#sam writes ta

[ghostbsuter]

The reason Danny– and in turn, Phantom - nearly dropped kicked Wes into the sun was, because the ginger believes that Bruce Wayne is batman.

Batman.

And with that, the entire family of Mr Wayne being the batcrew.

Them.

Which was ridiculous, Danny watched this week's episode of "keeping up with the waynes", he's seen Mr Wayne in a bathrobe, trying to drink his omelette and his children being absolute chaos gremlins.

These people could NOT be the batman and Co. Of Gotham.

[writing-fanics]

Hi 🥺 I had a dream that I really want into a fic but I’m so ass at writing but the dream was basically Josh and Y/N are a couple through the death of the sisters and when they go back the next year Y/N is pregnant and trying to tell Josh but half way through his prank he finds out (I don’t remember how) and ta-da I wake up!

If you’re not comfortable writing this it’s ok! Just ignore my ask :) ❤️

[note: omg! We had the same dream!]

Josh Washington x F!Reader

A/n; no use of y/n

Warning: mentions of pregnancy: slight angst: fear for life

You nervously stared at the positive pregnancy test while sitting on Josh’s bed in the lodge, tapping your foot against the floor and biting down on your lower lip. Unsure of how you are going to tell Josh the news. You weren't that far along not even showing yet, but you were pregnant. Three weeks in fact.

The sound of footsteps coming up the steps made you shove the pregnancy test into your pocket, acting as if nothing was happening. You looked up, seeing your boyfriend Josh walking into the room to sit beside you. “What’re you doing up here all by yourself?” asked Josh, as sat down beside you.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, that doesn’t sound very fun” he said.

He moves closer, putting an arm around your shoulder. "I was thinking we should heat up some of those frozen pizzas you brought," he says, rubbing your arm.

“Throw ourselves a little party, " he says, placing his hand on your thigh. You turn to look at him and smile, seeing the smirk on his face. After that, " he leaned closer, closing the gap between you. You gasped quietly, feeling his lips against yours.

"Mm, you've got the whole night planned out don't you?" You asked, looking at him. He put an arm around your waist, keeping you from laying down on the bed. "You could say that." He grinned, planting another kiss on your lips.

"Why?"

"Are you pregnant?" he asked, You froze and bit your lip. “Ahh.” you said nervously. “Im just joking with you.” he said, kissing you on the lips.

"I would love to start a family with you," he said, holding your hand and gently rubbing it with his thumb. You smiled as you looked at him.

“I can see a little you or little me running around,” He said smiling at the thought.

Your heart skipped a beat hearing his words, “Josh, I-I’m-” but you were interrupted, by a knock at the doorway. You two turned around and saw Sam standing there, “Am I interrupting something?” asked Sam, and you pulled away and shook your head.

“N-No, we were only talking.” You said. She looks at you not convinced for a moment then turns towards Josh, “Hey Josh. No hot water's kinda major oversight doncha think...?” asked Sam, looking at him and her.

“Yeah yeah, just gotta fire up the boiler. It's in the basement.” said Josh, as he he then returned his gaze back to you.

He planted a kiss on your lips. "Let's finish this when I get back, okay?" he said as he pulled away. He went with Sam downstairs to the basement to turn on the boiler, leaving you all alone.

—-———

You sat there on the bed staring at the pregnancy test, and then your stomach grumbled. You pouted, frozen pizza sounded really good right now. Placing the pregnancy test on the night stand, you got up and made your way downstairs.

As you made your way downstairs you noticed Chris and Ashley, talking by the kitchen door. “Whats going on, where’s Josh?” You asked, looking down at them.

As if on cue you heard Josh’s screams coming from the kitchen, as the door rattled. “Josh!” You cried out, rushing down the stairs.

Trying to open the door hearing his screams, but the door wouldn’t budge. “Come on!” You groaned.

“Josh!” Ashely called out, and as she touched the door she was pulled inside. The door slamming behind her, “Ash! Josh!” You and Chris called out fearfully, as you tried to get the door open. Once the door opened you and Chris were met face to face, with a psychopath wearing a mask. Before you could do anything, the psycho had punched Chris in the face knocking him unconscious.

Leaving only you.

Your eyes widened as you backed away, turning to run. You didn’t get far the psychopath pulling you back wrapping his arms around you and placing a cloth over your nose.

Your vision blurred as you struggled against his strong grasp, feeling the rough texture of the cloth covering your mouth as you desperately tried to pull it off. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your surroundings as you fought to stay conscious.

You whimpered in fear and desperation, your body growing weaker as you struggled against his overpowering hold. Finally, your strength failed, and your body went limp in his arms.

He shifted your body placing an arm underneath your thighs and another, on your back. Carrying you bridal style. Walking up the stairs quietly, he entered his room. Placing you on the bed carefully.

He knelt down and brushed his fingers against your cheeks, causing you to shift. He was about to get up and leave to begin the next phase of his prank, but something on the nightstand caught his eye.

Picking up the plastic link that stuck his arms to his side, he looked back and forth between you and the positive pregnancy test. Why didn't you tell him? Were you nervous? Scared? Worried he'd be angry at you?

He could never be upset with you for being pregnant. He wanted to wake you up and twirl you around in his arms. But he was in too deep; he couldn't stop now, could he?

[a/n: sorry for the wait with this one also the abrupt ending. Josh basically didn’t mean for u to be there the same time Chris and Ashley were]

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死��Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[iateyourparents]

hide and seek | c.b.

pairing: colby brock x fem!reader

summary: you’re scared and colby doesn’t want to loose a game of hide and seek.

warnings: haunted place, use of y/n, bad writing and grammar (sorry, english isn’t my first language)

an: the new video inspired me so ta da!! i changed few things so dw if something isn’t like in the video.

You could feel excitement raising in your chest while exiting Colby’s car in front of a gate of Geelong Goal Museum.

You read few articles about this place and you couldn’t wait to start investigating it.

You knew you would probably change your mind about being excited quickly when first interaction with something will happen but that’s something to worry about for later.

You, Colby and Sam made your way towards five boys already waiting for you next to gate with tour guide.

You all said your hello’s and tour guide guided you to place where Sam and Colby had first surprise for their guests. You already knew their plan and couldn’t wait for the boys’ reaction.

“Okay, so before we start investigating we have a surprise for you.” Sam stated looking at the boys.

“Already?” sighed Josh with fake annoyance.

“Yeah, we’re gonna play hide and seek in the Australia’s most haunted prison!” Colby said with excitement which made you giggle. Colby looked at you from behind a camera and send you a big smile before addressing boys and viewers.

“So Sam and I gonna rock paper scissors for who’s a seeker.” they did few tries before Colby won and decided that Sam will be a seeker.

You were glad because you already knew you wouldn’t be able to hide on your own here, you would be too scared.

“Alright, I’m gonna wait here and you have two minutes to hide.” Sam explained and you all nodded.

Colby caught your hand in his and started running which forced you to follow him. You gladly did that.

„Neither me or Y/n are loosing today guys.” Colby whispered to the camera while you two passed Narrator.

Unfortunately, Colby’s hiding place was already taken.

“Let’s go upstairs, to the gymnasium like room. It’s shouldn’t be obvious.” you offered and you could see smile on Colby’s face.

“Yeah, that’s good idea!” he kissed your head “My smart girl.”

You were sure you flushed at his compliment but you decided not to comment and just climbed upstairs.

Few seconds later you found perfect space to hide and you two settled in.

“Okay guys, we’re winning this.” you smiled at the camera “There’s literally no chance anyone could see us here.”

“Yeah, the only thing that could actually give us away is echo so we have to be really careful to not make any louder noises.” Colby added and you nodded.

Soon you could hear Sam talking to viewers while looking for everyone.

But that wasn’t the only thing you could hear.

There was footsteps like sound. And it wouldn’t be anything special if it wasn’t literally next where you two were seated, and where no one was standing.

Your eyes widened while looking at Colby, who also hearing the noise looked at you. You could feel the squeal wanting to get out of your throat in panic but you tried to fight it off. Colby definitely noticed your struggle and side hugged you while making quiet shh sounds into your ear and explaining situations to the camera.

“Don’t panic, I’m with you.” he said after he placed still working camera next to him. Colby started drawing circles on your back with his hand “It’s nothing. Probably something friendly.”

You were nodding into his chest while holding your hand to your mouth to make sure nothing comes out.

That was before next sound.

You could hear quite loud giggle in the same room and your mouth already opened as if to scream but Colby’s lips quickly found yours just before anything could come out, successfully silencing you.

“Sorry, baby, but I’m not loosing today. And I totally love shushing you this way.” Colby whispered into your lips after a kiss with a smirk. You giggled quietly almost forgetting all about the girl’s giggle.

“I don’t mind it either.” you confessed and took the camera from where it laid next to Colby’s legs “So I think camera caught the laugh.” you whispered “It was so creepy. Pray for us, or rather me, to come out of here alive and without a heart attack.” you smiled at Colby’s quiet laugh.

Apparently, kissing was excellent method of silencing you so Colby used next few weird sounds as a excuse to kiss you in case you were about to scream. You were sure that at least two of the sounds he ‘heard’ weren’t real and he just wanted to kiss you but you didn’t complained.

“And what was that for?” you asked after he randomly placed few pecks on your face “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Me neither.” he shrugged “Just wanted to kiss you.” he smirked placing another kiss on your nose.

You opened your mouth to respond but a voice interrupted you.

“Alright, Colby, Y/n! You won!” you heard Sam shouting and you stood up with big smiles on your faces. You quickly placed a kiss on Colby’s lips and you two went downstairs.

[justasecretflower]

~🪻 sdv men as boyfriends headcanons ~

Incl- Alex, Elliot, Shane, Sam, Sebastian, Harvey, Willy, Gunther, M. Rasmodius (Wizard.)

You look lost, visit my garden?

Alex

- He’s the type that’ll make you become apart of his workout. Lemme explain..

- he kisses you in between every push-up and crunch.

- you sit on his back during pushups

- he sees how many times he can deadlift you. (It doesn’t matter what size you are, yes, he can deadlift you.)

- “babe” “baby” “sugar”

- D1 YAPPER.

- he’ll talk your ear off about his childhood, gridball, his feelings when he first met you.

- he’s GREAT to have conversations with because they keep going on for hours.

- when he cuddles you he like..crushes you. He always ends up snoring loudly, drooling on you, and his whole muscular body right on top of you.

- touchy touchy TOUCHYYY.

- he’s the type to run up to you and spin you around then hug you saying how much he missed you. Even if you’ve only been gone for like 5 minutes

- he doesn’t cry often, thinks it makes him weak, but the one day that you got him crying in your arms, your fingers in his hair and quietly whispering that it was okay, he literally fell in love again x2 harder.

Elliot

-…🙄

-CORNYYYYYY

- you alr saw that coming though.

- writes you poems and puts them under your pillow like a tooth fairy..

- he likes holding you. Makes him feel like he’s a protector.

- romantic home dinner dates with balloons, rose petals galore, candles, fancy table cloth, ect.

- love language is words of affirmation muahaha..

- “my love” “my dearest” “my darling”

- tells you everyday how much he loves you in old Shakespearen English

- slow dances in the living room with you.

Shane

- he’s really insecure and gets jealous easily.

- it’s like. You’re talented, hard working, beautiful, how could you ever like him?

- in his eyes, he was old, washed up, no longer a fit gridball player, alcoholic, suicidal.

- he distances himself from you whenever he has these episodes.

- it’s really bad, he knows, but he doesn’t want you to know how insecure and helpless he is.

- you do find out, and you hold him.

- his safe space, his savior, is you.

- he gets better for you, for himself, and for everyone around him and he constantly tells you how much you’ve saved him.

- “doll”

- he gets a new coat and has your initial on it with a heart (Marnie sewed it)

- DAD BOD.

- movie nights. Not those aesthetic ones. The messy ones.

- the ones where you have dirty plates on the floor, pizza rolls, a bag of candies in between you and popcorn on the couch.

- it’s comfy, and it’s fun either way.

Sam

- he’s so cute.

- “babe” “baby”

- DEFINITION of golden retriever bf

- skateboards over to your house.

- he gets cuteness agression😭.

- he just randomly, aggressively, nuzzles your shoulder, or pecks a thousand kisses all over your face.

- makes songs for you and sings them to you.

- his favorite place to kiss you is your shoulder. Not even sexually he just loves kissing your shoulder.

- teaches you how to skate so that you can skate with him.

- he’d def be that cliche that’s like. Tried to flirt with you by leaning on the doorway but missed the doorway💀 (SAME WITH ALEX)

- He likes skating dates, MESSY cooking dates, and playing just dance with you.

- owns an “I love my girlfriend” t-shirt and wears it all the time. No shame

Sebastian

- kisses the tips of your ears and nose.

- very soft and gentle kisses.

- black cat …muahahhaaha

- he likes to make bracelets with you!

- matching bracelets

- also, matching pjs

- movie nights are the best with him. Matching pjs, snacks, cuddles, the rain pattering in the background.

- he’s a listener, not a talker.

- he said he can listen to you talk for days.

- of course, he mumbled that while flushed but he still said it.

- you’re his comfort person.

- he gets insecure but he doesn’t project it on you, just gets extra clingy.

Harvey

- HARVEY!!!

- he gets flushed easily if you flirt with him.

- he goes on rambles about medical stuff and it just 😩

- takes care of you while you’re sick. Carries you to a bath with salts and bubbles in it, cuts up fruits, feeds you, helps you drink water, dab a cold rag on your forehead.

- he’s super romantic, makes you dinner sometimes and makes it healthy / canon

- kisses your forehead to get you to wake up in the morning.

- breakfast in bed on your anniversary.

- he’s a family man / canon

- give him a picket fence life /srs

- he likes kissing you deeply. Just pouring his whole heart into it.

Willy

- he likes fishing with you, if you don’t know how, he’ll stand behind you and guide you.

- “darlin” “hon” “pretty thing”

- puts your initial on his favorite fishing pool.

- he likes you sitting on his lap, just because he likes to be close to you.

- date nights on the beach, or on his fishing boat watching the stars together.

- OH GOSH THE QUIET MORNINGSSSS

- he gets up “bright and early” so he just holds you, whispers in your ear with a raspy morning voice, gently kissing your shoulder “g’mornin pretty thing”

- really values quality time, even if you’re not talking just sitting near him while he’s fishing.

- definitely thought he was gonna stay single until he died before he met you, like he wasn’t even being pessimistic, just thought that he wouldn’t find anyone in that small town.

Gunther

- I feel like he would’ve messed around when he was younger but never settled down.

- so when he moved to pelican town, he never expected to meet someone that would make him wanna be all lovey dovey and stuff.

- teaches you about history. His head in your lap, hand up to your cheek gently stroking it with the pad of his thumb as he yaps on, with a deep, smooth voice.

- remembers everything about you. Every detail even if you were just mentioning it in passing.

- “hon” “my darling” “love”

- date nights are those little missing persons cases (the fake ones), discussing history under a willow tree, taking small naps intertwined I

- prolly has a kid from a hookup…sorry?!

- not much for physical affection, but he’ll indulge a little, hand holds, cheek kisses, kisses.

- his love language is acts of service 100%.

M. Rasmodius Wizard

- he kinda watches you with his magic..not creepily !!

- stops you from falling all the time.

- “my love” “dearest”

- not touchy, but shows his love for you with actions.

- gifts you flowers, makes you food, cleans your room for you.

- fine..he’ll go to the flower dance for you.

- he’ll just end up dragging you to a secluded area to do the dance tho.

- it’s kinda cute ngl.

Tags

[theharddeck]

i was supposed to sweat you out (rooster x f!reader)

pairing: bradley rooster bradshaw x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: reader is totally not jealous that her FWB is being hit on at the hard deck.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: spitting, unprotected sex, non negotiated breeding kink—friendly reminder this is a work of FICTION oh my god use protection and communicate explicitly with your partner beforehand please please please-- explicit PiV sex, a bit of dumbification, m!receiving oral sex

A/N: help i blacked out and wrote almost 4k of rooster smut who even am i listen, i also know it's not original, but i wanted to write frantic territorial sex and this is where it got us. also...don't think too hard about the parallels between this and can't unfeel that okay i'm too repressed to process tysm also yes title is from glitch by TAS

You weren’t jealous. 

Jealous was for people with feelings, and if you had feelings about fucking your team lead, then you were stupid, in addition to giving Uncle Sam everything he needed to court martial you. 

So, no, you weren’t jealous. 

But the tightness in your stomach as a girl sat next to Rooster on the piano was awfully uncomfortable. 

She wasn’t even out of line, that was the worst part. She looked nice, she looked like a decent human, and she was pretty, if you were into the girl next door kinda look. 

Which Rooster historically was. 

She was sitting at a perfectly respectful distance, her sundress was a perfectly respectful length, her face was open and curious and pure and it made you want to stomp over to the piano in the middle of the Hard Deck, and rub yourself all over Bradley’s hawaiian shirt until he remembered that as pretty as she was, he liked himself around you better.

You made yourself look away, tipping your wrist so the soda water and ice remaining in your glass rattled around.

He wasn’t yours. 

You knew he wasn’t, just like you knew jealousy was irrational, but it was hard because sometimes…sometimes he acted like it though. 

Like when you nearly passed out from cramps and he’d brought over a spare set of sheets while he washed yours, and then wedged himself around you in your tiny bed, so you could know you weren’t alone in the pain. Or when he left a lemon lavender cupcake in your locker, even though no one was supposed to know it was your birthday, because you hated the way people made a big fuss out of nothing. Or the way he looked up at you, awestruck and beautiful, every time you came on his fingers, sobbing his name. 

You set your glass down on the bar, louder than you intended, but suddenly everything seemed loud. You didn’t have to stay here, in fact, you needed to get out. Out of the Hard Deck, away from the bright lights and happy people being happy, and no one moping over their fuckbuddies who definitely didn’t have feelings for them–

When the back door opened, you breathed in deep, cool air rushing off the sea and over you and bringing a momentary reprieve. The door swung shut behind, and as it closed, the din of the bar muted, and you let that breath out slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself. You just needed a minute, a moment to calm the hell down, and forget about the distracting man at the piano whom you had no business being distracted by.

You heard the door creak open behind you and you tipped your head back to glare at the universe at large, because without turning around, you knew exactly who had come outside after you. 

“Hey,” Bradley’s voice was just gentle enough to make your heart clench, because it wasn’t his fault that he was so impossibly kind, it had you falling in love with him, “you okay? You ran out of there pretty quick.”

“I’m fine,” you said, sounding just as prickly as you felt, pushing down any sense of flattery that he’d been aware of your presence, and your leaving. 

“You sound fine,” Bradley said cheerily, coming to stand beside you. You wanted to laugh with him because you both knew you were being dramatic, but you also wanted to shove him like you were 5 on a playground, too full of big feelings to know how to handle them. 

“I said I’m fine, Bradley,” you bit out. “Go back inside, okay, I’m fine.”

He was quiet for a moment, and when you looked over at him, you knew it was a mistake. He was watching you carefully, his brown eyes focused and concerned, a divet in the middle of his forehead where his brows were squished together, making him simultaneously the cutest and hottest, and also the most annoying, for being so handsome while he was clearly worried. 

“Honey, we gotta talk about it–” he started, but the endearment broke something inside of you, the way he said it like he meant it, like this was real. 

“I’m not your honey, Bradley,” you snapped, turning to face him fully. “We’re friends, right, that was the whole deal, so let’s not pretend like–”

Something flashed in Bradley’s eyes and a moment later his large hands cupped your face as he crashed into you, kissing your gasped breath out of you. 

It wasn’t your fault your knees nearly buckled. 

It wasn’t your fault that the hands you meant to push him away with instead curled into the material of that stupid technicolor shirt, pulling him closer to you. 

It wasn’t your fault that he tasted like heaven, like rum and coke and intoxicating, and months of habit had you chasing his taste with your tongue. 

You didn’t realize you were walking backwards until your back hit the outside wall of the Hard Deck, and still Bradley covered you. His neck was bent at a horrible angle to meet your lips, but he didn’t seem to mind, melding his body into yours, pressing into you with a familiar urgency. 

His tongue traced over your lips and you opened for him, a whimper escaping you when Bradley hummed with appreciation. His hands slipped from your face to behind your head, his knuckles protecting your head from the scrape of the brick wall, and he rocked into you before pulling back. 

You felt his breath against your lips and you opened your eyes slowly, needing a moment before you could focus on him. 

Christ, he was just so pretty. 

Hair unruly from your fingers, cheeks flushed from kissing you, chest rising unsteadily and his tongue darting out to wet his lips, like a tease. 

“Now,” he said, his voice gruffer than it’d been a minute ago, “are you done riding my dick for something I don’t even know I did wrong?”

It was an expression.

You knew that, of course it was an expression, but Bradley was pressing you into a wall with his demigod body, and he’d said it in that voice, the one you knew how it felt against your skin, so all you could manage was, “Can I?”

For a moment, Bradley looked confused, bless him. 

Then he huffed out a disbelieving breath, like you were too good to be true, lifting a hand from behind your head to rake it through his hair, before looking back at you. 

“You mean that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice somehow even lower. “Out here in the open, you’d let me fuck you?”

You shivered at his words, nodding stupidly, and were rewarded by another kiss. This one was just as unexpected as the first, but Bradley’s lips gentle against yours as he coaxed an answering softness out of you. 

It was too sweet.

Too tempting, too delicious, to let yourself have tenderness that you knew wasn’t real, and you needed to get a hold of yourself, fast. 

Bradley was still being so damn gentle, so it was easy to push his hands away from you, sink to your knees on the sand-covered asphalt outside of the bar. Bradley fell forward, catching himself on the arm braced on the wall, his forehead resting in the crook of his elbow. 

“Honey, you don’t have to–” he started, but his hips bucked forward when your fingers started undoing his belt. 

“I want to,” you told him, meaning it too much to care how breathless your voice sounded. 

Your hand slipped into his pants, palming his length over his briefs and you both groaned softly. He wasn’t fully hard, not yet, but that was better anyways, let you work him up. He was warm, heavy even at half mast, and it took everything in you not to purr when you pulled him out. You looked up at him, tilting your head. 

“Help me out?” you asked coyly, sticking your tongue out, and Bradley’s hips jutted forward again when he realized what you were asking. 

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice a heady mix of arousal and wonder. The hand that wasn���t keeping him from hitting the wall traced down your cheek, ending at your jaw and tipping your chin up. 

You were already salivating and when Bradley spit, you moaned, your thighs clenched together as you drooled your combined saliva onto his cock. Bradley grunted, then whispered something to himself as you smoothed your hand over him, the glide made easier by your spit. Already, you could feel him stiffening, and you readjusted to take him in your mouth. 

It was never a gentle fit. 

Bradley was the kind of thick that he always stretched out your jaw, but, God, did you relish it. As your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, Bradley moaned, the most beautiful sound. You loved how vocal he was, loved how he sounded, how he felt. You tightened your lips, tongue swirling over the tip of him, teasing until you tasted a hint of salt in your mouth, and then it was your turn to moan.  

You tipped your head back, encouraging him to slide him deeper into your mouth, your fist twisting around the portion of his cock that didn’t fit in your mouth. 

“Shit, honey, that mouth…” Bradley gritted, his voice muffled in his arm. The hand that had tipped up your chin went around to your cheek, and his hips shifted again when he could feel you hollowing your cheeks out. 

The motion pushed him deeper towards your throat and you gagged, but kept him in your mouth, soothed by the shaky cadence of Bradley’s breath over you. 

“So damn good for me, aren’t you, honey?” he breathed. “So warm and tight; feels so good…”

Your thighs clenched again, and you felt yourself growing wet as his praise washed over you. You held your breath, determined to take more of him, and Bradley grunted as you pulled on his cock with your hand, feeding him into your mouth. 

“Need more, honey?” he asked, somehow still cocky, though you could hear the tremor of desire in his voice. “God, you love being stretched on my dick, don’t you?”

You moaned instead of nodding, wishing it wasn’t true but also wishing he’d push deeper. Your hands flexed on his thighs, still covered in his jeans, but so thick and warm, even through the denim. Fuck, the size of him was overwhelming–his heavy cock in your mouth, those muscled thighs under your fingers…you held your breath and you let go of the base of him. 

Bradley let out a choked gasp as you took him deeper, your nose brushing his pubic hair as he slid down your throat. You were gonna lose your voice and be so damn sore, but it was worth it for the groan that ripped out of Bradley. 

“Fuck fuck fuck–” he gritted, all cockiness gone as he let go of your cheek, bracing himself against the wall. You knew it was taking everything to not rut into you, and you half appreciated it because you weren’t sure you could take it, but you almost wanted him without restraint, just using you, lost in you. 

You hummed around him, and Bradley made a sound you’d never heard before, like a whine and gasp, and then he was pushing himself off the wall, pulling out of you, and wrapping his hands under your arms, pulling you to your feet. 

“Fuck, honey, you wreck me,” he rasped, kissing you almost angrily. You whimpered as you opened for him, and you felt his tongue sweeping through you, searching for his taste in your mouth. 

You felt so empty, too much air and too little of his cock, and you reached for him between you. You felt him jolt when your hand closed around him, stroking over him, and then Bradley was reaching between both of you, shoving his hand into your underwear. 

“How wet am I going to find you, honey? Bet you’re just drenched aren’t you, just that hungry for my cock–fuck.”

Bradley broke off when his fingers swept into your panties, and you gasped at the glorious contact. 

His fingers were so good, thick and long and calloused just right, and he was absolutely correct: you were all but dripping for him. Bradley pulled his fingers through your folds, pulling your arousal up to your clit and petting gentle circles around it. Your head fell back against the wall at his ministrations, perfect to the point of painful, almost forgetting you held his cock in your hand. 

You tightened your grip around him, and Bradley grunted before he matched your pace with his fingers. You felt your knees shaking, and Bradley wound another hand around your ass, before lifting to brace you against the wall. With your feet off the ground, your balance was entirely dependent upon him, and it brought new pressure to the pattern his fingers were tracing over you. 

His touch was maddening. 

Light and knowing, direct and perfect, enough to drive you wild with pleasure but not to get you there, and he knew it. 

“Bradley,” you whispered against his mouth, begged, and the bastard chuckled, but he pulled his hand out of your panties, just long enough to push them to the side, before pulling his lips away from you. 

“Shit, honey, I don’t have a–”

“In me, Rooster,” you snapped, surprised and yet absolutely not surprised by the fact that your eyes felt full. You were desperate for him, it was embarrassing, but you needed him so damn bad, for reasons you didn’t dare say, and if he waited for something else, you didn’t think you could bear it. “Please, fucking please, I need you–” 

“Shh honey, you’re okay,” Bradley soothed, one of his hands brushing your hair away from your face, a gentle thumb wiping at your eyes. His gentleness made you more desperate, your hips canting towards him. “Are you sure?”

“So sure, please,” you whimpered, your face feeling hot, your thighs shaking. God you were coming undone, like you were just a giant nerve ending that was just need, desperate, hunger, desire. 

“Course, honey,” Bradley soothed, his lips brushing against your cheeks, kissing your tears away, his tongue caressing your skin. “I’ve got you, baby, you’re okay.” 

You didn’t think you were, but then his thick cock was at your entrance and you could’ve sobbed in relief. He was hot, you could feel him leaking and you needed him to be so deep inside you. You tried to work your hips down on him, but Bradley’s grip on you was stern, and you couldn’t coax him any faster.

As it was, it still felt like too much. 

The stretch of him, the closeness, the way he knew just how to soothe you and fuck you and none of it was real and even when he slowly worked you down onto his cock, you were still shaking. 

“Please, please,” you whined, trying to move, and crying out in frustration when Bradley didn’t succumb. “Shit, Bradley, please, fuck me like you mean it.”

He growled, fucking growled, the sexiest sound out of a litany of choices, and Bradley’s hips jerked back before he drove into you. Your head hit the brick wall, he was so perfect and he hit you just right, so good, and almost perfect enough to drown out the thoughts in your head. 

“Like I mean it, huh,” Bradley grunted, pulling out, the drag feeling like suction with how wet you were, how tightly you were clenching around him. “Like I mean it when I say you’re killing me, is that what you mean? Like I’m going insane every second this pretty pussy isn’t tight around me, like I can’t think straight if I don’t have the taste of you on my tongue, or know the taste of me isn’t on yours?”

He punctuated each question with a thrust, fucking the answers out of your head, and all you could think was yes and more and please. 

“Oh you like that, don’t you, baby?” Bradley said, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he lifted you higher up the wall. Your back scraped against the bricks but you didn’t care, you couldn’t focus on anything other than the perfect drag of his cock inside you, so close to you. “I think you like that, I think you like knowing how much you own me, how in my head you are, how even when it’s me filling you. You’re fucking everywhere, all around me, all the time.”

His thrusts pushed you higher, bits of sand and brick grating at your skin and it grounded you, centered you so you didn’t come undone at the words coming out of him. 

You were still thinking too much. 

He was so deep, so good, but you still…you reached for him blindly, one of your hands finding one of his, bringing it to your throat. 

“Fuck, honey,” Bradley groaned, his fingers tightening slightly and you traced your hand down the back of his hands, moaning when you felt the veins on the back of his hand. He didn’t squeeze tight, just enough to remind you he was there, and that he could, and just the thought had a coil tightening in your core, tingles spreading through your toes and fingers. 

“Bradley,” you whimpered, tears squeezing out of your eyes. “Baby, that feels so good, feels like yours, please–”

Bradley moaned into your skin, his lips latching onto your pulse point and sucking, and you keened, your back arching off the wall. The stretch of his cock was pulling your panties across your clit, and the driving press of him inside of you was so good, you could barely hear what he was whispering. 

“Is that what you want, honey?” he whispered into your skin. “Want to be mine? That’s what it feels like, honey, it feels like my pussy is so wet for me, dripping for this cock. It feels like my clit is so swollen, so desperate for attention; it feels like my girl’s gonna come on my hard fucking cock…”

Yes, yes that was what you wanted. 

You were already his, he didn’t know it, but hearing him say it had your mind going hazy, and your thighs trembling. 

“That’s fucking right, baby,” Bradley groaned, “I can feel you clenching down on me, can feel my pussy getting even tighter for me. This doesn’t feel like friends, baby, it feels like my girl’s about to come on my cock. 

You were lost, swimming in a sea of heat and sensation and Bradley’s words and you were pretty sure you were wailing, praying no one in the Hard Deck could hear you, but even if they could, you weren’t stopping. His cock was so deep in you, hitting you just right, and you knew what you needed to cum. 

“In me, Bradley,” you managed, your voice a weak whine. “Need to feel you come, please, fill me up with it.”

“Oh, fuck, honey,” Bradley choked, his hand tightening on your throat and his hips working faster. His pace was bruising, overwhelming, perfect and hard and you felt everything in you winding tighter.

“Of course you want my cum, fucking of course, if it’s my pussy, then that’s where it belongs isn’t it? That’s how you should be, stuffed so fucking full of me, dripping out of you, marked like mine, fucking mine–”

He was groaning, gasping, his hips speeding up and driving into you, and all you could do was take it, like it was what you were made for. You were boneless, euphoric, and when you felt Bradley’s hips stutter and his head drop to between your breasts, your orgasm broke over you. Bradley sagged into you, hips working weakly as he thrust his cum into you, and you felt it everywhere, marking you, like he said. You couldn’t breathe without him, only knew you were still vertical because he was holding you, and you felt so warm, so held, so full. 

His. 

You didn’t realize your eyes had closed until you were aware of Bradley asking you to open them. Your feet were on the ground, even though your legs were like a newborn deer, and your back was braced against the wall. Bradley was bent in front of you, brushing away your tears with the back of his hand. 

“Talk to me, honey,” he said softly, and you heard his voice like an echo, “need to know you’re okay.”

You nodded slowly, which mustn’t have been convincing, because Bradley was still fussing over you, like he hadn’t fucked you halfway into a new religion.  

You knew when he saw your back because of the sound of dismay that burst out of him, and then he was pulling off that damn Hawaiin shirt, brushing gravel off your back while your head hung low between your shoulders, still trying to remember how to breathe. 

Satisfied that he’d at least brushed the grit out of your skin, Bradley draped his shirt over your shoulders, protecting them, before guiding you to lean back. He licked his lips as his gaze tracked over your face, and you watched him convince himself to say something. 

“Did you mean it?” he asked quietly, but this time you heard him more clearly. “Would…would you want that? To be mine?”

It was your turn to stare. 

How could he doubt it? How was there any question? Not only after what you’d just begged him for, but before then, always, he had to know how good he was, and how all anyone wanted was to be in the light of his sunshine. 

“Obviously,” you said, your voice coming out as an alarming croak. “But we can’t, we–”

Bradley hugged you. 

It wasn’t what you expected.

After everything you’d just done, instigated by stop-talking kisses, there was something astonishingly intimate about Bradley wrapping you in his arms, enfolding you in his embrace, and you felt him relax when your arms hesitatingly wrapped around him too. He was warm, smelled like fresh sweat and you buried your face in the soft cotton of his undershirt. He held you tightly, and you thought he might’ve pressed a kiss to the top of your head, but then his hand was smoothing over your back, gentle, comforting. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, softly. “Together, okay?”

You nodded, knowing he could feel it, and he held you impossibly closer. It didn’t solve it. There were still fraternization rules, still some kind of unofficial vetting process you knew Mav and Ice would put you through, not to mention Penny…but as Bradley held you, you let it be enough.

And maybe it was enough, because, as your body hummed with the reminder of it, you were his.

//

tagging: @callsign-fangirl @bradshawsbitch @mxgyver @withahappyrefrain @teacupsandtopgun @lewmagoo @nancyxsorbet @sebsxphia @laracrofted @roleycoleyreccenter @sushiwriterhere @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @callsignvalley @wildbornsiren @hangmanshoney idk most people follow me for hangman and coyote so hope i did okay by roo

[perseephoneee]

okie dokie does a Dean Winchester x reader fic work? Had an idea way back in s1 when jess first dies, (older sister, who kinda takes sam under her wing) reader ended up meeting dean through sam. They had similar personalities but (reader) was more of a hopeless romantic than Dean. Sam on the other hand could totally see them together but Dean always denied it.

“Stop eyeing her like she's a piece of steak, you creep” “The hell? I do not do that, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

so they left ca and travelled and maybe in s2-3 (doesnt have to be accurate) they end up back in ca because of a case or cause reader called sam for help. (not expecting dean to show up as well) and after shes not in danger, turns out they get along really well.

"Im not an arm rest, dean." "Mhm, then why are you so short?" "I'M 5'3 THATS NORMAL"

and just fluff..? idk man let me know if its not what you want to write, i can totally change it💜

not a steak (dean winchester x f!reader)

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ 1k celebration

wow remember when i could actually write things in a timely manner? yeah, me neither. i miss those days (that never existed). whomp whomp.

You don't necessarily remember the exact moment that you met Sam. He's been a constant in your life since you were his TA as an undergraduate, watching this freakishly tall freshman so eager to succeed in your class. He made your heart soft, and he made you feel protective. Even though he was so much bigger than you, a naivety in his persona made you take extra time to ensure he succeeded. He ended up getting an A in the class.

You do remember when you met Dean, however. You had heard stories of Dean from Sam the few times you'd catch lunch outside of school. By this point, you were a grad student, filling the void of the older sibling that Sam unconsciously needed filled. You never pried for too many details, and that's how you got people to shut up really fast. But you did meet Dean right as he left town to look for his Dad. Dean was coarse and dismissive of you as if you were just another roadblock stopping him from taking his brother. When you finally got his attention, it was just to size you up before wordlessly climbing into his car. Sam seemed apologetic, but mostly, you were just worried. You had every right to be. Jessica died a week later.

The thing about you is that you can't let a dead dog lie. Where's the fun in that? You'd much rather figure out ways to raise them.

Sam was brilliant, but he let enough details slip to allow you to research him. And you were a law graduate student; you knew a thing or two about studying. Random newspaper clippings, shoutouts of various names, and blog posts allowed you to figure out the supernatural aspect of his life that he had kept from you. You should've been more surprised, but you were more excited than anything. There was more out there. What a strangely relieving thought.  

This knowledge proved helpful when you realized you had a poltergeist.

The new place you moved into was charming and Victorian, the dream of everyone with a Pinterest board. It was in fairly decent shape, and with your roommates, you guys thought you could polish it up to something livable during your suffering years of graduate school. Unfortunately, the price was too good to be true, which led to the unfortunate circumstance of hauntings culminating in one of your roommates in the hospital, barely alive. You called Sam that night.

"Hey Sam, it's me…" you trailed off at that, feet tucked under you as the machines' beeping cut through the silence. "I need your help."

The next day, he was at your door, enveloping you in a hug. He smelled exactly the same, and you didn't realize how much you missed him. Dean was with him.

"I'm Dean," he nodded, holding out a hand. You raised a brow.

"We've met."

"I would've remembered someone who looks like you," Dean scoffs, an easy smirk on his lips that probably made many women swoon. You just rolled your eyes, going back into your house and hoping Sam followed.

A week later, the boys were still here. This ghost was frustrating, and it was more the principle of it that was pissing you off more than anything. You let the brothers stay at the house since it was safer in numbers and cheaper. Plus, your roommates took a wide berth of the place before returning. A routine developed in the short time they were here. You cooked breakfast, Sam made coffee, and Dean woke up at some point. You and Sam would enjoy the paper before something happened (usually related to the crossword that Dean was totally not interested in), and you ended up bickering with the older Winchester until Sam got fed up with it and shut it down.

"Stop eyeing her like she's a piece of steak," Sam muttered to Dean when you weren't around, having stormed off to some other corner of the house. Dean almost spit out his coffee.

"The hell? I do not do that. I have no clue what you're talking about."

Sam just nodded, hiding a smirk behind his book as Dean grumbled about not checking you out.

For the first time that week, Sam was out that night. He was following "a lead." What that lead was, no one knew, but it meant you were alone. With Dean. In a house. Without supervision.

You grumbled something about making dinner. Dean followed you.

"Are you lost?" you asked, hands on your hips as Dean plopped himself at the counter.

"I'm following the food."

"Of course you are."

"Please, no more rabbit food," Dean groaned. "I can't take it anymore."

"Oh no, definitely not," you smirked, pulling out some steaks from the fridge you had been saving. Dean's eyes immediately lit up. "You're helping me cook these. I'm not letting your dumb ass sit around while I prepare a meal."

"You're bossy," Dean grumbles but doesn't complain further as he removes his flannel and sets it on the chair. You ignore that he looks really good in a t-shirt and return to grabbing ingredients. To his credit, Dean is good at letting you tell him what to do and following through. He is definitely a better chef than Sam, who has burned many things in your kitchen. Dean is an excellent sous chef. You tell him as such.

"The hell? I am not a sous," he says while furiously stirring butter.

"It's a compliment, you knobhead."

"Knobhead? What 1950s show are you living in?"

This conversation went back and forth for a while. But you finished cooking a meal, which is always considered a success in your book. Dean devoured him almost immediately before you could even finish cutting through it. Then, it was just you attempting to finish your meal in peace. This was difficult, as Dean continuously kept eyeing your food, hoping you might give it to him, and then would complain outwardly when you didn't.

"You're not going to finish it," he drank his beer, once again looking at your dinner. You glared.

"I can finish it."

"A girl like you doesn't finish an entire steak."

That comment pissed you off. You finished your steak in two bites, shocking Dean, and then proceeded to grab his glass of beer and down it in one gulp. You slammed the glass down, raising a brow. "You have no clue what type of girl I am."

You grabbed both your plates and made your way to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and starting to clean the dishes. You barely made it through a plate before Dean pushed you out of the way.

"Dean—"

"I'm not questioning your ability, but in my world, the one who doesn't cook cleans. So, sit your ass down," Dean said before you could chew him out. You bit the inside of your cheek and sat down, still glaring at him as he washed each dish meticulously and put them either in the dishwasher or on the drying rack. When he was done, he threw the dishtowel over his shoulder. The domesticity made you soften. "I'm sorry for earlier."

You blinked, not really expecting any sort of apology from Dean Winchester. You did expect that you would not get anything besides those words.

"I don't understand women."

You laughed at that, leaning on your hand with your elbow on the table. "Aren't you a self-proclaimed ladies' man?"

"I know how to sleep with women, but I don't get what goes through your heads," Dean leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You want one thing and then a different thing, and I can't keep up."

"So, you're admitting you're slow." Dean threw the towel at you. "Women aren't that complicated; men are just bad listeners. You included."

"I can listen."

"Really? What was I frusterated about at dinner?" you challenged, getting off your seat and leaning over the counter. He blinked a few times.

"That I kept asking for your steak?"

"No, that you presumed that as a woman, I couldn't finish a steak."

"Well, that's not what I said," Dean replied, getting defensive. You just rolled your eyes, grabbing the wine bottle on the counter.

"Oh, also, insight into women; they lie about how good men actually are in the bedroom," you winked, leaving the room and taking the wine with you. You could almost hear Dean's jaw drop.

"It ain't a lie, princess," he intercepted you, his stupid legs moving much faster than yours. You frowned but didn't say anything. Dean took a breath, locking eyes with you. "Why do you insist on always pushing my buttons?"

"Because it's fun? Because you're both annoying and easy to annoy?" you shrugged, clutching your wine bottle to your chest. You didn't know why you picked on him, besides the fact he could be an absolute ASS sometimes that needed kicking. No, you suppose it goes back to early schoolyard days where instead of 'flirting,' you'd push the person and maybe claim to the entire class that they had cooties. To this day, you still had no idea what cooties exactly were, just that you never wanted to catch them.

"I think you like me," Dean smirked. He had crowded you against the wall leading to the living room. Your wine was an innocent bystander clutched to your chest. Maybe not as tall as Sam, but you still had to look up to see him. "I'm gonna prove it."

"Excuse me?" you breathed any sort of bite to your words caught in your throat as he reached up to your face and stroked your cheek. His hands found purchase holding your neck, tilting your face even higher and infinitely closer. Dean took the wine bottle out of your hands, your last line of defense, and stepped away for a second to put it back on the counter. His hands found your face again.

"Hey princess," he whispered, voice sultry. "Breathe." You couldn't do such a thing even if you wanted to because his lips were on yours, and he tasted like the draft beer in your fridge and apple pie. He was gentle, too gentle, and you wanted more. Your hands, first unsure of what to do, grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. One of his hands moved to your waist, thumb brushing the exposed skin where your shirt rode up. He was everywhere all at once, masculinity encapsulated, and you were drowning in it. He pulled away, letting you breathe, the command you forgot to follow. "I wanted to do that since I saw you."

"Bullshit."

"Honest to god— well, not god, but honest— but then you had to go and be increasingly difficult," Dean scoffed, still holding on to you.

"You don't even remember the first time we met."

"Of course I do; it was a week after my Dad disappeared," Dean responded. "You were wearing pajamas and had a raincoat wrapped around you as you asked Sam not to go so that you could figure it out together. I was curt, and you looked like you wanted to call me a thousand horrible names, but you let it go as we drove away."

You smiled a little at that. "You do remember."

"What can I say? I like pushing your buttons."

You smacked him on the chest, earning a laugh as you fought off your smile. You did finally get your wine and let Dean choose something to watch. About halfway through your movie (and three glasses of pinot noir in), you got distracted by a makeout session that would've made your teenage self swoon, but it didn't progress more than that. Neither of you wanted to go too fast. Most of the time, it was just light conversation, cuddling, and the realization that maybe you two were much more alike than you thought.

Both of you fell asleep like that on the couch, blissfully unaware of the morning light. Sam came home early in the morning, dropping his bags before seeing the both of you entwined on the couch. A smile crossed his face.

"Finally."

taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea @qardasngan @evasmlp

[goldthorn-archive]

ohmygod sam yeah. yeah yep. that second idea?? john whimpering around gale’s fingers, tonguing them half-attentively, eyes fluttering shut? and when gale moves his hand down to john’s cock and john looks down and sees the head of gale’s peeking out between his thighs underneath gale’s hand on him, the tears at the edges of his eyes, the sounds???

yeah need more thigh fucking fics

more clegan thigh fics ur so right 😭

it’s a need 😭 like fuck, john and gale dont have much time, and however much gale begs, john’s always gonna spend enough time prepping him so no he’s not gonna fuck him rn, so he gets gale to squeeze his legs together and gale’s a whimpering mess from the feeling of john’s cock dragging hot and heavy between his legs, the heat of it all, the zing of electricity across his skin, and ok yeah this is good too

or, after john’s had gale in his mouth for so long, been on his knees for so long, he’s so tired by the time gale comes, but he’s so hard there’s no way he can really fall asleep, so gale gets him lying down next to him, arms holding him close, legs held together tightly, lets john fuck up against him, take what he needs, hands rubbing slow circles into johns back, johns eyes closed and mouth hanging open, the heat of gale’s body making him sleepier and more turned on and..

yeah more thigh fucking fics pls

[nochedie]

lattes and lemures | sam winchester ☕️

pairing: sam winchester x reader

genre: mostly fluff, tiny bit of hurt/comfort

wordcount: 6.3k

summary: after a strange death in salem, the winchesters arrive to check things out. sam bumps into you outside the coffee shop you work at, and all of a sudden the case isn’t the only thing keeping him there.

a/n: okay first of all this is a TOTALLY fictional representation of salem. you can view it as completely different than the real salem! it holds very limited familiarity to the actual place, just needed a town known for it’s spookiness/catering to tourists that way! second this is the first longish fic i have done in so long! i love sam so much and i just needed to write about him in such a sweet way! to be honest this idea literally came to me in a dream lmfao… it was quite a bit different than this but i took the basic idea and ran with it and it actually (i think) turned out okay! if you have any feedback i am all ears, i know i have such a long way to go here but this is the first baby steps!

📍 salem, ma.

after catching wind of some.. spirit-esque happenings in the witch-iest town in the us, sam and dean winchester drove into the parking lot of the first motel they could find with vacancies: raven’s rest.

considering its past, salem is a hotbed for tourists, and usually anything supernatural happening in salem was just a hoax to sell more tickets to whatever brand new attraction introduced that year. sam and dean knew this for sure, but there was something about this case that felt different. and, truthfully, they didn’t have any other cases to look into.

sam’s head was still reeling from the events of the past year. he had gone from happy, pre-law at stanford with a beautiful girlfriend, to dropping out of college chasing ghosts. and jess was gone. it was like it had all happened in the blink of an eye.

he opened the door of the impala, stepping out onto the gravel and making his way to the front desk, followed close behind by dean.

the motel reception was poorly decorated in occult decor, purple walls with chipped paint adorned with framed tarot cards, a taxidermy raven sitting atop the desk and a few plastic bats hanging from the ceiling.

“well. isn’t this cozy.” dean looked around the room with a slight disgust.

there was nobody manning the front desk, so the taller of the two brothers tapped on the bell to alert whoever may be working that they would like a room. no sooner had the bell rung when an eccentric looking older lady burst out from a door marked “staff only”.

“looking for a room?” she spoke, or well, practically sung. her red lipstick smudged down her face and long, black hair cascaded down her back. her name tag read “mother wystan”.

“u-uh… yeah! yeah…” sam stuttered, a little taken aback.

“no need to be scared, my dear. i won’t bite. that’s nyx’s job.” the lady giggled, turning to the key pegboard to grab the key to one of the vacant rooms, which seemed to be an awful lot of them.

“um. nyx?” sam questioned, looking over at dean who was just as confused by the interaction.

“nyx.” she gestures to the taxidermy raven.

“oh! right.” sam laughs politely.

“raven’s rest. he is the raven! and he sure is resting.” dean snarked, grabbing a card from his wallet to pay for the night and handing it over to “mother wystan”.

“thank you, mr… blackwood.” she reads the name off of one of the stolen credit cards in dean’s wallet, earning a nod in acknowledgment from him. “you’re in room 47. it’s just along the hall to your right. have a whimsical stay!” she hands the key over to sam, who takes it with an awkward smile before making their way to their room.

the room in comparison was just as tired as the reception, with walls well in need of a few spots of filler and a repainting, and bedsheets that look like they haven’t been touched since the 70s.

“i need some of whatever the hell she’s on.” dean lays down on the bed nearest to the door, kicking off his shoes. “you can take first shower.”

sam nods and makes his way over to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a while, taking a deep breath. everything was messed up. sure, it was nice to be with his brother again, but this isn’t what he wanted. none of it is.

after showering off a day of sitting shotgun in the impala, sam leaves the bathroom and dean is up and in there immediately. sam falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

the next morning, bright and early, sam is already wide awake. he looks over to the other bed, noticing that his older brother is still fast asleep. he slowly gets out of bed, walking into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

after slipping on his favorite brown carhartt hoodie, he leaves a note for dean letting him know he just nipped out to get some coffee for them both and not to worry before leaving the motel room.

he walks down the street for a couple of minutes, stopping abruptly in his tracks when someone almost bumps into him. they had stepped out the door of a coffee shop and were just putting the board outside.

“woah! oh god, i’m so sorry. i wasn’t looking where i was-“ you looked up, breath hitching in your throat as you locked eyes with the male in front of you. he was… totally gorgeous, but there was also a softness there. he looked like if the colour brown was a person, you thought, soft and warm with doe eyes. “-going…”

“it’s okay, i wasn’t either.” he smiled, keeping his eyes locked on yours. you were wearing a green apron with the coffee shop branding on it, so he knew you worked here. that would be helpful, as this is just across the street from where the murder they were investigating occurred, and they needed to speak to people who may have been around at the time.

“sorry, did you want to come in? we don’t open for ten minutes, but i could make an exception as an apology?” honestly, you were a little hopeful he would say yes to coming in. you didn’t want to let him pass you by.

“yeah, i was just going to grab some coffee, i’m staying a little down the street.” he gestured in the direction he came.

“oh, great! come in..” you stepped to the side, letting him through.

“i’m sam, by the way.” he smiled as you led him to take a seat at the table closest to the counter.

“my names y/n. it’s nice to meet you.” really, really nice. “so, what coffee would you like?” you enquired, stepping behind the counter.

“um, i’ll take a latte. and could i get a black coffee with a shot of espresso to go?” he suddenly remembered he had wanted to talk to you about the murder across the street, and if you both took a little too long, dean’s coffee would get cold. “do you mind making the black coffee a little later though? i’m gonna be here a bit longer.”

“oh, sure. latte coming right up.” you start brewing the coffee, leaning over the counter to see him clearly. “what brings you to salem?”

“uh… just working a job nearby. pest control.”

“oh, that’s.. interesting.” you finish making his latte, bringing it over to the table.

“thanks.. how much do i owe you?”

“think of it as a welcome gift.” you both shared a smile, before you started to walk back over to the counter.

“wait- can i ask you something?” sam questioned.

you turned around and took a few steps back towards his table. “sure, what’s up?”

“what do you know about the.. murder across the street?”

“oh.. um, i don’t know much. just whispers about town, but i did know the guy.”

“did he have any enemies? anybody that might want to hurt him?”

“no, he was a really nice man. he was a regular, always got the same thing, macchiato with a caramel shot. i thought it was weird when he didn’t come in for a few days, and then we heard the news. it sucks.”

“i bet. has anything weird happened around here recently?”

“weird how? i mean, it’s always at least a little weird around here.” you watched outside as a man wearing a pumpkin on his head handed out event fliers. “exhibit a.”

sam chuckled. “weirder than usual, then.”

“well, no. not really.”

“flickering lights, cold spots?”

“what are you, ghost hunting?” you joked, letting out a light chuckle. something about sam’s reaction, you saw right through him. “wait. are you ghost hunting?”

“no! that’s crazy. i’m just interested, that’s all.” he wasn’t a very good liar.

“hm.” your eyes narrowed, and you took a seat across from him. pest control, him talking about cold spots and flickering lights, asking about the murder, him not being from around here... “you think i’ve lived in salem my whole life and haven’t bumped into any hunters?”

he had been taking a sip of his coffee, which he proceeded to almost choke on.

“don’t worry, i’m not a… witch, vampire, ghost, ghoul, demon, whatever else. but i feel like it would be a great disservice to my hometown if i didn’t believe in those things. and there were a few hunters a few years back i bumped into and.. let’s just say they pulled the wool off my eyes. not by choice, i’m very stubborn.”

every second he spent with you he liked you even more, and every second his smile grew wider.

“so. you think it’s a ghost? the thing that killed mr beckett?”

“well, me and my brother are gonna check some things out, but that’s our first instinct, yeah. is there anything you can tell me about mr beckett that might help? any reason a ghost would want rid of him?”

“sorry, i can’t think of anything… maybe he had some skeletons in his closet?” you shrugged, a little disappointed in yourself that you couldn’t be of more help. “i get off work at midday today. come find me then? maybe we can do a little digging together?”

his eyes lit up at the prospect of seeing you again. “yeah! that sounds great.”

“how’s your coffee? are you ready for me to make the to-go cup for your brother?” the coffee shop would be opening very soon, and you were sure you would have more customers soon enough, and you were disappointed that you couldn’t sit here all day and get to know sam better.

“it’s great, yeah i think i’m ready now.” he finishes his coffee and waits for you to make dean’s. as he took the cup from your hand, his hand brushed against yours, causing a spark so poignant you let your hand linger for a matter of seconds.

“okay.. um. well, i’ll see you at midday?”

“definitely. i’ll see you soon, y/n.” with a smile, he turned and walked out of the coffee shop.

just before you clocked out, a customer had left the morning paper on the counter. the front page alerted you that there had been another murder. this time it was a lady, piper sawyer, who owned an antique shop down the street. the mo was the exact same. no signs of a break-in, all bulbs in the house were blown, and the victim was missing one eye.

you hung up your apron and changed out of your work clothes, grabbing the paper from the counter and rushing outside to wait for sam.

he arrived just a few moments later, with another man, more intimidating looking but handsome all the same.

“hey, y/n. this is dean, my brother.”

after you and dean had exchanged friendly first greetings, you held out the paper to sam. “there’s been another murder. i was trying to link the two victims and i think i thought of something.”

“you did? what is it?”

“well, every year in salem we have this festival. there’s stalls to buy trinkets or play games, people dress up, there’s a bonfire, and there’s a stage performance at the end of the festival each year. both piper and mr beckett were supposed to be involved this year. piper had a stall planned for her antiques and she was providing the costumes for the stage performance, and mr beckett had modernised the script for the play they were due to perform.”

“alright.. well i guess we better figure out who else is involved in the festival. is there any reason why some ghost would even care about it? any urban legends around it, anything?”

“uh- not that i know of… but it has been going for a long time, since the 1800s i’m pretty sure.”

“alright. come on, is there a library around? any place we could do some research?”

“yeah, just up the road.”

“alright, come on.” almost as if his hands were moving by themselves, he grabbed your hand. you had to take a second, but it felt so right. your hand in his like part of a puzzle. you locked eyes, your gaze only broken by dean clearing his throat.

dean looked between the two of you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “i’m gonna scope out the murder scenes, see what i can find. you two kids do some research then meet back at the motel, okay? call me if you need me.”

you and sam nodded before you lead him off in the direction of the local library.

you stepped inside, the warm air of the heater above the door hitting your face. your hand in sam’s the whole time, neither of you wanting to let go. you took a seat at one of the empty tables, sam sitting down next to you and pulling his laptop out of his bag.

you spent a couple hours trawling for old news articles about the festival, anything that could be useful. until you finally found a post on some paranormal forum, about the festival in 1906. a girl had died when one of the stage rafters fell on top of her, but it didn’t say her name. “sam, if there was anything spooky happening at that festival, wouldn’t they want to make a big song and dance about it? i mean… surely. they create as much hype as possible and ghost stories always bring in the tourists.”

“yeah, that’s what i thought too. do you think they tried to cover it up somehow?”

“yeah.. but why? faulty maintenance? but what could they really prove back then? they would just put it down to an accident, right?”

“right. so.. none of this really makes any sense. can we contact the person who posted this?”

“i mean, i can try, but who knows if they’ll even respond.”

“let’s give it a try.” you shifted the laptop towards you, typing out an email to “beyondtheveil88”. sam’s eyes stayed fixed right on you, travelling down to your fingers as they typed. each passing moment he noticed something different about you. whether it be the face you made while concentrating, the way you changed your mind about what you were going to type and deleted a sentence about fifteen times. without meaning to, a small chuckle left his lips.

you looked up, fixing on his pretty hazel eyes. “what?”

“just… you.” he let his gaze linger a few seconds, before you both awkwardly turned to look away from each other. you both started to speak to try and change the subject and fill the awkward silence, followed by a “sorry, you go-“ in unison.

“go ahead.” you smiled, letting him speak first.

“i was just going to ask what happened a few years ago, when you bumped into the hunters?”

“oh. it was actually witch stuff, fittingly. there was a witch hexing a bunch of people just because they got drunk and destroyed her flower patch in her front garden. kind of extreme, i guess she loved her plants. anyway, my uh- one of my friends was… one of the people she hexed. anyway.. these two older guys, they told me to stay out of it for my own good. i didn’t listen. i wanted to know what happened to my friend, you know? i went to her house, broke in through the back door just quick enough to save both their asses with their own knife. i was freaked but, they gave me a little a-z of monsters class after. nothing aside from whispers since though, about anything extraordinary in salem, until now, i guess.”

“you’re just…” perfect. that’s what he had started to say, but stopped himself just in time. he didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you away, but. there was so much more for him to learn about you, and he couldn’t wait.

“i’m just what?” you enquired, raising a brow in anticipation.

“nothing, let’s just, get back to the email.” he changed the subject quickly, pointing at the laptop screen.

you turned your attention to the screen, typing for a few more moments before signing off the email from both you and sam. something about your names together at the end, lit something in both of you. it felt right, like a perfect pair. “how’s that?”

sam leaned a little closer to you to read the email, and you couldn’t help but sneak a look at his face as he read. you took in each little detail. the warm tone of his skin, the way his hair tousled perfectly. you broke your gaze away just before he could catch you.

“looks good, ready to send it?” sam acknowledged the short nod of your head by hitting send on the email.

“don’t let us down beyondtheveil88!” you cross your fingers as if that was somehow going to conjure an instant response.

sam placed his hands over yours. “even if not, we’ll find some other way.” his eyes shifted down to his hands which had come to rest over yours without him even knowing. but it didn’t feel wrong. his eyes shifted up to meet yours and you held the gaze for what felt like an hour, before a short ping sound from the laptop startled you both out of your thoughts. it was an email.

“it’s a link.” sam’s eyebrows creased in confusion as he hovered the mouse over the link.

“you’re really gonna click some random link in an email?” you snickered, but sam had already clicked it by that point. luckily, it was safe. it brought you to a page you hadn’t found in your research earlier. “what is all this?” you and sam spent a few minutes reading through the page.

“her name was evelyn maude fletcher. she was playing the lead in the play. a play about… a ghost who kills the people that killed her. looks like pretty much everybody working on that play covered up her death.”

“you think she still thinks she’s playing the role?”

“yeah. sure looks like it to me. but why now?”

“no idea. do you think they’re doing the same play this year? that would make sense, i mean, like i said, mr beckett had to modernise the dialogue in the play because it was pretty old.”

“its gotta be just the play, not the festival. i mean, both vics had something to do with the play specifically. who else is involved with it?”

“i’m not sure, but i think i know someone who would. come on.” you stood up from the table, sam grabbing his laptop and standing up after you, following you out of the library into the chilly air.

you made your way through town, and ended up right where sam had started, raven’s rest. “the motel? why here?”

“is this where you’re staying? maybe not the nicest place to stay, but nell knows a thing or two about the festival.” you and sam trudge along the gravel to the front entrance.

“nell?” sam tries not to trip on the uneven surface you were walking on, putting out a hand to rest on your back as you tried not to trip yourself.

“she owns the place, would’ve checked you in? some people know her as mother wystan.”

“ah. right. i definitely remember her.” sam thought back to the interesting greeting he and dean received the day before.

“she’s definitely memorable.” you let out a laugh, stepping in through the doors and heading to the front desk. once again, there wasn’t anybody manning it.

“she’s usually in the back room.” you pinged the bell, waiting a few moments. “huh. she’s usually out here as soon as the bell rings… nell? nell it’s y/n!” you raised your voice to shout towards the door. it was only then that you noticed the splatter of blood by the door. “crap.” you gestured to the splatter with your hand, taking a sharp intake of breath. you were going to have to go in there.

“hey, it’s okay. i’ll go in and check. you stay here where it’s safe, okay?” sam rubbed your back in comfort, before taking a step towards the door. your hand reached out and grabbed his.

“no. we can both go.” you stepped forward with him, keeping your hand in his as he linked your fingers.

“okay, but stay behind me.” you nodded, and you and sam made your way over to the door. sam reached out to grab the handle, he was fairly certain that the spirit was gone by now, there was no cold air, no lights flickering or strange occurrences, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. “there’s um- there’s an iron pole in my bag, keep hold of it. if the spirits still in there it’ll vanish if you swing that through it.”

you opened sam’s bag and grabbed the pole with one hand, and sam’s hand with the other, bracing yourself as sam pushed the door open.

you stepped into the room, horrified at the sight before you. there was no light coming from the plenty lamps dotted around, because the bulbs were smashed. and nell lay on the ground, cold, with just one eye.

you had known nell since you were just a kid. she was like your favorite eccentric spinster aunt. you lived close by raven’s rest, and as a kid you thought nell was the coolest person in the world. she taught you how to read tarot, though you had forgotten now, and she had comforted you when your friend had passed a few years prior.

your eyes welled up with tears, and sam used his body to shield you from the sight. you racked your brain trying to think of what nell had to do with this, but she knew everything about the festival, so it wasn’t far fetched to think she had some role in the production.

sam lead you back out the door, closing the door behind you. “you okay?” his doe eyes bore into yours, sadness clear on his face for you.

“no… but i’ll be okay eventually.” he reached out to rub your shoulder in comfort, taking a moment to hesitate before pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. you welcomed the feeling, his strong arms wrapped around you. you wrapped your arms around him too, squeezing him tight. you pulled away from each other only when you heard footsteps. you looked towards the door just in time to see dean arriving.

“hey. what’s going on? everything okay?” dean looked worried by your tear stained face, worried that something might have just happened to his brother.

“it’s the owner of the motel. she was the third victim.” sam shared with dean, as you walked over to the back room door. you looked over to sam, he was preoccupied filling dean in on what you had found. you grabbed the door handle and went inside. you knew nell kept a record of most things. she would want you to do what you could with it to save as many people as you could. you tried to ignore nell’s body on the floor, not wanting to see her like that. you took a look around the room, opening the drawers to try and find anything that would help. you thought you heard a drawer open behind you, and you turned to see one open in a chest of drawers just across the room. you looked around, suddenly getting cold. you walked over to the open drawer, pulling out a diary. there was a page folded over towards the back, and when you opened it up, it was a list of names. nell was directing the play. everybody’s names were here, along with what they were doing or providing for the play. harrison beckett was on script modernisation, piper sawyer on costuming, nell wystan directing. there were a lot more names on the list, covering everything from lighting to casting. there didn’t seem to be any kind of a pattern to the victims.

sam noticed you were gone after a couple of minutes, calling out your name and bursting into the room, startling you. “sorry, i-i thought you were in danger. what’s that?” he takes a couple steps towards you, not stopping until your arms were touching.

“nell made a list. it’s everyone working on the play… i think she’s still here, sam. she opened the drawer for me.” sam rubbed your back in comfort.

“there’s no way we can protect all of these people… we need to find out where evelyn is buried.”

“to do what?”

“ghosts are only tethered to the earth’s plane if their bones are still here. so, we’re gonna salt and burn her bones. that’ll burn her ghost too.”

you took a deep breath, nodding your head and opening sam’s bag to put nell’s diary inside. “okay, let’s go.”

it had just gotten dark when you left the motel, anonymously calling in nell’s passing beforehand.

“couple of ground rules before you set foot inside this car, okay? no eating in the car. no scratching the seats. driver picks the music. got it?”

“i don’t even have any food, dean.” you snark, earning a chuckle from sam.

“get in the car.” dean retorted. you smiled, opening the back door and sliding over to the middle. “alright. where’s the nearest cemetery?”

you gave dean directions from the backseat, shortly pulling into ashwood cemetery.

“y/n, maybe it’s not a good idea you come with us. maybe you should wait here. it’s not safe.” sam turned to you in the backseat, his voice soft and concerned.

“i’m coming, sam.” you opened the back door and stepped out, dean following after you and handing you a flashlight.

you spent the next twenty minutes searching the cemetery before you finally found evelyn’s headstone. “she’s here.” you bent down, coming level with her headstone. “i’m sorry. i know you don’t want to be doing this either.”

sam heard your words as he made his way over to you, and his gaze softened. you felt so much, and he wondered if you could feel so much for him, too, over time.

“alright. let’s get going before miss fletcher here catches wind.” dean grabs his shovel and starts digging, switching with sam halfway through.

you watched as sam dug, sweat beading on his forehead and dirt speckled on his face. he had taken off his hoodie and was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt underneath, the sleeves rolled halfway up and leading into view his arm muscles which contracted each time the shovel hit the soil.

the shovel hit the wood, and you half expected to see the apparition of evelyn appear immediately, try and stop this from happening. you stayed alert, but even as sam climbed out of the hole, doused the bones in salt and set them alight, she was nowhere to be found.

“it just me or did that seem a bit too easy to you?” dean questioned, grabbing the shovel from sam to recover the grave. you hated to say it, but you felt the same. but that should be it. you burned the bones, there was nothing else to do.

the next day, it was back to work. it seemed a little mundane compared to what you had been doing the day before, but you had rent to pay, after all.

the bell rung over top of the door, alerting you that someone was there as you were cleaning one of the tables. you begun your regular welcome greeting, turning around and coming eye to eye with sam. “oh, hey! i thought you guys would’ve skipped town already.”

“without saying goodbye? definitely not. i spoke to dean and.. we don’t have any jobs lined up so, we’re going to stay, at least until the festival in a couple days.”

“really?” you tried to hide your smile but it was far too bright, and he matched it straight away.

you and sam had spent the past couple of days getting to know each other, talking for hours on end. sam and dean had found another motel to hole up at, as raven’s rest was now an active crime scene, and you were spending most of your time there too.

before you knew it, it was the day of the festival. nell had already prepared everything for the play, piper’s costumes had already been donated, and mr barrett had already completed the script, so everything was going ahead just as normal.

dean had already gone off by himself two minutes after arriving, leaving you and sam alone. you took a walk together through the stalls, enjoying each others company. you weren’t sure what the future held for the two of you… but you were convinced that if you had the chance, you two could become something.

“sam…”

“yeah?” the both of you stopped walking, turning to face each other. you were interrupted by a loud announcement over the speakers: the play was about to begin.

“never mind, it can wait. shall we go and watch? it’ll be nice to see all of nell’s hard work.” you offered your hand, which he gladly took and you both walked over to the stage.

the first half of the play went perfectly, but you noticed a difference in the way the lead held herself after a couple acts. her entire demeanour changed. “sam…” you started, interrupted by the bulbs around the stage, on the stalls and all around the festival beginning to smash. “oh no.”

“can ghosts possess humans?”

“yeah, if they get angry enough. do you think…”

“yeah. definitely. but we burnt the bones!”

“y/n… didn’t you say that piper sawyer had an antique store? and she donated the costumes? what’s the betting the costume is the same one evelyn wore when she died?”

“i don’t think piper would have let anybody wear an antique dress.. they’re a lot more fragile than her other antiques. she provided costuming for the last couple plays and i’m pretty sure both of those were newer costumes she made herself. but she did use a few genuine antiques, i remember someone talking about the antique jewellery used in the performance last year.” you turned your attention to evelyn, using the body of the lead actress in the play. there was a locket around her neck. “the locket, look!”

“what if that’s not it? and how the hell are we gonna get close?” sam grabs onto you instinctively as evelyn shouts out the lines of the play, something about an eye for an eye, and suddenly the missing eyes made sense. sam held you close as the wind picked up, looking around for his brother. “dean! where the hell is he?”

your mind was racing, as you watched evelyn eyeing the next victim. malcolm everett, the sound guy. “we gotta stop her.” evelyn was preoccupied with malcolm, and you might have enough time to grab the locket. you knew sam would never let you go if he knew what you were about to do. you pushed away from sam, enough for him to lose his grip but not enough to hurt him. and then you started running in the direction of the stage.

“y/n? y/n stop! hey! you’re gonna get hurt!” sam started straight after you, but you ran track in high school, and you were pretty fast. you ran up the side steps, but evelyn had already caught wind of what you were doing. you leaped forward, your hand outstretched and you ripped the necklace from her neck just in time for evelyn to throw you across the venue, your back hitting one of the stalls and taking the wind out of you.

“y/n!” sam froze, before forcing one foot in front of the other as he ran over to you, dodging all the festival goers who had realised this was not in fact part of the show and were now fleeing. he didn’t know if you were okay, and if you weren’t he just couldn’t handle it. not after jess.

you were cut and bruised as some of the wood from the stall had shattered, but in general you were okay, and you still had the locket in your hand.

you tried to stand up, but you were still getting your breath back. sam’s hand was on your face as soon as he reached you, checking you over for injuries and pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. “i cannot believe you did that. you got hurt and it could’ve been ten times worse!” he tried to read your face to see if you were in pain, he tried to hide it but he was terrified.

“don’t talk about that right now, just this.” you weakly held up the locket, handing it to sam. “burn it, quick. i can’t.” you didn’t have the strength yet and there was no time to waste. sam took the locket from you and threw it into a bonfire at the centre of the festival. if this didn’t work, he didn’t know what you could do.

there was a beam of light as evelyn was thrown from the lead actress’ body, and you watched as her spirit set alight. while you were thankful that this had worked… you couldn’t help but feel deep sorrow for evelyn. all she wanted was justice, her soul was angry, but it was angry for the wrong people. you wished there was another way, but there wasn’t. sam was back at your side in a flash, taking hold of your hands and supporting you as you stood up.

dean ran over just a few moments later, panting and taking a moment to catch his breath. “what’d i miss?”

“and where the hell were you?”

“i was just taking care of something.”

“you were with a girl, weren’t you?”

“no! ..okay, yes. but that ghost totally possessed my date in the first half and knocked me out!”

“oh, convenient.”

sam and dean bickered for a few more minutes before dean told sam he would be at the nearest bar and that he could drive the impala back to the motel, throwing him the keys as he spoke and leaving you both alone again.

your lower leg was injured from the fall, and sam put his arm around you to support you. he could tell the pain on your face even with the support, so he stood in front of you, bending down. “get on my back, i’ll carry you to the car.”

“are you sure?”

“you’re hurt, y/n. please let me do this.” you jumped onto his back and he lifted you with ease, careful not to touch the injured part of your leg. “does that hurt?”

“not anymore than walking did.” you wrapped your arms around his neck. this was nice, but you didn’t like not being able to see him.

sam walked you both over to the car and put you down gently to open the car door. you sat down in the passenger seat and he sat down in the drivers seat before starting up the car and driving back to the motel.

when you got back to the motel room, you sat down on the bed and sam grabbed a first aid kit from his bag to patch you up. you had a cut just below your right eye from a wood splinter, and sam grabbed an alcohol wipe to clean it up first. “this might hurt, okay?” you winced in pain at the feeling, and sam flinched a little, not wanting to cause you any pain, but, it had to be cleaned up. he pat the area dry before placing a few steri-strips over it. your eyes locked on his as he worked, concern written all over his face. after a few moments, his eyes wandered to meet yours. there was a moment of silence, to the point you could’ve heard a pin drop, and sam brought his hand up to rest on your cheek. before you knew it, his lips met yours in a sweet, tender kiss. he still held your cheek, so soft it was like he was afraid he might break you. your lips parted but your faces stay close to each other, eyes remaining closed for a matter of seconds to relish in the moment. “was that… okay?” sam asked, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“of course it was okay.” you closed the distance between your lips again, and sam’s other hand raised to comb itself into your hair, his other hand moving from your cheek to rest on your waist. the kiss was short and sweet again, neither of you wanted to rush things.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“back at the festival, before the show.. you were about to tell me something.”

“oh.. yeah. i’ve been thinking… and today really made up my mind… can i… come with you?” your life these past few days had been some of the best in your life. sure, there was danger but… at the end of it you had truly done something. you had saved lives, and you truly felt like you had a purpose. a purpose more than making coffee.

“are you sure that’s what you want? i don’t want to put you in danger.”

“it’s my choice, sam. and i want to do it. i know there’s danger, i don’t mind. i want to do this. and i… i want to be with you, too.”

sam placed a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“if you’re sure.”

“i’m sure.”

comments, feedback etc always appreciated! thank you for reading!

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc x ML AU: Sam changes her major to Fashion to piss off her mother, and hey, she’s good at altering pink shit into gothic gowns. Her new TA Marinette isn’t what she appears and... Marinette’s boyfriend looks just like Danny? 

Sam, Danny, Tucker are all roomies as they attend Gotham U (well, Danny’s taking online classes- Ghost king duties are a bitch) and it’s time for Sam to change her major.

Sam started off in Plant Bio and that was great and she loved it until (A) She realized that to do real science she couldn’t rely on her connection to the Green and that it would skew her work and that (B) Pamela was fucking loving it. Pamela was doing the polite society equivalent of screaming from the rooftops about how smart Sam was to be a STEM major at GU and it made Sam feel gross about it. So… She switches to Fashion Design.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a PhD student working on a new specialized fabric (It’s for hero costumes not that anyone knows it yet), and is Sam’s TA for the semester. 

After her first class, She and Mari and her kind of hit it off, like, incredibly well. Mari explains that she knows the style Sam is going after because of her love for Jagged Stone and then they bond over Humpty Dumpty. 

Eventually they’ll bond over video games (Sam admits she sucks at UMS3 but would gladly kick her ass in Doomed). They start meeting in Mari’s office hours (which no one else goes to except for in cram weeks) and getting coffee.

Then one Damian Wayne appears and -BOOM Twin AU- Why the fuck does he look just like Danny? 

Anywho: It’s been on my mind for a bit and I’ve started to write it. So uh, you can read it here if you’d like. 

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Sunday

A/N: Track 3 in my Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We? fics. It's my first time writing for Bucky and to say I'm nervous about it is an understatement. I hope he didn't come out out of character. There will be two more tie ins with tracks 10 and 12. Listen to the track here. Bucky x blackwidow!reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

Amends. 

He was supposed to make amends. He had been trying for the most part to work through his list Doctor Raynor made him create. One person after the next until he had crossed off every name. 

Bucky was trying to figure out how to be a better person. To be a person, really. It had worked in some regards, in others, it took more of his restraint than anything else. He’d gotten his mind back, but with that came everything else. 

The memories seemed more vivid, the pain…the pain was endless. But he was trying. 

He was trying and that had to count for something. 

Didn’t it?

Bucky gently closed the refrigerator door and popped open his beer bottle. He took a pull before looking down into his notebook. There was your name. He’d managed to cross off four names before yours and after yours. 

Bottle still in hand, he rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead. He couldn’t put this off forever. He set the bottle down on the counter in front of him. Pressing his hands against the counter he leaned against it. 

You hadn’t spoken in over a month. Before you’d - 

Bucky let out a sigh. 

He never really expected to run into you again. Not after… not after the Red Room. 

Natasha of all people had managed to track you down before Thanos, before the snap. You’d been snapped out of existence along with half the population before he’d had a chance to talk with you. 

In all her wisdom, Natasha had managed to write down your last known location. Bucky hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to try and speak with you until Sam found out. Then it was non stop badgering until he made a move. 

Bucky had found you in Portofino. You looked just as he had remembered. You had locked eyes with him while you were shopping for fruit. He thought you might run or fight. Either scenario he was prepared for. He never imagined you would smile at him, walking up to him slowly before tossing him an apple. 

“Took you long enough,” was all you’d said. He’d followed after you, walking across the coast with you reminiscing  and trading stories for hours until the sun set and rose once again. 

The both of you stayed in contact, helping each other with the odd job here and there. Until you’d - until he’d gone and messed it up. 

Bucky’s phone rang, he let out a sigh before putting the phone against his ear. 

“Hello?” He breathed out. 

“Have you called her yet?” 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose with his hand, “Sam, this really doesn’t concern you.” 

“The hell it doesn’t,” Sam chided him, “I’m the one that has to deal with all your depressing and moody attitude.” 

“I’m not -” 

“You are. That’s your default setting, man. But at least when you were talking with her it lightened up a little. It was only occasional scowls and grunts.” 

Bucky let out an annoyed groan. 

“That’s what I’m talking about, man! If you just humble yourself and grovel and apologize we can both get on with our lives. You were an idiot, now own it.” 

“I’m hanging up now,” Bucky grumbled, pulling the phone away from his ear. 

Faintly, he could hear Sam yelling at him. “As long as you call her next!” Bucky pressed the end call button and set the phone on the counter. 

Bucky tapped his fingers along the counter, his heart tensing up in his chest. He was getting nervous, he didn’t get nervous. Bucky threw his head back, letting out an annoyed groan. 

Fine, shit, fine!

Bucky picked up the phone and dialed your number. The ringing was endless, his heart beat faster and faster the longer you didn’t pick up. When the automated voicemail started he almost hung up, almost. 

“I know why you’re not picking up the phone. I get it. I just - Look I just want to talk. If you can,” he paused and let out a sigh, “I’m here in Brooklyn or I can -” the recording ended. 

Bucky nearly banged his head on the counter from frustration. He tossed the phone on the counter. Grabbing the beer bottle once more, he slide down the counter until he sat on the floor. 

Pathetic. He was pathetic. Somewhere out there he knew Steve was probably laughing at him. Didn’t you used to be the smooth one? He’d probably say. 

“In another life,” Bucky mumbled against the bottle, “In this one I’m an idiot.” 

------------------------------------------------

You played the message once more. You've heard it about ten times now. You never expected to hear from him again let alone have him call you. 

You worried your lip, finger ghosting over the call back button. Tossing the phone on the seat beside you, you slide down the sofa until you sat firmly on the floor. You head leaning back against the sofa cushion you stared up at the ceiling. 

You’d told him you were falling in love with him, and he’d just stared at you. Stared at you until you’d tried to swallow back your words floundering like an idiot. 

You were always calm, you were collected. You couldn’t get nervous or ramble, you weren’t created that way. The Red Room had taken all that out of you. At least you had thought so until then. 

Bucky had a way of making you forget, at least momentarily, all the pain. When you were together it was just the two of you. The past would always exist, but with him, it almost felt like there was still a chance at a future. One with less pain and blood. 

You’d been wrong. 

You’d been embarrassed. You never wanted to feel that way again. Swallowing, you picked yourself off the floor. 

There was only one way through this. You’d have to face it. Grabbing your keys you made your way to Bucky’s apartment. You’d been staying in New York since the two of you had reconnected, after today, you might finally be able to leave. 

When you finally made it to his door, you’d stared at it for a solid minute before picking the lock. You wanted to have the upper hand here, and this was the best way for you to do it. 

Quietly, you made your way into his living room. Bucky was sprawled along his mattress on the floor. His arm was thrown haphazardly across his face. He’d yet to make the transition onto an actual bed. 

“You really should have a better security system,” you said. Your hands were tucked into your coat pockets. 

“Don’t need one,” Bucky said quietly, sitting up from the floor. He had trouble meeting your gaze. He bent his knees, his arms resting against his legs. “I know the sound of your footsteps.” 

He cleared his throat, his eyes finally daring to meet yours. He looked tired, more tired than you’d seen him in a while. You almost wanted to reach out and comfort him. 

Almost. 

“What is it exactly that you couldn’t just tell me over the phone?” You questioned. You shifted your weight, arms now crossing against your chest. 

“I wanted to say I was sorry.” 

“For what?” 

Bucky’s eyes pierced yours. “I should have-” 

“Look, James-” 

“Don’t.” Bucky stood tall now, his body dangerously close to yours. If you were anyone else it might terrify you, but you’d never been scared of him, even when you should have been. You swallowed, your breathing growing more shallow. 

“Don’t close off on me,” his voice grew heavy. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to argue. 

“I can see it, I know that look. I know I messed up, but don’t close off because of me.” 

You blanched, “I’m not closing off.” 

Bucky let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He paced in front of you now like a nervous cat. Your eyes followed him, watching as he paced. 

“I don’t know how to be a person anymore. I’m trying, and I’m failing.” He managed to choke out. “Nothing I ever do seems to come out right.” 

Bucky stopped pacing and he looked at you. His eyes were watery now, his expression pained as if he was feeling every emotion at once. 

“James,” you said softly, taking one step toward him. 

Bucky tried his best to compose himself, to reign in the emotions overpowering him. 

“When you said you loved me, I wanted to say it back. I don’t know what stopped me. No,” he paused, “I do. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be happy. Not after all the pain I caused.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you reasoned. “It’s not any of our faults, James. We did what we were told. What we were trained to do. You more than anyone else.” 

He looked at you with that same expression that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. He looked at you like you were gravity anchoring him to the earth. 

“I do, love you,” Bucky whispered, taking a tentative step towards you. “I finally feel myself when I’m with you. I thought…everything feels a little lighter when I’m with you. I don’t think I want to fight that feeling anymore. I love you. I don’t want to run from it anymore.” 

Bucky reached out timidly to cup your face. When you didn’t pull away, he cradled your head in his hand. You stood there holding each other close. To broken people finding acceptance in the other.

[jhoneybees]

Could you write some this with 50’s Elvis? The reader is Scotty’s cousin from Europe and comes to visit family. The reader doesn’t open up to anybody easily because people always treat her unkindly. Scotty takes the reader to recording sessions where she gets to know Elvis.

Hi! This request was a bit of a challenging one and I'm so sorry that you had to wait so long! I've changed a few things around so I hope you don't mind that. My mind has been so slow at writing these days, it's annoyinggg😭

Unexpected.

Characters: 50s!Elvis X reader

Warnings/triggers: loneliness, travelling abroad??

Taglist: @elvisalltheway101 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a

_____________________________________________

Stepping foot out of the taxi and shyly thanking the driver for helping you unpack your suitcases out of the back, you stand in front of a wooden weathered house. Taking in a deep breath, smiling when the front door swings open.

You’ve just arrived in America this morning and the reason why you’re here is because in Switzerland where your parents live and where you go to school, the kids don’t treat you nicely. You've tried making friends over there but no matter what you do, if it's either acting like you're someone else or being someone's personal assistant, they always treat you so unkindly.

You’ve heard of that common phrase “not everyone is going to like you” and you’re not sure if it’s true because it seems to you that everyone at your school doesn't like you at all, including the nerds and other people might think it’s nonsense but even your parents think it’s strange how no one likes you.

It’s been making you really sad and miserable.

So after a bit of a conversation, your parents decided to send you to stay at your cousin’s house in Memphis. To test their theory of you being treated better in America than in Switzerland.

“Oh Y/n! It’s so lovely ta see ya” you smile sheepishly as your cousin’s wife runs down the porch and wraps you in a warm hug “So glad you’re here!” she chimes.

After you shyly nod and giggle, she ushers you inside the house with a hand on the small of your back and calls out to Scotty “Honey! Guess who’s here?” before giving you another friendly smile and politely taking your suitcases to your room.

“Hey! Bookie!” turning your head around to see your cousin standing in the archway leading into the living room with his arms out and a wide smile on his face, you smile again and laugh softly when he envelops you in an even warmer hug.

After a couple of weeks of your stay in Memphis, your happiness has shot through the roof. You do so many fun things and before when you were in Switzerland, you often dreaded what the day would bring but now everytime you wake up, you’re craving for something new, especially today. You don’t know what it is about today but you feel like something you won’t expect will happen.

“Bookie, how bout you come ‘long with me to Sun records?” Scotty asks whilst grabbing his electric guitar from the corner of the living room and bending over to pick up his cable and amp.

“Sure, why not?”

Taking a peek inside, you shyly make your way into the recording studio as Scotty holds the door open, guiding you towards another door that takes you into a padded room, he introduces you to the small group of people in front of you which not even a minute they all happily greet you with hellos and handshakes.

“The name’s Billy”

“Oh hello sweetie, my name is Marion”

“Sam, nice ta meet ya”

Then as you shake hands with who you think is the owner of the studio, you turn your head to a boy who looks to be around your age. Your heart skips a beat at what you see.

“Hi, m-my name’s Elvis”

Boyish, dirty, blond, styled hair.

Lightly tanned, pimply skin.

Small crooked shy grin.

Pretty blue eyes…

This is the thing you were not expecting to happen today…

…

You’ve just met the boy of your dreams.

“...Hi”

[arjwrites]

— Hiii!! I wanted to ask if you could write a angst/comfort Castiel x Winchester!Reader (She's she older sister🥹). Where basically the reader is hunting nonstop to try to vent her anger and Castiel is trying to make her get a break or smth? (Make them cuddle please <3!!)

And I'm so happy to see an active supernatural account omgg‼️❤️‍🩹 (And sorry if it's difficult to understand my request, English is not my first language and it's a little confusing for me </3)

Numb- Castiel x Winchester!Reader

A/N- HI ANON! Thanks so much for being my first ever request! I hope I did this ask justice. Thank you so much for reaching out, feel free to let me know what you think (and don't worry, your English is fantastic!) <3 Summary- Reader is Sam and Dean’s older sister. After a series of unfortunate events, she finds herself separating from her brothers to deal with her own shit the only way she knows how. Castiel, however, has a few things to say about it.  Warnings: Not a whole lot- less than canon level violence, some angst and hurt. A little bit of Cas love <3 -

It had been a hard few years for your family- let’s face, it, a hard few decades. After watching your brothers go through more trials, more heartbreak, more loss than anyone should ever go through in a lifetime, you were weary. Your sweet brothers, so young when they were thrust into this fight. You all were, of course- you were only 6 when everything changed on that fateful night in Kansas. The three of you had grown immeasurably close over all the years of hunting, and it was always your job to keep a watchful eye over the boys. 

You never could have expected what was to come for your brothers. They had faced so much more than you could’ve ever imagined. You were at their side every step of the way as a fierce protector and frequent caregiver. But Sam and Dean were always the eye of the storm- the chaos of the world circled firmly around the two of them. You were a side character time and time again. And that was okay- you played your role, you did everything you could to support your brothers as they went to hell and back. But when one too many demons started chirping in your ear, taunting that you were useless, that you being there only slowed them down, and when your brothers did a less-than-convincing job of assuring you otherwise, you decided you’d take a step back- get out of their way. 

The only way you could describe the feeling was numb. For nearly as long as you could remember, your whole purpose was to protect Sam and Dean, to do anything for them, to keep them safe. And now, you were cast aside, left without a role to play in their big fight. 

It took about a month for you to find your groove. At first you were lost, dodging calls from your brothers, holing up in dingy motels and dirty bars, unsure of what to do with yourself. That was until you heard of a case in the town over from where you were staying- a vamp nest that had been picking at the local population. So, armored only with your own recklessness and loss of purpose, you went in swinging, taking down the nest without so much as a scratch. That was the first time the numbness subsided long enough for you to feel anything. The pure unbridled hatred that coursed through your veins in that moment was the fuel that had been carrying your broken body for nearly six months now. 

Case after case after case. Hauntings and demons and vamps, a shifter, a werewolf or two. You had slashed through every adversary you could track down, careening down the coast and leaving a path of supernatural destruction in your wake. There was no time for breaks, and no need for them. If you let yourself sit with your thoughts for too long, there was no telling what you would do. 

Most recently, you had tracked down a demon with a particularly smart mouth. After being thrown around like a ragdoll and acquiring your fair share of bumps and bruises, you had trapped the demon and begun to exorcise him- but not before he could start talking. 

“Little brothers are lost without you, you know.” The demon gazed down upon you, flashing black eyes and a spreading grin. His tone was taunting, spiteful, designed to confuse and disorient you.

“You shut your goddamn mouth,” you retorted, dousing him in holy water. “You don’t know my brothers.” The latter half of your sentence came out as a whisper, and it was unlikely he had heard you over the sounds of his own screams. 

With the demon exorcised and thus the hunt complete, you soldiered back to your motel room for another night of restless sleep. The anger from the mention of your brothers was still coursing deeply inside of you. Were Sam and Dean really lost without you? Was the demon just saying that so you’d go home and get in their way again? Along with the deep gash that lined your left side and the likely dislocated shoulder, your body also carried with it a confusion and weariness you hadn’t felt since striking out on your own. Yet again, you were letting demons get into your head. 

Arriving at the motel, you unlocked the door and flicked on the buzzing fluorescent light to see a figure standing with their back turned from you. The presence felt deeply comforting and familiar, yet you still drew your gun in anticipation of attack.

“They’re looking for you, you know.” The low, gravelly voice rumbled, traveling slowly across the room as he turned to face you. Castiel. 

Your response was stalled as you processed his arrival. 

“I doubt it, Cas. It’s better to be out of their way. And you know it too.”

“You don’t understand, they were just trying to protect you, but it was not-”

“That’s MY JOB, Castiel. I protect THEM!” Your outburst took the angel slightly aback, drawing a look of concern to his face that you weren’t sure you had seen before. Still, you continued. “But if they don’t want me there to save the world with them, that’s fine. I’m still going to take out every other goddamn thing I can find in the meantime, to protect them the only other way I can.” 

“Y/N. Who protects you? What good do you do to anybody if you’re dead?” Castiel seemed desperate, growing heated in a way that felt out of his nature. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you protested as you cast your gaze away from him.

“Y/N, I have been watching you. I have been here with you many more times than you have realized. But you were too blinded by your own rage and hurt to see. I have done everything I could to protect you for this whole rampage, but this time I could not, and you got hurt.” The angel closed the gap between you as he spoke, grasping a hand around your arm and letting his grace seep into the wound. His proximity was close, and his grip was tight- it felt like he was holding on to you for fear of what would happen if he let you go. You felt the warmth of healing radiate through your extremities, and though it probably wasn’t from the grace, you could feel the comfort reach your heart.  

Your numbness had shifted. Before, it had always been cold and empty, sharp in a way. It was a numbness that begged to be filled, to be pushed away and stifled. But now, with Castiel’s presence, numb felt soft and warm. It relaxed your entire body and relieved you of tension stretching back further than you were even sure of. 

“Y/N, it is time to rest. You have been a soldier since you were only a child. You must let yourself be. You need to come home.”

This was a softer Castiel than you had come to know before you left. It was still Cas, of course- everything you had always loved so dearly about him, but he felt much more human. The concern in his eyes, the poignancy of his words, the way he so clearly loved and cared for you enough to watch over and protect you for months, all while dealing with his own world of problems. 

And he was right. You had run for too long, drowned out your problems and destroyed yourself in the process. All of the exhaustion, aches and pains seeped into you at once. There was nothing left in you to protest. 

“Okay,” you succumbed. “I’ll rest.”

“I’m glad. You can let me know if you need anything. I will listen in. Perhaps I can bring you home tomorrow, after you sleep.” Cas stepped back, getting ready to blip away, when you used the last bit energy in your system to reach back out to him.

“Wait.” You knew what you needed from him, but you were scared to ask. The room stood painfully still, Castiel’s blue eyes locking with yours in confusion, his gaze as intense as ever. 

“Will you please stay?” 

The broken whisper of your voice left nothing for you to hide. You had crumbled right in front of Cas’s eyes. Something inside him hurt, a sharp feeling in his stomach he hadn’t yet felt before. 

“Yes. I will stay,” he nodded with a deeply furrowed brow. 

So the two of you climbed into the motel bed, Cas hesitating but following your lead. Once you both had settled, he found himself melting into your touch. It felt much more natural than he ever would have thought. He had propped himself slightly upright, while your head met his chest and a leg wrapped one of his. His arm draped over you, rubbing gentle circles into your back, keeping time with the rhythmic heave of your breathing. It was peaceful, he had to admit. He understood why humans did this. 

Your own thoughts echoed that same satisfaction. Though there had been a guardian angel watching over you all along, you could finally rest now that you could feel his presence. It didn’t take long for you to drift off- the chance to just lay with Cas lulled you to sleep much faster than you had ever anticipated. As you slept, your grip around the angel tightened from time to time- like you subconsciously feared he would be gone when you woke up. 

Thankfully, Cas wasn’t going anywhere. It was about time someone was there to protect you.

[ruski-san]

Jak zacząć recovery?

(ruski i udawanie pomocy społecznej :'>)

Jest to pytanie które dostałem już z dwa razy na pv, od osób które chciały zacząć, ale nie wiedziały jak, lub nie były gotowe na duże zmiany. Więc dzisiaj opowiem wam jak zacząć ten jakże ciężki proces, który oczywiście jest warty, patrząc na to że można dzięki niemu dojść do zdrowego życia w którym człowiek nie martwi się 24/7 tym ile kalorii zjadł czy spalił. Zacznijmy od tego że jak się zaczyna, to nie od zmiany sposobu żywienia. Trzeba zacząć od podstaw, a podstawowym powodem ed jest błędne widzenie siebie. Afirmację, dziennik emocji, ćwiczenia oddechowe itp. Polecę wam takie dwie aplikacje do takich rzeczy "gratitude" i "how we feel" (zdjęć nie dam bo mi coś nie działa, w sklepie play na pewno znajdziecie)

pierwsza ma afirmację, za darmo niestety tylko jedną ale można tworzyć swoje, tylko wtedy nie mamy czytania na głos. Możecie stworzyć coś w stylu mapy myśli oraz tworzyć notatki w których możemy wylosować lub wybrać pytanie lub zadanie np. "What do you like most about yourself? (Co najbardziej lubisz o sobie?)", "Write about something you want to achive (napisz o czymś co chcesz osiągnąć)". przy tym najlepiej zastanowić się trochę dłużej nad tym co dostaniecie. Przez co dojdziecie do wniosku że to wasze życie ma jakieś zalety i dobre rzeczy a to ważne podczas recovery, żeby nie myśleć że jesteś sam/a w zjebanym życiu bez pomocy i chuj wszystko jest do dupy bez żadnych pozytywnych rzeczy. A Afirmację jeżeli słucha się jej przez długi to również zaczyna się wierzyć że to prawda, oczywiście jeżeli chcemy i nie mówimy sobie co chwilę "Boże jaki/a ja jestem beznadziejny/a" itp. bo wtedy stoimy w miejscu. Dobra Druga aplikacja to dziennik emocji, ABSOLUTNIE ZA DARMO, bo apka istnieje przez zbiórkę na którą można dobrowolnie wpłacać aby się rozwinęła. Polega to na tym że mamy po prawej pozytywne emocje, po lewej te cięższe do przeżywania. Na górze duża energia a na dole niska i wybieramy co czujemy, możemy również wejść w pełną listę gdzie mamy tych emocji jeszcze więcej oraz poszukać co chcemy. Mamy również definicję tej emocji. Po wybraniu możemy wpisać co sądzimy że sprawia iż tak się czujemy, oraz dodać zdjęcie. Później możemy wpisać ile spaliśmy, ile ćwiczyliśmy, ile zrobiliśmy kroków oraz zezwolić na połączenie z pogodą lub health connect. Później możemy wybrać czy chcemy udostępnić znajomym całe, czy tylko emocje lub wcale. TAK MOŻNA DODAĆ ZNAJOMYCH, przez co ci mogą nam pomóc jeżeli oczywiście tego chcemy.

Mamy tam również "narzędzia", różnorodne w tym ćwiczenia oddechowe itp. Moim ulubieńcem jest "burn the negative" gdzie wpisujemy negatywne stwierdzenia na swój temat do: "I am", "people see me as", "I'm always" "I'll never be albe to" np. "I am weak" Po uzupełnieniu mamy na dole guzik z płomieniem i po kliknięciu go ta kartka z tym się pali i wyskakuje na koniec komunikat "Your story has been burned Embrace the freedom to write a new story about yourself". Przez co masz takie poczucie że jest to za tobą i tego już nie ma NO BO SIĘ SPALIŁO. Jak widać wada obydwu to fakt że jest dostępny tylko język angielski ale są to w większości podstawy więc da się zrozumieć większość. Wracając. To zmienianie stylu myślenia samemu jest trudne i trwa dosyć długo... bardzo długo... Ale jest najważniejszą częścią, warto znaleźć sobie jakiegoś powody dlaczego tego chcecie i wypisać ich jak najwięcej np. w notatkach lub tej pierwszej aplikacji co wam pokazałem oraz czytać to co jakiś czas aby sobie przypominać dlaczego wybraliście te drogę i dlaczego warto. Polecam wam również napisać list do siebie z przyszłości i opisać tam na przykład jak myślicie co ta wasza przyszła wersja ma dzięki temu recovery, pod względem fizycznym i psychicznym oraz używać tam często zdań typu "wierzę że [...]". Możecie to również czytać jak macie gorsze momenty aby pamiętać do czego dążycie oraz właśnie że wierzycie iż wam to się uda. co do tych gorszych momentów... To możecie chcieć wtedy nagłej i ostrej restrykcji, i to jest w porządku. Ja na początku często tak miałem i robiłem to. Ale zawsze na końcu dnia trzeba sobie powiedzieć, że to TYLKO gorszy MOMENT i nie oznacza że wszystko się zjebało cały progres w dupie. No i na mnie to akurat działało bo byłem świadomy tego że jak nie wstanę na nogi to nie pójdę do przodu. Warto mieć kogoś kto was wesprze. Oczywiście mówienie o tym innym jest ciężkie, bo nie wiemy co pomyślą, co zrobią, czy nas nie odrzucą, czy nie powiedzą innym itp. Dlatego tu są dobrzy... Znajomi w internecie, mówienie im o tym jest prostsze, bo nie widzimy ich reakcji, i często mieszkają daleko więc wiemy że nie zdziałają aż tak dużo i nas RACZEJ nigdzie nie zgłoszą bo nie jesteśmy w ich otoczeniu, po za tym jak to dobry kolega a nie jakiś fałszywy kutas to tego nie zrobi. Często dobrzy są również... nieznajomi w internecie... i powiecie że to głupie bo ich nie znamy ale większa część z was, która to przeczyta opisuje swoje przeżycia na blogu na tumblr bo to jest prostsze, nie znasz nikogo, nikt nic nie zrobi nam, nie boimy się odrzucenia, bo nie znamy tu nikogo. Oczywiście jako osobę do pisania o tym polecę siebie, bo ja tam nie mam problemów żeby poświecić 5 minut życia na kogoś komu może to pomóc, bo 70% życia marnuje na głupoty więc to nic nie zmienia dla mnie, a odrzucać nie odrzucę no bo sam wiem jak to jest. (Pamiętajcie że jak nie macie nikogo to zawsze jest character ai...) Wracając, jeżeli uda nam się zmienić w jakiś sposób to nastawienie w ponad połowie to możemy zacząć powoli zmieniać żywienie. Coś co się wydaje wręcz takie "obowiązkowe" to zaprzestanie liczenia kalorii bo szczerze to triggeruje najbardziej. Można zacząć od tego że nie policzymy kcal jednego posiłku, może być to malutka rzecz, która i tak nie miałaby znaczenia, od czegoś się zaczyna im bardziej czujemy się swobodnie nie czujemy trudnych emocji przez to że tego nie policzyliśmy tym bardziej możemy to ograniczyć aż w pewnym momencie nie będziemy tego robić wcale. możemy jest przy tym mało, to jest w porządku, ale zaprzestanie liczenia jest ważne aby te ilości zwiększać bo mniej to widzimy, że jemy więcej, więcej kalorii itp. dalej to przechodzimy do zmiany tej naszej diety, powinniśmy zacząć od rzeczy lekkostrawnych bo inaczej nasz zniszczony organizm może nie wytrzymać rzeczy ciężkich na żołądek. jedzenie lekkostrawne to np:

gotowane warzywa i owoce,

białe pieczywo lub graham,

drobne kasze, i makarony, ryż, drobne płatki zbożowe,

jajka na miękko (gotowanych nie polecam bo one są strasznie ciężkie)

jogurty i inne naturalne produkty mleczne (chude mleko, twaróg o niskiej zawartości tłuszczu)

chude mięso (indyk, kurczak, królik, chuda wołowina)

chude ryby (dorsz, mintaj, pstrąg)

ważne jest aby jeść z czasem co raz większe ilości tego jedzenia, oczywiście tak żeby to nie było z dnia na dzień o wiele większe ilości bo żołądek nie wytrzyma takiej nagłej zmiany. w późniejszym czasie jeżeli nasz organizm i nasze zdrowie fizyczne trochę się obuduje to możemy zacząć jeść więcej białka, oczywiście tego "naturalnego" typu jajka, mięso itp. Bo jogurt proteinowe zbyt naturalne nie są i w dużych ilościach mogą szkodzić. Trzeba również zadbać o odpowiednie spożycie tłuszczu (tych zdrowych) bo inaczej będzie złe wchłanianie niektórych witamin bo z wodą ich sobie nie dostarczymy. Najlepiej go zdobyć przez smażenie np. Jajek na oleju, rzepakowy, słonecznikowy itp. Jeżeli chodzi o węglowodany to w pewnym momencie będziemy musieli zacząć jeść ten cukier który obok tłuszczu jest rzeczą którą najbardziej się ogranicza, a tak naprawdę liczy się umiar a kompletny brak również jest zły. Oczywiście nie oznacza to że musicie wpierdalać w pizdu batoników i innych rzeczy bo to nadal syf i aż nadmiar cukru. Ale taki sam cukier do herbatki już wam polecę, oraz taką czekoladę najlepiej z w miarę dobrym składem lub w umiarkowanych ilościach. Z zdrowych cukrów polecam wam.... ZIEMNIACZKI, moje kochane kaszubskie bulwy ah.... dobra rozmarzyłem się, nie przesadźcie tylko z przyprawami bo one mogą doprowadzić do pierdolonej burzy w żołądku i z kibla nie zejdziecie, albo będziecie siedzieć na nim pół godziny albo klęczeć przed nim. Zwykła sól będzie najlepsza.

Ważne są również witaminy i sole mineralne. Niacyna (Witamina B3, Witamina PP) Magnez Żelazo Wapń i różne witaminy możecie sobie sami poszukać w internecie gdzie się znajdują chociaż jak będziecie jeść odpowiednie ilości jedzenia to połowa niedoborów z głowy można również wypić Dr Witt'ka pomarańczowego, mój kolega przyniósł ostatnio do szkoły i postawił butelkę na ławce tak że ja widziałem tabelę z Wartościami Odżywczymi, to jest tam tego całkiem sporo, ale cukru też dosyć dużo więc lepiej się skupić na warzywkach, owocach i innych takich... Jeżeli macie możliwość to bierzcie w tabletkach wapń lub magnez. Ja biorę magnez z witaminą B6 za 18 złoty z apteki. Podsumowując recovery można porównać do nauki na szybko się nie uda i dalej będziemy w tym samym miejscu. w sumie trafne porównanie bo recovery to taka nauka o sobie... Radzę wam NIE zmieniać sposobu żywienia aż nie zmienicie myślenia bo się to skończy tylko mocnym relapsem i tylko będziecie mieć gorzej w sprawie zaburzeń. SĄ WZLOTY I UPADKI, A RECOVERY ICH JEST DUŻO. Więc nie martwcie się jężeli jednego dnia będzie tragicznie, nie liczy się ile razy upadliście tylko to że za każdym razem wstaliście na nogi i poszliście dalej. Mam nadzieję że pomogę komuś kto np. rozmyślał na ten temat ale nie wiedział co robić. Jak ktoś ma jakieś pytania i odwagę to może napisać w komentarzu, na priv, lub zadać anonimowo pytanie. Dobra to dosyć długi post... pisałem go dwie godziny z przerwą na obiad... ale to koniec trzymajcie się dobrze. (jak możecie to dajcie reblog bo to kawał roboty i chce żeby komuś to pomogło)

[mickandmusings]

brotherly advice

pairing: professor au!sam winchester x TA! fem! reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: when breakout attorney sam winchester decided to leave his life of law to teach at his alma mater, nearly everyone in his life thought he had made a mistake. sometimes your biggest 'mistake' can lead to the happiest of consequences.

based on this request! (so sorry, I saw your request and my mind ran with this idea. it's probably not exactly the idea you had in mind.)

warnings: fluff, age gap relationship (sam is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s), au from supernatural tv show, sam and dean are still close because I refuse to believe they wouldn't be in any other universe, probably incorrect law terms/knowledge (author has little law knowledge), probably incorrect college knowledge (author was never a ta)

-

When Sam Winchester-up and coming, breakout young attorney-announced his early quits of practicing law to return to his alma mater to teach, everyone had called him crazy.

Well, almost everyone.

The day Sam decided he wanted to quit, he sat in his older brother's garage, his tie untied and the sleeves of his formal shirt rolled up his arms, nursing a beer. Sam finally spilled his well-kept secret to Dean, awaiting another disappointed look and pleas for him to rethink this. Instead, Dean nodded, took a swig of his own beer and began working underneath the hood of the car between them.

"Good for you," Dean's rough voice came after a moment. "I don't think you're making a mistake at all, Sammy. You should go for it, that job is suckin' the life outta you."

Sam knew Dean was right, Dean had always been wise in his own way. A few weeks later, Sam had settled into a life of sweater vests and headaches induced by reading half-assed international law essays from freshmen. Sam had been hunched over the desk in his office, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed when the sound of his office door opening alerted him to someone entering the room. He sighed, not even looking up before he spoke.

"Office hours are on Mondays and Thursdays."

"Um, noted, but I'm not here for office hours. I'm Y/N, your new TA? You are Professor Winchester, right?"

Sam's green eyes popped open, looking up at the figure standing in front of his desk. Y/N stood in front of Sam's desk with a wide-eyed look, and Sam took in her appearance. She was dressed in a professional manner, a folder of papers in her arms and an unconvincing smile drawn across her face. Sam swallowed thickly as he felt embarrassment wash over him, he had completely forgotten about meeting his new TA today.

"Uh, right! Of course, I-It completely slipped my mind, it's been a long day already. And please, call me Sam."

Y/N chuckled slightly, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

"It's alright, Sam, I get it."

Over the course of the first few weeks of Sam and Y/N's newfound work relationship, Sam noted several things about her-Y/N was quiet, punctual, and completely professional. To Sam, she was too reserved, he was used to the cocky blabbing of attorneys at his old job and Dean's (mostly) nonsensical chatter in his leisure. After weeks of her sheer silence, Sam began the efforts of getting her to talk, which seemed to work in his favor. He quickly learned things about her: Y/N was a senior law student at 26-a late bloomer in the college world, her favorite movie of all time was Top Gun-which Sam made fun of her incessantly for-and her favorite guilty pleasure was the chocolate croissants at the bakery across from her apartment. Through their completely unserious chatter, he found out more personal things about her, like how she truly, truly hated law. It had been her parents idea for her college plans, not her true heart's desire. Y/N wanted to be a writer, to write her own series of fantasy books.

As the school year progressed, so did Sam and Y/N's friendship. She found herself hanging around his office more often, enjoying his company versus that of her classmates. Late office hours turned into him inviting her for dinner at the local 24-hour diner, and their dinners turned into something neither of them wanted to admit: Sam quickly found himself staring at Y/N longer than necessary, and Y/N kept imagining what it would be like to run her hands through Sam's long hair.

After Y/N's graduation from Stanford, their talks had moved to his apartment: Y/N spending hours helping him grade essays or Sam helping her proofread chapters of her own book over glasses of wine, all of which led to Y/N sleeping on Sam's couch-despite his protests and begs of her to take his bed instead. However, after a night of one-too-many glasses of wine and brushing touches of each other's hands, Y/N and Sam had ended up sharing the bed instead. Now, her fantasy novels lived on the same bookcase as Sam's textbooks, her sneakers in the door next to his much larger boots, and her weighted blanket that Sam's feet peeked out from the bottom of was draped across their bed, which is where the pair slept this very moment.

-

The sound of Sam's six AM alarm made Y/N's eyes open sleepily, realize where she was, and more notably, what time it was, before she curled back into her pillow and closed her eyes. The sound of Sam's yawning and the removal of his arm slung around her waist made her groan, feeling cold without Sam's furnace-like warmth against her. She heard Sam shuffle into the bathroom to get ready for his morning run, her eyes fluttering shut again, barely even registering the kiss he left on her forehead before he left out the door.

Y/N woke several hours later, sunlight shining through the curtains of she and Sam's bedroom, birds chirping in the distance, and the sound of Sam's footsteps sounded in the kitchen-likely cooking breakfast. Y/N stretched her arms up, lifting the covers and sliding on her slippers as she shuffled lazily into their living room. Sam's tall figure stands at the stove, flipping something in a pan. His running clothes had been traded for his leisurely lounge wear, his hair still damp from his post-run shower. She guessed he hadn't heard her come in yet, so she slowly made her way to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head on his back, still sleepy.

Sam laughs, his empty hand rested on her arms, his chest warming at her touch His voice comes out low and soft.

"Mornin', baby."

Y/N groans, still not quite awake enough for words. Sam laughs, turning off the eggs he was cooking and pulling her to his front, her head resting on his chest now. Sam kisses her head, his hand running through her unstyled hair. Silence ensues, until Y/N notes new items on their counter-a bouquet of carnations and dahlias in a vase of water, and the signature red box adorning the logo of the bakery across from her old apartment. Her head lifts to rest her chin on Sam's chest, looking up at him.

"Flowers?"

Sam's eyes swivel to the flowers in the vase before turning back to her.

"Yeah, got those from that flower cart right down the bakery, the one that elderly couple runs?"

Y/N's mind blanks, her sentence coming out without thinking.

"You bought me flowers?"

Sam gives her a confused smile, his hand tucking the hair in her face behind her ear.

"Uh, yeah?" He lets out a confused chuckle. "Baby, are you still asleep?"

Y/N looks up at him. "Why?"

Sam furrows his eyebrows, his big green eyes meeting hers.

"Does there have to be a reason? Just, saw the flowers, they were beautiful, made me think of you." Sam shrugs.

Y/N's eyes go soft, her shoulders dropping as a smile forms on her face. She stands on her tiptoes to reach Sam's lips, his hands coming on either side of her hips as he deepens the kiss.

"I love you, Sam Winchester," Y/N speaks after they break apart, the statement causing Sam to pull her in for another kiss, completely forgetting about his own breakfast in favor of enjoying her touch.

Nearly everyone had told Sam he had made the biggest mistake of his life, but now, as he looked at the woman he loved, he realized he hadn't thought anything he did was a mistake. He was glad he'd taken his brother's advice. Y/N smiled at his big green eyes and goofy smile, pulling him in for another kiss, her hand running through his hair. Sam smiled into the kiss and pulled her closer by her hips.

He'd have to thank Dean later.

[fruity-mega-coconut69]

How Was I Supposed To Know?

[Pairings]: Tara Carpenter x Ghostface!Fem!Reader

[Summary]: You were in a very bad condition after last years killing, and are taken advantage of in a way that is unforgivable. Kind of.

[Warnings]: Angst, swearing, blood, death, bad writing, not proof-read

A/N: Here. It's long-ish, it's bad. Have fun reading.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

The Ghostface killings of 2022 in Woodsboro was a huge Trauma for you, your girlfriend and you guys’ friends. And, of course, all of you are dealing with it differently. Tara is more distant-she still spends time with you, but as much- and Chad has just kind of turned into a gym-rat, Mindy got herself a girlfriend for emotional support. And you? Oh, you had gone completely crazy. No one has noticed your rather strange behavior, luckily for you.

And so, It wasn’t that hard for Quinn, Ethan and Bailey to lure you into their sick plan of killing your girlfriend and friends.  First, you hesitated then, after around two weeks of consideration, you agreed. Never really knowing why, but you did. Of course you love your friends and you love your girlfriend, but you just need some kind of ... .relief. The first couple of months, you were only helping them create their plan of action then, you were there. In the apartment of Jason and Greg. You don’t really have any classes with them, so you haven’t talked with them.

The feeling of your knife ripping Greg’S flesh and tearing his skin was…..relieving.  Your knife being pulled out of his chest then pushed back into it. To say that you had your fun while ripping and anatomizing his body, would be an understatement. You had never felt anything like it in your life. It was so indescribable. His blood splashing over your robe and mask.

Then, came Jason. The little game you played with him was exciting. Especially when he got so close to the fridge and slowly opened it, his face turning pale as he saw Greg- Teared into pieces. That’s when you striked and started stabbing him uncontrollably, chuckling as he was gagging on his own blood.

And now, here you are. In an abdomend theater, having arrived with Ethan after you had taken Mindy to the hospital with him. You are currently watching as Tara and Sam yell at Kirby, saying that she is the killer and you couldn’t help but let out a snort at the pathetic thought. 

A minute or so later, Bailey came in. Started screaming with his pistol held high. “Kirby, stop! Get away from the girls!” 

“What are you doing?” Kirby asked with a shaky voice, panting. Her head was covered in blood, due to how hard you had hit her.

“Did you kill Quinn? Did you kill my daughter?”  Bailey shouted as his body shook. You chuckle and grip your knife harder when your eyes settle on Tara. She doesn’t deserve this. None of them do, but…….it is all too much fun. 

“Jesus Christ!”Kirby yelled, her hands shakily holding the gun. Then she glances at the Carpenter girls. “Whatever he’s been saying to you, don’t listen to him!”  Bailey’s face falls as he looks at her. “He’s probably the killer!”  

And that’s when Quinn runs out from behind the curtain and starts going quickly towards them with her hand in the air, knife in it. “Behind you!” Kirby screams then Bailey shoots her and she falls to the ground. Bailey smirks as Quinn settles beside him and the Carpener sister’s gasp and look at them.

“Great job”

You laugh maniacally and run out from behind the curtains with Ethan calmly next to you. Yu, full of energy can’t stand in place as the others talk. “All three of you.” Bailey says. 

“You?” Tara asks, betrayed. 

“Yeah, of course me. Frankly, I expected more from the two of you after what you did to us.” He mumbles with gritted teeth. You look at the interaction with a smile on your face behind the mask. 

“What do you mean ‘us’? “ 

At that, Ethan huffs and reaches up to take off his mask. “Ta-da!” He giggles. “ Mindy was right.It was easy to juke the roommate lottery. “ He smiles smugly. “ All I had to do to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha literally named Chad! Fuck, It felt good to kill him. “ The girls just look at him, gasping for air. “ This was your grandmother’s, Sam. Nancy Loomis? “ He points to the mask with his knife. “ Really runs in the fucking family, doesn’t it? “ Then puts down his hand that holds the mask. “ Speaking of family.. My name is not Ethan Landry, is it, Dad? “ He looks at Bailey who smiles at him and laughs.

“Dad?” Your attention is turned to Tara as she speaks and your smile fades slightly, kid of having second thoughts then shaking your head and brushing them away. They laugh then turn around to face you.

 You smirk and slowly reach up to take off your mask. When you do, you hear two gasps and smile. “Well, hello there, Carpenters. Heh, surprise! “ You hold up your hands and shake them, giggling. Tara’s eyes fill with tears as she looks into yours, seeing nothing but blackness.

“Y/N?” She gasps out and holds back a sob. “Why? “

All of a sudden, Sam speaks up. “Wait, if it’s you three, that just leaves….” Quinn smirks and turns her head at the older Carpenter, tilting it. “..Mindy?” She sighs and there is a beat of silence-the only sounds that can be heard are the two men snickering- then she slowly takes off her mask too.

“Hey, roomies.”  She smirks as she looks at them with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “ Didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

Tara scoffs. “Yeah, because you died!”

“Kind of didn’t, though.”  Quinn turns to look at you and her family. “ It was a good way to get off the suspect list. Stab Gale Weathers, stab Mindy on the train. That sort of thing.”

Bailey sighs and puts his arm around his kids as you stand there with a sick smile on your face. “And I just made sure, I was first on the scene so I could switch her body out with a fresh one.”  Sam and Tara just stares .” Little fake blood, a prosthetic. You’d be amazed with what a grieving father can get away with.”

You, Quinn and Ethan split up and go different ways. You make your way behind the girls as the ghostface siblings go on each side. Quinn walks slowly as she speaks. “ I got Stu Macher’s mask.  He was my favorite.”

Then, it’s your turn to speak. “Well, I, myself, got Jill Roberts’s mask. She was my favorite.”

You glance at Ethan as he puts his/Nancy’s mask on a mannequin with Nancy’s bloodied coat.

“Nice. That’s number four. That’s three. “Bailey points at you. “That’s number two. “He now points at Quinn. “Which leaves…….” He puts his hand under his jacket and pulls out another mask.” Your father’s” There is a beat of silence as Sam’s and Tara’s angry eyes stare at him. “This is what we’ve been counting down to, Sam “ Sam’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as she looks at the mask held out in-front of her then glances back at Bailey. “ I'm gonna need you to put it on” 

Tara’s breathing picks up as she looks at her sister. You let out a small giggle as a smile makes its way on your face. Your grip on your knife tightens in both excitement and anger. You are angry at your heart. Angry at it for aching whenever you spare even a small glance at Tara. 

Sam’s scream snaps you out of your thoughts. “Fuck you!” 

Suddenly Ethan leans over the drawer he is leaning against and slices her arm. She gasps and takes a step back along with Tara. You grit your teeth and take a step closer, swinging your arm and slicing the older Carpenter’s other arm. 

“Ooh” Ethan lets out teasingly.

“Stay the fuck away from her!” Tara screams and looks at Ethan then at you. When your eyes meet, there is a certain hatred in her eyes that you never in your life would’ve thought would be targeted towards you. Her hand holding the brick tightly. 

“Oh come on. “

Sam turns back around to face Bailey. “What? What is it? You did this as a family? “

You perk up. “Uh, no. Not exactly. I’m just ... .I'm not in the family. They all are though.” 

Ethan and Quinn join you where you stand, their knives painting towards the girls. “They’re still not getting it. “ Ethan shakes his head while smiling. 

“I don’t know what you believe. But I didn’t commit those murders in Woodsboro. It wasn’t me!” Sam shakes her head rapidly and you scoff. Even laughing as Bailey speaks with them. Then, your eyes go to your girlfriend. Taking in the way her body is trembling in fear as she pants and listens to your accomplices. You clench your jaw as thoughts about not making it come to your brain. About giving up, turning against your accomplices , killing them and later feeling the warmth of her arms around you again. Even if you have to go to jail. But you shake your head and you focus back on your targets. 

You see Quinn take a sudden step ahead from beside you towards Tara. She flinches back and gasps. You swallow and put a smile on your face, trying to shake your previous thoughts away. When you’re successful, you let out a sigh and grin brighter without a hint of pity or sadness in your eyes.

“And you’re a killer. “ You focus once again and see Bailey pointing at Sam. “Just like your father.” 

“No, I’m not!” 

That makes Quinn shake with anger as she screams”  Yes, you are, you motherfucker! You killed our brother! “ Tears well in her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Sam shakes her head. 

“You said your brother died in a car accident. “ Tara stares at Quinn. 

“No, No, no. You sweet, dumb thing, he died in woodsboro. “Ethan pauses as he swallows while looking at the younger Carpenter. “At the hands of your bitch sister. “ He looks at Sam. 

Sam looks around in disbelief as Tara’s mouth opens slightly in shock. “You’re Richie’s family. “ Sam blinks.

You snort. “Well, as I said before, not all of us, but yeah. Go on. “ You see Quinn roll her eyes.

Bailey’s glare hardens as she looks at the sisters. Then he nods rapidly. “ Yeah. “

Ethan takes a deep breath and strikes forwards, pushing his knife into Sam’s shoulder. Tara shouts at him and holds her sister, pushing them to the side. 

“Ding-ding-ding! She’s finally starting to get it.” He laughs and grins.. All of you split from your previous position and you circle around them. You laugh as you pretend to strike and they flinch, swinging their arms, still holding the brick blocks. Bailey screams at them.

When there is a beat of silence, Quinn’s knife is pointed at Sam as she takes a step closer. Suddenly, Sam’s eyes darken as she looks at Quinn with hooded eyes.. Quinn raises her eyebrows, pushing her knife closer to Sam’s throat. “There she is. There’s the fucking killer.”

You squeal in excitement and jump up and down. “Who-hoo! Yes!” 

Tara turns and looks at Bailey. “Great parenting job, by the way. “Then she looks at you and shakes her head. “I-...why? “ 

You bite the inside of your cheek as you look into her teary eyes before answering while laughing. “ Well I guess I’m just fucking crazy, bitch! “ You spit.

Quinn realizes what Tara has said and angrily pushes  her. Making you huff with a new found anger. “ Shut your whore fucking mouth!” 

— —

A minute or two later after Bailey’s monologue, he starts shouting with his gun pointed at Sam. Your face scrunches in disgust as his spit flies everywhere.

“Now, put on the mask. “ 

Sam takes a deep breath before letting it out. “He was…... .so pathetic. “Tara furrows her eyebrows in confusion. 

Bailey shudders. “That’s not true. “ 

“Yeah, your son,”  Sam continues in a small voice. “He was a man-baby who made his girlfriend do all the killings”  Her words are like a knife to the heart to the detective.

“He was a strong, virile  young man!” 

Sam now fully faces him and looks him in the eyes. “He was a limp-dick little fuck who cried before I slit his throat. '' Sam spits every word out like poison. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Quinn screams and strikes, but is stopped by Tara as she swings her arm and punches Quinn in the face with the brick. You take a step back as she falls to the ground. You see Sam punching Bailey then go to Tara, trying to find a safer place. Ethan growls and runs at Kirby, who shot his father. 

A minute later, you watch as Sam literally carves him up. Only, your psycho smile has fallen and  your arm is limp at your side. Then, your eyes follow her and Tara as they crawl up onto the balcony. But they have to be careful as there are multiple things around so they have to go on the edge. All of a sudden, Tara slips and almost falls, but gets a grip on the railing. You gasp. Then you are snapped out of your dark and depressed thoughts by Bailey’s voice shouting. You huff and shake your head, a little dizzy. Hand once again gripping your knife as you approach your girlfriend hanging.

You stand there with a deep glare but also a big smile-that makes you look terrifying- which drops when you hear Ethan say. “I’ve always wanted to stick something in you, Tara!” Then as they are screaming and Sam is trying to help Tara up-Unsuccessfully- Quinn appears at the door of the balcony. She is smirking while looking at Sam. The next moment, Sam gives Tara something and she jumps, landing between you and Ethan.

Ethan’s knife is plugged into her belly as she lands and she screams, but then suddenly she wings her arm too and a knife is pushed inside Ethan’’s mouth.

Bailey is screaming at you, but you just stare at Tara as she smirks. “Now die a fucking virgin. “ Then pulls her knife out and blood splashes on her face. Tara gets up and turns to you. You take a deep breath.

Come on. This is what you signed up for.

She runs towards you and you duck as she tries to stab you. When you straighten up again, you smirk and run at her. She gasps and steps aside, but not enough so your knife purses into her right arm. Her glare hardens as she looks at you. Tara then runs and catches you off guard as she plugs her knife inside you. You groan and fall to your knees. She twists the knife and you let out a cry and drop your knife. Pulling out the knife and pushing it back in rapidly. When she finishes, she is crying, sobbing then her body collapses.

“Did you ever even love me?!” Tara yells as her bloody hands grip your robe. You choke on your blood and cough it up, a sudden tiredness washing over you.

“More than you could ever fucking imagine. “ You stutter before letting out your last breath and your body goes limp in Tara’S hands.

— —

Almost half an hour later, Tara and Sam are standing outside the theater, a bunch of ambulances and police cars surrounding them. Sam and Kirby are talking while Kirby is slowly taken into an ambulance when Tara lets out a sob and they look at her.

“Hey, what is it? “

“Why her? How ….how could she do this. “ She cries. “And-And why?!” 

Sam gives her a sad look. “I don’t know. I……wish she’d talked to us more. Maybe then…we could’ve changed things” Kirby nods as her eyes soften while looking at the younger Carpenter.

Sam’s arms wrap around Tara as she sobs out “ I loved her so much.”