on birth control?” He asks, his voice slightly boyish in this moment. You can’t help but laugh softly.

“What, you don’t want to knock me up on Valentine’s day?” you joke, and he freezes. You wonder if you said the wrong thing for a moment, but then he speaks softly.

“I’m confident you won’t like my answer, sweetness.” 

It takes you a moment to understand what he means, and when you do, you can’t stop the words that fall from your lips. 

“Try me.” 

He pushes himself deeper into you, so much so he leans over and braces himself on his palm next to your face. He’s closer now when he speaks, his breath hot on your shoulder. 

“I’d love nothing more than to knock you up on Valentine’s day.” 

Holy shit.

“So no plans in November, then?” you quip, grinning as the weight of him pushes you into his pillow. 

“Mm, nothing too big, just a world tour.” he responds, thrusting a few more times. “Super flexible.” he grits out. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, feeling him start to twitch inside you.

“The answer is yes, by the way. About the birth control.” 

“....It’d be cooler if you weren’t, but alright.” he jokes, his voice straining as his hips start to falter. You can hear him breathing through clenched teeth as his grip on you tightens. You tighten around him, arching your back just a touch more and as you drop your head between your arms, you see his hand frantically reaching for the camera one last time. 

You can feel the tension in your stomach tightening, his hand sliding up to your shoulder to pull you back to meet him. “There you go, baby. Keep squeezing just like that. I’m right there.” he says, and you can tell by the lilt in his voice he is waiting for you. 

You rock back, your bodies slamming together with a lewd smack, the sound itself just enough to tip you over the edge. You feel the rush wash over you as he pulls you in, wrapping his arm around your waist as his hips continue to move. He lets out a small grunt with each forceful spurt inside you, and you feel a wave of euphoria sweep over you as you realize he wasn’t joking after all. 

“Fuck…” he whines, pulling out of you. You can hear him adjusting the lens of the camera and you’re so caught up in your own bliss you couldn’t care less that he is documenting his work. You feel him rest his hand on your ass, palming your cheek to the side for a better view as he leaks down the inside of your thigh. 

The camera clicks, and just as you start to lower yourself down, you feel his fingers swipe up through the warmth dripping down your leg, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder to look at him, his eyes completely fixed on you as he slides his cum covered fingers inside of you. 

“Just for good measure, huh beautiful?”

You hear the shutter click a few times, a few indiscernible mumbles of praise from his lips, and finally the thud of the camera as it lands next to you on the sheets. He pulls his fingers from you, tapping your ass softly as an indication that you’re good to relax.

The mattress shifts as Sam gets out of bed, his footsteps heading towards the bathroom. The light shines for a moment accompanied by the sound of running water as you wait patiently. He’s back soon after with a warm, wet washcloth, and he gently parts your thighs to start cleaning the mess he made.

It’s quiet as he tends to you, his breathing slowing down as he does. Once he’s done, he slips into bed behind you, pulling your back to his chest.

“So… what are you gonna do with those pictures?” you ask, the smile on your face audible as you speak. 

“Well, get them developed, I guess. But aside from myself and the poor person at the film lab, nobody will ever see them. Cross my heart.” 

“And me,” you remind him.

“Yes, yes. And you, sweetness.” Silence hangs over the two of you for a moment before he speaks again. 

“Will you stay?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. You wrap your arms overtop of his where he’s holding you tight, nodding.

“I don’t think you could force me out of this bed.” 

–

You’re woken by the warmth of sunshine on your face. Blinking and trying to remember where you are, you refamiliarize yourself with Sam’s bedroom in the daylight. Your eyes clear and focus on the camera sitting on the nightstand. 

Sam is in a deep sleep, snoring softly with his mouth open, a few strands of his hair stuck to his face. You can’t help but smile at the sight before slipping out of bed and quietly sneaking through his house to collect your clothes strewn about.

You peek into his bedroom once you’ve gathered all of your belongings and he’s still out cold, only his feet poking out from beneath the sheets. Your eyes are pulled to the camera again, and then an idea forms. You tiptoe inside and carefully grab it, doing your best to remain quiet. 

Needing darkness, you head for the bathroom and wind the film. You duck into his other bedroom on the way and grab an empty film canister. Hoping it’s quiet enough to not wake him, you close the bathroom door behind you and wait a moment before taking the roll out and putting it in the black container. 

Once you’re done, you retrieve your keys from the cabinet by the door and grab an old receipt he must have just pulled out of his pockets when he was putting his keys in their usual spot. There’s a pencil on the music stand of the nearby piano, so you snatch it and leave him a little note. You write out your phone number, draw a little heart, and put the camera over the corner so you know he’ll find it. You silently sneak out the door and lock it from the inside behind you.

The drive back to your home proved to be shorter than anticipated, the light of day giving you a better sense of your location. You glanced over to the rolls of film laying in your passenger seat, taking mental stock on how many bottles of developer and Blix you had sitting on your shelf. It was times like these you were grateful for your little makeshift film lab, knowing that Sam said he would probably send these rolls off somewhere, and that some poor guy would have to see every lewd act appear right before his eyes. 

You snatched the rolls from your seat and grabbed your camera bags from your trunk before making your way inside to your warm house. Feeling grimey, you ran yourself through a quick shower, eager to see what was waiting for you on these rolls of film. 

Stepping into your lab you place the film rolls on the table, grabbing your Patterson canister, your chemicals, and your scissors to start the process. You trim the leads on the film rolls, smiling as you see your roll next to Sam’s. With the leads trimmed, you flip the light switch in your completely blacked out guest room, leaving you in total darkness as you pry the bottoms off of the rolls of film. 

You load the long slippery strips of film into the plastic spools, screwing the lid back onto your canister before flipping your lights back on. You grab your chemicals and make your way to the kitchen, running the faucet to heat the water bath. It’s been a while since you’d done this yourself, but the process was ingrained into your memory, and you were careful to not miss a single step. You drop your bottles of Developer and Blix into the water bath, grabbing your thermometer from your junk drawer. 

Your phone buzzes on the counter as you wait for the temperature to rise, your heart pounding as you see a new number flash across the screen. You make your way back to your lab, grabbing the canister off the table as your chemicals reach temperature. You carefully pour the developer into the canister, agitating it every few seconds while you read the message on your phone.

Unknown:

9:12am: Off so soon? And with my film? Should have known I’d never see those beauties. 😏

Your timer goes off letting you know it’s time to move on to the next step, so you set your phone down, ready to pour the developer out of the canister. Satisfied with yourself for not making a mess, you pour in the Blix, leaning away from the fumes as they waft through the air. You do your duty, agitating the chemical as directed, waiting the allotted time until it's ready to pour out. 

You debate answering him right away, trying to leave just a touch of mystery in the air. You decide that you’ll wait until the film is done, teasing him with a photo for his eyes only. 

You rinse your film with water to rid it of the chemicals, knowing there’s only a few more steps until you can see just how talented of a photographer Sam really is. You pour in your stabilizer, letting it sit for a minute, biting your lips together as you suppress the urge to text him back immediately. 

With a deep breath you pour out the stabilizer, and unscrew the lid, ready to see if the evidence of your night came out in the wash. With shaky hands you pull the film strips from the spools, seeing 36 clear images appearing on the transparent roll of sepia film. A huff of laughter leaves your chest, seeing the negative image of your body in the tiny rectangles. 

You suck your teeth as you hang the rolls of film to dry, knowing that in about an hour or so they will be ready to scan into your computer. 

—

It seems like it’s taking longer than usual for the film to dry, at least it feels that way as you check for the hundredth time. An hour and some change later you’re dashing back to your computer with the film, scanning it into Lightroom to start inverting the images. 

Your breath is stolen straight from your lungs as you see the first image. Your cheeks flame red at the sight of yourself, spread below Sam. You continue to click through the negatives, completely shocked at how good his composition is. You knew he was a hobbyist, but you start to wonder if maybe he missed his calling. You swallow harshly as you continue to look through them, but then you realize just how beautiful the photos actually are. You almost feel bad that you stole them away from him. 

You work through each image, inverting the colors until they appear as they really are. You note the vintage look on the film and check the empty roll for the date. You smile as you read ‘86, knowing he shelled out a good amount of cash for that roll, and he decided to use it on you. The film comes out warm and grainy from the low light, but you feel that it adds to the photos, and you can’t think of a better turnout. 

Your eyes catch on one photo, and after inverting the colors your suspicion is answered. The long finger shaped outlines on your hips were forever cemented in time. The memory of his grip burned into your mind. His body is connected to yours, and you can almost remember the feeling of him inside you as you look at the photo. You feel a rush wash over you, and you grab your phone tapping a few buttons on the screen until the camera opens. You bring it to the screen and snap the photo before attaching it to a text.

You

10:47am: *Attachment*

10:47am: I had something… pressing…to tend to. 😉

You snicker at your comment, hoping he will get the joke as you add his contact to your phone. You bite your bottom lip in concentration as you continue to work on the images, fixing the coloring and resizing them to the appropriate proportions. 

As you reach the beginning of his roll, you start to see images of daily life, with people you don’t know, but are clearly happy to be having their photo taken by Sam. Bright smiles and warm moments captured by his keen eye. 

Sammy

10:53am: Wow, um…

You

10:54am: I think they turned out pretty good, what do you think?

10:54am: *Attachment*

You attach another image of yourself draped across his couch, his pashmina spread across your body, the light hitting your throat exactly how he planned. 

Sammy

10:55am: You’re so gorgeous, I don’t even know what else to say if I’m honest. I have to see the rest.

10:56am: Do you…Need help? I normally send my film off to be developed but it would be cool to watch. 

As you click to the next image you sit in shock, trying to place the face next to Sam’s on his couch. You drop your phone to the table in front of you, trying to focus. You’re going positively crazy running through faces in your mind until it hits you. You take in the features and realize the man sitting next to Sam is the guy your friend was flirting with all night. Your heart starts to race as you make the connection. Is that the friend he left last night? Did she go home with him?

You blow out a deep breath and finish up the last photo of Sam and another long haired man, drinking foamy beers in what looks to be a foreign country. You smile at the bubbly mustaches on their lips and grab your phone to reply to his message. 

You

11:02am: You’re a really great photographer, Sam. These shots are really, really good. All of them. 

11:03am: If you really want to see the process you’re more than welcome to, kind of makes you feel like a mad scientist haha. I don’t have much going on at the moment, probably going to work on this next roll if you want to join. 

Sammy

11:05am: What are you up to tonight? I have a work event I have to go to, but I’ll probably dip out early, especially if I have a good reason. 😉

You

11:06am: I have to shoot a show tonight, but I’m free after that…

Sammy

11:06am: So…

You

11:07am: Bring your film and a bottle of red. I just might have a few rolls we can use while we wait. 😏

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[its-time-to-write]

hi, i love your writing! could i request something where jamie and reader are dating and jamie starts introducing them to the important people in his life, like roy, keeley, the richmond boys, etc. and each time they get introduced to someone new, whenever jamie steps away, they basically get some variation of the 'you better not hurt him' talk, and when jamie finds out he's worried that reader is gunna be offended or upset but they reassure him that it's fine, they think it's cute that everyone's so protective of him and that it's nice to see him have so many people care about him

Sorry this took FOREVER. Here it is!

the way it goes

It has been exactly twenty-one days since Jamie asked you out on a proper date, and you’re of the opinion that life can’t get much better than this. You’ve only met two of his teammates so far, (Isaac because he’s one of Jamie’s good friends and Richard because you ran into him while shopping) and honestly, they aren’t what you expected at all. 

They’re kind and they seem to genuinely like working together.

(It’s a little funny to call football “work.”)

Isaac tells Jamie to bring you next time they all hang out, and reminds him to buy more juice packs than last time so they don’t run out again.

—

Turns out the next “hang out,” is a night at Isaac’s, and the whole team is there with various partners and spouses. There’s a strict sweatpants-only drsesscode, and pretty much everyone is in clearly expensive matching sets. You’re grateful that Jamie shrunk a brand-new deep green set the other week, because you didn’t have time to go out and buy something new/not ratty.

There are tables of board games, a pile of snacks, and even a bar. Jamie drags you over so he can get “proper buzzed,” and requests something incredibly complicated from Beard, who appears to be the only coach present.

“Babe,” Jamie says, “you good here? I’m gonna get some food.”

You nod and watch him weave through groups of people. You lean against the bar and wait for Jamie’s drink.

“So,” says Beard, “you’re Jamie’s girlfriend.

You nod. “Yeah, I am. I’ve known him for ages, though. Since I was in uni. Always thought he was just some prick footballer trying to score, if you know what I mean.”

Beard chuckles. “I get it. He’s a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

You grin. “He’s my asshole.”

Beard slides you Jamie’s drink but before he completely lets it go, he says, “Hey.”

His voice has lost its jocularity, so you look up to meet his (very intense, slightly terrifying) eyes.

“Jamie doesn’t need his heart broken. He may have been a giant prick, but he’s different now. He’s not the kind of guy you can just screw and move on from.”

Your mouth has gone a little dry, so you just nod. Right then. You turn to go find Jamie and hope he won’t mind if you take a sip of his drink. You’re planning on staying sober tonight, so that one sip is going to have to get you through till the end.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told you to be careful with Jamie. The first time was actually Roy’s niece, Phoebe. Jamie was babysitting and he asked you to come along, so while he was paying for ice creams Phoebe tugged your arm so you’d get down to her level and said, “If you make him cry, they’ll never find you again.”

You had looked at her in shock while she matter-of-factly stated, “My Uncle Roy’s been teaching me things.”

She said the word things far too ominously for an eight year old, but then Jamie came back and she was all smiles again. 

You got a similar, equally threatening talk from Phoebe’s mum, and then from Roy, and then Roy’s girlfriend Keeley.

Variations of the “break him and I’ll break you” talk had begun to trickle in whenever you’d pick up Jamie from Nelson Road. The tone ranged from Sam’s vaguely threatening, “We all love Jamie very much. We’re incredibly protective of him,” to Jan Maas’s blunt, “If you break his heart, you will never find another date on this entire continent.

Even Ted had a comment, which was more along the lines of, Jamie’s a big softie, he doesn’t need some to play him right now, he needs a real supporter. Each time, you assured them that you weren’t going to hurt him. You didn’t ask why they thought you would be the one doing the hurting when he was the one with the reputation.

Because you are fully aware of his reputation. You hadn’t seen Lust Conquers All, but you’d seen enough clips to piece together exactly how it went. And you’d seen the details of his cheating scandals all over the papers. And dealt with him firsthand while in uni. So yeah, Jamie’s past prick-ish behavior is not a mystery to you.

You find it endearing that so many people love him enough to protect him. It’s a good sign, you think.

You find Jamie carefully stacking various snacks on a tiny, tiny plate. His face lights up when you come into view.

“Oh good,” he says. “Extra hands.” He grabs his drink with one hand and gives you the plate with the other. He starts piling on something flaky and slightly green. 

“Isaac’s girlfriend makes these fucking pistachio things, and they always go way too fast. Gotta eat them while you can,” he says while creating an engineering marvel.

“Glad you like ‘em, bruv,” comes Isaac’s voice from behind you. You jump a little, and the plate wobbles. 

You turn to see Isaac with an absolutely gorgeous woman on his arm.

“I’m Stella,” she says. “It’s wonderful to meet you. We’ll have to have you two over for a real dinner.”

Jamie and Isaac quickly become engrossed in a serious discussion about football tactics, with Jamie downing his drink and then taking the plate of food from you. He was right, those pistachio things are amazing.

You chat with Stella for a little bit and learn she’s the face of a modeling agency and met Isaac during some football/branding thing.

“He was the only one during the entire shoot who made sure I was drinking enough water,” she laughs. “Who knew the way to my heart was through proper hydration?”

You talk a little longer before Jamie’s arm is snaking around your waist to whisk you off to see Dani. It goes like that for a little while until you finally settle down at one of the game tables. It’s a card game involving a lot of yelling and pointing fingers.

The house is noisy and cozy, filled to the brim with people who are just comfortable around each other, and you think you’ve never experienced something like this in your whole life.

Jamie on the other hand, is yawning a little bit. His hand, which had been on your knee tracing squiggly patterns, is starting to slow down so you put yours on top of his and whisper, “You about ready to go?”

Jamie nods and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Got fucking extra training tomorrow,” he quietly laments.

You get up to leave and Jamie follows suit with a very loud pronouncement that he’d rather be somewhere private, much to the amusement of the Greyhounds who begin to hoot and whistle. You roll your eyes and smack his butt on the way out.

Forty-five minutes later, Isaac’s phone dings with a photo of Jamie in a pink robe and green face mask, hair pulled back in an equally pink and fluffy headband. He’s lying on your bed and he can see the tv screen playing Notting Hill. You’ve typed, Someplace private, my ass, and Isaac just shakes his head and grins. Fucking Jamie. Prick on the outside, softie on the inside.

You better not break his heart, he writes.

HAH comes your reply a moment later. Not a chance.

“Babe, look,” you say handing Jamie your phone. “I’ve collected the whole set.”

Jamie reads your text thread then looks up at you in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

“Isaac is the only one who hasn’t like, threatened me or something if I hurt you,” you reply.

The tips of Jamie’s ears turn red. “What do you mean, the only one?” he asks. “Like, the team?”

You shake your head. “Oh no. I mean, yes, the whole team, but like pretty much everyone who works at Nelson Road.” 

Jamie’s eyes widen as you begin to list people on your fingers. “Alright, so obviously the Greyhounds, plus all the coaches, Keeley, Rebecca, Higgins, Trent, Samantha at the front desk, Gary, Phoebe and her mum, Will-” you pause. “Should I keep going?”

Jamie groans. “Fucking hell. I’m sorry. They’re all twats, except Phoebe. I swear, they’re not always like that. I’ll talk to them and make ‘em leave you alone.”

“No! You can’t let them know that you know! And…” you hesitate, “I thought it was kind of sweet. Like a green flag, you know? They all like you enough to make sure that you’ll be ok, and they want me to know I have something special. Of course, I already knew that,” you continue, “but it’s nice confirmation.” 

Oh. That’s new.

Jamie’s quiet for way too long so you look over at him. “Babe, are you crying?”

“No,” he says, choked up. “Face mask got in my fuckin’ eye.”

“It’s dried solid, babe.”

“Fine,” he says, “I might be a little. But you can’t tell anyone, especially not Ted, because then he’ll talk to me about feelings and shit, and I’d rather eat ten fucking scones than that.”

You laugh and snuggle into his side. There aren’t going to be any heartbreaks here, not if you can help it. You’re both planning on keeping the other around for the rest of your lives.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Stardew valley bachelors (and krobus and the wizard) witnessing the farmer chug multiple jars of mayonnaise. Just really slinging it back.

Okay ngl I never did this till right now and I got everybody's reactions so this is based on the responses my farmer got after doing this

Spoilers: they've all known my farmer for about 7 years so it's nothing too shocking to them,,,but it's still highly questionable lmao

.....

Shane

"Umm..."

For years, him and Pam were beer addicts...and now comes along you, the new farmer who's a very...different kind of addict.

An addict to mayonnaise, that is.

For years, people have been judging him for his habit, so it seems fair that he should be allowed to judge you 100% for having the weirdest fucking habit in the valley.

He started opening up to you (in his 2 heart event) and you're just sitting next to him, drinking mayonnaise to wash out the beer he offered you.

Only after you two get closer does he decide "well shit, they're weird..but they're also one of the few who care about me,,,"

And he eventually lets go of it altogether.

But he'll still tease you about your mayo addiction from time to time.

"What're you gonna put in the potluck this year? Gold star mayo? Or did you already eat it on the way here?"

"Oh shut up."

"Heh heh."

Sam

"Gross!"

Considering it's one of his hated gifts, this shouldn't come as a surprise to you.

But the way you've absolutely freaked him out by drinking it in front of him (and subsequently making him miss his kickflip) was hilarious.

"That's what you get for skating on other people's property." You shook your head, smirking as you bring out another jar. "You think Jodi needs some for later? Or should I just drink it in front of her, too?"

"NO! Stop. Please don't do that." Sam hisses. "One, she might uninvite you from future family dinners. And two, she'll think it's one of those weird trends and blame me for it!"

"A trend..hm? Doesn't sound like a bad idea. This town could use one more tradition." You laugh, consuming the jar and not missing the look of horror on his face.

"A-And I thought Abigail eating rocks was nuts...you two would be great friends.."

Harvey

"Umm..."

While he's well aware of the many health benefits to mayonnaise, he wonders if you know that they're best as a condiment....not a beverage you can just sling back.

"But you told me to lay off the Joja Colas, doctor," you pointed out to him. "You're telling me those are a healthier alternative to this?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all." He huffs. "It's just..erm..I've never met someone who enjoyed mayonnaise by itself..it sounds-"

"Disgusting?"

"N-No! I didn't mean it like-"

"I'm kidding, Harvey." You laugh a little, amused by his nervousness. "You know any side effects to drinking large quantities of mayo?"

"..none in particular, but that doesn't mean you should-"

"Then if I start feeling anything different, I'll let you know. Thank you." With a wink, you pull out some dinosaur mayo and drink it on your way out of the clinic...with poor Harvey wondering wtf that was.

Regular mayo was fine, but that green icky-looking mayo...had him gravely concerned over what you were doing to your body.

Elliot

"Why?!"

You thought you were being subtle, drinking a little bit of mayo while hanging out at his beachside cabin.

But nope.

You've absolutely horrified this man. Traumatized, even.

It's almost as bad as the time you left a super cucumber on his doorstep, and the next day he sent you a letter demanding to know who made you play this "cruel prank" on him.

In reality, you thought it'd be a nice gift and he'd make something poetic out of a rare sea creature you fished up.

Apparently not and that's when you quickly learned it's a hated one.

"Oh don't be so dramatic," you shake your head. "It's easier to carry than some full course meal."

"But you could have any other food....why that?" Elliot asks, now genuinely curious about what goes on in your mind to think mayo is a suitable choice in food.

You have no explanation though other than "it's most convenient for me and I like the taste".

So he leaves it alone but....maybe it's better not to drink it around him without warning (or drink it when he's buzzed and he may not remember you doing that).

Sebastian

"Umm..."

And here he was, on Ginger Island, hoping to get a brief vacation away from the valley and all its weirdness.

Yet you came along to visit and check on your beach farmhouse--bringing tons of mayo jars with you.

You got thirsty while talking to Seb in the hot sun, and instinctively began chugging the first thing you opened out of your bag.

You don't even realize what you've done until he gives you the strangest look ever.

"Have you always liked drinking mayo...like that?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Um..not since moving into the valley and learning how to make it." You shrugged, smiling sheepishly as you brought out another jar. This time a green color.

"What's that one?"

"Oh! Dinosaur mayo. It's a lot thicker and kinda tastes like a kale drink-"

"I'm sorry, there's dinosaurs in the mines?"

Alex

"Umm..."

"What?" You shoot him a defensive look, cradling the half-empty jar like it's your baby. "You've eaten every raw egg I give you, and I never judge."

"But..that's a little different, isn't it?" He chuckles nervously. "Eggs are great for protein! Drinking straight mayo is...erm....are there any benefits..?"

"It's easy to make with all the eggs in my coop, and um..it keeps my energy up so I don't pass out."

It's an awkward explanation, considering you simply drink mayonnaise for the hell of it and didn't think too much about the "health benefits".

But Alex completely agrees with you, not making any further comments on it in the future.

Although how he's eaten dozen of raw eggs without getting some kind of salmonella poisoning is beyond both him and you.

Perhaps you're both a little bit strange, but he eventually came to accept that about himself.

Wizard

"Umm..."

From the moment you met him and obtained forest magic, Rasmodius knew there was something peculiar about you.

From gleefully retrieving ectoplasm and prismatic jelly for his studies to assisting him in getting the dark talisman back from his ex-wife's home, he's come to trust you as a potential apprentice.

So to drink mayonnaise while looking through his catalogue of expensive magical architecture had him....a bit confused.

"What?" You look at the man standing by the bubbling green pot, his eyebrow raised in question. "C'mon, surely this can't be the strangest thing you've seen."

"No, whatever keeps your spirit and energy nourished is fine and all. But..mayonnaise seems most unconventional. That's all I'm saying. Now I must focus.."

And that's all he says about the matter, not really caring too much.

You're grateful he didn't overreact.

Krobus

"........"

"You're not gonna say anything?"

"About what?"

"About..y'know..me drinking mayonnaise?"

"Why would I? You gift me void mayonnaise. I eat it and use it as a moisturizer all the time!"

Finally, somebody who finds your habit relatively normal---but the only downside is that somebody isn't human.

Makes you often question if you're really human yourself.

It never bothers Krobus whenever you need to sling back a jar of mayonnaise and pull out another one when you return from the mutant bug lair or hike through Cindersap Forest to reach the sewers.

He thinks it's just a normal thing humans do, but when you mention how it's very much not normal in your "culture"..he thinks THEY are weird for not accepting your tastes.

Welp, at least he supports your weird yet harmless habit.

You did try void mayo once and nearly keeled over, so you stick to regular/duck/dino mayo from thereon.

[a-heart-attack-ow]

The Arrangement. Part nine

Part Eight

Part Nine: Smut/Unedited

A line of unmarked black cars cascaded up the winding driveway of our estate. A parade of cars that seemed like an ominous omen of what was to come next. I stand there, looking out the gigantic circular window overlooking the front lawn, my eyes tired from the night before. Colby Brock had called in his associates for whatever he had planned to do next.

Regardless of the consequences.

I shake the thought from my head as a quiet voice comes from behind me. 

“Are you ready?”

Sam rasps, his hand on the small of my back. I glance over my shoulder and breathe a deep sigh. He looked at me slowly, noting what I was wearing. A pair of skinny jeans, oxfords, and a blue sweater. Kris had put my hair up in a half up and down look, the updo part supported by a blue bow, which looked like something Belle from Beauty and the Beast would wear. It was a more casual look but I figured I didn’t need to dress up for whatever revenge plot Colby was cooking up. It was clothing that I would’ve worn before my new life started a year ago.

Clothing that felt more like me for the first time in so long.

I nod feebly and turn to face him, our eyes meeting. For a moment he allowed his eyes to drift to my stomach, the nonexistent baby bump was almost enough for me to believe I’d dreamed everything up. But the blood test I’d taken confirmed it, I was pregnant.

I was pregnant with Colby Brock’s baby.

Though no one could tell yet, it was still too early. A look moves to Sam’s face as he reaches forward to place a hand on the side of my face. For a moment I froze, because he never touched me like this. He breathes a deep sigh, his thumb lightly grazing my cheekbone. He swallows hard when he sees the look of confusion move to my eyes and then he moves his hand from me. It looks like there’s something he wants to tell me, but he doesn’t. It's the same look that I’d seen once or twice throughout the duration of my first year of marriage. My marriage to his best friend and adopted brother. 

“Sam? Is something wrong?”

I ask. Genuine concern starts to overtake me as I look at him. I don’t know what’s got him being like this with me. I don’t know if it's because he found out I was pregnant two days ago and he was being a protective friend or if he knew something I didn’t know. Whatever it was, it caused me great pain to see him looking at me like this. 

At first he doesn't respond, only takes my hands in his, his thumb tracing over the wedding ring and wedding band that I haven’t taken off since I got married. He traces the gaudy design in silence for several minutes before he dares to look up at me. 

“Colby is so lucky to have you...”

He sounds almost bitter when he says this. 

“... He’s always been so careless when it comes to loving someone. Always seemed to be in it for the sex and he didn’t care who he fucked over in the process. He’s hurt a lot of people in pursuit of his own desires, but with you…”

He pauses once more, his hands gripping mine a little firmer. As if to drive his point home. 

“... With you he’s been so different. But if he ever does anything to hurt you again I don’t think I could forgive him. I love him too much to let him make that mistake and I love you too much to let him treat you that way…”

At first I think he’s saying he loves me like a sister-in-law, but when he looks at me he continues speaking.

“... Over the past seven months, when Colby got distant with you, when we started spending everyday together hanging out, that’s when I fell for you. When you came home from that event sobbing I wanted to hit him, seeing you upset because of him, drove me insane. I love you and I just wanted to say it out loud once.”

His admission causes my heart to skip a beat and for shock to reach my face. For a few minutes neither of us speaks as we study each other closely. I don’t know what has brought this on, but I knew that we didn’t have the time to get into this now. I knew that I didn’t feel the same way about him. Even if he was one of the best people I’d ever known, Colby was my person and nothing was going to change that. 

“Sam, I’m sorry. I-”

I attempt to say, but he cuts me off with a small smile.

“I know you love him and I know that it was wrong for me to get those feelings. I will deal with my shit, but I just wanted you to know because keeping it to myself had been really fucking hard Emilia.”

I smile back at him and give his hands a firm squeeze this time. Sam had become the brother I always wanted and I felt bad that this had happened. But I was glad that he understood how I felt. 

“I already told Colby.”

He rasps quietly, his eyes on the ground in shame. I feel my stomach drop for a moment as I try to mentally picture how my husband handled that conversation. 

“Oh?”

Is all I can manage in response, my eyes searching Sam’s face for any sort of indication of how it went. Especially since Colby hadn’t bothered to tell me what his best friend and adopted brother had said. Sam sighs moving his hands from mine to swoop his bangs to the side, exposing a black and blue fist sized bruise on the side of his head. My jaw drops as my hands move to my mouth in shock. I only get a good look at it for a second before he swoops his bangs back into place. 

“I’m sorry he hurt you.”

I manage softly, his shoulders shrugging like it’s no big deal. 

“Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing if another guy who was close with my wife told me he was in love with her. I’m sorry to spring things on you. I just had to get it off of my chest.”

I give him another small smile as Celina’s voice carries up the stairs, my eyes meeting hers at the bottom when I look around Sam. 

“Get down here you two.”

He breathes a sigh and extends his arm to link with mine so we can go down the stairs. When I link with him, he makes sure to slowly guide me down the stairs. 

“You know I’m not that pregnant that I can’t manage the stairs.”

I whisper to him, with a playful grin on my face. He rolls his eyes and smiles back. 

“You’re literally carrying precious cargo. I’m not risking you tripping down these stairs. I’m already on Colby’s shit list and that’s the last thing I need.”

I can’t help but laugh at the logic, a deep hearty laugh that I needed to release after that brief moment of tension up stairs. A laugh that Sam returns. However, my husband’s face looks less enthused when we reach the bottom of the stairs and he sees us both cracking up. Jealousy seems to find a home in his eyes when Sam and I unlink arms and I make my way over to him. He stares at his brother for a few seconds before leaning down to press his lips to mine. Pulling my body in against his as he deepens the kiss. Putting on a show in front of his brother as if to say ‘she’s mine’. I break the kiss when I realize what he’s doing and our eyes meet. 

“Colbs. Everyone already knows who I belong to.”

I whisper just for him to hear, his eyes fixated on me. His breathing is uneven and I can see the lust burning deep within him. He likes it when I say that I belong to him, likes it even better when I say it and he’s deep inside of me. I smirk up at him, through innocent eyes that seem to taunt him. 

“Baby, you’re playing a dangerous game…”

He growls back at me, as quietly as I had spoken moments before.

“... When this meeting is over. I’m going to fuck you so hard you never doubt who you belong to.”

A chill moves up my spine at his words, but I don’t let any physical reaction show as I take a step back. I look over my shoulder, into the living room and sigh when I look at his friends who’d come today. All of them were doing their own thing, Sam just now joining them. I didn’t know why Colby had invited Corey, Johnnie, Jake, and Nate, but I didn't question it. He told me not to, so I didn’t. I knew that I needed to keep my head down and focus on our baby, not whatever was up his sleeve. 

“Hey Kris and Celina?”

Colby asks, the two girls moving from the living room where everyone else is. Joining us as Colby takes a step back from me. 

“Do you think you two could distract my wife for a few hours? I have an important meeting I’m going to be holding in my office. I don’t want her getting any ideas about eavesdropping.”

He shoots me a playful look before turning his attention to the girls. They answer him back with friendly ‘sures’ and he gives me one last kiss on the forehead before going into the living room. He tells the guys they’re going to be going into his office and they all leave without so much as a second glance. Leaving us all alone. 

“Anyone feel like that was a little sexist?”

Kris jokes, Celina and I laughing. It felt weird for sure. Why would I need to be distracted? Was this work related? What did he need to talk about that I couldn’t hear about? I tried to consider that maybe he was just trying to keep me from stressing out and that’s why he didn’t want me near the meeting. I look at the girls and smile. I can’t think of what to say to them, suddenly feeling awkward, so I decide to try and get out of the house. 

“Anyone want to go for a walk? I’ve lived here for over a year and I still haven’t seen all of the grounds. It might be nice to make this place feel more like a home.” 

Celina looks from me to Kris with a look of suspicion. Knowing full well that this home felt more like a museum I was forced to stay in than a real home. 

“We can, but I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

Celina says, her eyes narrowing at me for a moment. She can see right through me and I’m too excited to not say anything. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

I say with a small smile, hoping they don’t judge me too harshly. They might not have said it out loud, but I’d seen the looks they’d give Colby when he was an ass. They’d seen the way that he treated me and they’d seen how hard this adjustment had been. Now, having a baby just took that adjustment up several notches. 

They both look at me in genuine shock. Both faces look serious as they process what I’ve said. Something that makes me wish I hadn’t said anything at all. My smiles fades and I look at the two of them feeling any joy I felt flee. 

“Is he going to step up?” 

Is all Kris asks, her face slightly more sympathetic now that she sees how the joy I’d been feeling has faded. 

“He says that he is.” 

My voice replies, sounding small and slightly ashamed. They probably thought I was ridiculous for being excited for even a moment. They knew that our relationship had been volatile at times. They knew that the main focus of our relationship was sex, but they didn’t know that it was loving too. That was something that we hadn’t been great at showing others, it was even harder when Colby pulled his latest bullshit. I realize they were right to be weary and I have to remind myself to be weary too. I have to remind myself that he still needed to prove himself to me. 

“He better or Sam might kill him...”

Celina states, more to herself than anyone else, a statement that earns a look from Kris. A look that tells me they were well aware of how Sam felt about me.

“Did he tell you guys?”

I ask, my voice unable to hide the shock I feel. Did everyone know about this before I did?

“...We’re really close friends and we have been for the past five years. Colby’s always been distant and doing his own thing, but Sam is the reason we started working here. He’s the only one who’s ever taken the time to actually talk to us and not just boss us around.” 

Mentally, I think back to every interaction Colby has had with both Kris and Celina and realize, to my horror, that they were right. He didn’t treat them like friends, even if he let them come over and spend time with me or Sam. He kept everyone at arm’s length until he needed something from them. A thought that I’d had on more than one occasion. 

About my own relationship with him.

“I’m sorry.”

I whisper, feeling selfish and idiotic. I couldn’t understand how I could quickly forget his shortcomings. Was I willingly allowing him to treat the people I cared about like this? What would I do if he was like this with our child? 

“You don’t need to say sorry. We’re sorry for being negative. We are happy for you and I know that you’re going to be an amazing mom.We just want him to be better for you.”

Kris says this hopefully, as if her words can take away the mixed emotions falling over me. My eyes meet both of the women standing in front of me, their eyes more sympathetic with fake encouragement laced on their face and suddenly I don’t want to hangout with anyone anymore. Regardless of what Kris had just said to me. Suddenly I just want to go upstairs and cry myself to sleep. 

–

Everyone leaves eight hours later. 

The house is eerily quiet as I stood in the kitchen all alone. I’d sent Celina and Kris home for dinner, along with our kitchen staff. I didn’t like relying on other people to do everything for me. It didn’t feel right, I used to cook for my dad every night. I used to clean for fun (all while listening to my cleaning playlist on my phone). I used to do so much more than be a doll who dressed up and did what she was told. So I stood in the kitchen with cooked jumbo shells and a bowl of ricotta filling. It had been so long since I made stuffed shells and it made me think of my dad. It was his favorite thing I cooked. The thought of him tugs at my heartstrings, my eyes watering as I fill the shells up and start lining them in the pan. I hum to myself to fill the silence and fall into a steady pace as I fill the pan. Once I’ve filled it with the shells, I open the tomato sauce and cover the shells and add the mozzarella on top. I slide the food into the oven and breathe a deep sigh.

“Okay, now it just needs to cook for 25 minutes.”

I whisper to myself, my focus turning to the sink behind me. I begin to wash the dishes I’ve dirtied when I hear a loud sound come from behind me. The sound of voices shouting from behind a closed door. I want to investigate but know that I can’t leave the food unwatched. I breathe another deep sigh and dry my hands off. Grabbing the pot holders I slide them on and take the food out of the oven. Once it’s safely out and set on top of the stove I investigate the sound of shouting I’d heard before. 

Down the long corridor connecting that leads out of the kitchen is Colby’s office door, which is where the sounds of shouting were coming from. The rest of the guests had left over an hour ago, but Sam had remained in the office. From where I am standing I can’t quite make out what is being said, but the muffled voices are booming from the otherside. Out of curiosity I place my ear against the door, my focus on whatever words I can pick up. 

“This will work Sam!”

Colby’s voice sounds like venom when he speaks, each letter biting.

“If we follow the plan then Emilia’s father will be safe. We just have to get him to the safe house.  If we take away the leverage they have over her then that’s a start. We just have to plan how it won’t get tracked back to us.”

I feel my heart start to beat in my chest when I hear the sound of Colby’s voice talking about my father. What were they planning? I hear Sam sigh, his voice tired as if they’d gone over what to do for hours.

“I think the plan of attack needs to come from me. Mom and dad have always been blind to any of the things I’ve done that are unsavory. They act like I'm an angel or something, but it’s my fault that we are even in this position in the first place.” 

My heartbeat quickens when I hear him say this. From the other side of the door I hear Colby breathe a deep sigh. A dangerous growl that seems to indicate that he’s on the verge of losing it on his brother. 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He asks Sam in confusion. Sam lets out a bitter laugh, like he’s uncomfortable with what he’s going to admit to.

“Mom and dad let it slip that someone stole money from them. They needed someone to scare the person who owed them money. They didn’t go to you because they’ve been pissed at you since you went blabbing to some reporter when you were drunk at the bar. So, they sent me out. Gave me a gun that is identical to a real gun and I broke into some guy's house and intended on scaring him into paying mom and dad back. His daughter came home and started begging for me not to hurt him. She’d just come home from a night class and she looked so fucking scared and I didn’t mean to scare her. But then she offered herself up to spare his life and I had an idea. Mom and dad had been planning to put you in an arranged marriage for months and when I saw her. This beautiful, green-eyed, sweet little thing I knew that she would be perfect for you.”

I feel sick hearing Sam speak. The night replaying in my mind. The night I’d come home and saw a masked man with a gun to my father’s head. The blue eyes that had looked back at me as I offered myself up to save my dad. The man who laughed in my face and told me he knew what he was going to do with me was Sam. 

The Sam that held me through the roughest moments of my life. Who’d become my best friend here. The man who’d told me he was in love with me hours ago. He was the reason I was here now. He was the reason I entered into this marriage. He was the reason for all of it and it made me sick. Because I trusted him more than anything and he’d done this. I cover my mouth to hold in the tears that escape me. 

“You helped cause all of this?”

Colby asks in disbelief. Shock is laced into his words and I can only imagine the look he’s giving his brother. Whatever he’s doing Sam is quick to defend himself. 

“You should be thanking me. Honestly, she’s perfect for you and for our family. When I saw her I knew you’d like her. She’s your type only better because she’s not a random skank who is going to ruin our family’s image. She’s perfect, beautiful, kind, and you wouldn’t be with her had I not made an executive decision.”

I feel sick. My stomach turns and I don’t know how to feel. Yes, I’d met the love of my life because of Sam. But my dad, my entire world, was getting hurt because of it. I keep my mouth covered as Sam speaks again. 

“Remember what I did for you the next time your fucking her sweet little pussy. Remember what I did for you whenever the tabloids have something nice to say about you for once. And remember that, had it not been for me, you would’ve ended up with someone who wouldn’t have played by the rules. Our sweet little Emilia is the only one who could’ve gotten us here. She’s bringing new life to our family and it’s all because I made it so.” 

The way he says our makes the hair on my neck stand on end. Like they both own me. With shaking hands I go to grab the door knob, my hand resting on the cold gold for a moment. Colby says something harsh to Sam, but I can’t bring myself to listen to the words. Instead, I move my hand from the door knob and walk away. 

Clinging to the wall of the corridor I retreat back to the kitchen. I put the food back into the oven and stood there in utter shock. I hear the office door open and the shouting resumes, but travels away from me. As if Colby is kicking Sam out for the night. The front door slams so loud that it almost feels like the house is going to crumble around it. I tremble as I hear Colby’s feet travel down the hallway. 

“My love?”

He calls, when he’s unsure of where I’ve gone. With a shaking breath I reply out of fear of worrying him. 

“I’m in the kitchen.”

I call back lifelessly. All I can do is think of Sam’s eyes. Now when I picture his pale blue eyes I can see it. 

I can see that night. 

How could I not see it before? How could I have spent so much time being with him and getting to know him and not see it? We’d spent nearly every day together for well over a year and I had no idea. He had been so scared the night he found the severed ear of my father. He had held me through any of the loneliness I’d felt with Colby. And he’d been so kind to me whenever I needed it, but it was him. This entire thing happened because he was doing what mommy and daddy wanted him to do. He’d threatened my dad and used me as collateral for his family image. Used my dad as leverage for whenever I didn’t do as I was told. Suddenly I didn’t know if I could ever face Sam again. How could he have said he loved me earlier when he’d done all of this? All of this without telling me? Maybe we could’ve moved past this if he’d been honest with me from the beginning, before the maiming of my father. Before he’d got his hooks in me and befriended me. I can’t stop the tears from hitting me, even as Colby enters the room, his eyes finding me. Without saying a word he knows that I know everything that was said. He can tell that I’m utterly devastated and betrayed. The same look that he wears on his face mirrors mine. We’d both been played by Sam. 

“Emilia-I-I’m so sorry-”

I cut him off by placing my hand in front of me, gesturing for him to stop. He sounds so broken when he speaks and the tears in his eyes are legitimate as he takes a step forward. Without saying anything I pull him in for a hug and bury my head in his chest. I hold onto him tightly as if hugging him could take away the pain of this newest discovery. He holds onto me too, his head on top of mine.

“... It’s okay baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

His nod to our unborn child makes my heart swell, my arms squeezing him firmly. We remain like this for several minutes before I dare to pull back and look at him. His blue eyes are filled with concern as we look at each other. He’s unsure of what to do or say. 

Because he knew nothing he said could change what happened. 

“I’m cooking dinner.” 

I rasp when I can’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t even know how to unpack every single emotion washing over me. He gives me the smallest smile and places his hands on either side of my face, his thumbs brushing the stray tears away. 

“How much of that did you hear?”

He asks. 

“From when you started talking about a safe house for my father. I heard what Sam said. I heard all of it.”

A nod is all he gives me at first as he mulls over what to say next. 

“He’s going to be staying with some friends for the time being. I told him we both need space to process everything.”

It’s my turn to nod and process. Suddenly I’m thankful that he’s being level headed for the both of us. We both felt betrayed and it was all so raw right now. Space would be the best thing for everyone involved. Even though a small part of me wanted to slap him for saying what he said and doing what he did. 

“Now, what do you need from me?”

He asks, trying to do whatever he can to help me through this. I pondered the question for a moment before deciding on what I needed at this moment. Here, in his arms and with these feelings that felt like they were going to break me into a thousand pieces, I needed a distraction. I needed him to distract me and make me feel something else. 

Anything else but this.

“I need you.”

The desperation in my voice gives my desires away immediately. For a second my husband looks down at me in confusion, only to replace the expression with a dark look of desire.

“How do you need me?”

He asks, his voice deeper as he leans down to press his lips to mine. He deepens the kiss instantly, his tongue in my mouth. I can feel that he needs this distraction too. That he’s hurting as much as I am and in need of reprieve. I feel his hands move to my waist as he lifts me up off of the floor to the counter top. He spreads my jean covered legs apart and stands between them as his hands find my hair. His lips never seem to leave mine, not even when he needs to take a breath. 

“I need you to fuck me, so hard I never doubt that it’s you I belong to.”

Repeating his prior words towards me is enough to send him spinning. He pulls my body in against his, removing what little space had been between the both of us. The way his hands tangle in my hair and the gentle pull they give me is almost too much to bear. I can feel myself getting wetter the longer we remain like this. 

“How long does that have to cook for?”

He asks, wanting to know how long we have before the oven interrupts us. I can’t help but giggle when he says this, amused by the question. An action that causes him to groan against my lips. 

“20 minutes.”

Is all I reply as he lifts me off of the kitchen counter. He guides us to the kitchen table, staring down at me for a moment before his hands move to the button of my jeans. He undoes them and slowly drags them down my body, pulling them off with my pair of oxfords. My clothing gets tossed to the floor without any consideration, his hands moving to my underwear. A smirk finds his lips when he sees how wet I am. 

“Fuck.”

He groans when he pulls the underwear down my legs, eyes fixated on my arousal. The care he’d put into tossing my clothing away is the same with my underwear, adding them to the pile. I can’t look away from him as he watches me. Quietly debating what he wants to do next. He turns his attention to the sweater I was still wearing. He gets on top of me on the table, his lips finding mine once more as he kisses me, I feel the ghost of his hands moving the sweater up my torso. He’s so gentle as he does this that it causes a chill to move up my spine. Goose bumps form on my arms as he pulls my sleaves off of me. He pauses his kisses long enough to lift the sweater over my head and off of my body. I hear the fabric fall to the floor, and I can’t help but whimper at the loss of his lips as he starts to kiss down my neck. His lips travel down my throat and to my chest, kissing up to the valley between my breasts. 

Our eyes lock as he uses his teeth to unclasp the front of my strapless bra, removing the last peice of fabric on my body. Once the bra is gone he continues kissing down the valley of my breasts, stopping on ly when he decides to give my left nipple attention. He uses his mouth to suck the sensitive bud of my breast, his free hand carefully messaging the other breast. My body arches into him as he does this relentless assult on my breasts. I knew if this lasted too much longer I would cum. 

He knew it too.

Which is why I am not surprised when he stills his actions and gets off of me. I look at him, my chest rising and falling as he moves his hands to his black button up. 

“Can you touch yourself while I undress baby doll?”

He asks, his eyes on me as he waits for me to do as I’ve been told. Realizing he won’t undress himself until I’ve done as I’d been instructed. I slowly moved my hands down my torso, our eyes never leaving one another. My hands reach down to my slick sex. He unbuttons one button and waits until I’ve dipped my index finger into my wet folds before resuming. I can’t help but moan at the sensation of finger fucking myself. It was the same as when he did it, but I was so sensitive that even my fingers offered some relief.

But only some.

“Hmm, that’s my girl.”

He practically purrs as he finally completely undoes my shirt. The fabric finding its place in the pile on the floor. 

“Add another finger baby.”

He speaks in a lower register. His hands on his jean button.  My heart skip a beat as I add another finger, anothe rmoan escapes me. I slowly pump my fingers in and out of myself. The entire time I do this I can’t help but think about how much better this would feel if it was his fingers inside of me. My eyes flutter closed as I bring myself closer to the edge. His pants fall to the ground and I hear his shoes lightly thud to the floor. 

“That’s enough baby. Daddy doesn’t want you to cum until I’ve had my chance to play with you.”

His hands still my actions and before I truly have to process it. His lips are on mine once more. His hands pulling my fingers away from where I need them the most. I whimper at the loss of them. The loss only lasts for a moment before I feel the tip of his hardened cock at the entrance of my soaked sex. I make make sure to open my eyes and stare directly at Colby as he slowly sinks his hardened length inside of me. His jaw clenches and his lips part as he pushes himself as far as he can inside of me. A small gasp of pleasure escapes me the moment he’s inside of me. 

“Colby.”

I whisper his name, unable to say or think of anyone else. He chuckles, knowing all too well that he’s scrambled my mind before even moving inside of me. He pushes his lips back to mine as he guides his hands to either side of my lips. He lifts me up slightly  and starts to move. His thrusts are careful as my elevated hips allow for him to hit deeper inside of me. 

With every thrust I feel like I could cum without warning. Every movement felt euphoric. After a while I can feel myself moving to meet his thrusts. My body in desperate need of a resolution to my climax. Careful groans pass his lips as he soaks me in, savoring each second he’s inside of me. 

“Does my sweet little wife need to cum?”

He mumbles against my lips in between kisses. I hum in response when I can’t think of actual words to say. Which earns a hum from him in response. He quickens his pace. With each thrust he’s sloppier and sloppier as our bodies both reach our highs aand we come undone. 

We cum together. Both of us falling into a heap of breathlessness. 

Neither of us speaks as we collect ourselves. Both of our bodies tired from the range of emotions we’d felt today. He smiles down at me sweetly, his eyes flicking over to the stove before returning back to me. 

“How about we eat what you cooked, have some sparkingling grape juice, since someone is preventing you from drinking, and watch a show?”

He lightly places his hand on my stomach when he mentions our unborn child as the reason for drinking grape juice. He stares down at my stomach in wonder. I don’t think it had hit him that we were expecting. It still didn’t feel real to me either. Something that I knew would change as my body changed. Without speaking he places his lips on my stomach, giving me a soft kiss.

“I love you little one. I promise to be a better parent than what I had.”

He looks up at me and smiles once more. He looks so genuinely happy and it’s enough to make my eyes fill with tears. Was Sam right? Should we be thanking him for bringing us together? Where would we be if he never did what he did? Its an unbearable thought. 

I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

But even still, I couldn’t just forgive him. Colby might’ve been an ass at times, but he was always up front with me about who he was. He never tried to hide it. 

Even when I wished he would’ve.

Sam’s betrayal stung because he’d hidden this from me. Even when I overheard him speaking to Colby he didn’t sound like the Sam I’d gotten to know. I look at Colby, blinking back the tears as he helps me up off of the table, his hands careful and cautious. 

“I would really like that Colby.”

I whisper as I think of how much we both needed a night of normalcy. After everything that happened today, we deserved a nice relaxing night in. But I couldn’t shake the fear of what tomorrow could bring. 

The fear of a new day and whatever Hell could come with it.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi, how about oblivious farmer? Like half the town is in love with them and they give them hints they don't see. The farmer treats them as good friends and says they want to be friends with them forever lol. It would also be nice to see them compete with each other a bit (Especially Alex vs Sam, because I like them the most. But my character probably won't get involved with anyone because I'm a little afraid of them having kids. Of course I like kids and would be nice having children, but I just i heard that in sdv they are creepy and people turn them into birds, i'm a bit worried…so story almost taken out of my character's life in stardew valley). Sorry for writing so much and have a nice day

Thank you so much for your ask, dear anon!

_________________________________________

Oh Yoba, bless the heart of the oblivious Farmer. And bless the patience of all the bachelors and bachelorettes who are trying their best to make almost obvious hints to win the interest of the young and chaotic Farmer of the whole Valley. But the real chaos began when word got out that Farmer so-and-so didn't mind dating both guys and ladies. That is, the bachelors began their competition for the Farmer's heart, not realizing that the bachelorettes were also determined to win the Farmer for themselves. Moreover, each was for himself, and one individual has to have as many as 11 potential competitors.

Some left the "game" as soon as it started, not believing that they would have any chance (Penny, Shane, Maru and Sebastian), some began to show "aggressive" friendship to Farmer, almost sticking to them like a faithful dog that would bark and cackle at the sight of outsiders (Alex, Abigail Sam), while others did not employ any tactics, considering sincerity and friendship to be the key to winning hearts (Harvey and Emily). Some decided to go for the sly, and with the help of not too damaging friendship and mental health gossip cleverly push the competitors away from Farmer and win themselves over (Haley). And it also happens that some people were so caught up in the battle for young Farmer's heart that they didn't notice how they fell in love with each other (Elliott/Leah).

The married and adult residents of the Valley looked on in total shock. Someone, namely the parents of some of the bachelors (those same Jodi, Robin and Caroline) also tried to hint to Farmer that their son/daughter really liked them. Someone (Lewis) tried to talk sense into the love-crazed youngsters by nagging them to stop their "loving advances". The children (Jas, Vincent, and Leo) looked on with incomprehension, believing it was "just another grown-up fad" that they, alas, could not yet comprehend. How the others (Marnie, Willy, and Gus) laughed heartily at the whole thing, and how George grumbled at home because all that "love cacophony" kept him from watching TV. Also laughing heartily, the old adventurers (Marlon and Gil) genuinely didn't understand how their young Guild member could calculate sophisticated tactics against dangerous monsters, but can't figure out when someone is flirting with them (they even made a bet who would win, just for fun). Rasmodius shook his head and asked the Farmer if they had knocked over the love potion.

What's funny is that in the end the Farmer's choice fell on Krobus. Because they're a sweet, kind, cool monster, and they smell like licorice. Who would have thought that happiness can be found in stinking sewer drains. Although, given that diamonds or gold ore are found in some garbage cans of the residents of Stardew Valley, there is nothing to be surprised at all...

PS: Also yeah, you're right. Sometime, children in this game looks like a nightmare fuel 😅 And the fact than you can rid of them by turning them into pigeon... Oy vey.

[t00muchheart]

As I do when I am hyperfixating on something, I have read a LOT of supernatural fanfiction in the last few months, and I get a lot of the titles I read from other peoples’ recommendations or collections on ao3, so I figured I’d share some of my favorites in case anyone else is looking for recs :)

AUs:

Spirit of the West by teen_dean

This is a shock to literally no one who follows me because I regularly bring it up, but it honestly is one of the best things I’ve ever read. The 90s horse girl AU of your dreams (or, if you haven’t dreamed of one, that you never knew you needed). The storytelling is immaculate, the symbolism rich, and it only improves on re-reading

And this, your living kiss by opal_bullets

Poet Dean AU featuring genuinely beautiful comments on language and writing and how we encounter stories and words and what they can do, and also some honestly incredible poetry

where there is darkness by quiettewandering

Lighthouse keepers AU! this one is a bit mysterious and I did scream into a pillow after finishing it. If you know the story of the Flannan Isles lighthouse keepers, it is loosely inspired by that.

Phantasma by thisisapaige

Messy Dean, my beloved. Messy, Stanford-Era Dean, my beloved. Dean breaks off from John and buys a haunted house, and things sort of escalate.

For All You Young Hockey Players Out There, Pay Attention by thursdaysfallenangel

I don’t even watch hockey, but this AU kind of made me want to start. Rivals to friends to lovers all while dealing with the homophobia in the NHL

time has come today series by teen_dean

Team Free Will brings in teen Dean Winchester to help with a case, parallel worlds come into play; every version of Dean Winchester falls in love with Castiel & all the good stuff like that

What Baking Can Do by cowlovely

Baker & Dad Dean fic and Doctor Cas? What more could you ask for?

Everyone’s a Critic by Englandwouldfall

Food Critic Cas and Chef Dean meet in a truly unfortunate way. This is worth it for Cas’s reviews alone, but also the Dean-Gabriel dynamic

FROTUS by kathscradle

A President Cas, Restaurant Owner Dean romance that was honestly just a good time

Fix-Its:

take the bones, begin anew by JustStandingHere

This was one of the first fics I read and it is sort of peak disaster™ Dean Winchester. I love a good “I fixed up a house for you and didn’t realize it meant I was in love” fic and this one is iconic

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees) by sobsicles

I ugly cry every time I read this fic. It is a run of Cas and Dean’s relationship in seasons 13-15 and has Dean making a friend and it hurts but also it’s so good. Maybe my favorite Sam line of any fic comes from this fic ("If he thinks what you two do is friendship, then I must just be some guy he happens to speak to sometimes.”)

break the skin (to break the barriers) by sobsicles

Dean gets tattoos, and as he does, he tells the tattoo artist his life story. This is a post-15x19 fic told from an outside perspective and it is so well-done

Dumbassery, Denial, Doing by sobsicles

Listen tbh this list could be dominated by sobsicles and so I am showing restraint by only including three of their works. Their Dean characterization is everything to me and this fic really highlights Dean growing to understand himself better when given the freedom to

Revisions by bizarrestars

THEE what if Dean and Cas got together earlier and Chuck just wrote it out? fic.

a turn of the earth by microcomets

I love a work that explores pre-series Dean, and this one is great. Basically, think what-if later seasons Cas and pre-series Dean met (Strandlines by aeli_kindara is another good example of this premise, but in Strandlines, it is pre-series Cas as well as pre-series Dean).

psalm 40:2 by unicornpoe

On a similar note, psalm 40:2 is a great pre-series Dean, future-Cas fic. I am a bi Dean believer but this fic did sway me toward the gay Dean camp because it’s simply so good.

You Belong Among the Wildflowers by ImYourHoneyBee

Dean fixing his relationship with Jack? You got it. Dean trying to work through losing Cas? Yep. Dean getting Cas back by being stubborn? It’s there.

Who You Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel

Dean has a ghost following him around as he tries to start a life post-series, and for a while, he can’t figure out what’s happening. I love nothing more than Dean telling people he and Cas were married because he doesn’t know how else to explain and this fic delivers so hard

quilts by fleeceframe

A “Cas didn’t confess before getting taken to the Empty” fic. Soft things all around

Miscellaneous:

Fathers & Daughters by sinnabonka

On a different note, this is one of my favorite Claire fics. It looks at Claire’s relationship with Cas and the impossibility of it, and it’s so artfully done.

Bus Loop Madness by batz_in_blue

Literally just a “what if everyone lived, Jack was a toddler, and they all picked him up from school?” AU. I audibly laughed while reading this, and it’s an essential pick-me-up from the heavier fics.

More of my favorite sobsicles fics include: gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable), and he’s back (with a mind of his own), six hundred sundays (and many more), oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith, things happen (they do, they do, and they do), according to all known laws of life, and profoundly bonded (by law)

Also, honorable mentions to Ninety One Whiskey, which is such a good fic, and Make a Believer Outta Me, which is a Hocus Pocus AU that is honestly just a fun time.

[mylordshesacactus]

LOVE, WATER, FIRE

What is your best writing advice?

"Show don't tell" doesn't mean what you think it does. Learn it better, and free yourself from a half-understood mnemonic.

When you show, you slow. Learn THAT one backward and forward as well; it won't fix pacing issues overnight, but it'll help you understand what causes them.

Writing fanfiction? Go back to the source material FREQUENTLY, or you'll lose all sense of the characters and end up writing someone unrecognizable.

If you struggle to block out action sequences, genuine advice? Think in terms of combat rounds in D&D. Not literally, of course, nobody should be taking rigorous turns, but: Play out the action in your head. If six seconds have gone by, everyone in this sequence should have done something. That thing could be charging into melee range--noting that this extra combatant is running toward the fight but hasn't gotten there yet. It could be reloading a weapon. It could be clutching their side in shock and wheezing. They don't need to be Selecting A Combat Action, but fight scenes become incoherent when you lose track of who's doing what. When you forget about Goon #3 and then have him show up again doing something that doesn't remotely track with where you last left him. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO INCLUDE THEM IN THE NARRATION if they're not important! If two seconds ago your protagonist kicked a guy off the dock, we can safely assume they'll spend at least the next several "combat rounds" climbing back out. But at any given moment, YOU should know where everyone is, what they're doing, and why.

But most importantly:

Anyone purporting to give The End-All Be-All Writing Advice is either delusional or a scam. Yes, including or perhaps especially famous bestselling authors. What works for them won't necessarily work for you, and there are plenty of people who don't even like their work. You're never going to be whoever's advice you try to mimic. Write your stuff, not theirs.

Do you prefer urban fantasy or high fantasy?

Yes!

Genuinely though. They're both good and they both serve their respective narratives in some way. In general I'm more drawn to high fantasy, personally, but I'm never not going to be interested in a well-done urban fantasy.

Pedantic nitpick though, these things are not the opposites they are being portrayed as. I think what the question was GOING for was actually "low vs high fantasy" which is a completely separate concept. Words mean things! But also, I'm not an ass, and the intent was pretty clear.

(High Fantasy: This story is set in a completely separate world from ours, with no crossover into our known and lived reality. ANY completely separate world, regardless of technology level! STAR WARS IS HIGH FANTASY. This is not an opinion, this is a genre fact.

Low Fantasy: The story is set partially in our world or includes crossover or other intrinsic connections to a realistic world that follows the same rules and expectations of our world. Isekai and portal fantasies like Narnia fall into this category, as do hidden-world/veiled-magic fantasies like the Bad Wizard Lady Books, Percy Jackson, and Artemis Fowl; and also a lot of true-anthropomorphic fiction like Watership Down, Warriors, etc. Note that "low fantasy" does NOT mean "gritty" fantasy or fantasy that focuses on the lower classes instead of nobles, nor does it mean a low-magic pseudo-medieval setting

Urban Fantasy: A story with fantasy tropes and themes that takes place in an urban setting. Can be low or high fantasy!)

What is the worst thing you've ever created?

Okay so this one time in high school me and my best friend Sam were trying to make lemon bars at his house and to this day we do NOT know what the hell ingredient we neglected to add to the lemon bars

but given the state of the results, there is a non-zero chance that the ingredient we forgot was flour.

[bigmouthlass]

@sam-is-my-safe-word

Okay, you asked for it-- my semi-organized heart-eyed rant about the glory that is Dean Winchester.

First of all, he is almost inhumanly gorgeous. Like, Michaelangelo would've wanted to sculpt him but might not have felt himself worthy of the job. Not just in a generally attractive sense, but . . . my celebrity lust objects include Ewan McGregor and Chris Evans. I have a type and Mr. Ackles fits it almost exactly.

Secondly, Dean and I have a few things in common. Raised in poverty by an overwhelmed and undersupported single parent, forever feeling overshadowed by our more intelligent and more accepted younger siblings, didn't fit in with our peers or really thrive in school despite being constantly told how intelligent we were and how we had so much potential. We're both oldest siblings, both Aquariuses (Aquarii? his birthday's the 24th and mine's the 28th), and both of us had adult worries when we should've been preoccupied with friends and grades. (In the interests of fairness-- my family wasn't nearly as badly off, my sister wasn't so young she needed babysat, and I didn't handle being the mature one nearly as well as Dean did.)

Thirdly, there's a lot about Ackles's performance that just rings true to me. Constantly assuring himself that his father's the greatest man ever despite knowing full fucking well he wasn't, having a complicated relationship with his own exploitation, even the way he's trained himself to live without hopes or dreams. The cognitive dissonance he uses just to keep himself from going crazy feels correct in a way that in Sam sometimes rings false.

There's a bit in Orson Scott Card's afterward to his novelization of The Abyss, in praise of Ed Harris's performance as Bud Brigman. "From the moment he steps on screen, Harris's Bud is alert and alive. Harris gave Bud gestures, mannerisms, turns of phrase. Harris opened up Bud's soul for me." That's what Ackles does for Dean, and it's frustrating that, because professional awards are allergic to fantasy fiction that's not Game Of Thrones, he never got the recognition he deserved.

And Castiel called it in his famous final scene-- Dean's mistakes are made from a place of genuine caring. Even when he lies, it's out of a sense of protectiveness most of the time. Dean doesn't beat himself up over the enemies he can't defeat; he kills himself over the people he can't save.

A quick side-note-- I think people read a lot of Dean's subtler mannerisms as repressed bi- or homosexuality. IMO, those habits aren't exclusive to people who grew up queer in a queer-hating environment (John being a child of the 50's and ex-military, it wouldn't shock me at all if he was the type of father who made it clear men in same sex relationships was Not Fucking Acceptable). What they are characteristic of is someone who lives in eternal doubt of their right to just exist, and that's Dean all the way to the fingernails. Ever since he was four, the question, "Why Mom and not me?" would be quivering in the back of his mind. The incident with the Shtriga when John blames Dean for his own failure as a parent (which by the way if Dean had fired that shotgun he would've hit Sam, fuck you John Winchester you should never have left them alone in the first fucking place) and how Dean never accepts any kind of rebuttal on the subject of guilt-- Dean's defined by survivor's guilt and an eternal sense of failure, and his Hunting life can be read as an open courtship of death because he sees himself as an uncorrected mistake.

I could go on but those are the high points. Course a lot of those same points could be made about Sam. The ridiculously awesome thing about Supernatural is both the leads -- and this can be applied to most of the supporting characters, just about everybody is perfectly cast -- embody their characters so perfectly, everybody can catch something to care passionately about.

[come-on-darling-honey]

stupid and heartbroken. [Embry call x reader]

You and Leah Clearwater have something in common, heartbreak and a inclining to stupid decisions. Slowly you and Leah find the secrets of the Reservation that took your best friend, Embry, slowly unravel themselves to you. But not without a little blood, tears, and love.

word count: 1.7k. this will be multiple chapters. please enjoy <3

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

Chapter one: stupid and impulsive decisions made by the heartbroken.

"I’m not angry at Emily." Leah had told me. I banged my head on the door frame, turning around too quickly. She’d spent the last few days at my house ranting mercilessly and rightfully about Emily and Sam, the lack of loyalty, and the pain of betrayal. I’d held her hand.

She gasped and ran over to me across the small kitchen. "I didn’t think it’d shock you this much." She muttered, and I could hear her grin, so I slapped her leg lightly, groaning about the throbbing pain in my temple and nose. I'd sat down on the floor, Leah clutching my arm. "I think I should get my mom to look at your head."

I had tried to protest, knowing the last place she wanted to be was anywhere near Sam.

“Hush.” I never won a fight against Leah.

It was a twenty-minute drive from Forks to La Push; normally it would speed by like nothing and the beautiful winding trees would hold my attention, but this time all I could see was a green haze. I could smell strong iron as if someone had placed a spoon under my nose. Why in the hell would I have a spoon under my nose? When I raised my hand to my nose, I discovered it was wet with a red haze. Wincing Leah told me to stop touching my nose.

"What the hell happened?" I heard Leah’s mom Sue yell. I had closed my eyes while in the car; my head kept spinning, and I could’ve sworn the road was swirly, like literally a swirl. Leah guided me into her home, explaining—and suppressing laughter—about my incident. She’d conveniently left out the part where she’d forgiven Emily; I made a mental note to mention that later.

Turns out there were lots of people at the Clearwater residence, all of whom kept mentioning how much blood I was covered in. I heard a soft gasp and a hand grab mine, Seth. He’d always been a little brother to me, sweet, kind-hearted, and concerningly chaotic.

"The two of you are on your own for four days, and you turn up like this?" Sue was not enjoying this.

I attempted to mutter a sorry as she attacked my nose with tissues, hushing me. I couldn’t help but remember how alike Leah and her mom are. Harry Clearwater's laughter fills the room.

"You two do more damage than the boys!" He was right; Leah and I had a record for roughhousing. This, however, was not fighting. This was stupidity, lack of sleep, and genuine surprise.

The house was full of laughter, and I cracked an eye open, seeing a lot of boys in the other room. Jacob was there, and he slowly came over to me.

"What the hell did you do to her, Leah? She looks like Carrie!"

"No, she did this to herself."

Jacob's laughter became more hearty and fucking annoying. I didn’t have the energy to hit him. If I could just close my eyes again.

"Nothing's broken, and you only have a light concussion." My chances of getting some sweet, sweet sleep seemed like a pipe dream for a cold man. I groaned and slouched on the wooden chair. Seth started talking about how good it was that nothing broke and how he wouldn’t be able to stomach it if he saw his mom "fix" my nose if it was broken.

All the blood had been cleaned up, and I stole one of Leah’s shirts, yearning for her bed. It looked so beautiful. So soft. I would marry that bed. Honestly, any bed. I think I’d take a pile of rocks and a blanket at this moment.

"Don’t even think about it." Leah scolded, pulling my gaze away from the alluring dream castle.

"I’m tired, though." With how weak my voice sounded, even I wouldn’t let myself fall asleep. It hurt to speak after not doing so for so long, no doubt due to the pain pulling and contorting all my muscles into a tangle of strings. Leah put on a TV show we’d both seen before, clearly unnecessarily loud to keep me awake, and sat me on the hardwood floor. Sitting opposite me, it was clear how tired she was too.

"So, you aren’t angry at her?" I didn’t mean to say that aloud, but I think that head bang knocked out any sense I had in my head, I always knew it would come to this. I’d have to live the rest of my life as an idiot.

Although Leah didn’t look taken aback, it seemed like she’d been expecting me to bring it up, just waiting for the clogs in my head to move faster.

"No. If she is in love, I don’t think I can hate her for that. But it still hurts, you know? She’s my cousin; we grew up together, and she just..." She pulled in a deep breath and continued, "It’s so fucked up. I think I’ll resent Sam for it forever. But Emily’s family. That's stronger than this." Leah and I had always been friends, but only recently had we been this close. Being two years younger than her, I grew up closer to Jake, Quill, and Embry and Leah than Sam, but just recently we’d gotten closer. Pre heartbreak.

"Even if it hurts, its love?" I ask. I can’t help but think of Embry when I speak of love. I can feel the warmth of his touch even when I am so far from him. His brown eyes, long, dark hair, and smile—a smile that held every gasp of reassurance—I don’t think he was with Jacob earlier. I wish he was. I just want to hear him.

"It’s love, especially if it hurts, I guess."

Maybe Leah wasn’t the only heartbroken one. I felt a hot tear rise. Fuck off. I wiped it away, hanging my head down, but, dear lord, that hurt my nose.

"Stop thinking about him. He left you. That isn’t a friend." Leah said, can she read minds?

"What do you say to some reckless activities?" I asked, smiling. Grabbing my backpack from her desk, I pulled out the pain meds I had stashed for cramps. They’d work well for this. Swallowing three down without water wasn’t a cheerful experience, but it got Leah to laugh.

"Cliff diving? In your condition?" Leah and I didn’t tend to make good choices. But heartbroken people rarely do. We were defiantly going, Leah had already stood up, grabbing her keys.

"I can’t get any more hurt!" We started putting our shoes back on. "Plus, I won’t tell your mom if you don’t."

"Ah, secret cliff diving, even though you are 18 and I’m 20." I didn’t respond as we left the house. only talking again as we drove away. The meds had thankfully kicked in rather quickly.

"I mean, if Emily and Sam get married, there is no way I’d go to the wedding," Leah continued, her eyes plastered on the winding road in front of us. I couldn’t think of anything to say in return. Going through what she has gone through in the past week, my anger would probably lead to stupid, impulsive decisions. Speaking of stupid and impulsive decisions, we drove up to the bottom of the cliff and decided to walk up so we wouldn’t have to walk up again after we were soaking wet.

"So how high up do we go? I’m thinking high or stupidly high." Leah’s tone was harsh, the wind was harsher, and I could feel nothing.

"Stupidly high, but only if you go first," I tried to laugh, but the wind was sucking all the air out of my lungs.

"Deal," she laughed. Her face seemed peaceful, devoid of the knitted brow she’d been sporting lately. The wind circled around her, picking up stray hairs from her braid that lay on her back. "Fuck it’s cold." We took off as many layers as we could and left them in the car, only wearing our shoes, jean shorts, and a black t-shirt for Leah, and cargo shorts and a white vest for myself. It was brutal. My arms weaved around myself; Leah did the same. When we reached the very top of the cliff, I remembered the first time I reached the top. It had been with Embry. before he left. His thin frame was swamped in layers upon layers of clothes. His hair swirled. He held my hand anxiously the whole time. His tall stature looked like the wind would pick him up and take him away. He’d gained muscle since I’d last seen him—at least that’s what Leah had told me. that he’d become one of Sam’s puppies. He called them the hall monitors on steroids, and he joined them?

"Ready?" Leah pulled me out of my stewing anger.

"Ready." I laughed, looking down. Since the first jump, the sense of impending doom has remained. It rushed within me. "Are the currents too strong?" The waves collapsed over each other. People do jump from this height; we’ve seen them. The puppies jump from this height. So, I guessed we’d be fine doing it. But it wouldn’t feel good. It’d feel cold.

"They might be; we can go back if you want." Leah said, holding onto my arm as if she were trying to tell me something that I couldn’t hear. But I knew from the look in her eyes that she wanted to do this, and I wasn’t going to let her down. She’d go down with me if I changed my mind; Leah wouldn’t leave me alone.

"Let's do this," I said, my teeth cold.She grinned back, and we both took a few steps back. As she ran to the edge, I heard something in the woods behind us. I watched as she jumped down, her lean body struggling against the wind. Watching her land was amazing. She reappeared on the surface and gave me a thumbs up.As she swam to the beach, I could see the strength it took.

I could hear more rustling, it felt like I was being watched. Turning around giant glowing things caught my eye. Were they eyes? Is that a bear? Am I gonna die right here because that’ll be embarrassing. Maybe the painkillers were too strong, or maybe I was just an idiot who could look a massive bear in the eyes and not feel fear? That’s not a bear. It moved back slowly, like I hadn’t seen it. And I definitely wasn’t an idiot because I felt fear. It hit like a fucking hammer. The massive not-bear looked human. That wasn’t a good sign. I turned quickly and jumped. The air pelted my skin.

end of chapter one.

ATTENTION. please do not copy any of the actions made by the characters, they are reserved for the stupid and heartbroken. Lots of love, em x

embrys pinterest board

leah’s pinterest board

[lostmyhufflepuffstatus]

Tear Drops on My Guitar

Word Count: 957

Summary: You've been friends with Sam Winchester for a long time, but lately you have been gaining more than platonic feelings for him.

Warnings: terrible writing as per usual

Genre: Angst????

A/N: I guess I'm breaking out of my Criminal Minds fandom shell... not going to lie the Supernatural fandom scares me... even though I have been a part of it for over 8 years.

Requests: OPEN

It had been two years of being at Stanford University with Sam Winchester, a year and a half since you got the courage to talk to him in a shared class, and just over a year of friendship. It was a shock to nobody when you told a mutual friend about your more than platonic feelings for Sam. For a while, you held up hope that he might share those feelings, I mean, it's hard not to form a bond with someone who was up all-night studying with you and was one of the first people to congratulate you when you got that near perfect score on the LSATs, even though they were a music composition major.  

There were many drunken nights where he would tell you a bit about his family, how his father was constantly moving him and his brother around as kids, and how Sam never got the chance to put down secure roots in one place until he got into school. He admitted that he hadn’t told anyone about that until you. He could finally have friends and a life of his own. You thought about those nights a lot 

  You dragged your eyes away from his form, looking down at your notebook to look like you were studying, but the paper was blank. You knew deep down that if you kept looking at him with her, you would start crying in the middle of the courtyard. But you couldn’t help yourself as your eyes returned to him and Jessica. You wished with everything you had that you could hate her, that you could just pretend she didn’t exist, that she was some horrible monster that would just go away once you opened your eyes and stopped being scared. But you couldn’t. She made your best friend so happy; she was so kind to everyone and had never said a hateful thing about anyone that didn’t deserve it. That was what hurt the most.  

You couldn’t picture anyone more perfect for Sam, nobody else deserved the kind of love that he showed her. You had never seen the smile on his face that he had. Sure, he smiled at you, and those were genuine, but the smiles he reserved for Jessica made him look alive like he was invisible.  

You forced yourself to look away and gather up your things. You had tortured yourself for too long. While rushing to shove things into your bag, you couldn’t fight the urge to just look up one last time. As you were standing up Sam turned his head away from his conversation with Jess and met your gaze. You saw his face break out into the brightest smile, and that hurt. You forced the muscles in your face to return his grin with a small smile of your own. He looked like he was going to get up to try and talk to you, but you knew that you couldn’t take to him right now without spilling your heart out for him, and the rest of the students wandering around to see. You gave him a small wave before turning on your heel and making your way out of the courtyard as calmly as possible.  

You could feel your eyes starting to burn with tears. The second you knew you were sure Sam wasn’t following you and you were out of his line of sight; you started running to your room. You needed the safety of the four blank walls. It was a blessing that your roommate had gone home for the weekend and wouldn’t be back until Monday.  

You almost broke your key in the lock as you rushed to push the door open. You closed it hard behind you and locked it. The moment the lock clicked into place you felt the tears come. Sliding down the door, you covered your face in your hands and just let the tears go and today you couldn't seem to get them to stop. You didn’t know how much time you spent sitting on the floor in front of your door, how long you felt like the sobs being forced from your body would tear you in half. It was long enough for the sun to start its descent in the sky and the first stars began to show. After the last tear was expelled from your body, you forced yourself to take a deep breath, and then another.  

Standing up you turned to the mirror that was covered in pictures, pictures of your family, your friends from home, your cats Moose and Squirrel, and of course a picture of you and Sam. That one had been taken on your 21st birthday. He had his arm around your shoulders, and you were making stupid faces at the camera completely in a world of happiness and bliss. You carefully removed the photo from the mirror and held it in your hands; you had an impulsive thought to just tear the photograph into little pieces and throw them away. But you knew that you would regret that if you did, so you shoved it into a drawer in your desk. You shoved your shoes off, not bothering to put them back where they needed to go before climbing into your bed, still in your day clothes. Pulling the blankets over your head, you hugged a pillow close to your chest and forced your eyes to close.  

Maybe going to bed early, incredibly early apparently since the sun hadn’t fully set, and getting some sleep would make you feel better. Forcing your eyes to close, you hugged the pillow tighter as the first silent tears began to fall you thought about that smile, it was like you were back in the courtyard again but this time instead of Jess, that smile was for you.