#blood bag tes

[jellyaibo]

Okay so how about 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️👽📓😭😶 For Bloodbag she seems seems cool I wanna know what his deal is.. hope that's not too many btw you can choose which ever ones you wanna do

OOH FUCK YES I DO NOT MIND THE NUMBER OF EMOJIS AT ALL....i will do my best to answer all of these....

🏳️‍🌈sexuality- well BB is a gay man (literally everyone is gay here sorry not sorry....i enjoy making all of my ocs fags)

🏳️‍⚧️gender- genderfluid but only cuz she's kind of inspired off of an old JJBA oc that was a vampire <3

👽weird quirk(s)- she likes sneaking up on people so she can bite them in hopes of drawing blood, this doesnt always work tho

📓hobbies- photography, poetry (he isnt the best at it), fuckig. idk mini golf she looks like she would do mini golfing as a hobby

😭worst thing that happened to them- meeting radioactivity, i imagine both of them (+ nightmare pill, razor bladey, and willow) are in a group of "threatening objects" because obviously they arent as dangerous as the blokes like french toast & strawberry pie (who are literally shapeshifting dragons) but anyways-

when blood bag met radioactivity for the first time she wrongfully assumed that the barrel is their body, so she attempted to draw blood him them which ended up burning her tongue/limbs a bit but nothing TOO bad thankfully, so from then on BB is a bit weary of radioactivity but the two are still bros

😶random- blood bag has a fear of werewolves

original post

[lewisvinga]

no me importa | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; when a recent video exposes y/n and lewis’ relationship, other people think they can comment on their age gap, but at the end of the day y/n and lewis will always love each other

fc; cindy kimberly

warnings; age gap , mentions of 18+ themes

notes; loosely based off of mayor que yo by wisin & yandel and mayor que usted by natti natasha, daddy yankee, wisin & yandel :p , also reader is kinda implied as latina but it’s not important

me 🤝 writing smau’s abt dating older men

masterlist !

liked by lewishamilton, lilymhe, and 1,020,047 others!

yourusername: made vegan alfredo for me n bae, definitely went into a food coma after

tagged; lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco

lewishamilton: wifey material

yourusername: yes i do the cooking yes i do the cleaning 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

lewishamilton: it was amazing, love ❤️

yourusername: i put my blood sweat n tears into that alfredo, it better have been damn well amazing😕 ( thank u love💗💗)

username: so this is a confirmation?

username: girl did u not see the video, they were shoving their tongue down each others throat ???😦😦

username: cute but age gap is still icky to me 😕

username: tbh dating someone 13 years older than me is weird asf 😭

rosecoelovescoco: thank’s you’s

yourusername: ur welcome if u stop chasing lunita around 😕

lewishamilton: he is just a baby!

yourusername: so is my gatita lunita , she’s a scaredy cat , literally !!😞

username: she’s so pretty in everything what😞

username: 😍😍😍

lilymhe: cook for me next? 😏😏

yourusername: give me the time n place😉

username: ok but her learning how to make vegan pasta for lewis?? is so??? cute ????🥹🥹

username: he’s a grown man n 13 years older, he can cook for himself

username: it’s never that serious

liked by username, username, and 93,038 others!

f1upadates: Lewis Hamilton and Y/n L/n were both spotted at the British Fashion Awards after confirming their relationship. Thoughts on the new grid couple?

tagged; lewishamilton, yourusername

username: the fact she designed her outfit n did her hair and makeup 😩🙌

username: they’re such a good looking couple even if he’s like 13 years older than her 😭

username: i need her skincare routine!😩

username: be 13 years younger than your boyfriend helps!

username: she’s so desperate that she needs to date someone older than her? how embarrassing 💀💀

username: her parents must be so disappointed…

username: why? shes a model w her own fashion line dating a 7x (8x) world champion, they’ll be fine😭

username: y’all coming at her for dating someone older like you wouldn’t date your faves who are also older!! she’s just living the y/n life

username: REAL

yourusername posted to their story!

trans. for lyrics ; and i don’t care if i’m younger than you

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and 1,230,937 others!

lewishamilton: heard she likes señores [sirs]

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: sir lewis hamilton 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

landonorris: i can’t take you calling him sir every 5 seconds pls stop i beg

georgerussell63: ‘yes, sir’ THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE ( lando )

landonorris: wait-

yourusername: sorry not sorry, unless you’re a sir you wouldn’t get it 😁

lewishamilton: what she said😁

yourusername: mi amor, te quiero 💗 [my love, i love you]

lewishamilton: i love you🩷

username: idk if i want him or her tbh🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

username: she’s so😍😍

username: i’d call him sir any day i get her fr

username: they’re such an attractive couple😩

username: how’d lewis bag her im being so fr

username: bc they’re both fine as fuck 😍

username: mis padres [my parents]

username: mami y papi fr [mommy & daddy]

liked by lewishamilton, lilymhe, and 1,023,044 others!

yourusername: no me importa q usted sea mayor q yo. [i don’t care if you’re older than me]

tagged; lewishamilton

lewishamilton: wait, when did you take the second picture?

yourusername: baby i got a whole folder of those type of pictures, i take them every chance i get

username: SHARE W THE PUBLIC HELLO??

yourusername: y/n.jpg but it’s just pics of lewis’ back

lewishamilton: i love you❤️

yourusername: i love youuuu💗

username: the hand pics i’m going insane 😵‍💫🥴

username: ou that back pic, i’m going ferallll

lilymhe: omg bae stop posting pics of me 🙈🙈🙈

yourusername: ur too cute my bad😪

lewishamilton: stop stealing my gf

alex_albon: gf stealer !

username: the 3rd pic🥹🥹

username: yall need a third??

username: i can take them both ( not in a fight )

georgerussell63: if only he could look at me like he looked at u in the last picture 🕊️🕊️🕊️

lewishamilton: i will if you look like y/n

yourusername: my bad i’m too cute 😁

carmenmmundt: merc double dates now??

yourusername: uh duh, merc wags stick together 🫶

[exhaslo]

Puzzle Pieces Pt. 2

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Part 1

Warning: Eventual Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex

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

Normally, the inside of a freezer would be packed with boxes of meat or other cold food. Normally, a freezer would just be a place where workers popped in, grabbed the item they were looking for, and popped out. Unfortunally, this was no normal freezer. Behind the large wall of maze like boxes, was a large room.

Miguel's lazy gaze followed out of the maze and into the ice cold room. There, in the middle, was a man hanging upside down. Miguel's men all moved away from the hanging man, waiting for their boss' order. Miguel let out a quick sigh, watching his breathe.

"I only like to be this cold in the winter," Miguel started as he walked around the upside down, "What month is it?"

The prisoner just spat towards the floor, refusing to answer. His scowl towards Miguel and his men was filled with anger. Miguel scoffed in response and snapped his fingers. In and instant, Ben punched the man in the stomach. Peter bend down and grabbed the enemy by the hair.

"I don't like repeating myself."

"Tch, September." The man hissed. Miguel scoffed again,

"So winter is still a ways away." He stood in front of the man and pulled out a large meat cutting tool, "Vulture has some nerve having his men enter my territory. Looks like I'll have to teach him a lesson again."

"Kill me all you want, but Vulture won't be shaken by the likes of you!"

"Kill?" Miguel snorted, his cruel laugh echoing the freezer, "You must be new. We Spiders don't kill-"

Peter and Ben dropped the man to the ground, ignoring his grunts. The two brought him to a chair and held him down. Miguel's smirk grew wider as he approached the man slowly,

"Simplemente romperemos cada hueso de tu cuerpo. Una vez que hayas aprendido tu error, haremos lo que hacen las arañas y te sacaremos de tu miseria. (We'll just break every bone in your body. Once you learned your mistake, then we'll do as Spiders do and put you out of your misery.)"

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

It was finally time for you to go home. Your body was exhausted from working. If everyday was going to be like this, you honestly might not last. Slowly making your way out of the supermarket with some groceries, you whimpered. After walking a block, you finally cried. It was such a rough day.

The sheer pressure of everyone's presence was going to break you. Rubbing your eyes, you whimpered as people passed you by without a care. That was normal. It was normal. Shuddering a sigh, you continued to walk to your new home. No one ever checked up on you. No one ever thought to care how your feelings were. So why bother now?

Once you finally arrived home, you put your groceries away, showered and plopped onto your bed. You were too tired to make dinner. Too tired to check your laundry. Reaching for your phone, you double checked your alarms in case you fell asleep. As you did, you saw a text from one of your friends.

'Hey, so I know you don't want Eddie to know you moved, but like, he seems really worried.'

Your eyes started to tear up. Some friend. They were falling right into Eddie's palm. This was why you only told your parents and like two people about your sudden move. You had hoped they would keep a secret, but you should have known better. Which was why you never told them where in NYC you were.

'Don't tell him.' Was all you replied with.

This wasn't fair. You moved away for a reason. All you could do was hope that your parents and your two friends would stay quiet. Sobbing into your pillow, you curled into a ball and wept yourself to sleep.

---------

If any part of you was ready for a vacation, it was your eyes. They had bags all packed up and ready to go. You had been living in Nueva York for about one month now. It was still a hard adjustment for you. The trains scared you, your neighborhood scared you, your job scared you and your past haunted you.

"The usual?" Your supervisor questioned.

You raised your head tiredly, knowing that phrase by now. It was the handsome man from your first day. He only appeared every now and then to either pick something up or to do into the freezer. If not him, then one of his men.

"Number two, zero, nine, nine."

"Yes, sir."

That was a code you still couldn't memorize. Once your supervisor left, you slowly turned to place your wrapped meat into the display case. Your gaze focused on the handsome man before you, captivated by his intense stare. You could feel your heart race as it felt like he was glaring into your soul.

----------

Miguel had entered the supermarket, wanting to grab a quick bite to eat. He was in the area and wanted to escape his lackeys. They were about to have a meeting with another mafia gang, but Miguel had no intension of making peace.

Approaching the deli, Miguel inhaled deeply. It was busy and loud. He tilted his head, looking for the shy bunny, aka you. Once he spotted you, Miguel furrowed his brows. He approached the supervisor, demanding his usual. Once the Supervisor left, Miguel got a better look at you.

You faced him and froze. Those wide glossy eyes of yours had a wave of exhaustion. Your skin looked paler despite the redness of your cheeks. Miguel could see you tremble as you made eye contact with him. Your face turning even redder. It made him chuckle. Miguel was both amused and annoyed.

"You've gotten thinner, conejita (bunny). Are you not eating properly?" Miguel asked out of concern. Your lips parted ever so slightly,

"N-Not...um...N-Not really...B-But that's m-my fault." You whispered, shaking from his pressence.

Miguel's eyes widen as he finally heard your soft and sweet voice. It was like honey to his ears. You were so quiet that he almost didn't hear you either. Miguel watched as you played with your fingers, your sleeves rubber banded against your wrists. He furrowed his brows, wondering why they weren't rolled up any higher.

"What's your name?" Miguel asked. You flinched, glancing up at him again,

"(Y/N)." You answered.

"So sorry, sir! She's still learning the ropes here!" The Supervisor panicked as he rushed over with Miguel's order. Miguel nearly shot him a glare,

"I spoke to her first." He said and returned his gaze towards you, "It was a pleasure, (Y/N). Until next time."

----------

You felt your breathing return to normal as Miguel parted you with a goodbye. The way your name rolled off his tongue sounded so sweet. It almost made your heart flutter. Almost. Your fear of him was far greater than admiring him.

Returning to work, you couldn't get Miguel off your mind. You had known his name for a while, but now he finally knew yours. That and he even noticed that you lost weight. Not even your closest friends or family noticed back home. Your shoulders sunk at the thought. Were you losing too much weight now?

It was hard. You always got home tired and didn't feel like doing much of anything. Whenever you did manage to make food, it was something simple and unhealthy. This lifestyle wasn't working out for you. Perhaps you needed to schedule a doctor's appointment and get professional advice?

"M-Maybe...I'll do that...later." He mumbled to yourself.

-----------

Miguel made his way out of the supermarket, still thinking about you. He entered his vehicle, letting his driver take him back to his headquarters. You were so shy. Not like any of the other girls. Leaning back in his seat, Miguel glanced over to the woman whom he fucked earlier that day.

What did he have to do to hear your moans? You weren't going to give him anything fake. Miguel resisted a chuckle as he licked his lips at the thought. His cock buried deep into your shaking body. Your moans coming out almost pornographic as he ravished you. Oh, the thought couldn't be anymore sweeter.

"Parece que tengo un conejito que cazar. (Looks like I have a bunny to hunt.)"

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

Next chapter

@migueloharacumslut @18lkpeters @deputy-videogamer @leahnicole1219 @synamonthy @thedevax @jolynesposts @thraetor @freehentai @2099hitmylineyline

[thewriterg]

𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭

pairing(s): earth 42! Miles Morales x fem!reader, Miles Morales x poc!reader

summary: Overworked and burnt out was an understatement everything was going so well with your internship until you were forced with schedule you could barely handle and Miles is there to take pressure off your shoulders

word count: 1.1k+

request: hi! if requests are open can i pls get one w earth 42 miles who he’s comforting after a long shift they had??

warning(s): Miles is about 18 senior in this, rusty spanish, reader is ready to drop dead, mentions of blood work, child labor?, pet names, kisses, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @lekeyeh24 & @jthmstims—

You stood outside the door of your apartment taking your badge and putting it against the door when you didn’t hear the usual ‘click’ you did it once more the line of thin rope it was on from the retractable keychain until you finally noticed you were home

It was very rare to get the internship you got as high schooler you’d been hoping for since your freshman year and when you application got accepted to work in a phlebotomy lab to get your CPT and make very decent money to be a senior you along with everyone who knew you personally was ecstatic

Your mom and dad had threw a celebration party on your rooftop inviting a few good friends, family members, and of course Rio and Miles the boy couldn’t be more proud of you showing you with more than enough gifts to last you until holiday season

The sudden urge to bash your head against the door was very prominent as you realized you were home and not at the lab as you fished through one of your many unnecessarily full bags to grab your keys unlocking your door one of the biggest gifts Miles gifted you had been the apartment he saw you looking at over your shoulder one day switching between the housing app and your Pinterest board for home inspiration

You deemed the second biggest gift both of your parents allowing you to move in together as high school seniors even if you were legally adults

But thankfully Rio and your parents agreed after much pleading and convincing that it would be a good thing for the both of you and the start of your adulthood even if they threatened you with everything under the sun if you made them grandparents

As you entered your home Miles was up from his position on the couch taking your bags from your hands and arms scolding you as he shut the door from behind you with a grunt

“¿Por qué no me llamaste? Te hubiera ayudado. Give me these” You would gladly let him knock himself out as you took off your work shoes which were just an older pair of Jordans beside the door not having enough energy to put them on the rack before going to sit down on your couch you just needed to sit for a few minutes

You suddenly were aware that your scrubs were on your brand new couch causing you to groan before you put your head in your hands screaming at yourself internally to disinfect the whole thing when you were to get up

“What’s wrong mi vida? Nah uh uh, we’re not doing that, what’s wrong with my baby?” He crouched in front of you now his hands were on your arms his braids falling to his shoulders dismissing the excuse as you hit him with the ‘nothings wrong’

“Its just hard handling school and work and then the family is still up on me about the move and making sure I finish school I’m just ready to quit” Miles knew you weren’t just talking about your new job or school he’d liked to think of himself as a bit brighter than that as he rubbed his hands up and down your arms

“This is our last year, I know you’re gonna finish out strong ‘cause that’s just you. You��ll complain and whine ‘bout it but I know you’ll find a solution to… accommodate everything. Eres súper mujer mami” Miles stated carefully trying his hardest to not come of too insensitive never taking his hands off you before you finally uncovered your face he was quick to wipe under your eye before a tear could escape it muttering something below his breath that you barely caught

“Too pretty to be cryin’ over this shit”

“And tell them to lay off you ‘fore I have to come up there and kick somebody ass” That caused a chuckle to slip past your lips while Miles face broke into a beginning of a small smile

“Go get in the shower aight’? I got the rest.” You sighed before coming to a stand Miles did the same giving you space to move around the half decorated unfinished living room giving you creative freedom to do whatever the hell it was you wanted to the apartment with a simple ‘you do you princesa’

The toffee skinned boy began to order takeout over his phone as you walked further into your home not wanting to worry yourself with cooking anything for the either of you making sure to add a little extra of everything when he heard the water turn on he grabbed his car keys out of the bowl that sat by the door on the decorative table before slipping out the house into the streets of New York

💌💌💌💌

Miles wasn’t the least bit of surprised when he heard the water still running as he returned to your home he made the run as a quick as he could in New York traffic one hand full with two Chinese takeout bags and another with some of your favorite flowers trying to make sure not to crush them as entered through the door

He sat down the flowers on the dining room table before unloading all of the food from the bags and sitting it on one of the trays you had got on a trip to the thrift store and when he questioned what the hell the wooden mini trays were for he was in for an ear full that summed up one statement

“When we’re not eating at the table nobody’s fucking up my couch”

“Oh Miles” Fifteen minutes later you we’re finally out the shower treading back to the living room before you were stopped in awe looking around your living room some of the candles that were placed in various places were now lit, there was food on the table, Corpse Bride one of your favorite movies was paused at the beginning on the Tv, and your boyfriend stood presenting flowers in his hand to you

Without another word you pressed a kiss to his plump lips before engulfing him which he returned with a small chuckle pressing a kiss to your forehead

“Haré cualquier cosa por ti eres mi mundo lo sabes” He pressed one more kiss to your hairline before he urged you to sit making a mental note to put the flowers in a vase as you both made your way to your couch you picked up one of to go boxed along with a pair of chopsticks that Miles didn’t know how the hell you ate with before playing the movie

A little while later You looked up to see the boy beginning to massage your legs and feet as you went to protest about him needing to eat he brushed you off shushing you

“Let me take care of you mami” And so you did

💌💌💌💌

short and sweet domestic earth 42 Miles because I said so 🙀

I’ve deleted like 90% of request from my request from my request inbox

I just need a little creative freedom right now

you’re still welcome to request because I will get to it eventually just not as fast 😊

stay safe writers!

[sunflowersteves]

hello lovely!! can i request some protective!miguel who saves his love from a villain?

jo!!! my love!!! of course u can 😌 i made it so miguel loves r so much he gives up canon events HELLO I-

pairing || miguel x f!reader

warnings || injury, blood, violence, angry miguel, protective miguel, we're also pretending his venom heals, this is so much more angsty than i thought

Blood.

The thick, dripping red liquid started to stain the concrete floors of the abandoned building. Miguel smelt the coppery substance before his eyes landed on the ground, then following the source and he could feel every single muscle on his body tense.

Your abdomen.

Miguel wasn't sure when it happened. You weren't sure when it happened.

One minute you were swung to safety by Miguel as he fought Carnage, and the next your body was pushed up against the wall as an iron rod pierced your lower abdomen.

Your eyes widened in shock before your hands immediately attached to the metal. Your breath hitched as pain radiated through your body—the adrenaline that coursed through your veins didn't seem to be helping all that much.

"Miguel." You whispered. It was so quiet—too quiet. Your vision started to become hazy as the blood continued to seep into your pretty black-laced dress.

Today was a special day. It was June 28th—the day that you met Miguel.

You had been stuck in the Upper West side of the city when someone attacked your work building. You had been late that day as your alarm clock had failed to do its job that morning.

You had rushed to put on clothes and ran down to the subway lines. You knew you were fucked if you were late today. However, a giant lizard had put a stop to your plans as it scaled the skyscraper.

You just stood in shock from across the street as you clutched your bag and put a hand over your mouth.

Then, you heard a deep voice from behind. "You need to get out of here."

You could only smile fondly at the memory. Today, Miguel had surprised you into bringing you flowers after work. He was gonna take you to a special spot—his favorite restaurant.

You cried out in pain as the building rumbled from the force of Miguel's attack onto the enemy. You looked down and whimpered—the loss of blood seemingly piling around you more.

"Miguel." You whispered, hoping that you could stay awake.

~

Miguel wasn't sure exactly what had happened. All he could see was your blood. All he could smell was your blood.

It made him feel red. It made him see red.

"Voy a matarte. Te lo prometo." It was deep. A growl vibrated at the base of his throat and the whole sentence sounded like a groan. He promised.

He promised that Carnage would not see another day.

His claws swiped and dug into carnage's black goo flesh. Carnage just laughed before staring at the pure crimson of Miguel's eyes. Something clicked inside of him—something dark and brewing as the sight of your blood was played over and over in his head.

Carnage groaned in pain as Miguel continued to dig and claw his way through. Eventually he managed to slice through Kletus' skin on his abdomen, all while carnage screamed in pain of the host.

He swiped again, and again. Again and again. Rage bubbled to the surface at the picture of your eyes closed. Sadness enveloped his heart as the future attempted to flash before his eyes of a funeral dedicated to you.

Is this a canon event?

"Miguel, I-" Your sentence was cut off by a cough. Miguel's head whipped over to you and his heart palpitated by fatigued look on your face.

He wasn't sure how he had heard you. He doesn't have spider hearing like the rest of the spider-people or have spidey senses. Honestly, he didn't care.

His fist stopped mid air—paused between punches and claws. He looked at the man before him. Blood seeped through the blackened goo of Carnage. Bits of flesh clung to Miguel's suit. If he wasn't preoccupied by you, he would have realized that Miguel almost killed him.

His moved fast, desperately darting to you and pressing a hand against your cheek. "I'm here, querida. I'm here. Don't—don't fall asleep, okay? I'm right here."

He pleaded. He begged.

You gasped out a breath as Miguel's shoulders sagged in relief. You're awake. You're alive.

"Miguel. It hurts." You whimpered. Another drop of blood dripped from your wound.

"I know, baby. I know. I've got you."

In his head, though, he was panicking. The metal rod had completely gone through your back and was lodged into the wall behind you. You were stuck.

Tears pricked his eyes as his breath started to rapidly build. You were going to die. You were going to die. It all seemed to repeat over and over in his head.

He can't lose you. He can't lose another family again. Not again.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at your fading figure. His hands settled themselves onto your hips and he gently pulled you closer to him to get the rod out of your body.

Your screams echoed into the abandoned building. The rod sliced through each muscle and tissue of your abdomen as he continued to pull. "I know, please. Lo siento, lo siento—"

He rested his forehead onto yours for comfort. You screamed his name again as he seemed to pull harder. "Miguel! Please, please, please—"

"I know, cariño. P-Please—just—" Your body fell limp into his arms as he successfully pulled the rod out.

your eyes were snapped shut as the pain became too much. Your breathing was haggard and Miguel knew he didn't have much time left.

He had no time left.

He gently moved the strap of your dress. His fingers brushed against your soft skin and his mind reeled from the idea of never hearing your laughter again. Is this a canon event? He asks once more.

In a panic from his thoughts, his teeth sunk into your flesh and he let his venom flow through your veins. He let the venom heal the broken parts of your skin. He bunched up the side of your dress so he could watch as the wound started to slowly heal itself.

He looked down to see that your breathing had evened in your slumber. He made a promise to himself as he carried you back home. You would be protected. You would be unharmed. You would be safe.

Miguel will make damn sure of that for the rest of his waking life. Nothing and no one will ever do harm to you. Ever.

He tucked you neatly into bed and pressed a kiss to your hair line. "I'm never letting you go."

He held in his breath. He felt tears start to prick his water line again. "Te amo." He whispered into the dark. He felt his chest blossom with guilt, relief, and happiness all at once.

One day, he might say that to your face and watch as your eyes lighted with joy. For now, he was going to show you his earth-shattering love through bandage changes and cuddles.

Fuck the canon and fuck Carnage.

[deadplatedrops]

the main course | vincent charbonneau x rody lamoree

words | 3.3k

cw | blood and violence, mature themes, explicit sexual content 18+ mdni

ao3 link

The stranger tastes like paper and ink, the transfer of the newsprint from Vincent’s hands to the man’s cock now adding a new layer of seasoning, a further depth of flavor.

That newspaper is beneath his knees now, barely a cushion for the pavement in the alley outside the pub. A priest would never grovel and worship on such a thin surface, but he’s a chef, and he’s desperate, because ever since that redhead had entered his restaurant looking for a job he’s been absolutely besotted with him. So a nameless man with a face he doesn’t care to remember fills the role of surrogate because he’s got a similar build and nearly the same tousled carrot top and it’s so, so close to the one he wants. His mouth lies and his mind believes as he lavs the scarlet flesh. The hands that had been basting coq au vin scant hours before now clutch the winged crests of hip bones and he sighs around the arousal when he feels fingers in his sooty hair, when he hears the muttered “Tu vas me faire jouir,” a spill of hot, bitter seed striking his palate seconds later.

Back on his feet and the culinary expert is stroked in short, rough bursts that do not satisfy him but it does not matter, because what he wants now, the dessert to follow the main course, is within easy reach. The carving knife has been carefully tucked beneath the sleeve of his coat this entire time, now eased free and poised at the side of the bar patron’s throat. “Plus fort, plus vite,” he breathes into his ear, lips touching the brassy curl of hair that’s tumbled over it, messy like the one he wants; he knows he can make Rody taste the most exquisite banquet, he just needs a little more culinary practice with this new type of cuisine. That treasure in his freezer will surely keep until he’s ready.

These thoughts work far better than the other man’s hand on his dick, spurring him closer to climax. The tired eyes slide closed and the waiter’s name escapes his lips. “Rody, s’il te plaît…”

A puzzled hum, the rhythm of the curled fingers stutter on his cock but it’s too late; far, far too late. Vincent’s already cumming and he’s slipped the blade in just there, rewarded with a burst of dark crimson. It lands on his lips and he licks them, hand clamped over the startled victim’s mouth, his release spilling carelessly over the front of his work pants.

His eyes dart to either side of the alley but there is no one there. His crime is without witness. He hastily refastens his fly and drags the body away with an ease of strength that belies his slender figure. Cooking required muscle. Heavy pots and pans to lift, thick meat with muscle, tendons, and sinew to slice. Cracked bones. Breaking down animals wasn’t so different from breaking down humans.

He’s left a footprint behind on the newspaper, but it’s washed away by the next morning’s rain, never seen, just like the stray drops of blood that disappear, diluted until they are water, later evaporated to nothing, leaving no trace of their existence.

***

Vincent watches Rody Lamoree with hungry eyes, starving eyes, as the young man hurriedly ties the flaps of the garbage bag in the kitchen and shoves the door leading to the dumpsters in the back open with one apron clad hip. He’d just been back there himself, for a brief respite from the hot cooking area, savoring one of the few things that tastes good to him: a cigarette, lit with one of the pilot lights on the stove. He’d inhaled those chemicals and blown smoke, lost in the ash and embers, in his obsessive thoughts of Rody.

He’s still not certain what to do with the locket Manon had been wearing. He keeps it with him, not so much because it’s a trophy but because it has that coveted man’s picture in it. He’s already dug the pretty girl’s face from the frame. Now there is just her former lover to look upon. He shoves a hand in his pants pocket and feels the metal, the pattern of sweet roses and twining vines now as familiar to him as the recipes on the day’s menu.

Back inside, the bistro is bustling. Rody can hardly keep up with the volume of customers. It’s too much for one man, but Vincent refuses to hire another. He has his sous chefs and that is all he requires. Let them churn out the simpler dishes, the appetizers and sides. He focuses on the main courses, the artful desserts.

A violent crash has everyone facing the kitchen. Rody’s dropped a plate again. The man is positively inept. Vincent folds his arms and watches the waiter scramble to collect the pieces, trying to dodge the other employees moving around the kitchen. He slices his index finger and Vincent’s hearing goes muffled, his vision tunneling. Everything narrows and focuses on that streak of red dripping from the injured man’s digit.

“Honestly. Isn’t it bad enough you’ve broken so many dishes we hardly have any left to serve the customers? And now you’re fixing to add to my expenses with a hospital bill. Come with me.”

He turns without waiting to see if Rody will follow, because he knows he will. He no doubt has those soft, wet, bright looking puppy eyes that plead for forgiveness aimed at his back. He can feel them even if he doesn’t see them.

“I’m sorry, Chef.” He allows his hand to be brought under the faucet of the employee restroom, wincing at the feel of the water striking the laceration.

“Getting an infection and then being out of work, was that your plan? You want to ruin me?”

Rody wants nothing of the sort, of course, and Vincent knows this. But it’s easier to hide behind anger. The waiter likely thinks the hand cupping his is trembling from anger. He has no idea it’s from tightly restrained desire. He can barely resist bringing that cut to his lips and tasting him. Wondering at the exact rusted tang. Not all blood was of the same vintage, he was beginning to learn.

“There’s a first aid kit in my office. Don’t drip anything on my floors. Keep your hand pressed here, firmly.” For now, it is a wad of paper towels pressed to the cut that serves as a makeshift bandage. Once inside the office that is more comfortable than one might have thought likely in such a setting, the owner retrieves the emergency supplies from the bottom desk drawer and removes the bloodstained paper, applying gauze and rolling more around the wound. “It looks shallow. I don’t think you’ll need stitches. But you need to keep it clean and dry.” His movements are brisk. He wants the task completed. He can’t have that kind of temptation in front of him for too long.

Rody’s eyes are wandering. There is a lot to look at in that space. Bookshelves. Framed reviews. Typewriter. Potted plant—this looking wilted and neglected. An overflowing rubbish bin. Vincent spent a great deal of time coming up with new menus. The discarded ideas are what fill that bucket.

“There are customers waiting. Get back to work,” the chef snaps, and the waiter mumbles his gratitude, leaving the office. The dark haired man’s eyes fall on the bloody paper towels littering the surface of his desk. He crumples them, hesitates, brings them to his nostrils. He smells copper and thinks of Rody’s fiery mane of hair and his pants tighten. He wants him. Wants to devour, consume…no. He doesn’t want to destroy him. But he’d take a sample, a little amuse bouche before serving the man his ex girlfriend. A little savory aperitif, perhaps lapped from that finger if it’s still wounded then, perhaps from another cut he’ll bestow himself later.

His eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Should he self indulge now, or wait for later? Timing is so important in this profession. Ensuring a fine sear early on to enhance the meat’s flavor later. Deglazing a pan, luring those tasty carmelized bits free. A smooth, lavish roux to thicken the sauce. A bright crush of berries, mixed with sugar and boiled on the stove, later spread over some baked treat. The menu for tomorrow, perhaps.

As for the other…later, he decides.

The best way to savor.

***

Rody is always a straggler.

Always one of the last employees to leave, like the occasional patron that dawdles a bit too long for Vincent’s liking, perhaps intoxicated from the recommended wine or just lingering with a belly stretched full, their mind lethargic. He must usher them out after murmuring words of gratitude, casting a meaningful glance at the waiter to clear the table so he can close up the bistro for the day and retire to his apartment upstairs.

The bells on the door tinkle softly as the owner closes and locks the door with a grateful, tired sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he pushes on the doors leading to the kitchen.

Rody’s dropped something again.

The redhead has managed not to break a dish this time, but he has tipped one of the half full pots still waiting to be emptied and washed. His white shirt is now stained yellow and he looks helplessly at the stern face of his employer. “I’m sorry, Chef.”

“It’s always ‘I’m sorry, Chef,’ isn’t it, Lamoree? Do you know how tired I am of hearing that?”

“I’m s—” The other man’s voice cuts off midway before the apology can be repeated.

“You’re not sorry at all, that’s the worst part. No consideration for wasting another man’s time and money.”

“I won’t be here much longer. I’ve nearly got enough saved up now.”

Vincent’s eyes flare at this declaration. He had, somehow, forgotten the employee had only promised to fill the position temporarily.

He was running out of time. Out of chances.

“Have you heard from your significant other?”

Rody blinks. Vincent never inquired about personal matters. “No. I’ve been calling every night when I get home, but she never answers,” he admits, looking crestfallen. “I thought maybe if she saw I was serious, she might change her mind and we could get back together. But now…”

The chef has to bite back a grin. He knows damn well Manon hasn’t been answering her phone. How can she, when she’s tucked securely away in the depths of the walk in freezer? The key for it is around his neck. He never removes it. No one is allowed inside that area.

“Perhaps she’s already moved on,” Vincent offers unsympathetically. “Maybe you should, too.”

The other man laughs hesitantly. “It’s only been a week.”

“Hmmm.” Now he’s wishing he hadn’t mentioned his envisioned rival. He doesn’t want Rody thinking about her. Being distracted. Time to change the subject. “How is your cut healing? Do I need to be worried about another bill?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve been careful with it.”

“Like you were careful with the dishes just now? Let me see.” He doesn’t wait for the waiter to offer the hand for examination, instead reaching and pulling it over to him. He doesn’t inspect the outer dressing for long, plucking at the tape sealing it shut to expose a dark line underneath. The edges did appear like they were approximated well, the surrounding skin clear from signs of infection.

“See? Told you.”

Vincent’s dark eyes lift, finding emerald ones. He never breaks the contact as his fingers ease past the injured finger and trace the creases of Rody’s palm. His skin is rough and reddened. He hasn’t learned how to care for it yet, the constant submergence in hot water already leaving its mark. A short distance later he reaches the man’s wrist, pressing lightly against the blue vessels visible beneath his fair skin. “Your heart is beating very fast,” he murmurs.

Rody gulps, frozen into apparent immobility by his employer’s sudden caress. “I…”

“Hurry up and help me clean the rest of this. It’s been a long day.” He drops his hand and turns away.

The waiter stares open mouthed at the sudden shift in mood, the spell binding him seemingly broken. He hastens to help his employer clean the remaining dishes, then gathers up the trash from the rubbish bin for the final time that shift.

The sound of the door behind him closing again causes him to turn his head, the bag falling into the dumpster with a wet sort of thud.

“Chef?”

“You ever smoke, Rody? No, I doubt that. Jamais,” he mutters, taking a drag.

“No,” the other man agrees, looking puzzled. Wondering why the owner was suddenly lingering when moments before he’d been impatient to depart.

“Life isn’t truly experienced if you neglect to try all it offers. Even things that seem unappealing. In fact, sometimes those ill flavors make you appreciate the favorable ones more.” The end of the cigarette glows. A dog barks in the distance. The lighting at the rear of the building is minimal. The chef’s features are bathed in shadows.

“I guess that makes sense.” Rody moves closer to the door the other man is still blocking. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be heading home now.”

“You’ve tarried this long. Surely a few more minutes won’t make a difference.” He imagines Rody reaching for the phone as soon as he’s showered and changed. Thinking perhaps tonight will be the night Manon will answer. “Try it, then you’ll know for certain.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” He tries to step around Vincent but he’s blocked again by that wiry figure.

“Try it,” he insists again, offering the paper cylinder to his companion.

Rody hesitates, then claims the cigarette and takes a tentative inhale. He coughs and sends clouds of smoke into the air and the other man chuckles darkly, snatching the offensive object back.

“There’s a skill to it. You have to practice.”

“I’m good, thanks.” He thumps a hand against his chest, looking a little bleary eyed.

Vincent clucks his tongue impatiently, taking another deep pull. Before Rody has a chance to react, he’s got his face between his hands and his mouth on his lips.

The little sound of surprise provides him with an opportunity to shotgun the smoke directly into his mouth. The waiter doesn’t taste like much of anything, not that he’d expected any differently, but he enjoys those first few moments of surprise when he can stroke his tongue.

Rody breaks away, dragging the back of his wrist over his mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?” He’s never once dared raise his voice; Vincent doesn’t think he’s ever even heard him use profanity before this.

“Giving you another chance to enjoy it.”

“I don’t. I already told you. I’m going home now. Please move.”

“No.” The cigarette is slotted lazily at one corner of Vincent’s mouth, the smoke drifting up in a thin stream. He’s folded his arms, leaning back against the door.

“Move,” Rody repeats more forcefully, his hand clutching his boss’ upper arm. The dark haired man settles his hand over the server’s bare forearm, stroking lightly until he’s shaken off. “Don’t touch me.” Voice still firm, but trembling a little. He can hear it.

“Or what? What are you going to do about it?” He withdraws the paper tube from his mouth and tosses it to the ground, extinguishing it with the sole of his shoe.

“I’ll quit, right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You can’t afford to.”

“Near enough. I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re getting quite the track record, Rody. Nearly thirty jobs in seven years? You’ll not get a reference from me. In fact, I’ll make sure you never work in this part of town again.”

“Then I’ll find another town.”

“No one will want you. No one will want you like…” His voice trails off. He’s never seen such determination from the young man before. “You can’t leave.”

“Like hell I can’t.” He reaches to push Vincent and the chef’s hand curls around Rody’s tie—rumpled, the man was always so unkempt and careless, always rolling up his shirt sleeves even though he’d told him dozens of times not to, the restaurant had a reputation to maintain, an appearance—dragging his upper body forward. There’s a confused passage of time where the men struggle, gripping and shoving, tugging and scrabbling for the handle of the door, ending similarly to how it started, with Vincent’s back pressed against the door and Rody pressed against him.

The pair are panting, hands full of each other’s clothing. Vincent kisses Rody again, a rough crush of mouths while the redhead vainly pushes along his employer’s shoulders. He feels the other man’s arousal at the same moment Rody seemingly becomes consciously aware of it, the waiter’s grip softening, mirroring how sweetly his lips surrender. Vincent sucks them, laps at them, nips and travels to his jaw, his neck, his ear, and feels a shudder in response to his ministrations.

“I thought you hated me, I don’t understand…”

“You foolish, foolish boy.” His hips roll forward and he grinds against the other man’s erection, eliciting a harsh gasp. “Je te désire…”

Through a joint effort they manage to make their way back inside, pausing for another round of frenzied kisses here and there. Vincent harbors no delusions that they’ll make it any further than that kitchen. The bedroom upstairs will have to wait for another time. He’s too consumed with this giddy feeling of triumph; he’s winning over his body, and his heart will surely follow, once he creates that forbidden feast.

Rody is pushed again and his hand knocks over a bottle on the counter. Cooking oil. It begins to spill before it can be righted, the man’s fingers coated, and the mock scolding that he’d been about to be gifted instead shifts to praise, those slick fingers now guided over cocks released from their imprisonment.

“Ta bitte, c’est alléchant…”

Rody groans, his hand stretching to accommodate both men’s pricks, stroking both simultaneously, mashing them together. “Merde…”

Another surprised sound from the waiter. Vincent’s sucked his bottom lip a little too firmly, splitting it and drawing blood. The chef can barely contain himself. At last, at last he has a taste of what he’s been coveting, and this, unlike everything else that is ash and dust, this marvelous liquid lifeforce is divine, sweet and savory both. He sucks harder and ruts against his employee’s hand and it’s all he can do not to grab a knife from the block and drag even more of that delicious vintage from him.

“Fais-moi jouir,” the chef urges, letting a trail of saliva ooze into the other man’s gasping mouth. His fingers knot in his tresses and a faint scent of shampoo wafts over him, stirred back to life from the shower so many hours ago before the shift had started.

“Rody,” he groans in warning just before his turgid member erupts, spilling seed all over the waiter’s hand and cock. It takes only seconds before he cums, returning the favor, bathing the chef in a hot wash of sperm.

“Mon dieu…” The redhead steps back, looking at the mess the two of them have made.

“We’ll take care of it in the morning,” Vincent says dismissively, prioritizing his present recovery, his breathing labored. He’s still got the taste of Rody’s blood on his tongue.

“Come upstairs with me,” he invites once they’ve straightened their clothing, watching as the other man hesitates, then nods.

Vincent slides his hand into his pants pocket to find the hidden jewelry warm to the touch, so different from the cold, cold room that Manon now resides in.

Waiting.

[qroier]

okay it's post purgatory 1. roier cubito just got off that boat. everything sucks. cucurucho takes one look at roier's stumbling ass, thinks of all the blood covering him, how it belongs to his friends and family, how cellbit is nowhere in sight, and decides hmmmm.... I can do something with this.

so one day later, once people are more settled in, cucurucho siddles over to roier's house and knocks on his door. there's no answer. um, okay. he knocks harder. still no answer. well. maybe he's working on a building somewhere?

cucurucho needs to hurry. preparations are still under way for the trip to rescue the eggs but, well. roier doesn't exactly need to know any of that, does he? so he needs to find him quick.

he's not in la taqueria el tripon. no roier in the bodega. pemex looks desolate. ouch, someone stole from the coppel. on he goes, until. ah. the oxxo's a mess inside.

the shelves have been knocked over, there's somehow kitkats stuck to the ceiling, and the roier cardboard cutout attendee has a big hole punched into his face. cucurucho looks around some more, trying to figure out where to go from here, before he spots something on the floor that looks out of place. he crouches down to get a closer look and realizes he's looking at leaves. red leaves, specifically. red leaves and orange grass. well, that certainly explains where roier’s been.

cucurucho teleports over to cellbit's castle. he's already crossed the bridge and is just about to enter when he hears some sort of commotion somewhere to the castle's side. roier is there, at the castle's base, fighting with a bird over a bag of chips and yelling profanities. there's lots of bags of chips scattered around his feet.

"stupid fucking bird! is that your problem? you know only inglich? te estás haciendo pendejo leave my food ALONE!" roier gives one last pull that manages to free half the bag from the bird. chips go flying everywhere as the bag tears. roier stumbles backward and steps on another bag, shouting in dismay. the crunch is very loud.

"TÓMALA CULERO!" roier yells, shaking his fist like abueloier after the bird. he looks around and starts half-heartedly cleaning up the bags, still mumbling curses under his breath. wonderful, looks like he's not busy now.

cucurucho waits until roier's back is to him before walking up to him. "good morning."

"GAH!" roier wheels around to look at him, hand to his heart. "WHAT THE FUCK, MAN."

"hahaha," cucurucho laughs. he knows how it is with roier.

"culero estupido pendejo, ok, pues ríete de mi! ríete de mi!" roier crosses his arms and turns his back on cucurucho with a humph. the action makes more chips crunch. they both turn down to look at the scattered bags. roier's shoulders slump before crouching down to continue stacking them into piles.

"good morning," cucurucho repeats himself. politeness is vital. "what are you doing?"

"what does it look like, stupid? i'm eating chips." roier gives up at that point before plobing down on his back. he opens a bag of chips and starts eating them, slowly and one by one. there's a small radio next to him that cucurucho hadn't noticed before. it's not currently on.

"what are you doing?" cucurucho asks again, knowing that's not the full story.

"me voy a quedar aquí. me voy a quedar aquí comiendo mis papitas y me voy a podrir," roier turns to look into cucuruchos eyes at that. "adios." he says, and closes his own eyes. realizing he's forgotten something, roier grabbles for the radio next to him, eyes still closed, before he finally finds it and turns it on. si no te hubieras ido starts playing. he starts eating the chips again, each crunch louder than the last.

well, that won't do.

"no," cucurucho tells him politely.

roier opens one eye and squints up at cucurucho. marco antonio solís is still crooning, soft and low and made a bit tinny by the radio. "what the fuck do you mean, no?"

"no," cucurucho repeats. that won't do. roier is still covered in blood and wearing his emoier clothes. there's still an asset there.

"y bueno. pues f, no? mamate." roier closes his eye again, this time more firmly. there's finality to the motion. he reaches out and turns up marco antonio solís. he starts pointedly singing along.

"noy hay nada más difícil que vivir sin ti," roier and marco antonio solís mourn together. it's muffled by the sound of crunching chips. this won't do.

"sufriendo en la-"

cucurucho reaches down-

"aA WHA?" and pulls roier up by his bloodstained hoodie. he starts squawking immediately.

"ME ESTAN ASALTANDO, ME ESTAN ASALTANDO!" he shouts, looking around and going as far as placing a hand delicately to his forehead before remembering that there's no one left to come looking. the fight slumps out of him, and he twists out of cucurucho's grip easily. cucurucho considers the motion apprasingly. yes, he will do.

annoyance covers roier's face. he crosses his arms. "what the hell is wrong with you. que es tu problema. bueno, aparte de ser cucurucho y horible y asi."

cucurucho takes out the notepad he wrote ahead of time for this. preparation is always vital. he hands it to roier. roier raises an eyebrow before snatching it away and opening it to read through. his brow furrows almost immediately, before he clears that away and looks up from the book, eyes wide.

"ahaha, what the fuck?" roier goes back to reading the book, and scoffs as he pockets it once he's done. "nope! nuh uh, no acepto."

"why?" cucurucho asks him. it's a good offer. a smart one. they both get something they want in return if roier agrees to work for the federation.

"para que solo me pagen con café y enigmas? hm, no gracias." there's a glint in his eyes that he hides by looking around at the ground and muttering something about bears and ruined chips.

cucurucho takes out another book and writes down the offer he gave in the first book, as a reminder, before handing it over to roier. "the federation has resources to find people. stellar employees may request access, should their work be sufficient."

roier reads those lines. he looks at the book, pondering. he looks at cucurucho, also pondering. marco antonio solís finishes his song, and the radio switches over to llueve sobre la ciudad. the sound of static draws both of their attention to the radio. Instead of los bunkers, hozier's voice comes through, and they blink at the radio in confusion.

"do you think i'd give up," he sings, and cucurucho looks at roier pointedly.

roier just rolls his eyes. "fine! ugh." he pockets the second book and approaches cucurucho to poke a finger at his chest. "but i'm quitting the second you try and give me coffee!"

wonderful news.

"disfruta la isla," cucurucho tells him, smiling wider as roier goes to poke at the radio before he teleports back to the offices. a new asset has been acquired. everything is going as planned.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

I’ll Wait For You

Hey anon, thank you so much for your adorable request. I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy. The best way to kick off the New Year? A Eugene Roe fic of course. Happy New Year everyone! Warnings: mentions of injury, family death, destruction of homes, themes of war, weapons.

Eugene couldn’t remember the last time his heart hadn’t been pounding out of his chest. Ever since they’d jumped on D-Day his heart had been beating like a trapped bird flapping its wings against his ribcage. He didn’t know whether it was fear or adrenaline; or both. He could safely say that he was scared, many of the men wouldn’t admit it and as their medic, he wouldn’t show it, but he was scared, scared for himself and his friends. It was normal to be scared. Yet Eugene had never seen anyone as scared as the large blue-eyed civilian girl looking up at him and Liebgott.

“What do we have here?” Liebgott had all but sneered, pointing his M1 at a terrified civilian. Eugene felt himself smacking the gun away from her, “Leave her be. She’s a civilian. What da hells wrong wit’ you.”

Liebgott quickly lost interest in the situation once Eugene took a protective stance in front of her, and hurried off to join Webster and a few of the others that had crowded in the square.

“It’s all right. I won’t hurt ya,” Gene spoke softly as he knelt beside her, his hands raised and his eyes not leaving hers. She backed further away from him, tears trickling down her cheeks as she mumbled something.

“What was that? Whatcha say?”

The girl mumbled again and Eugene’s demeanour quickly softened. She didn’t understand English, of course, she didn't, she was speaking French.

“C'est bon. Je ne te ferai pas de mal,” Eugene spoke again trying to reassure her he was no threat and this time the girl looked up at him, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Tu parles français?” She asked, no longer looking as though she was about to fly out of the nearest open door.

“Je suis à moitié cajun. Toute ma famille parle français,” Eugene explained, glad that he was able to calm her down in her mother tongue. He could only imagine the horrors she had witnessed and then hiding in an abandoned house during the siege on Caretan too. He could only imagine.

“As-tu une famille? Que faites-vous ici?”

She shook her head and he wondered if he’d crossed the line by asking too much about her family.

“My family are all dead. I came here to be with my Aunt but the Germans had got to her first,” tears began to trickle silently down her cheeks again and Eugene felt himself reaching forward to place his hand on her shoulder, she didn���t pull away, instead leaning into his touch.

“I have no one left,” she muttered and now it was Eugene’s turn to look shocked.

“You speak English?”

“A little,” she admitted, “not a lot.”

Eugene couldn’t help but smile at her. She truly was pretty, her eyes striking against her pale skin, and despite the soot that covered her cheeks Eugene didn’t think he’d ever seen a girl so beautiful.

She moved a little and let out a small whimper which caused Eugene to lurch forward. “Are ya hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” she lied, clutching her calf which was now smeared with blood, her other bloody hand raised against her chest protectively.

“What happened to ya?” Eugene asked, digging into his musette bag and pulling out a sachet of sulfa powder and a bandage. He didn’t hesitate to wrap the bandage around her thigh, pushing her dress out of the way without a second thought. She was a patient, so why should he treat her any differently, although his growing red in response told a different story.

“Tu es très doux,” the girl mused, watching as Eugene’s hands worked quickly, wrapping her leg securely. Eugene hummed in amusement, no one had ever told him he was gentle before, certainly none of the other paratroopers. “It’s true,” she repeated and giggled as Eugene’s cheeks blushed a deeper shade of red. He quickly moved on, bounding her hand, avoiding her eye contact as she watched him work.

“You should be all set,” Eugene leaned back on his feet. “Can ya try and keep off it for a few days at least?”

“I can try but I’m trying to get to a family friend's house. It’s only a few miles down the road. I’m hoping they will take me in,” she looked down at her scuffed shoes, unable to face the truth that she really was alone now.

“How about we give ya a lift? We got plenty of trucks. I can ask the Lieutenant,” Eugene added hurriedly, he didn’t know why but he desperately wanted to help this girl and yet he didn’t even know her name.

The girl just nodded, watching as Eugene stood and hurried away.

A few days later Eugene found himself passing by the quaint town they had dropped the injured girl off to. He was busying himself in an abandoned barn patching up one of the young Private's shoulders. The boy was whining and moaning at the mere flesh wound and Eugene found himself losing patience with him.

“Will ya just stay still?” Eugene grumbled, pushing his elbow firmly into the boy to steady him. The boy continued to complain but Eugene ignored him, too caught up in his work. The other paratroopers often commented on how he generally focused on the wound instead of the patient, of course, he offered words of comfort when required but he felt the attachment unnecessary. Eugene had never intended to be a medic, it was thrust upon him during training and so he had embraced his calling. He would hold the lives of his fellow paratroopers in his hands, thus denying him the ability to become attached, because if he became attached, became their friends, their brothers, well it would make it all the harder when he lost them.

A muffled voice behind him caused Eugene to turn, seeing the familiar figure in the doorway. He dismissed the private, instructing him to rest as much as possible. He whipped his hands in the spare cloth he carried, “How’s da leg?”

“It is okay. I try to rest it when I can,” she smiled at him and Eugene found his heart beating a little faster.

“Good. That’s good. How’s da hand?”

“It is good too,” she laughed, limping across the barn towards him with a basket tucked under her arm. “I was looking for you. I wanted to thank you for the other day, for your kindness.”

“Please, there ain’t no need. It’s ma job,” Eugene protested but the girl silenced him, placing her fingers to his lips.

“No, your job is to look after the soldiers, looking after me was an act of kindness.”

Eugene blushed, his eyes going cross-eyed as he watched the placement of her finger on his lips.

“Thank you,” she quickly removed his finger and pecked his lips. It was barely a kiss, his mind barely registering the action before it was over. The blush covering their cheeks and the smile on both their lips meant everything.

“I also bought you some food, it’s not a lot but you can share it with your friends if you wish,” she passed the basket towards him and Eugene gratefully accepted.

“Your kindness is too much Ma’am, how will I ever repay ya?”

“You saved my life, it is I who should be in your debt,” she replied, a delighted smile playing at her lips, as Eugene thought of a reply.

“Well, what about if I write to ya and umm… you can write to me too if you’d like,” Eugene watched nervously as the girl thought over his proposition.

“Oui. I would like this very much,” she grinned at him, before throwing her arms around his neck. “And maybe after the war is over you will come back, back here to see me again?”

“Of course, if you’ll wait for me.”

“I will wait for you,” she replied adamantly, nodding her head and Eugene felt himself smiling again. He’d never felt this way before about anyone but this girl he’d stumbled upon seemed to change that and he didn’t want her to leave.

“Wait! Ma’am, I don’t even know ya name. Will ya at least tell me that?”

She smiled at him mischievously before replying, “Write to me first American Boy, then I know you are true to your word. Then you may have my name.”

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @ronald-speirs @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

[the-authoress-writes]

The Comfort of Your Arms

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x ER Nurse Wife!reader

(Not my art)

Synopsis: When a bad day at the ER leaves Mrs. Kazansky a wreck, she goes to the only place she knows she’s safe.

Warnings: Child death, mention of drunk driver, blood, vague descriptions of medical procedures, some cursing, reader is in state of emotional distress, non-sexual nudity, and just a whole lot of fluffy hurt/comfort.

Author’s Note: Huge disclaimer here—this is barely proofread, I just wanted to get this out as soon as possible, since this is a gift for @callsign-skydancer, who was having a bad few days a couple of days ago.

I thought this would ease her need for some soft Tom Kazansky thoughts.

I hope you like this, Sky!!

“Just get home.

Just get home.

Just get home,” played on loop in her head as she drove down the thankfully familiar roads, because she was honestly operating on autopilot.

Her heart rate was about thirty or forty BPM too high, she could just tell from the pounding all over her body.

She knew her body couldn’t sustain that for long, and she had to get home.

House after house passed her by, and finally, she pulled up to the curb of her house.

She coached herself through the motions of turning off the engine, getting her bag and lunch bag in her hand, and stepping out of the car.

The few steps to the door never felt so far as they did at that moment, her knees trembling just as much as her hands were, but she considered it a miracle that she was able to get the key into the lock, and the sound of the deadbolt turning echoed in her head.

As the door opened, the scent of home washed over her, and she stepped inside, almost in a daze.

“Hey, you’re home early!” The sound of her husband’s voice came from what sounded like the kitchen, and her breath shuddered in her chest, as she clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that was building in her chest.

Footsteps began to follow the sound of his voice as he walked to the door. “I was making my Mom’s piroshkis and beef stew—” Tom cut himself off as he caught sight of her.

She knew she looked like shit in her rumpled clothes, her hair was a mess, there was probably still some blood on her arms, and she was wide eyed.

The silence was heavy as gray eyes swept over her, immediately cataloguing each thing she thought of, and probably more, and he cautiously said, “Milaya, are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, so soft and gentle, the sob that she’d been holding back burst forth, and the tears sprang from her eyes as she felt her legs give out beneath her.

She had barely made any contact with the floor, when she felt strong arms come around her, and the faint, lingering scent of jet fuel hit her nose, but then, the blackness which had been threatening ever since she heard the tone of flatline, consumed her.

Tom Kazansky would argue that it had been a great day for him; he and Mav had absolutely destroyed the current class of TOPGUN students, displaying yet again, the Kazansky-Mitchell dominance in the air (it’s alphabetical, Mav, your name can’t come first, and I’m older), he finished his paperwork early, and thusly had gotten home about half an hour early.

He knew his wife was working a long shift at the hospital, so after a quick change into more comfortable clothes, he wanted to surprise her with her favorite food from his family recipes.

He’d just gotten the piroshkis in the oven, and the stew was simmering on the stove, when he heard the keys jingle in the lock, and the door open. “Hey, you’re home early!” he called out, hanging the dish towel on the oven before moving to greet her. “I was making my Mom’s piroshkis and beef stew—” Tom cut himself off as he caught sight of her.

She looked beautiful as ever, but her hand was over her mouth, and the look in her eyes was painfully familiar; he’d seen it too many times in the eyes of fellow fighter pilots—hell, he’d seen it in his own eyes, especially after… well, Hop 31.

Her eyes were haunted, glassy with tears, her breathing much too fast.

And most frightening, there were a few stains of dried blood on her arms.

But he knew her well enough to know that if it were hers, there was no way she’d be here, instead of at the hospital, getting treated.

So it must have gotten on her while she was working.

Carefully, he ventured, “Milaya, are you alright?” keeping his voice soft and gentle, speaking as he would to a spooked animal.

He was startled, but not surprised as a sob burst from her mouth, and tears spilled from her eyes.

He lunged to catch her as her legs gave out beneath her and she passed out.

He called her name, gently shaking her, trying to rouse her.

Seeing that it was in vain, he carried her upstairs to the bedroom, laying her down on her side, all while continuing to stroke her hair and talk softly to her, calling for her to wake up.

After ten minutes had passed, and she hadn’t woken up yet, Tom went for the well-stocked first aid kit, grabbing an ammonia snap, rushing back to her side, breaking it under her nose.

She immediately gasped, and sat upright in bed, panicked.

“Milaya, milaya,” he called, wrapping an arm around her, as she tried to scramble out of bed, struggling vainly against his strong but careful grip.

He could see the panic in her eyes, and he got up onto the bed behind her, holding her against him, repeatedly murmuring “It’s okay, you’re alright, you’re here with me,” in the Russian he knew would calm her faster, even though she wouldn’t understand it, all because he knew it would reassure her she was really with him.

He felt when awareness came back to her, the heaving gasps turning into slight shudders. “Tom?”

It broke his heart to hear the tremble in her voice. “I’m here, lyubimaya moya, you’re safe.”

“I’m home?”

“Yeah, you’re home.”

“I made it—I made it home.”

He wasn’t sure why she was asking these questions, but he answered them regardless. “Yes, you did.”

She turned red-rimmed eyes to him. “I made it home,” and suddenly, she shifted her grip to hold him tightly and let out the most heartbreaking sobs he’d ever heard.

He held her through her sobs, unceasingly reassuring her of his presence, carding his hand through her hair.

When she calmed again, he gently said, “I’ll run you a bath, solnishko, how does that sound?

Make it warm, the way you like it, with all the oils and stuff.”

(It was actually closer to boiling, in his opinion, but she loved it, so he didn’t question it.)

She didn’t reply verbally, just nodded, and if she needed to be quiet for a while, that was fine, he could talk for the both of them.

Tom led her to the bathroom, starting the water in the shower/tub, turning the handle all the way to the left.

She was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring blankly at the wall.

He reached for her hands, taking them in both of his.

Her hands were freezing, and he rubbed them between his, to warm them up. “Okay, how about we get you undressed?

That okay?”

Again, a nod.

“Alright.”

He started with her shoes, putting them off to the side so neither of them would trip on them, then her socks, patterned with little hearts, he noted.

“Okay, milaya, let’s get your jeans off.”

He pulled her to her feet, directing her to stand on his socked feet so she wouldn’t touch the cold tile of the floor, unbuttoning her jeans with one hand to help keep her balanced on his feet, and tugged them along with her underwear halfway down.

“Okay, you can sit down again, lyubimaya moya.”

Next was her sweatshirt, then her bra.

Normally, this sort of procedure had a very different outcome, and the sight of his naked wife was more than enough for a very different reaction, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less about a “usual male reaction”, wanting nothing more than to care for the love of his life.

By this time, he could feel the steam from the shower behind him, so he plugged the drain and pulled the spigot on the tub faucet, causing the water to flow from it instead of the shower head.

While waiting for the tub to fill, he dropped several drops of her lavender oil into the water, the air filling with its scent immediately, before shutting the faucet once the tub filled.

He helped her into the steaming tub, easing her down into the water, the tension in his heart he didn’t even know he had easing when she breathed a little sigh of relief.

“Okay, zhizn moya,” he said, kneeling beside her, “I just need to remove the piroshkis from the oven and shut the stove, okay?

I’ll be—”

Her hand flew to his wrist, gripping so tightly he winced slightly.

“No—please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

“I’ll be so fast, milaya.

I’ll be back soon.”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Please, solnishko.

The house could burn down if I don’t.”

She saw the reason in this, but Tom could see that it was wrenching something in her to be parted from him, even for so short a time.

So he offered a compromise. “How about this: I’ll sing the whole time, you’ll be able to hear me, so you don’t feel so alone.”

He knew she loved to hear him sing, for some reason, even though he thought he had a horrible voice—he was much better at the piano, in his opinion.

She bit her lip, considering. “Okay—but you have to promise me you’ll come back soon.”

“I swear it on my wings, milaya.”

“Okay,” she let go of his wrist.

He began softly singing “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”, the song they had danced to for the first time when they were dating, backing out of the bathroom, increasing the volume of his voice the further he got.

He ran downstairs, shutting the stove with a flick of the wrist, before grabbing the piroshkis from the oven—luckily, he could see they were still edible, just slightly too brown at the edges.

With his mission completed, he dashed up the stairs, entering the bathroom just in time to finish the second refrain. “See?

I told you I’d be fast,” he grinned.

She plaintively reached for him. “Join me please—I… I need to feel you.”

How could he deny her?

He quickly undressed, sitting in the spot she made for him behind her, bracketing her legs with his, pulling her against him, and she shifted to rest her ear over his heart.

The water had cooled slightly, thank God, so he wasn’t cooking in the water like he would have been earlier.

Tom let the silence sit for a while before venturing, “What happened today, lyubimaya moya?”

At first, he wondered if she had fallen asleep, but then, she spoke. “I knew it would be bad when the paramedics encoded into the hospital; pediatric patient, hit by a drunk driver in the middle of the damn day.” Her breath hitched, and he felt moisture not from the bath fall on his chest. “He was so little, Tom, and there was so much—I tried to save him—I did compressions for forever; his little ribs—but—” her voice broke, and she silently sobbed against him.

At this full understanding of what happened to her today, his heart shattered for her. “Oh, milaya.

I’m so sorry.”

She choked, “Why?

He was seven.

Still basically a baby.

Why?”

“I don’t have the answers for you, solnishko, but wherever he is, I’m sure he’s so grateful you tried to save him.”

“It’s not enough.

I should—who the fuck gets drunk in the middle of the fucking day?”

“The asshole who killed that poor kid,” he thought, but he knew it was a rhetorical question, and that she didn’t really want that answer.

More moisture fell against his chest and he held her tighter.

By the time the water had gone cold, her tears had long since stopped, so with gentle motions, he lifted her up, wrapping a towel around her and another around his waist, unplugging the drain and grabbing fresh clothes for the both of them, quickly throwing on his, then repeated the process he’d done for her earlier in reverse.

Dressed, she curled up on her side of the bed.

“Do you think you can eat a little something?” he asked.

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

She sniffled, “You—you’d have to leave me again.”

Tom offered, “I’ll sing again for you; I promise I won’t make you eat a lot—just a little, for me, please?”

“…Okay.”

He ran downstairs, reprising his “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” while ladling out a small bowl of stew, sticking it in the microwave for a minute, and putting a piroshki on a saucer, returning upstairs to see a soft, barely-there smile on her lips. “You should sing more,” she murmured.

“I don’t know why you think my voice is anything fantastic, I’m much better at the piano,” he smiled back.

“It’s more beautiful than you think.”

He sighed, “I’ll take your word for it.

Now here you go, your favorites; the piroshkis are a little bit too crispy, but it’s still good.

You want me to feed you or are you good?”

When she hesitated, he smiled, “Just sit up for me, okay, I don’t want you to choke.”

It took a while, but he got her to finish the whole bowl of stew, and half the piroshki, tossing the other half in his own mouth, placing the dishes on the nightstand for tomorrow, not wanting to leave her again—his OCD could go screw itself for a few hours.

He got into his side of the bed, pulling the covers over both of them, and enfolding her into his arms, purposely shifted her ear over his heart. “Get some rest, milaya.

I’m here, I won’t leave you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She had endured hell today, she knew that, but her husband’s gentle care eased the pain in her heart, and the way he took care of her tonight was something she would not—could not—forget.

She would be forever grateful she’d given him a chance three years ago at The O Club, seeing something in him beyond the cocky facade he liked to present to the world.

“I’m sorry I wrecked your dinner plans,” she whispered.

“You didn’t wreck them,” he murmured back.

“But—”

“But nothing.

You were hurting, and I wanted to take care of you.

There’ll be other nights.”

“I don’t deserve you, Tom,” she shook her head.”

He sighed, “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, okay?

And I’m not taking any arguments.”

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m so glad I gave you a chance at The O,” she said, repeating her earlier thoughts.

He chuckled, “So am I.”

Silence fell over them again, and she was just about to fall asleep, but she was suddenly seized by a desire to tell him something. “Thank you for catching me,” she breathed, meaning more than when she passed out downstairs.

Thankfully, he understood. “I’ll always be here to piece you back together, milaya.

I love you.”

She smiled, her heart full of love for this man. “I love you too.

And I promise to do the same for you.”

And with that, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

Val has indeed sung “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” although with some, ahem, amendments to the lyrics, in the film soundtrack of Top Secret!

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Milaya: dear, darling (there are other translations of this word, however)

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Solnishko: little sun

Zhizn moya: my life

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[discount-shades]

Sleepy Baby: Part 13

a/n: There are only going to be about 5 more parts to this story I think.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1200 ish

Summary: Meet the Parents

Previous          Masterlist         Next    

“I spy with my little eye something that is pokey.” You gaze out the window at the Arizona landscape enroute to some small town east of Dallas.

Jake fakes concentration while answering, “hmmm, is it a cactus?” Jake had moved into your house a few months ago, and you were driving to his home town to pick up some of his stuff that he had been keeping at his parents. It still feels fast but at the time you had been together for eight months and spent every evening together anyway. It did not make sense for Jake to continue to rent. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, “your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye something tall.” Jake says with a grin glancing at you. 

“Cactus.” You say with confidence. “I spy something reddish.”

“A rock?” You nod at his response. “Ok, I spy something rocky.”

“Jaaaake!” you groan, “You have to come up with your own things to spy!”

“There is nothing to spy but cactus, sagebrush, and rocks.” You roll your eyes but he is right. You are eight hours into the trip and still have another hour until you reach the campsite you are spending the night at. 

“Ok, new game,” he says. “Would you rather fight fifty chicken sized alligators or one alligator sized chicken? 

You ponder his question for a moment before answering. “One giant chicken. All I would have to do is cut its head off,” you say with confidence. “It would flap around and get blood everywhere but I think if I had a machete I would win.”

“I am horrified with the violence inside you.” Jake says with mock disgust. “I wish I had known of your atrocious blood lust before I moved in.” 

“OH MY GOD!” you laugh, “you asked!”

“And I will always regret it,” he says solemnly to your giggles, “I'll never be able to look at you the same.” 

– – – 

The rest of the drive passed in contented silences, radio singalongs, and long discussions both serious and irreverent. Before you know it you are pulling up at a neat farm house a few miles outside of a small town. When Jake puts his pickup into park you feel the nerves that have been bubbling in your stomach rise to the top. You are nervous to meet Jake's parents.

Jake takes the hand that is not carrying your bags and gives it a reassuring squeeze, leading you up the walk. His mother comes running out of the house, wearing blue jeans, runners and a t-shirt. Her blond hair pulled into a ponytail.  “Oh my baby boy is home,” she dramatically rushes past you and throws her arms enthusiastically around Jake giving his noisy kisses on the cheek. You step back and eye Jake’s blush over his mothers head trying to get a read on his response. Your lips pressed together to hide any emotion you might have. Whatever you were expecting it wasn’t this. 

His mother turns to you, “Well aren’t you the sweetest thing!” Her accent is much thicker than you expected, you say a polite hello and introduce yourself. “Well my name is Tammy and my husband George and I raised this young man here,” she says, pinching Jake's cheek causing his face to redden further. 

She turns and leads you into the house, “Now I have you set up to sleep in Julia’s old bedroom,” she says to you. “I can’t have an unmarried couple doing the devil's tango under my roof.” You feel heat flood your face and stare wide eyed at Jake.

“I didn’t mention that?” he asks quietly at your expression.

“No!” you whisper back before turning to Tammy, “That will work fine.” Tammy directs Jake to take the bags upstairs and ushers you into the kitchen and gives you a glass of lemonade. 

“Now I hope you understand, I want there to be no horizontal refreshments happening here.” Tammy continues as you choke on your drink.

You manage a hoarse, “Ok,” between coughs. 

Tammy tuts as she bustles around the kitchen placing a tray of cookies and fruit in front of you. “I don’t know what kind of mattress testing you get up to in California, but under my roof you will not be wiggling the toothpick.” You nod mutely and feel as if your face is about to catch fire. “And there will be no rolling in the hay either when you go riding next door either!” she shakes a spoon at you as she gives the lemonade another stir before filling more glasses.

A noise announces the arrival of a man who can only be Jake’s father, George. They have the same eyes and face but George's greying hair was originally brown. “You must be Jake’s girlfriend," he says kindly and pulls you into a hug before leaning back to look at you. He takes in the embarrassed look on your face and sighs. 

“Tammy, I told you to stop with your anti-sex hazing!” 

Tammy groans and immediately drops the elaborate accent, shifting to one that matches Jake’s. “Dammit you ruined it! I almost made it to six different ways to describe sex!”

You are glancing back and forth between the two of them confused. “What?”

George sighs, “Tammy likes to greet all of our childrens partners with an elaborate ‘no sex while you are here talk,’” he explains. “You’ll be sleeping in Jake’s room, just ignore everything she said.” He scratches his head in embarrassment. “I do have to say the walls here are incredibly thin and I am a very light sleeper so please be very quiet whatever you do.”

“I sleep like the dead,” Tammy chimes in with a smile, “I won't hear anything, so scream and moan away!”

You groan and rest your blazing face on the cool granite countertop listening to Tammy’s laughter, George sits beside you pats your back in commiseration. “Did Jake know you were going to do this to me?” you say in a muffled voice. “Is that why he ran off?”

“I did,” Jake sounds sheepish as he walks into the room and you raise your head to glare. “In my defense I laughed so hard at Jules’ husband when Mom did it to him that Julia threatened to say something I will not repeat if I didn’t let my mother do it to the next woman I brought home.”

“You sold me out!” you say in outrage. “Either you tell me that secret or Julia will, I deserve to know for the suffering you put me through.”

“Deal,” Jake readily agrees. “I need to limit the amount of blackmail Julia has on me to use on you.”

“Oooh,” Tammy pipes in, “tell me too!”

“That will never happen.” Jake declares. 

After your embarrassing introduction the rest of the evening of getting to know Jake’s parents goes smoothly. They are welcoming and so incredibly kind it’s almost overwhelming. When you eventually head to bed Tammy sends you a wink, “remember I sleep like the dead,” and heat floods your face and you can see Jake’s face go lobster red. 

Jake's childhood bedroom had been remodeled into a guest room and you are disappointed to not get a look into the life of teenage Jake. “Trust me,” Jake says, “it’s for the best.” 

It’s nice to go through your evening routine beside Jake and the two of you are soon snuggled into bed. Despite Tammy’s encouragement, it’s George’s advice that wins out and after a few kisses, you drift off to sleep with Jake’s chest pressed against your back. 

[gildy-locks]

May 4 | Prompt word: hopeless | Word count: 896 @rosekillermicrofic CW: murder, blood, sacrifices, paganism

It was hopeless. Barty was destined to be alone.

He stared at the body, a horrible blue coating its skin.

He had added everything to the spell,

Even a lover’s rose as the spell specified.

“He isn’t coming back.” Regulus had told him. Barty refused to believe it.

“He’s dead.” Dorcas had told him. He dismissed them.

“I’ve got the body!” A voice rang out, his savior. The only one who believed in him. He laughed as Pandora walked in dragging a man, who was struggling wildly, in her arms.

Barty frowned. What a shame the man wasn’t hot. He almost felt bad.

“What’s the man for?” He asked staring at the young man, his hair already graying.

Pandora smiled and threw the man on the couch, “I found a new one. A ritual.”

He raised an eyebrow but let her speak as she explained it. He hardly needed it as he took her outside to the woods behind the house.

She took out her bag, and dug through pulling out a book. He recognized it quite easily. The Book Of The Dead, or as she called it.

She waved it in front of his face, as if proud of her possession.

She grabbed something and drew on the clearing, a pentagram. They were calling upon the devil he guessed. She lit candles along each side, watching in awe as she did so. In a practiced technique.

“Three stages,” Pandora told him, Barty wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or the man, “we invoke the hounds,

‘Hounds of Heaven, Hounds of Hell, Hounds of Earth, Guardians of the Door, we summon thee to help us resurrect the fallen son.”

Barty took his cue and watched Evan on the ground, his darling, his lover on the ground, “No si vocare te. No si vocare te. No si vocare te. No si vocare te.”

Pandora became silent, giving him a small smile when barking surrounded him. He wasn’t scared easily but that freaked him out. He kept his eyes glued on Evan. They’d save him, they’d have to.

She gave him a small look before continuing with the next stage, “We bow before the Door that divides the World of the Living from the World of the Dead. With humble gratitude, we ask that it be opened.”

“Aperi ianuam. Aperi ianuam. Aperi ianuam. Aperi ianuam.” He chanted in response.

The candles blew out then, and he was fully freaked out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to continue but if the doors were open then he thought he’d have to.

Pandora grabbed the man, along with a large knife and smiled as she blew a kiss into his hair. Barty laughed. How he wished he had done that to Evan before hand.

“Unholiest of Spirits, we offer thee a life for a life! O mighty Dark Lord. . By whom all is set afire, thy power be thy path, thy will my desire.” Pandora paused, smirked down at the man and whispered, “shouldn’t have raped your daughter” before slicing the knife through the man’s neck. Barty winced as he saw the unworthy blood spill onto Evan’s beautiful body.

Pandora watched for a second before calming herself again.

“The Hounds invoked. The Door opened. The price paid in blood. Evan Rosier, we entreat thee. Rise. Rise. Rise!”

Barty watched as Pandora put on a timer, “Thirteen hours.”

“Let’s bury this mother fucker, huh?”

“Did it work?” Barty ignored the suggestion, staring at Evan’s body, “I don’t think I could- ‘Dora, I need him.”

Pandora gave him a sympathetic look before shrugging, “thirteen hours. Check again. Barty I miss my brother too. You aren’t the only one. But right now we have a dead guy on our hands.”

Barty shook his head and watched Evan, “I’m staying here. I want to be here when he… when he wakes up.”

Pandora nodded and sighed before tracking off deeper into the forest, “just sleep, will you?”

Barty didn’t respond as he stared at Evan, “we’ll bring you back my love.” He whispered, “you’ll be safe, my Rose.”

~

The ground shifted. Or that could’ve been an illusion. Barty didn’t care, dread filled his body as he gazed at Evan’s corpse. But it wasn’t as blue. His heart jumped as he stared at it. “Evan? Ev, baby are you-“

A large gasp went through Evan as he looked up at Barty. Eyes wide, fear pooling in them. “B-“ he clutched his throat, surprised at his own voice. And Barty threw himself at Evan, how could he not as he clung onto Evan, “where was I?” He heard his Rose whisper, “where are we?”

Barty felt around Evan, he was real. He was actually real, “we’re in the forests. Evan come on, I have Pandora. Do you want to see your sister?”

He watched Evan’s light bright up for a second, staring at Barty, “I was dead.” He whispered keeping his eyes on the ground.

“For thirteen hours.” He nodded,”but you’re back now. Oh god how I love you.”

Evan smiled softly and shook his head, “I want to see Panda.” He whispered. Barty nodded and grabbed his hand.

It had worked. He wasn’t alone. He had Evan, he had Pandora, and he had Evan. He smiled at he turned to Evan who stayed quiet as he followed him. His rose was back.

[insomniumstella]

something in the orange

bucky x witch!reader 

summary: the pretty witch James met in Bucharest holds his heart. she’s been there ever since he regained his freedom, mending the soldier’s broken soul through tender loving, but if the aching suspicions deep in his bones are correct, she’ll soon become nothing more than a bittersweet memory. 

warnings: angst-ish fluff, memories of trauma, a lil’ sprinkle of nsfw — implied smut

word count: 1,615

author’s note: words we never said ☾ if you enjoy listening to music while reading, please play the song je te laisserai des mots. it captures the emotion behind this perfectly:( this is a link to a post about Bucky’s Bucharest apartment, which i used for both inspiration and visualization, and absolutely recommend reading

The little apartment is enveloped in the smell of chicken noodle soup when James steps through the door, dropping a bag of plums on the sofa. Though every window is blocked out with newspapers, the dying sun manages to flicker through the pages, casting an orange glow on the single room.

On her — the girl who inadvertently saved him.

She stands by the stove in nothing but his woolen sweater. It reaches her knees, and she pushes the sleeves up to her elbows at times to prevent the edges from broth stains. The otherwise silent atmosphere is saturated in delicate sounds of piano creeping out of her broken laptop, and as the soldier continues to observe her, a bittersweet wave of emotions drowns him. Brooklyn is no longer his home, she is.

“Hi.” James chuckles softly at the sight before him.

Ancient spells books and corked glass containers clutter the counter. Bundles of herbs, dried and fresh alike, float around her as she studies the open grimoire, waving her fingers in a circular motion to stir dinner.

“Hi, bun.” She mutters without paying him a glance, hastily reading the last bit of instructions for a healing potion. “Are you feeling better?”

The witch buries her nose in the crinkled pages often. The words that lay upon the paper are peculiar to James. Dragon’s blood, wormwood, lapis lazuli are several terms he stopped seeking to understand, focusing to unravel the boundaries of the relationship between them instead. Friends was the only label ever spoken, and yet somewhere along the way of the pair’s whirlwind journey, the edges of their connection became stained.

Almost a year ago, when James stumbled into a hidden coffee shop by accident, or fate, it was unmistakable she was merely a stranger, but then she shared her cinnamon bun because he only had enough money for a cup of tea, and their destinies blurred together. She shared again and again until it was two strange months later that she announced, “we’re friends, bun,” after James questioned the reason she’d always split the pastry. Suddenly, the days were brighter, and the nights not as lonely. The shoebox of an apartment turned warm. She spent many hours exploring the world, but James would find caramel bars on his refrigerator and fresh flowers on the counter, he’d light the candles she’d accidentally leave or read the loose pages that slipped out of her journals. If his kitchen was empty of food, she’d arrive at his place with a tote of ingredients to prepare a homemade meal. James never witnessed where she sleeps most nights, except she goes thrifting a bit too much and rarely pays for bus tickets, sneaking in when the conductor isn’t looking. She has very little of her own, and she chooses to care for him in every way she’s able.

He doesn’t deserve it, he often thinks. Solitude was written in his future as a punishment for the crimes he committed. James earned to suffer in the constant chaos of his rotten mind, and he shouldn’t come home to a friend, whose cooking chicken noodle soup because the harsh Bucharest weather provoked a simple cold.

Friend. Trust was a word forgotten in his vocabulary, and she returned the meaning, melding the broken pieces of James Buchanan Barnes through tender love. Before the soldier could truly grasp the imprint she’d forever leave on his soul, he was subconsciously searching for her in the sunsets or the olden books in the city’s library, catching her in the morning’s dew or the bright stars. The diary, which stored his memories, adopted stories of her, and the single cup of coffee doubled. Gentle smiles painted over his usual frowns, and the metal arm abruptly became capable of affectionate touches.

She is not a friend, for the words he’s scared to say are I love you.

“As a matter of fact,” the soldier wraps his arms around her waist from behind before placing a tender kiss on her cheek, “yes.”

The girl melts into his embrace. While she’s a resident of the world, escaping to faraway locations when the circumstances twist sour, Bucky’s embrace is the only place in which she could ever sincerely find safety.

“Good,” she grins, turning around to capture his lips. The kiss is brief, and before James could steal another, she’s clutching a glass vial to push it into his hands. “The potion has cinnamon and ginger to relieve the cold and is infused with moonstone to banish anxiety.”

The weight of her statement rests in his stare, “anxiety?”

Caressing Bucky’s biceps through his red henley, she grimaces at the tinges of betrayal in his tone. “I promised to stay out of your head,” she begins, tracing his rigid chest muscles, “and a promise is sacred,” especially the kind a witch would grant to a former assassin, “but I can sense the anguish that plagues you without hearing, or seeing it, in the first place.”

“Oh,” James sighs, and the rest of the sentence seems to die on his tongue.

It was a foolish mistake to imagine the girl could possibly miss the wrenching concern at the pit of his stomach. James attempted to bury it, but for the last three weeks, the sorrow was evidently carved in his stiff expressions and nervous glances. She continued to revel in the pleasure of his touch, but it no longer resembled peace, tarnished with an unspoken goodbye.

And perhaps, it is. Suspicions of The Winter Soldier’s potential attacks flicker in the air as a harsh reminder — he’s a complex affair in her heart solely because the perception of James as a mindless killer remains unchanged in the eyes of others. Someone seeks to find him, whether it be the government or Steve.

“Sit,” she urges, maneuvering to locate a set of ceramic bowls.

The table bears a cheap bottle of red and two clashing glasses she thrifted. A Nokia lies atop a pack of cigarettes, and James hastily shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. It’s not the scent of tobacco on her clothing that drives him insane, but rather the scent of cinnamon underneath it, which he cannot entirely reach. She sprinkles cinnamon on coffees or oatmeal, and into the bread she makes once every blue moon. Cinnamon envelopes James in a warm hug every time the soldier smells it, and it’s frustrating how easily tobacco seems to overpower the spice.

“Did I leave the door unlocked again?” Bucky questions, messing with the wax on an empty wine bottle before he decides to ignite the candle, situated inside, using y/n’s pink lighter.

A moment of stillness settles upon the couple, and when she speaks, her voice is a lot more gentle. “On the contrary, I used alohomora,” she bites the inside of her cheek, unsure if she should say the words swirling around in her mind, “you’re healing, Buck. Sometimes the pain may distract us from miscellaneous tasks.”

Pain is the single steady matter in his prolonged lifetime. It left a gaping hole in his heart and a rooted crack in his soul without remedies to cure it. At least she silences the constant buzzing in his ears the gruesome memories bring forward and patches up the endlessly crimson wounds. Some days, James is barely a man, and yet his rain never smothers the fire within her.

“Alohomora?”

“Mmmh,” she hums, mouth entirely full of soup. It’s when she swallows does y/n genuinely answers, “alohomora is a spell in Harry Potter to pick locks.”

“Does it work in our reality?” James asks, bringing a spoonful of steaming broth to his lips. The taste is nostalgic and comforting, and it makes him briefly reminisce of every time his mom or sister would cook a chicken noodle dinner from a can.

“No,” she shakes her head and reaches for the bottle to graze his glass, “but a bobby pin does.”

“Thank you,” James chuckles as his eyes soften, “for the soup, and the potion, and—“

“Stop,” she settles on his lap, the bowl of food forgotten. “I nurture you not out of pity but rather because in you, I see myself.” A corner of her mouth quirks up into a meager smile, one James seems powerless to understand. “I was eighteen, alone, and purple with bruises the human eye cannot see.” The witch’s tone is sprightly, but the tremble in her voice unveils the bitterness of the memory. “All I craved was for someone to offer me a touch of kindness, and just maybe, a hand to hold. People help the people,” she remarks, stroking a faded scar above his eyebrow, “you shall not express gratitude for such simple actions.”

Traitor. The gravity of the word claws at his bones. James needs to speak of the burdens and of the fears tormenting his head. She would always be a temporary destination in his peculiar journey. It was etched into the stars above. The universe bestowed an angel upon evil, proposing a restrained offer set to soon expire.

James Barnes is a coward, he decides, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss instead of confessing. Clutching her hips, the soldier brings the woman closer, tracing the curves of her body to store it deep within his consciousness. She straddles him, tangling her elegant fingers in his chestnut hair.

“I like to express my gratitude,” James whispers into the crook of her neck before kissing the delicate skin, “you’re too good to me, plum.”

And when she grinds on The Winter Soldier’s hardened length, savoring the roughness of his denim jeans against her thinly covered cunt and bare thighs, she doesn’t particularly care enough to argue.

[macsimagines]

vampire kisaki🙊

This one is soooo good I think I got a little carried away

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, BLOOD DRINKING, KIDNAPPING, NON-CON BITING?

Yandere!Vampire Kisaki Tetta

He is not an ancient vampire whos history can be tracked back to great vampires of old. He was not turned by a sire revered and worthy of a title that would be remember throughout the ages.

Kisaki Tetta is smart, however. Ingenious. He disposed of the worthless Vampire that had turned him, Osanai was only useful for that one thing, and took over his weak and useless coven and made it into the power house it was today.

Over the simple course of a decade he had managed to become one of the most powerful Vampires in the underground and was still slowly rising to the top.

He had it all except for... you. The pretty girl that had offered him her blood. You knew about the underground world, knew that clean blood was worth a pretty penny so you sold yours by the bag to vampires and then saw Kisaki... A young newly turned Vampire that wouldn't last long in a survival of the fittest world.

Or so you had thought. Still you took pity on him, rolling up your sleeve and offering him you wrist. "Here, free of charge. Just don't take too much ok?"

Kisaki only allowed himself a sip, but your blood was the greatest he's ever tasted. He's had gallons over the years, from some of the strongest of men to the most beautiful of women and even the purest virgins, but your blood, his first taste, was worth more than gold to him.

From then on Kisaki would covet your blood for himself, he'd gain power and pay any price to drink you straight from your perfect veins.

"Te-tetta! N-not to much!" you whimper out as he takes your blood from your neck, always your neck never wanting to drink it from the bag. "So good~ Tastes so good, Y/N."

One day you try to quit selling your apparent top dollar plasma, but that doesn't exactly go as plan when, in response to your refusal to let him have your DNA he goes and kidnaps you.

Now you're the most cared for livestock in all the world. Kept in a golden room filled with every possible luxury, feed only the best cuisine made from the finest ingredients. Kisaki had to keep his precious blood cow healthy and happy afterall.

[mewhenimanangel]

moon river, miles morales x reader

pairing: earth 42! miles morales x spider!reader

synopsis: you clean out miles’ room taking anything you could with you. you stumbled across a picture of the two of you when you were younger and your heart filled with rage

wc: 2.7k

warnings!: swearing, violence, slight gory details

nia’s ౨ৎ notes: the end! this story idea came to me when i was non stop day dreaming and creating scenarios in my head so i decided to just write it down. i love it actually

prev ♱

it's been three days since miles' funeral and you've spent the nights wrapped up in his bed surrounded by things that were his.

during the day you've been visiting may to upgrade your suit and also help you learn how to use some new gadgets. you didn't tell her why you needed the suit upgrade or updated spider shooters that made your webs stronger, but she obliged. you were hurting about miles, bad. you had been skipping school to sneak into his bedroom.

you were currently in miles' bed in the purple hoodie he always wore, your teddy bear and his favorite hello kitty plushie of yours in hand. you had tears running down your cheeks as you looked through the videos and pictures you'd taken together. suddenly, his mom knocked and came into the room "ohh cariño, i miss him too." she said sitting next to you, rubbing your back.

"tell you what? how about you take some of his things? keep them for yourself?" she offered. you furrowed your eyebrows "but won't you want anything to keep?" "ahh no te preocupes por eso cariño, i already ran through here, you should see my room" she chuckled. "are you sure?" you asked, wiping your tears. "i'm sure." she smiled placing a hand on your knee.

you left her house with a garbage bag full of his things. clothes, cologne, the pictures he kept around his room of the two of you, you searched thoroughly around his room for any more of his prowler gear to take, you even got the secret stuffed rabbit he hid under his bed.

when you got home and in your room, you began putting his things all around your room. you sat on on the bed, hot tears stinging your eyes as you stared at a polaroid your mom took of you and miles when you were 10. he was on your back, an arm wrapped around your neck other hand holding an ice cream. you had one in your hand and you both had the biggest smiles on your face, in the middle of laughing.

your heart twisted with anger, the love of your life was taken from you. thanks to that oversized fucker, and you weren't just gonna let him get away with it.

you got up and opened the faulty ceiling tile in your bathroom, grabbing the prowler glove and shoving it in your bookbag along with your updated spider suit and shooters. you crawled out of your window and swung in the direction of a bus station.

you knew the lab that kingpin was rumored to frequent alot, having gone there for a field trip with your class. so you decided to start there, taking a bus to save your energy. when you got to hudson valley you moved up into the mountains using binoculars to stake out the place. you saw the familiar black bmw that kingpin would drive around in.

your blood was boiling, holding back tears as you quickly got dressed in your spider suit. the upgraded suit had relatively the same design but now the spider logo legs sprawled down across your body, your new web shooters strengthened your webs, and the best part about your new suit was that it could turn invisible - camouflage.

you grabbed the prowler glove and shoved it into seemingly nowhere, thank god for hammerspace.

you made your self invisible and crawled all around the walls of alchemax looking for a way to sneak in. you found a vent at the top and crawled through using your senses to find kingpin.

you heard his gravelly voice and peeked through the cracks of the vent. he was talking to some woman about some collider? "olivia i don't care! just go ahead with that damn project!" he shouted at the lady.

you tried to move down closer to the vent but instead you pressed to hard on it and it fell down. pin and olivia shot their heads in the direction of you hitting the ground, knocking some things off a table.

the woman grabbed some goggles from her table and looked around, spotting you on the floor. "ah we got little spider-girl here" she giggled. suddenly four octopus like machines appeared from her back. "you know i've always wanted to meet you, your powers are so interesting to me." she shot a mechanical arm at you, letting it squeeze around your body.

"i'm not here to fight you you damn squid" you scoffed, wriggling your way out it. you shot webs at her feet making her fall on her back. she recovered quickly, throwing you against the wall with one of her arms. "octopus, actually" she corrected you. you got up and tried turning invisible to sneak away but she caught you "might as well save that, i can see you" she chuckled going to grab you again. you quickly moved your hands out in front of you grabbing the tentacle, breaking it.

she growled and you swung out of her reach, jumping back down to throw her to the floor, her glasses fell off and you stomped at them breaking them. another arm shot at you, roughly throwing you down to the ground. you groaned before snapping back to the reality of the situation.

you looked around for a second now realizing that kingpin was no longer in the room. you swung through the doors of the building looking for any sign of that oaf. the alarms in the building were now going off, workers running out of the building. every now and then some worker would try to fight you, you quickly beating them down.

you snuck into the doors of the collider room, mouth agape at what you saw. olivia burst in the room behind you, throwing you down onto a desk. "olivia take care of that damn insect!" you heard kingpin say from the front of the room. "what's it look like i'm doing?!" she yelled out, giving you another blow.

when a tentacle was thrown at you, you grabbed it and then grabbed the other one she threw at you. you pulled her up into the air before throwing into a wall. you grabbed a nearby pipe and blow after blow you beat olivia with it. you reached down pulling her head up by her hair "i said i wasn't here to fight you" you growled throwing her head back down to the floor.

"yo pin, come on man you can't fight your own fucking battles or what?!" you screamed out, jumping at him, throwing a blow to his head. he grabbed you and slammed you down “i killed one spider, i can do it again” he whispered, throwing a punch to your face.

you sneakily grabbed the prowler glove, putting it on. you shot an air blast to his chest that threw him across the room. “took prowler’s little toy huh?” he coughed. you got up and swung the claws through his chest opening the wound he previously had, making him scream out. you shot explosives out of the glove directly at pin, one missing as it hit the wall instead. the room began to shake as pipes began to burst.

you didn't notice him grab his gun, shooting at your arm and your stomach somehow catching the same spot he stabbed a week ago. you cried out, the wound beginning to secrete blood, he was about to shoot again, aiming for your head but you flipped out of the way.

fueled by adrenaline, you growled throwing webs at his feet hanging him upside down before throwing him up against the glass. you jumped on him, legs wrapped around his neck, hitting him with the sharp knuckles of the glove. he wailed out as blood began rushing from his nose and his cheek. you shot another web, wrapping around his back swinging back down onto his back making him gag. you jumped on top of him, sinking the prowler claws into his chest making him wail out. you kept sinking it deeper and deeper inside him, twisting it like he had done to you. the brick of the roof began to crumble, rubble falling all around you

“i am going to watch you suffer and die just like you made me watch miles.” you growled, venom laced your voice. you got up quickly to grab a piece of rubble that was falling from the walls, lifting it into the air. “i am going to beat you bloody” just then some glowing orange and purple portal opened next to you and three people jumped out in spider suits.

“oy you cant kill ‘im mate” the tall one said running over to pull you off. “what who the fuck are you, let me go!” you screamed out trying to pull away from his grip. the other two people began tying pin up with their webs, hanging him in a spiderweb on the ceiling. “the police are coming and you can’t be seen here.” a feminine voice said from under the mask. “you gotta come with us” the other spoke, moving closer to the portal.

“you expect me to go in some fucking portal with three random cunts that just popped out of it.” you spat backing away from them. “listen we can explain on the way. either you stay here and get caught up with the police or you come where we can help you” the girl said, pointing to the blood that stained your suit. you thought about it for a minute before stepping into the portal after the three of them jumped in. the portal dropped you in some elevator that was going upside down. you looked out and saw what looked like a futuristic new york, flying cars, futurist buildings.

the three of them tugged off their masks. the tall one was revealed to be dark skin, piercings littered his dark skin. the other one had the side of her blonde head shaved, piercing on her eyebrow.

your heart felt like it stopped when the third one took his off. you saw familiar brown eyes staring back at you, gorgeous brown skin you haven’t seen in a week, the only difference was his air that was out in a curly afro. “miles?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. you fought to hold them back, not ready to cry in front of these people. it hit you like a train seeing that face. “yeah. b-but i’m not your miles.” he said, looking down. your eyebrows furrowed wondering what the hell that meant.

“we’ll explain everything when we get to miguel.” the girl said. “i’m gwen by the way.” she told you. “hobie” the tall one spoke reaching out a hand to dap you up. “i’m assuming you already know mine?” you asked to which they nodded.

the elevator doors opened and you saw an array of people scattered all across the building, all dressed in different spider suits. some walking right side up, some upside down, some on the walls. there were so many, you couldn’t even count. there was even a cat!

“welcome to spider society” miles said to you. “miguel actually started this whole thing two years ago after me and miles messed up the multiverse or whatever. all of these people are all spider-man, each belonging to their own universe. i’m from earth 65, hobie’s from 138, miles is from 1610, and you’re from 42” gwen explained to you leading the way to wherever she was taking you.

you groaned, injuries becoming apparent to you again. you tripped a bit before miles caught you “yeah we gotta get you to the infirmary” he said.

after about 10 minutes in the infirmary, you were bandaged and taken care of. gwen, hobie, and miles stayed outside to wait for you before taking you on a short tour throughout the building, and then to some dark and gloomy office.

a man, who you knew to be miguel was standing on a floating platform, it descending as slow as it possibly could. “is he?-“ “uh yeah just let him do his thing” miles chuckled.

the man came down off the platform, muscular body clad in a blue and orange spider suit. “what am i doing here?” you spoke up. he looked at you before turning away “you are here because you’ve proved yourself to be spider-girl.” he told you.

“LYLA, do the information explaining thing” he said, a small hologram appearing by his shoulders. “there are these things called cannon events and every cannon event is what holds the spider-verse together. it’s what makes spidermen, spidermen.” he said, going on to show and tell you about how every single one of them lost a loved one. you watched holograms appear of multiple spider people kneeling over a dying relative, last one ending with you kneeling over miles. he told you about his dead daughter and how he tried to redo everything by placing himself in another universe.

“we track cannon events using high technology, making sure everything is in order.” he said, making you furrow your eyebrows. “wait so you know when these things are gonna happen? when these people are gonna die? did you know that miles was gonna die?” you asked, fists clenching. miguel turned his head to the side, sorrowful expression on his face and nod his head.

“wait so you knew he was gonna die and you didn’t do anything?” you said, growing angry. “we couldn’t do anything, it was a cannon event, it was supposed to happen-“ you interrupted him “oh so you couldn’t do shit when miles was dying but when i attack kingpin now you wanna send your fucking people to stop me.” you spat. “that’s not how it works-“ he tried to explain, but you wouldn’t let him.

“nah you picking and choosing who gets to die because of some fucking code” you spat, the hologram on his shoulder getting upset. “you get to sit up here on your slow ass platform and play god? who put you in charge.” you growled, beginning to walk away. “listen, i created this to protect the multiverse, i am and have been protecting every world. i don’t play god, i keep things in order because if they’re not, worlds could begin falling apart. i brought you here because you are a good spider-man and we could use someone like you on the force” he explained.

“whatever, send me home.” you whispered. “listen” another voice interrupted miguel. “wait, listen just stick around for a day. if you really want to go home and never be apart of this, then we’ll send you home when the day’s over.” miles said resting a hand on your shoulder.

you agreed and the four of you were dismissed from miguel’s office until further notice. they were about to show you around when an older looking peter parker with a pink robe and a baby in his carrier walked up to you. “hey guys” he exclaimed, wrapping an arm around miles. the baby in his carrier shot a web at you and began crawling around your shoulders. “ah you must be y/n! you gonna join this little club?” he asked you. “not yet.” miles answered for you, giving you a small smile.

they showed you around, jumping through different universes to show you around. you visited their friend, pav’s, universe in mumbattan and hung around there for a while.

after about an hour, gwen and hobie had to report back to their own universes to deal with whatever crimes were happening there. leaving you and miles alone.

“hey, um you know i really think you should join” he said, arms awkwardly behind his back. “i saw the way you held your own there with kingpin and doc ock. you’re really good at what we do.” he complimented. “thanks” you mumbled smiling at him. “listen i know you have your doubts about this place, believe me i had them to at first. when i showed up here, uninvited by the way, miguel told me my dad was gonna die and i couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. so i forced my way back home and i ended up proving him wrong, but then again i am some sort of original anamoly so my universe kind of fixes itself.” he told you.

“i think you should stick around, these watches are pretty cool, you could literally go anywhere” he said, geeky smile on his face. “plus it’d be nice to have a new friend around here, you and me are a lot alike” he told you. “well for one we both got that whole invisible thing going on” he showed you, making himself fully invisible. “and who knows what other powers you could have if you stayed here and trained with us and grow as spider-girl!” he exclaimed.

“yeah, i guess you’re right” you whispered. “so you in?” he asked, hoping smile on his face as he extended his arm out to you. you thought before making your decision “i’m in.” you smiled, taking his hand.

taglist ʚɞ

@itsberrydreemurstuff @alecmores @darksidescorner @insomniafrog @gwennesy @randomhoex @fiannee @am-3-thyst @melanie456 @missussmorales @spritecactus @laiflower @catushi @chispita279 @spideys2cute @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic

[fluentmoviequoter]

I Put a Spell on You (And Now You're Mine)

Witchy Wednesday, October 4, 2023

Fic-tober Masterlist

Heart Set on Amulets Universe Masterlist

Summary: You, Dalton's witch friend, reveal that you put a spell on him. But not the one he thinks. (Takes place after Heart Set on Amulets but can be read alone.)

Warnings: witch-related content, brief mention of blood, Google translate Latin, fluff, a Green Lantern reference. 1.1k+ words

A/N: Let's pretend this gif goes with the story (past the line about him practically living in your apartment).I hope you enjoy! :)

“I’ve got the black candle and a match… the blade. What am I forgetting?” you mutter, running your finger along the weathered page of your spell book. “Conceals caster, I know. Oh, the containment charm!”

Once the containment charm is in place, you hold your breath and begin the cloaking flame ritual. To test it, you create a smaller version, hoping not to send your entire apartment up in a wide blast of spontaneous combustion.

“Flammam obumbrans, accendo te. Ignis ex sanguine genitus nullum relinquit hominem. Nunc deficiet in noctem. O ignis virtutis et occultationis. (Cloaking flame, I ignite you. The fire born from blood leaves behind no man. Now, vanish me into the night. O fire of power and concealment),” you call before throwing the lit flame into the bowl with the small black candle and several drops of blood. The bowl disappears in a small cloud of smoke, effectively concealed from the naked eye. You silently cheer, then hear a loud knock on your door. 

“In sium meu mut servat (in my pocket to keep),” you whisper, waving your hand over your ingredients to send them to a pocket dimension.

Someone calls your name just before you open the door, Chris and Dalton smiling on the other side. 

“Hey, can we hang out for a while?” Dalton asks.

“Of course. I have to leave for class in a little bit,” you answer, glancing at the clock.

“Me too,” Chris says as she walks in, dropping her bag by your table. “Thanks for letting us come over, it’s so much more peaceful than the dorm.”

Dalton closes the door behind him, smiling at you as he follows you in. The look he sends you makes your heart feel ready to combust; without the cloaking flame. You are aware of a distant feeling like you missed something or forgot to do something, but you brush it aside and join Chris and Dalton on the couch.

An hour later, Chris asks if she can come back after class, and you agree before she leaves. You pack your backpack, preparing to head out behind her.

“Well, guess I’ll go and be lonely in my dorm,” Dalton sulks, a faux pout on his face as he stands.

“You can stay here,” you offer quietly. “I’ll probably be back in less than an hour; my professor is really lazy.”

Dalton laughs before asking if you’re sure. He hugs you and kisses the crown of your head as he walks you to the door.

“Have a good day, sweetheart,” he says, smiling like he knows how much he’s affecting you.

“You too, handsome,” you whisper before walking away quickly, heat crawling up your neck.

As you sit in class and watch the lecture slides click by slowly, you continue to feel like you left something out, probably when you sent everything into the pocket dimension. Dalton knows you’re a witch and shouldn’t let anyone into the apartment, but the worry still gnaws at you. When your class is dismissed early, you fly (sans broom; you’re not that kind of witch) to your apartment. After failing to unlock the door several times, Dalton opens it with raised brows and a teasing smile. The kitchen and dining room are clean, and nothing unusual is visible as you walk through; maybe your anxiety was pointless.

“How was class?” Dalton asks, returning to your couch.

“Good,” you answer, shaking your head. “Sorry, I thought I left something out.”

Dalton nods, and you move to the kitchen, looking for a snack. 

“I don’t know much Latin but I’m pretty sure this means witches aren’t supposed to be as pretty as you,” Dalton says.

Looking over quickly, you see your spell book open across his lap. He’s looking up at you with far too much happiness.

“Very funny,” you deadpan. “What’s it say?”

“Caveant omnes, qui, colunt mala, potentiam meam,” he sounds out. (Now you understand why guys who speak foreign languages are considered more attractive.) At the sound of your laugh, Dalton asks, “What does it say?”

“Let all who worship evil’s might beware my power.”

“Wow. So, you’re a witch and a Green Lantern.”

“Maybe they’re the same,” you whisper conspiratorially.

Dalton chuckles before he goes back to reading. You continue to look through your kitchen until Dalton gasps loudly.

“What’d you find? The spontaneous combustion one?” you ask, peeking around the open cabinet door.

“No, I just thought of a question.” You nod for him to ask before he poses, “Which spell did you use on me?”

“Do you mean the protection spell or the immobilizing warding amulet?”

“Neither.” Dalton flips a few pages before reading, “Pathokinesis.”

Your eyes widen as you step out from behind the cabinet. “Wait, Dalton.”

“A love spell; I appreciate the English notes by the way. It was smart.”

“No, Dalton I would never-“

“It was unnecessary, though. I fell in love with you when you refused to talk to me on the sidewalk.”

Standing beside your dining room table and breathing heavily, you stare at Dalton.

“You scared me,” you point out, holding a hand over your heart. “I should manipulate your memories, so you forget about what you read.”

“No, I’m curious now. You’d never what?”

 You sigh and walk to stand in front of Dalton, looking down at him. “First, I would never use that spell on someone; it’s completely manipulative and I refuse to mess with people’s emotions and minds like that. Second, I would never put a spell on you without asking, or at least telling you.”

“That’s not true.”

You furrow your eyebrows, and Dalton smiles as he reaches for your waist, standing inches away.

“You said you put a protection spell and the amulet spell on me. I only knew about the amulet.”

“Oh. I- uh- sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dalton whispers, one of his hands raised to hold your cheek. “Tell me about it?”

You lean into his hand, missing his smile at the action, as you explain, “It was just a simple warding spell to keep you from harm. I whispered it over you when you left my apartment the first night.”

“When you almost clobbered me with a rock?” Dalton teases.

“Mmhmm,” you agree mindlessly, eyes closed as you relax in the proximity.

“Remember when you couldn’t even talk to me?”

“I do. But then you kept showing up and I figured, ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’”

Dalton laughs suddenly, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you steady when you jump. You look into his eyes and unconsciously smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“You put a spell on me,” he whispers, singing his version of the song.

“And now you’re mine?” you question.

“And now I’m yours,” he promises, bringing you as close as possible.

[writersblockedx]

The Side Effects of Curses

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary - While hunting a witch, Y/n gets a rather harmful curse placed on her. Slowly, the people around her begin to forget her existance - Dean is the last, and only, person who remembers, stopping at nothing to lift the curse. Warnings - ANGST, general violence, death Words - 4.1K

A/n - I don’t know what it is about me writing 4K fics full of angst, but here’s another one

Part Two / Visit my masterlist

Y/n had a certain hatred for witches. They were tricky creatures, always slipping through your fingers just before you were able to slice their throat. In this particular case, Y/n had been so close to get said blade at said throat, but a few utters of Latin and suddenly she was thrown across the room and, as always was the pattern, the wicked witch slipped right through her fingers.

In a blurred haze to figure out what was going on, the girl tried to pull herself up, soon feeling Dean crouching at her side. "Hey, are you alright?" He questioned, already inspecting her health: pressing his palm against her temples and scanning for any physical signs that she was hurt.

She nodded, though she still wasn't 100% sure in the fact. Her arms reached at her shirt sleeve, pulling in backwards to reveal a mark that the words of a Latin must have left her with. Both her and Dean were puzzled, glancing at one another. "Do you know what it means?" The boy lightly shook his head before pulling the girl up from the floor.

He kept one hand around her waist, her's around his shoulders, as they headed for the exit. Their timing had been perfect when they wandered onto the front porch to find the witch's blood on Sammy's hands and her limp body below him. "Everything alright?" Queried the younger brother.

Dean looked to Y/n to answer. "I don't know yet."

They stuffed into the impala that night, driving straight for Bobby's, while they continued to question the curious symbol that painted Y/n's wrist. Dean was too busy with his hands on the wheel to pick up a book, but Sam sat with his father's journal and Y/n with the laptop in her lap. It had been an hour; they had found nothing.

"Let me see the symbol again." Sam instructed and she followed, putting her arm over the leather of the front seats. The boy inspected in, referring to the drawing that was situated in the book, brows narrowed. When he was certain (and by that I mean, absolutely certain), he let out an, "Oh no."

One expression that had erupted panic over the historic car. "What?" Snapped Dean as his eyes darted between his brother and the road ahead.

Sam didn't look to his brother. Instead, his gaze found Y/n who was sitting doe-eyed in the back seat. He read over the words in the journal to, once again, be utterly sure in what was about to happen to the girl. "Be careful when gaining this curse from a witch. From the moment the spell is placed, the target will begin to be forgotten." He paused, eyes flickering between the book and Y/n. "To start with, those who are not well acquainted with the target, will forget they ever even existed. Photos of them and any written documentation that exit will soon begin to fade. Friends and the people closest are the last to remember them until it's as if they don't even exist at all."

It took a moment for the words to seep in. A long moment. "Okay, well that's enlightening." Y/n huffed as it hadn't just frightened her to her core just at the idea.

"How do we reverse it?" Dean asked.

There was anxiety in Dean's tone, which prompted a fast response from Sam as he read directly from the pages in front of him: "To reverse the spell, the witch of whom casted it must reverse it and create a protection bag for the target..." His words kept coming and it only made the stone in Y/n's chest heavier.

She pushed the laptop to the side, leaning over the seats, her elbows rested against the leather. "It say anything about if said witch happens to be dead already?" She questioned, hiding the terror that was sitting on her tongue.

Sam shook his head and that terror grew ten times. "Nothing."

"Then we'll find something." Dean objected.

The car was silent. They had weaved their way out of many things, but the timer was already running out and they had no idea what to do. "Dean-" Y/n had started her argument but the boy was already past listening.

"No. Bobby will have something. He always does." He assured.

While her brain ran with the thoughts of 'what if he didn't', she sat quietly in the back and waited until they returned to the hunter's home for the lost. The idea that people may already have forgotten her was beginning to infect her mind. Following that, was the idea of being completely alone, of having no one to hang onto. No more Sam or Dean, no more Bobby. Her future had been stripped away in an instant, and in it's place, was a lonely road she wasn't certain she was ready to walk down.

Dean pulled into Bobby's in record time, a pace in his step as the three of them rushed to the front door. He banged against the wood - sure to anger the older man at this time of night. "I'm beginning to think you boys needs a key." He grumbled, swinging the door open. He was about to open his mouth again. Then it shut and his gaze focused on Y/n. Oh no, she seemed to think. "Who's this?"

She couldn't speak in that moment. The timer was like quicksand - and Y/n was falling through it quick. Her eyes darted to Dean, begging silently for him to take this one. "Bobby, this is Y/n. You remember her right?"

As if a light had just been switched on in his head, realization faded over him. Then confusion. "What the hell do you do this time?" And like that, he turned and stormed back into his home, leaving the trio to follow behind him.

"It wasn't what we did, Bobby." Y/n started as they came into the kitchen, Sam going to the fridge for a beer. "For once anyway."

"One word," Sam started as he retracted from the fridge, bottle in hand. "Witch."

The girl screwed up her sleeve to showcase the symbol that now littered her skin. "People are going to slowly forget me. Obviously, some already have." She explained.

Sighing, Bobby took a seat at the kitchen table, Sam joining him. "Well, have you even looked at solutions?" He questioned.

"The witch needs to be alive to reverse the spell." Sam informed as he kept his eyes on the table.

"And which of you idgits killed her?"

Dean pushed himself from the counter he had been leaning against, unusually quiet. "It doesn't matter." He exhaled deeply, wandering into the study area as everyone's gaze followed him. "There has to be something in one of these many books that tells us how to fix this." Dean was certain of it. Because, if he wasn't so certain, then what else did he have to rely on?

Sam and Bobby shared a look. The sort of worrisome look Y/n wasn't supposed to catch when it happened. The one that silently said, they weren't sure she was going to get through this one. It made that terror grow like vines wrapping around her thoughts. "Then we should probably start reading." Y/n suggested.

Her and Dean took the couch, Bobby at his desk and Sam at the kitchen table. And they read. Dean researched like he never had before, breathing in every word. But there was a lack of anything related to this curse. The time was running out and they had yet to make any moves at all.

Y/n shut her book, the heaviness of the text causing a thud that sounded through the walls. "Maybe we should get some sleep." She suggested through an uncertain tone. "Fresh start in the morning."

They all stared back with blank expressions. It wasn't until Bobby huffed when the silence was finally broken, "They won't say it, so I will." He paused as he debated over the right words. "You do realise that if we sleep, we may not remember you when we wake up. I'll be honest, I have to keep reminding myself why I'm reading this. Not to mention, I can tell my memories are fading."

"So what? You want to stay up all night, staring at the same books and come to the same conclusion that the answer isn't here?" Bobby's library of books was big, but it wasn't everything. Sometimes they just had to figure another way out of things, find another book and find another expert on the subject.

"We can't do nothing." Dean stated through a stern expression.

She glanced over at him, his eyes sharing the same amount of terror that was bubbling in her stomach. "So you forget me, I'll probably work faster finding a way to reverse this alone anyway. And once I reverse this, everything will be back to normal. I'm sure you can last, what? A week at the most without me?" The thought of having Y/n completely wiped from their thoughts was daunting, but they trusted her enough as a hunter to get the job done.

Sam was the first to open up to the idea, "So we just go to sleep...hope when we wake up we still have some memory of you?"

She shrugged, "Unless you have any better ideas." Which none of them did.

Sam and Bobby gathered from the living room for the sleep they were truly craving. Her and Dean were more slow, as if wanting to savor this moment they knew he would forget. "If it's any consolation, I think this plan is terrible."

She smiled over at him as he towered over her. "It's the only plan we have."

"Doesn't make it any more bearable." He paused and for a moment they simply stared at one another - again, savoring this moment. "Just promise me you'll fix this curse? Even if it takes months, years. I can't lose you."

She took a slight step closer to him, her palms cupping his cheeks. "I promise." That moment lasted a second too long. Many words could have killed the empty silence. Many words Dean had been yearning for the courage to tell Y/n for far too long now. Alas, they settled in the silence until Y/n's hands dropped from his skin and they joined Sam and Bobby in the trip for sleep.

It wasn't a rarity for Y/n and Dean to share a bed. They had done it several times in the many dodgy motels they had once been forced to call home. And even shared the back seat many nights in the Impala. Sometimes it was simply due to practically - Sam being far too large to share a bed with. But, there were times, special times, where they shared the space of a bed for the need of comfort. And knowing by the time you woke, your best friend may have forgotten your entire existence, well that called for some comfort.

Both of them tucked beneath the sheets, they turned on their sides as to face one another. At first, they pretended to try and sleep - knowing it was no use. It didn't take long till Y/n plucked an eye open to catch a sight of Dean and see if he had fallen into his dreams yet. To her surprise, her eyes met his stare. "You watching me sleep?" Her hoarse voice said through the quiet rustling of the night.

His stare never dropped. "Trying to make sure I remember what you look like."

"Way to make it depressing." Dean didn't reply, but still never dared to tear his gaze away. Maybe he truly was trying to keep the image of her in the forefront of his mind. "Dean, I'm going to fix this, you know?" She seemed to have to remind him.

He struggled to find the words to respond. "I know." It was just that small what if that was running riot around his thoughts. What if there was no solution to this curse? What if Dean would forget about the girl he had been in love with for years now?

"Hey," She spoke when Dean looked as if he were falling down that hole again. Her hand reached over his own, beginning to draw circles against his skin. "We've beaten worse than a curse." She reminded him before leaning up in the bed to press a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead. "I'll see you in the morning, Dean." Y/n said as she returned back.

"Night." He flashed a smile that he had barely been able to produce.

She let her eyes drop first. Dean waited. He waited as long as his sleep-deprived brain would let him. Until finally, in the midst of the night, he dropped to sleep. Her hand still tangled with his and the two still facing one another. Maybe by morning, Dean would assume he had drank too much the night before and the beautiful girl in his bed had been the consequence of said drinking. Or maybe, as he preyed, he'd wake up and remember every effect the girl had on him.

Y/n didn't know whether to be pleased or terrified that she was the first awake. She'd lingered between the sheets for a moment too long. She watched Dean and wondered if he might stir awake. Alas, he sat stable, sleeping like a baby. So she dragged herself from bed and wandered down stairs for some food.

She was halfway through frying an egg when a familiar set of steps followed through. At first, Y/n wasn't sure what to do. But she figured everything would be fine. "Who the hell are you!"

Y/n gasped at first, holding in her squeal as she faced the barrel of Sam's gun. When she didn't answer, he flicked the gun around as if reminding her of the threat. "Sam-"

"Bobby!"

Another set of steps followed. Shit. "You really just got to hear me out on this one."

Sam scoffed, "Uhuh, start talking then." He demanded.

It was then Bobby came to join the party, "Sam, what the hell-" The man stopped in his tracks. Within half a second, his gun was too pulled on her.

"I can explain." She flashed a grin she hoped might win them over; it didn't. So she resulted to her next option. "Dean!" She yelled. There was a bit of hope that maybe Dean hadn't joined the other two in forgetting her completely yet. So maybe he might just be able to save her from this interaction.

"Oh," Sam said as if in sudden realisation. "You're here with Dean."

The thought of what Sam was insinuating made Y/n shake her head, and in the spur of the moment she blurted out, "No!" Which, if she were to deny that, it still left the question as to what she was doing here. So, she decided to go with it. "I mean, yes. I'm here with Dean."

Sam huffed and put his gun away, Bobby following as the oldest Winchester finally joined them in the kitchen - far too tired for any of this. "Next time any of you wake me up before I would like to, someones going to get hit." He stopped completely when he realised everyone was staring at him.

Y/n stared at Dean as if she had suddenly become mesmerised by him. She was waiting for the pin to drop. To know whether the boy in front of her would be the one to remember. "Dean," She called to him as to bring his attention to her.

As if in an instant, it all came flooding back. "Y/n." His expression turned worrisome once more, wanting nothing more than to just reach out and protect her from this curse that had her memory doomed.

"Oh, so she has a name?" Sam taunted his brother with a certain light-heartedness that made Y/n feel as if she were suffocating. The boy started walking back, patting Dean on his shoulder as he passed and whispering to him: "I'm proud of you. You don't normally remember their names."

"Shut up, Sam." The older boy huffed before he and Bobby left the kitchen to let the pair talk things out. While they were under the belief this was an awkward interaction after a one-night-stand, they could never remember the severity of the situation.

Once they exited, Y/n couldn't help but crash into Dean, his arms seeming to wrap around her like a layer of bubble wrap. She pulled away and asked one simple question: "What do we do?"

Dean hadn't thought this far ahead. His thoughts had been flooding over the idea that he may not remember the girl in front of him. And now that he did, he was struggling to move forward. "Library. Could be something there, in the archives maybe." He suggested.

Y/n wasn't convinced. "And do what? We couldn't find anything in Bobby's books, I doubt they'll be anything in the library."

"So we just sit and wait until the curse reaches my brain too?" He argued with aggression in laced his tone.

She shook her head, "I'm not saying that." She paused and watched Dean's expression carefully. He was a protective one, who would stop at nothing to make sure her, Sam, Bobby and anyone else he had ties to were safe. "Why don't we get some food?"

"Yeah, we can fit that in between getting your hair done and a trip to the mall." He mocked as if her idea had been one of a joke. "We don't know how long it'll be until I forget you completely."

"That's my point, Dean." She took a step closer, easing her palms around his cheeks. In a wave, the boy seemed to calm, that fury that once settled in his pupils seeming to dissipate. "Like we said last night, once you forget, I've got to figure this out on my own. We don't know how long that will take, weeks, months, years maybe. So I'd like to enjoy what time we have left together." She paused for a moment. "Please." She added with her wide, puppy dog eyes.

"Fine."

And so they dressed for the day, got in the Impala and drove to the nearest diner for their last supper.

Eating greasy food in a cheap diner was a normality for the pair. But as they were served their hamburgers and fries, it seemed like it would take an army for them to begin eating. Y/n picked up the bun, yet, before she took a bite, she glanced to the boy beside her in the booth. "Dean," She said through uncertain teeth.

He turned to her, "What is it?" His voice entwined with worry.

Her breath was shaking as she put the burger back to plate. "I'm going to miss you." She finally spat out as if the words had been waiting on the tip of her tongue. "I know maybe that's stupid to say, but-"

"You'll figure it out." He cut her off. "Because if you don't, I'll kill you." The words brought light smiles to both their faces, hiding the terror that still plagued them.

She nodded as the space between them began to close. So much so, she only had to speak in a whisper. "I know you will." And like that, Dean couldn't help himself. Maybe it was the emotions that overwhelmed him, but before he knew it, he was leaning into her lips to savour his first and (possibly) final kiss with the girl he adored.

When Dean pulled away, he certainly hadn't expected to meet Y/n's teary pupils. She stared at him for a moment longer, wishing they could stay in this booth forever and never have to worry about this stupid curse. "We should probably get going." She suggested, forcing a grin to her lips as if that was going to hide her glossy eyes - it didn't.

Dean nodded, surprisingly not putting up any argument like he had been doing for the past 24 hours. "Okay."

Y/n shuffled out of the booth, "I'm just going to the toilet." She informed him.

"Looks like I'm stuck paying the bill then." He joked.

She raised her brows, "Looks that way yeah." And with that, she left the boy.

She should have known. She should have known that when she wasn't right in front of Dean, then there was no reminder of herself. And that was a risk with the curse that plagued her skin. She should have known not to take that risk. But it all came crashing over her once she exited the toilets.

Her best friend (whom she had just shared a kiss with) was paying his bill, leaning close to the blonde waitress and batting his lashes with the familiar puppy dog eyes Y/n knew all too well. She was at a complete standstill. She couldn't move. Her gut had dropped and, even though she saw this coming, it didn't stop the pain that stung her.

"See you soon I hope." Gleamed the overly eager waitress as Dean winked and gathered himself from the booth.

He flashed his goodbye smile, tucked his wallet into his back pocket and left the diner - unaware of what he had forgotten. Y/n stood in the same spot. She didn't move. She just watched as the boy seamlessly entered the Impala and drove home. Just like that, she was on her own until she found a cure on getting her memory back.

---

Even the promise Y/n had made to Dean, assuring him she would never stop looking for a way to end this curse, hadn't stopped her. The first year had been the hardest. She found herself in denial, repeating to herself that they had gotten so far and never not had a remedy for something. Now, almost four years later, she had come to accept it, come to accept her new life. While it was a life she lived completely alone - it was life.

She still hunted. I mean, it seemed to be the only job she could do. With no one able to remember who she was, it wasn't as if she would be able to keep a 9 to 5. So, she got her own car, took her own cases, made her own fake FBI badges and killed all by herself. Of course, she still thought about the brothers, wondered whether they ever questioned the empty space in the pictures. But it was mainly the dull ache in her bones that missed them both deeply.

"If you happen to remember anything, no matter how weird, just give me a ring." Y/n flashed a smile to the vic's wife, passing over her face FBI business card.

The sensitive women nodded and took it gratefully. "Thank you." She responded before walking away.

Y/n planned to leave then. But, when she turned, she faced the sheriff. "Got two of your partners as well." He said.

The girl peeked her head over his shoulders, catching the familiar shaggy long hair. The only reason she could see Sam was due to his rather excessive height. And while she knew Dean was likely standing next to him, their eyes didn't meet until the sheriff budged to the side. She was, once again, at a standstill. They, on the other hand, were nervous that they were about to get caught. "Agent," Said Sam as a way of greeting.

She shook her head as a way to bring herself back to the moment. She glanced to the sheriff first, "Would you excuse us?" He nodded and wandered off to complete some police duties.

It was then the brothers were convinced they had in fact been caught. So it came as quite a surprise when she said: "I know you're hunters."

Dean looked to his younger brother before he began to force out a laugh. "What? Hunter?" He giggled as if she had just made a joke. "No idea what you're talking about."

Y/n's eyes rolled before she pulled back her blazer a tad: showcasing the demon knife she still possessed. "And you are?" Asked Sam with one quirked brow.

"Y/n." There was no recognition in either of their eyes. And honestly, to face that had been more painful than anything in then last years she'd spent alone.

"How come we've never heard of you, Y/n?" Dean questioned as if it were an interrogation like she weren't to be trusted.

Another wave of pain hit her. So hard she thought one of them may note the tears that were building up behind her pupils. But she pushed it as far down as she was able and pretended as if the two people in front of her weren't once the closest thing she had to family. "Suppose I'm just not that rememberable."

–

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