#freaky500wc

[capsized-heart]

Little Lamb

Pairing: vampire!Wanda Maximoff x Reader, incubus!Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: Your simple life in the Sokovian countryside is no more. The events of a single night disrupt the natural order of your world. God is silent. He always is.

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: (oh boy..) violence, blood, gore, sacrilegious imagery, explicit smut 

A/N: This is my entry for @thewritingdoll​‘s freaky500 writing challenge! Congrats on 500 followers! <3 I wish I could have finished this before yesterday’s deadline, especially before Halloween since this shit is so dark aha 

I had a lot of fun with this! I honestly wish I could have done more bc I could write about Wanda and Quentin forever..I feel like I had to restrain myself a bit. I really like how both Wanda and Quentin can see someone’s deepest fears and thought that dynamic would be really cool for an au. 

I was also inspired to write this after seeing this beautiful moodboard by @tohomorii​...you honestly killed it with that Wanda vampire aesthetic. 

using the quote prompt, “He’s covered in blood again. Why is it he’s always covered in blood?” -harry potter and the half blood prince

Sokovia, 17th century.

Dawn breaks with rosy hues and warm, vibrant gold. The soft, streaky clouds of early autumn float lazily by, stippling the sky with pinks and baby blues. Your eyes follow a flock of blackbirds as they flicker across a patch of sunlit horizon in a melodious chortle, climbing and climbing beyond to lofty heavens. You smile.

Your purse jingles with the sound of newfound coin. You’ve had a productive morning at market, having left your family homestead yesterday afternoon for the day’s ride. You’d sold your stock of bread and eggs to Ms. Ryba, homemade jams to old Dmitri, trading your other goods for the groceries mother had asked of you. As a surprise, you’d also purchased a small leatherbound book for your papa, a new piece of stitching work and silks for mama. Gifts carefully wrapped in linen and secured in your saddlebag, a small bit of happiness glowing in the crook of your ribs. Your heart feels full. You finger the crucifix around your neck.

Times have been hard for you and your family. This summer’s harvest had been exceptionally low with heat and droughts. Money has never been a luxury and you’ve been broken with the disciplines of how to bargain hard, conserve, safeguard, and how to put the needs of your parents before your own. 

These gifts will bring favor and approval to their eyes. A godly daughter. Honor thy father and thy mother.  

You tilt your face upwards to the flushed morning, relish the fresh breeze tickling your skin and murmur a quick prayer of thanks.

O God, who hast folded back the mantle of the night to clothe us in the golden glory of the day, chase from our hearts all gloomy thoughts, and make us glad with the brightness of hope, that we may effectively aspire to unwon virtues, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

You ride atop Iryna, your family’s tender Carpathian pony now weighed down with your spoils, and watch the fields of your homeland ripple in red and honey light. Even Iryna seems to sense your good mood as her head bobs with her quick gait. You balance a basket of apples in your lap, a reward that you had purchased for her (and for yourself) after a long day’s journey.

This is a safe country, not at all uncommon for young peasant girls to ride to market alone. Broad plains and cut mountains, you’d passed your closest neighbors about ten miles back, welcome solitude on each homestead.

You like to spend your time on these rides daydreaming of riding in a royal procession as princess, or as cavalry returning from battle abroad. How you would be welcomed back home to your kingdom!

Smoke curls from your cottage chimney as the edge of your family’s property comes into view. You squeeze your heels against Iryna in encouragement and she trots faster, the promise of a waiting breakfast and the smiles of your mother and father urging you forward. 

The smell of hay and manure greets you as you lead Iryna into the barn. You adjust your skirts, woolen tunic, riding cloak, and wimplet before dismounting, careful not to catch anything on your saddle or packages. You slide off Iryna’s bridle and feed her an apple, rubbing soothing circles into her neck as she devours the fruit, snorting happily. 

You give her fresh feed, change her water, quickly removing your tack and supplies and turn her out into the pasture, whispering a promise to give her a thorough brushing later. She gallops away with a swish of her tail. With your arms full of supplies and balancing your bushel of apples, you kick through dust and dirt and enter your cottage.

You’re about to call out to your mama when your voice stops in your throat. The nauseating stench of rot fills your nose, familiar and ominous, like when papa slaughters the chickens for winter stock. Only this time it’s inside your home. 

Your arms go limp and your packages fall to the floor in a muffled thud of wrapped paper. Apples bounce, scatter, rolling through soot and blood. 

Your father lies crumpled, his strong body disfigured in a tangle of limbs. His skull has been crushed into a crown of grey matter and gore, leaking like tears down the planes of his face. His eyes and mouth hang open in a frozen, silent scream, twisted skyward in agony. Protectively draped over your mother in his final moments. 

Your mother is spread-eagled with her throat slit open and her veil stuffed into her mouth, rosary beads crudely circled tight around her wrists in manacles. Her skirts have been torn, bunched around her thighs and you see violet bruises in the shape of hands.

You stumble to the hearth and wretch up bile and water. You heave, vomit, tears stinging your eyes and mucus dribbling down your chin until there is nothing left in your stomach but a wriggling pit of nerves. You can’t breathe, can’t think. Strength evaporates from your body and you sink in front of the cooling embers of the fireplace.

You look to the bodies of your parents. You don’t bother trying to feel for a pulse. You are numb.

You stay beside them until the light outside turns bleak and grey, until your legs ache from kneeling on hard wooden floor for countless hours. Slowly, finally, you wipe your mouth, lift yourself up. 

You find the scythe used to harvest wheat. It feels good and heavy in your hands, makes you feel strong. You make rounds to the rest of the property with it tight in your grip.

Your homestead has been completely ransacked. What livestock that hasn’t been stolen lies dead, slain and swarmed by flies. You’re left with one cow, six chickens, two goats, and Iryna. 

You salvage whatever raw materials you can. You return the scythe back to the shed, unused, the sharp, pristine metal gleaming a cool blue. Part of you had hoped that the intruders still lurked about. Maybe then you could have descended upon them with all the silent wrath of Jael, as she had killed Sisera. 

You whistle a low blast. Iryna trots over to you, nuzzles your hand for another treat. It makes you smile and fresh tears to drip down your cheeks. You wonder if she can sense anything awry, sense that your entire world has been violently turned on its head. You don’t think you’ll ever crave apples again. 

They’ll only taste of sin. 

**

It takes you well into the night to dig two deep holes. The ground is frigid with frost and your breath clouds, fogging the air as you work the soil in an eerie echo of familiar, mundane times. Instead of the sun, the moon guides your hand. Instead of toiling the fields to lay in crops, you prepare the graves of your mother and father. 

Sweat slicks your skin, dirt streaking down your neck and arms. The moon has dipped below the hillside when you finish, plunging you in complete darkness. You thrust the spade into the ground.   

You are not strong enough to carry the bodies of your parents. You will have to tie them to Iryna and bring them here to the fields. But you cannot tonight with the last of the moonlight gone.

And tomorrow is the day of the Sabbath, your holy day of rest. You will have to wait to bury them.

You hug yourself tight. From the cold, from the juvenile fear of death and despair.    

Did Christ not feel this way upon the cross? Abandoned by his own father? Alone? 

And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" that is, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

**

You rise late. Fatigue still sits deep in your bones when you go and collect eggs and milk for your breakfast. You step over your mother and father. Splattered blood, now dry, ring around their heads in crimson halos.  

You spend the day idly. You read the book you had bought for your father, practice your stitching with the embroidery hoop and silks meant for your mother. You heat water for a bath and sprinkle in some of the salts and oils she kept tucked away in her bedroom. You wash away tears and dirt and grime. 

You relish the hot water as it seeps into your tense muscles, watch the milky surface ripple around your limbs. The cottage is quiet and seems to settle around you. 

You were always the last to bathe out of your small family. You would be told to fetch and heat the water, waiting until your father finished, then your mother. By the time it was your turn, the bathwater was always cold and dirty. You were not allowed to change it out as it was costly and a waste of time. You would be quick to rinse.

Now, you sit until your fingers becomes wrinkled and pruny, your skin and hair fragranced with the smell of rose petals and lavender. There is no one to scold you to hurry up. 

**

Iryna watches over you as you pack the last of the dirt over the burials. You’re both exhausted. You finish at midday. You finger the crucifix around your neck.

O God, grant unto us, in this dying life, that peace for which we humbly pray, and hereafter to attain unto everlasting joy in Thy presence; through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

**

You pass your days in solitude and in fear. You wonder if the bandits will return. It makes you pray harder, harder than you have in your entire life. You ask for forgiveness, for protection, for salvation.

The windy autumn nights bring chills and unease. The windows rattle in their frames, the cottage groans, and the goats bleat in the pressing darkness.

Visions of your murdered parents dance behind your eyelids. A crown of gore, blood red tears, suffocating rosary beads. The possibility of specters and demons and Satan’s lurking servants seem to hide behind each darkened corner. The homestead feels too vast, too isolating. You feel yourself slowly going mad, every howl of curling wind making you shudder in your cot.

You ask for companionship. A friend to share company.

**

A young woman’s voice calls out to you. The day is abnormally warm and you’re hanging laundry to dry in the sun when you first lay eyes on her.

She wears a riding cloak and veil, a pretty woolen dress of fine cardinal fabric. Her hair falls in loose waves down to her chest, catching the sunlight in a gleam of muted copper. 

She leads the most magnificent looking horse you’ve ever seen. A towering black Clydesdale that stands eighteen hands high with a glossy coat and tail, powerful muscles moving with every stride. Curiously, you see no saddle or tack, only the leather bridle she uses to guide him.

When you approach her, the young woman asks if you are master of the house. You respond with, yes. She smiles and takes your hands in hers, inquiring if she may stay for a few nights before continuing her journey to the next town. She says she will pay you with coin and labor, with whatever help you may need around the property.

The gesture surprises you. Travelers are few in this stretch of country and your family has never housed one before. But, you think of how turning this woman away would mean another day’s ride for her until she reached the next homestead. As you’ve understood, these trails are no longer safe. Especially for a young woman riding alone.

When you agree to offer her lodging, she blesses you with another radiant smile and kisses your cheeks. It’s enduring, warms your heart and tingles your fingers still laced with her own. 

**

As promised, Wanda helps you with your chores. She does not ask about your family or parents or why a young girl of your age could indeed be master of a homestead all by herself. You do not ask why a beautiful woman is traveling alone. Instead, she carefully listens to your instructions and assists you perfectly.

You’ve just finished gathering firewood when the two of you head to the barn to tend to your few and precious livestock. You muck out stalls, change hay and water. Wanda’s Clydesdale watches you from one of the extra stalls you’ve placed him in. 

When Wanda tries to lead out Iryna, she flinches away and flattens her ears in a shrill whinny. It catches you both off guard and you quickly take the rope from Wanda’s hands before Iryna can hurt herself, placating her with a low hush.

“She does not like me.” Wanda frowns. It’s charmingly youthful, makes her look like a pouting child.

“She is not used to strangers,” you soothe, smiling gently. You return Iryna to her stall and slide the door shut. “What is your Clydesdale’s name?” You ask. 

Wanda’s mood seems to lift instantly and you catch a glimmer in her hazel eyes. “Paimon,” she tells you. “Paimon is friendly to everyone, especially strangers. But, he loves pretty girls most of all.”

Later, you invite her into your home and the two of you relax your tired bones by the evening fire. 

**

The days grow cold and dark. You and Wanda now share the bed of your late parents, bigger and warmer than your own. You awake each glowing morning with her slender arms wrapped tight around your waist, her face buried into the crook of your neck. 

For warmth, you tell yourself.

Her sighs, her moans in sleep stir something in the pit of your stomach.

You’re unsure of what other reason you would prefer.

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

**

Wind and rain whistle against the glass panes of your cottage. It is a dreary, bleak morning of storm, one that has forced you and Wanda to remain inside. A fire crackles in the hearth and throws dancing shadows along the walls. You sit and read while Wanda busies herself with housework. It is the first time you’ve felt peace in months. 

She returns from the pantry, setting down her washcloth and bucket with a faint groan. You look up.

Warm, flickering light highlights the skin of her collarbones and cheeks. Wanda has plaited back her hair to keep it out of her eyes, save for a few wispy strands that fall to frame her face.

You swallow, enraptured. 

She catches you staring and her irises seem to glow brighter with firelight. She turns slowly, sauntering towards you with measured, delicate steps. 

“Little one, didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s impolite to stare?” she whispers. She walks until she is flush against you and the fabric of her dress brushes your toes. Without looking away, she eases the book out of your hands and sets it facedown on the table. Your father’s bible.

Your mouth dries up, your pulse hammers. 

Wanda tilts her head, her expression clouding. Then, she sinks to her knees to straddle you completely, arms winding around your neck. 

“Sweet girl, when I ask you a question, I expect a response.”

Her fingers trace your jaw, looking down at you with a stern, flinty gaze. You find your hands holding the swell of her hips, pulling her closer.

“Those who see you will stare and wonder, ‘Is this the man who made the world tremble and shook up kingdoms?’” you recite into the ever closing gap between your mouths. She sighs, high and breathless, feel her overheated body slowly start to move against you. 

Your lips and tongue meet in a tangled kiss. Your first. She tastes of myrtle and honeyed milk. You feel yourself falling when you gently cup this young woman’s face in your hands, kissing and touching and her fingers lustfully twisting into the nape of your neck. Dizzy, ashamed. Your skin is on fire. 

You think of Lucifer’s wings burning away as He hurtled towards earth. 

“I’m so thirsty, my love. Thirsty for you,” Wanda gasps. Her pupils are blown impossibly wide, ringed in red. Her canines glint in the darkness. “Will you let me drink?”

You remember Iryna’s skittishness, Wanda’s beast of a horse, Paimon. No saddle, no luggage. A lone, beautiful woman wandering the countryside with exquisite eyes and sharp, sharp teeth. A devil in masquerade who never intended to leave. 

Slowly, you untie the strings of your dress’s blouse and expose your shoulders, the dip of your chest. Wanda’s lips part hungrily, the shadow of her eyelashes fluttering like feathers. 

She sets you back and runs her fingers over the thin skin of your neck. Her touch is smooth, gentle. Then, she leans over you, keeping you still with a single hand wrapped deliciously around your throat, pressing you deeper into the wooden chair. 

The bite of teeth, then white pleasure. Your vision rolls and you writhe against her in a fit of sighs and otherworldly bliss. Suction, flickering tongue, the obscene sounds of her mouth devouring you whole. You moan, cage her against your body and you hear her chuckle. 

Blood trails down her throat and drips between her breasts when she finally sits back, sated. Half-lidded eyes gazing down at you with more love and adoration than you’ve ever known.

You are her blessed wine. 

Take this, all of you, and drink from it,

for this is the chalice of my Blood,

the Blood of the new and everlasting covenant,

which will be shed for you and for all

so that sins may be forgiven.

Do this in memory of me.

“Amen.” she murmurs with a kiss. 

God is silent. He always is.

**

Wanda pulls you atop her. She cradles your face, smooths back your hair as she looks up at you in the silvered morning light.

“Little one, would you like to live forever?”

The question takes you by surprise, makes you pause. She takes the opportunity to kiss your fingertips, arch her hips into you. It makes your breath hitch, but your mind is clear. 

“As long as it’s with you.” 

She grins, gleaming and bright, the first glimpse of sun you’ve seen in this godforsaken autumn. 

“Oh, my sweet little bride, my princess of night.” she sighs.

“Yes,” you whimper. 

She gazes into your mind and sees what you’ve always wanted.

**

Wanda prepares for the ritual that very evening. Candles, parchment, a single serrated knife. 

She bathes the two of you in the shared tub, washes your hair and cleanses you, a mock baptism with soap and scented oils. Her fingers wander, coaxing pleasure as you lean back against her. 

Finally, she guides you to the bed when the world outside stands cold, silent, watching, at the cusp between night and day. 

Wanda eases your finger between her lips and pricks the skin with the point of her teeth. Her eyes flutter before reluctantly removing it, a string of saliva following suit. You watch the single bead of blood bloom and sign the parchment with a steady hand. 

Cold air brushes your cheeks, skin tingling as if touched, breath in your ear. You feel your vision haze in and out of focus, a foreign sensation overcoming your body. 

Then, a young man appears before you. He’s tall and lean and handsomely bearded, dark hair curling against his forehead, down the tufts of his chest and arms. His eyes, green and glimmering, inspect you carefully, tracing every curve of your exposed skin. You feel achingly vulnerable, pinned. 

Your eyes trail lower and lower until…

You find that he is completely bare. You flush and turn to hide your face into Wanda’s shoulder. She chuckles, gently takes your chin in her hand and tilts your gaze back onto him. 

“This is the flesh of Adam, sweet one,” she murmurs. “It is not shameful to lust. Did God not create man in his own image?”

Wanda reaches out her other hand in offering and the man takes it, lowers himself onto the bed. There is an air of familiarity between the two of them as they share a kiss of greeting. 

“Welcome, Quentin.” she hums. She fondly runs her thumb along his cheek and he leans into her touch. Quentin’s eyes then flicker to you.

“Is this my gift?” he asks. His voice is soft, sweet like honey. Wanda hums again. Quentin smiles warmly, looking you up and down. Your blood ignites.

With one hand on both of your faces, she guides you and Quentin together. He kisses you, surprisingly soft and gentle, cradling your jaw with a touch that makes your stomach flutter. You hear Wanda moving, feel her touch.

Some of the tension wound tight in your shoulders evaporates with Wanda beside you. It encourages you to be braver, bolder as you kiss the incubus back more urgently, touch his skin. Quentin responds with a purr and tangles a hand in your hair, mouthing at your neck, tracing your puncture wounds with a soothing, possessive tongue.

He draws you upon his lap, still pulled flush against him and the heat of him so close to the most intimate part of your anatomy makes you timid, afraid. 

“Relax, lamb.” he whispers. “Enjoy this, enjoy us.”  

The broad touch of his fingers against you makes you mewl in surprise. Wanda hushes you with a soft kiss, takes one of your hands in hers. Quentin’s palm rests on the plane of your stomach, his other easing into where you’re most aching and tight, where a man’s strong touch has never breached. 

He slowly guides your hips upon his hand, until his fingers glisten with your slick and your body starts to warm with the glow of angelfire. 

“Keep going, little lamb,” Quentin urges into your ear. “You know how, don’t you? Those lonely nights when your parents lay fast asleep abed?”

You moan. Indeed you do. Nights where darkness was most suffocating and you prayed that God would turn a blind eye to your lust. 

You shatter with the heat of hell rain. With your body still clenching and fluttering, Quentin lays you out beneath him, his eyes darker, lips turned up into a sly smile. You’re breathless.

He feels cold when he enters you, a sensation you would have least expected from a creature molded by burning sin and Lucifer’s fire. Yet, it pushes your poor, mortal flesh to the thresholds of pleasure and you reach for Wanda, keening. Wanda slinks closer and pushes your hair out of your eyes.

“How does she feel?”

“Like a dream,” Quentin moans, laughing. “You want Wanda and I both, lamb? I can see it in your mind’s eye. So needy, you are. I’ll give you what you want, lamb. You’re doing so good for me.”

**

You don’t remember waking up. A blood moon hangs in the sky.

You feel the lull of pleasure, of Quentin’s lush curls buried between your thighs. Your fingers catch on horns, his velvety tongue forked as it slips into you. 

Your world blurs around you, dreamlike. 

Again, you reach for Wanda and she laces your fingers together with a smile, kisses your damp forehead.

“Is this real?” you moan into her neck.

“As real as your God, sweet one. Are you ready to come home?”

You nod, drowsy with euphoria. You see Wanda take up the silver knife and again, you offer your hand. 

You wince when she slices open your palm, watch the blood seep over and down your arm in great drops. Quentin lifts his head from between your legs, intoxicatingly beautiful with shining lips and heat in his eyes. He keeps his gaze on you as he drives into you again, as your hand stains his chest and neck with crimson, ravishing you again and again. You feel Wanda’s tongue and then the bite of her fangs. 

You arch, reborn with the blessing of immortality and pressed between two demons.

You wonder how many times these two have completed a ritual like this, with Quentin’s powerful body covered in virgin’s blood. 

His blessed cup.

And the Lamb will overcome them, because He is Lord of lords and King of kings, and those who are with Him are the called and chosen and faithful.

[wienerbarnes]

Guardian

Pairing: Demon!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,119

Warnings: Mention of cancer, maybe angst?, fluffy thoughts at the end, sometimes i feel like these warnings are spoilers sometimes, ya know? 

Prompt: “no, no, no. don’t fear me. everyone fears me.” (bolded)

A/N: this is my submission for the love of my life, @thefvcker-tucker‘s #freaky500wc <3 i loveeeee the idea of this theme bc im a total whore for supernatural and scary stuff ;) go follow my angel, doll!!! she’s amazing and a total babe :) oneshot continued under the cut!

You wield the wooden bat tightly in between your fists, raised and ready to strike, despite how shaky your hands are. Bare toes silently creeping along the floorboards of the hallway of your apartment, feet slowly leading you to your kitchen where the loud bang and clinks of things falling from your counter and to the floor were heard. The oversized shirt that hangs off of your frame causes goosebumps to raise on your legs as the hem brushes against your thighs, or at least you attribute your goosebumps to that and not the possible intruder in your home. Could it be rats? Absolutely. Perhaps maybe even a bird flew in through an open window when your weren’t looking.

You would consider these possibilities if it weren’t for the “Shit!” that was whispered following the cluttering from whatever fell.

The closer you get to your kitchen, the louder everything is. Your heartbeat. Your breathing. Is that the sweat trickling down your neck that you hear? The loudest thing in the apartment, though, is the labored huffing as whoever is in your kitchen picks up your things from the floor and tries to set them on the counter as quietly as possible. You try your hardest to concentrate and focus your hearing, picture where this person is standing in your kitchen as to prepare yourself to attack, even though a battle with a stranger at three in the morning in the middle of your apartment isn’t something you think you’ll ever be prepared for.

You let out three harsh but quiet breaths before forcing your body around the corner and meeting eyes with the robber. You let out a yell as you whack the man across the face with your bat with as much strength as you can muster. He lets out a loud grunt and falls the floor, blood that’s almost black in color sprays across the wall and he groans on the floor. You let out another yelp as an overwhelming amount of adrenaline pumps through every vein in your body. You continue your screaming as you run back down the hall and into your bedroom, slamming the for behind you.

Turning the lock, you drop the bat and scramble around the room in search of your cellphone. Throwing your blankets across the floor in frustration you realize it’s sitting on your coffee table from when you were watching a movie earlier.

“Fuck!” You whimper, realizing you’re locked in your room with nowhere to go while a stranger roams around your apartment.

“Hey! Hold on! Wait!” You hear from the man, voice getting louder as it nears your bedroom. Your breaths come out of your body quicker and quicker; you feel as though your lungs are about to burst. You quickly gather your blankets as a shield and crawl towards the farthest corner of your room.

Your heart catches in your throat as you see the knob turning as the intruder tries to open the door.

“Open the door!” He pleads with you, the knob turning with force as though he hopes it will suddenly unlock by itself.

“Take whatever you want! Please, just don’t hurt me!” You yell back, voice cracking near the end of your beg, the fear overcoming your entire body as tears fill your eyes. You attempt to muffle your hiccups, tears falling from your eyes faster and faster as he continues to turn the knob.

“No, no, no. Don’t fear me. Everyone else fears me.” He whispers, the knob finally stilling and you hear a small movement, as though he situates himself on the floor.

He lets out a long and deep sigh, one that sends exhaustion through your whole body, you feel an immense cloud of tiredness and defeat rise over you, as if he somehow sent everything he was feeling to your body.

“Ugh, you don’t understand. I’m trying to help you, we’re both in trouble and I don’t know how to explain it.” He vents, a small thump heard against the door, his head, you assume.

Bucky has no idea what to do. Slumped on the floor against the door, shirt soaked with his black blood from his now broken nose, there wasn’t a worse way this could’ve gone. He doesn’t feel the pain in his nose anymore; it’s stopped bleeding soon after impact was made and it’ll set itself soon enough. He’s been a demon for a very long time and, although he knows the ins and out of pretty much everything he’s capable of, he’s never really gotten the hang

“We’re… connected.” He tries to begin, but shuts his eyes when he hears your heartbeat quicken. Great, now you probably think he’s some stalker who thinks you two are “meant to be” or something.

“That wasn’t right, uhh,” He corrects. “I’m a demon. Your demon, specifically.” He finally lets out.

“And I know it’s crazy and I know theres a lot of conspiracy about the whole existence of demons and what not and I really don’t want to scare you but, I really need you to hear me out; both of our lives are on the line.” Bucky explains.

He hears you slowly creep closer towards the door and although you don’t lean yourself on the other side as he is, you do put yourself significantly closer to him. His anxiety begins to lower as he hopes he’s getting through to you.

“What do you mean?” You quietly whisper, so quiet he barely heard it. He can hear that your crying has stopped, but your heart hasn’t exactly slowed back to normal.

“Uhh… which part?” Bucky calmly asks.

“The demon part.” You answer, answer slightly muffled by the blanket you’ve wrapped around yourself and covered your face with.

“Oh. So, uhh, everybody has one. Like, sorta how everyone has a guardian angel, everyone has a guardian demon, too. Like the angel and devil on your shoulder, those are real.” He treads lightly, terrified of scaring you again and not being able to get your help at all.

He doesn’t hear any changes in movement or heartbeat or breathing or anything, so he continues.

“How they work, though, is, um,” Bucky pauses, trying to find the simplest words to explain the whole system to you in your scared state. “You know how I said before that we’re connected? Well, when you die, I will die, too. And then… I don’t know what happens after that.” He trails off.

He hears you crawl the rest of the way to reach the door and rest your back against it, matching his position. He plays with a thread on his shirt as he feels the heat radiate through the door and on his back.

“And you said we were both in trouble? Am I dying?” You question, voice still tight and filled with confusion, but intrigued as to what this could mean for your life, that is, if Bucky’s telling the truth.

“Yes,” Bucky answers after a pause of silence. “You have cancer, but it can be treated if you do something about it early. That’s why I’m here; I came to warn you.” He finally tells you, turning his body slightly to rest the side of his head against the door.

He can hear that you’re breathing has slowed as you process the information he just told you.

“So, what, you just don’t want to die yet? Is that it?” You accuse, throat tightening again as your body feels more and more exhausted the longer you sit here listening to this man talk.

Bucky takes a moment to think and gather his thoughts in order to express them correctly. “You’re a really great person. I mean, you do so much for your family, your friends, your job, strangers you meet on the street. Like when you paid for that lady’s coffee the other day at that shop you go to every morning,” He stops himself when he hears your breath hitch. “I’m not ready to die, again. I didn’t live the best life when I was alive and now I get to watch someone else live such a fulfilling life, a life full of meaning where you actually have people care for you, where you’re actually making a difference. I don’t want to give that up just yet. And I don’t want you to have to give up anything, either. You don’t deserve that.” Bucky finishes, emotion piling up in his chest at the thought of losing you and ending up who knows where after he dies, again.

“I’ll… I’ll go to the doctor in the morning.” He hears you sniffle.

“But, if I’m being honest, there’s absolutely no way I’m opening the door, regardless if you’re telling the truth. Demon or not.” You inform him and he lets out a watery chuckle, incredible grateful that you’ll get yourself checked out.

Bucky feels so much happiness in his chest at the thought that he might’ve saved you because of his intrusion tonight. It feels good to actually help someone instead of hurt them, especially help someone as great as you. He clears his throat to compose himself, but his heart is still jumping for joy in his body.

“That’s understandable.” He assures you. “I guess my work here is done; I’ll, uh, leave you alone, then. We’re not really supposed to communicate, but, I wasn’t going to sit around and watch you and not do anything.” Bucky picks himself off the ground but the sound of your voice stops him from walking back down the hall.

“What’s your name?” You ask quickly, as though he’ll disappear forever no that he told you what he needed to.

“Bucky. My name’s Bucky.” He responds. He feels bittersweet. He’s upset with the way he scared you. And he’s upset that you’re sick. And he’s upset that he probably won’t ever see you again; it just isn’t allowed. But he’s so happy to have been able to help you; to have warned you. You’re going to be okay. And so will he.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

…

You don’t leave your bedroom until about two in the afternoon. Everything that happened during the night thoroughly tired out your body. You pulled yourself out of bed and gathered the blanket around your body to hold onto whatever heat is left in the seams. You drag your feet to the door and notice the lock still turned up. A shiver runs down your spine as you’re reminded of the image of a tall man standing in the dark shadows of your kitchen.

“There’s no one here,” You reassure yourself, “C’mon, you gotta go to the doctor.” You try to push yourself.

You twist the lock and open the door before you can try and convince yourself to hide in bed all day. Your hallway is lit by the creaks in your windows from your living room that let the morning light shine through. You slowly make your way to the kitchen and feel a wave of relief when you find it empty. You also notice something else.

The pans that woke you up during the night when Bucky showed up were now stacked neatly on top of your stove and Bucky’s blood that splattered on the wall when you swung at him was now gone. In fact, your kitchen is spotless. The stove scrubbed, the countertop wiped down, cabinet doors rid of any dust. And a note.

You step closer to the counter where the note lays and see a rough drawing of a smiley face with devil horns with the messy scrawl underneath: Good luck. Love, Bucky.

You smile and pick up the note and tape it onto your fridge before walking back down the hall. A small part of you wishes he was still around, standing in your kitchen awkwardly gathering pots and pans from the ground and stumbling around your apartment tripping over his own words while talking to you. You wish you weren’t so afraid of him yesterday. You wish you would’ve been able to talk to him more; how he died, who your guardian angel was, what was hell like, if that’s even where he came from. Maybe someday you’ll be lucky enough to cross paths with him again. Or rather, perhaps he’ll cross your path again, with some loud and obnoxious entrance in the middle of the night. Although you were so incredibly terrified a couple of hours ago, you don’t mind the idea of his presence and the fact that he’s always been watching over you, even if he was the reason behind the bad decisions in your life.

Somewhere, you just know Bucky’s smiling at you. And you smile, too.

Tags: @thefvcker-tucker @gagmebucky @hannie-writes-marvel @angel-fire

[evanstanwrites]

Ghost Adventures

pairing: Chase Collins x Reader

Ghost Adventures, a tv show host by Zak Bagans. he’s also the neighbour of Y/N. What would happen if one day he needs an extra crew member for his team and the next location : Ipswich.

A/N: this is my entry for @thewritingdoll freaky500 writing challenge

A/N: co-writer: @pawfect-melody

warnings: angst, fluff

It was late Friday night, y/n was lounging on her sofa in front of something that played on the tv. She didn’t really take notice of what was playing; it was just background noise for her. Her nose buried deep in a book that lay upon her lap. She was so caught up in her book that she didn’t hear the back door slowly open with a soft creak. The wooden floor boards squeaking under the weight of footsteps that where making their way to the woman.  A sudden gush of cold wind against the skin of her arm made her look up. Just in time to see a dark figure throwing himself at her on the sofa.  The first thing she felt was a hard broad body colliding with hers. At the same time a growling sound came from deep down its throat. Y/n let out a scream filling the room with it. With her eyes closed she felt the hard and heavy body starting to shake on top of her. There was something odd about it she thought when she heard a familiar laugh coming from above her.

When she opened her eyes again she was met with a face that was stuck with complete laughter. This wasn’t a stranger or something unexplainable. This was her good friend and neighbour Zak. 

“Oh god danmit Zak, you asshole!” y/n huffed while pushing Zak off her and he landed with a loud bang on the floor in front of the sofa. 

Zak couldn’t compose himself and kept laughing while stretching out long on the floor.

“You’re still easy to scare y/n.”

She needed a few seconds to calm her racing heart before she could talk again.

“ Speak for yourself; I think we all heard you squeal like a little schoolgirl too many times before on your ghost show.”

That was enough to make Zak stop laughing at once.

“I don’t squeal like a little schoolgirl!”

“Yes you do Zak and everyone watching your show knows it.” y/n teased 

“What are you hinting at? That what we experience at all those places aren’t scary? Cuz they sure are.”

Y/n just started to laugh while Zak sat up straight and leaned his back against the coffee table.

“Well I dare you to come with us the next time we go investigate some place.”

“I never said it wasn’t scary, only that the way you squeal is hilarious. And why would I want to go with you guys? You know I hate dark places, especially at night.”

“Well that’s why I’m here actually. We’re going to some place to check out but Billy got sick and we really need the extra camera. So I thought that maybe you could replace him this once.”

“Hahahaha, good joke.” She laughed but as soon as she saw the serious look on Zak’s face she stopped.

“Oh my god you’re serious? Why? Why me?” she started to question him.

“Why not? You’re not afraid of paranormal stuff, only the being alone in the dark stuff. We can work around that. We know each other very well, I’d rather ask you than some stranger I don’t trust.”

“Okay but please don’t make me do stuff I’m not comfortable with and don’t leave me alone. I only assist.”

“Y/n that would be perfect and I promise I won’t make you do stuff you don’t want to do.” Zak said before pulling her off her spot on the sofa right onto his lap.

“Thank you so much, what would I do without you?”

So that’s how y/n found herself in a car with Zak and Aaron full of ghost hunting equipment.

“So the place we’re investigating is an old barn that was burned down 10 years ago. In the police report they speak of a college prank gone wrong. Apparently on the night of the school ball 2 boys got into a fight in the barn and a fire broke out killing one of the boys. Since then people started to feel these strange energies around the place. Like the spirit of the boy who died there is still there and spying on everyone and even touching them. So it seems that it’s just one spirit that’s there. Should go easy.” Zak explained the case in the car, reading the info they had already gotten.

“Sure it’s even worth the trouble to drive this far for just one spirit?” Aaron buts in.

“Everything with spirits involved is worth it. And helping it in having some peace, that’s our goal.”

Little did they know what was waiting for them in Ipswich. 

It was late afternoon when the trio arrived in what seemed a quiet town. The sun still high in the sky, no clouds in sight and a warm summer breeze. Only a few people were walking on the otherwise empty sidewalks. 

After a while Aaron parked the car on the side of an open field surrounded by trees. In the middle of the field stood the ruins of an old burned down barn. There laid a sort of sadness over it, it wasn’t hard to see that this building had a violent history.  

The trio got out of the car and started to unload all the equipment they would need to set up a nerve center where Jay (who was arriving late as always) would follow everything during lock down.  

“I think it would be best to set up the nerve center at the side of the field, so there is enough space between the building and nerve center.” Zak said while lifting the big sails that were used to close of nerve center.

“So how does this works? Don’t you normally interview the owner of the place and other people first?” y/n asked once everything was set up.

“Well yeah but in this case that’s a little more difficult. The official owner is the government but they know nothing about it and the people of the town don’t want to talk about it.” 

“They don’t want to talk about it? So they do know something about it. Must be truly something that happened here, that they are even scared to talk about it.” Aaron said while checking his camera bag.

“Well that fact only gives me the creeps even more. This place alone gives me the creeps and we haven’t even started yet. Remind me again why I agreed to come with you guys? “

“Well because I’m the best neighbour you have and you would do anything for your best friend.” Zak exclaimed while wrapping an arm around the girl.

“Omg Zak unbutton a few buttons from your shirt, your ego doesn’t fit anymore.” y/n started like she was panicking and reached for the collar of his shirt. Zak and Aaron needed to hold each other or they would fall over from laughing.

“Damn you woman, I never saw someone put Zak in his place like that. You’re amazing.” Aaron tried to say between the hiccups from his laughter.

It wasn’t much later when the sun was almost completely under when Jay arrived and they could get ready for lock down. Normally they locked themselves up in the building but this time that wasn’t possible, it was ruins. 

Jay would control nerve center and Zak, Aaron and y/n would go inside, only Aaron operating a camera. Zak holding a recorder that would record the whole investigation and y/n held the currently turned off spirit box.

Zak was the first to enter the ruins followed by y/n and last Aaron. The second y/n stepped through the door she could feel all the leftover energy that hung in the big open hall like room. 

 Y/n placed her left foot in front of her but the moment her foot touched the ground a cold shiver went through her,  which made all the hairs on her body stand. There was something or someone standing behind her. As fast as she could she turned her body towards where she felt the presence but when she looked up there was nothing to see and as fast as the feeling came it also left. Y/n decided to shake it off and carry on not wanting Zak to see her being weak. 

"Let’s do a spirit box session, y/n can you turn it on" Zak asked.

Y/n hesitated slightly but turned on the device, and waited. And waited. But nothing. "Okay we’ll try again in a bit, let’s get deeper into this place" Zak said. As they walked the feeling of unease grew inside y/n. 

"Try it now y/n" Aaron called from a few steps away.

 Y/n turned on the spirit box and tried walking around the debris scattered on the ground. The moment it came to life a strange voice sounded in the air. “get out,…danger,… y/n,…” “wtf it said your name y/n” Aaron said surprised “y/n,… alone,…Zak get out,…” “I think it wants y/n alone in here.” Y/n recognised the voice immediately, but how was it possible? How was he here? "Guys maybe we should listen to it" y/n suggested quickly. 

"Are you crazy I’m not leaving you in here on your own, no way! I promised you i'd never leave you alone." Zak demanded. 

"And now i'm asking you to leave Zak, you said you wanted to help this spirit to find peace. We should find out what it wants." 

"Yes i do but i find my promise to you more important y/n, you hate to be alone in the dark and unknown places. There’s asking for trouble then begging for it and this y/n is begging for it. " Zak says as he walks over to her. just when he places his hand on her shoulder the voice is heard again over the spirit box.

"Don't….touch…her." 

Right after an animal like growl is bouncing of what's left of the walls making everyone jump in their place.

"Wow did you hear that?" Aaron says full of wonder and wanders off to the next room.

"Please Zak, let me find out what it wants. I promise you when it gets too much or i'm too scared,i'll run as fast as i can back to you. " y/n almost begs him. 

"Okay 30 minutes then i'm coming to get you." Zak said and followed the way Aaron walked out. 

Not even a few seconds after Zak was gone the voice spoke again but this time much clearer and without pauzes.

"Don't scream y/n" 

Now she was certain, it was him.

"Chase." She softly whispered just as the room filled with smoke, when it cleared she noticed she wasn't standing in the ruins of the old barn but in the middle of her childhood bedroom. 

A floorboard creaked when she felt a presence behind her. The sound startled her so much she screamed as she turned around to the black figure standing behind her.

"I just told you not to scream babe." The figure said with annoyance in his voice as he stepped into the light and finally she could see his face.

"Are you real, is this a dream?" Y/n wondered after seeing Chase standing in front of her looking even better then she remembered. 

With a smirk on his face he stepped closer to her and reached out to touch her face.

"Does this feel like it's not real? I'm here baby." He whispers as he strokes her cheek and immediately she leans into his touch. 

"They told me you where dead, they told me all these terrible things about you. Please tell me that's not true." 

Chase chuckled a bit darkly. "I promised you i'd always tell you the truth. I can only say that i did what i was gonna do, i took revenge on the sons of ipswich. Maybe at a high cost but i got it done." 

"But it took you away from me Chase, you left me. You promised you'd come back to me." She says as a tear slips from the corner of her eye. Chase quickly sweeps it away and holds her face between his hands. 

"I got you here now didn't I? I made sure that Billy guy wasn't able to come so you had to take his place. I had to get you here. I'm finding my way back home to you babe." 

"I missed you so much Chase, it's been 10 years. I've been all alone waiting for you." She cried

"Do you still love me?" 

"Yes, I always will."

"Good, i'll be home soon." He says as he leans into her and places a soft sweet kiss on her lips just as smoke begins to fill the room again and Chase disappears in it.

once the smoke clears she’s back in the ruins holding the now silent spirit box. the moment she notices she’s alone and Chase is gone she feels an empty spot in her heart, she needed to help him as best she could but how? Chase didn’t tell her how he could come back to her. she wanted him home as soon as possible. she felt like there was a weight on her like she was carrying something with her. 

Y/n was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear the footsteps that came in her direction till they came to stop next to her. 

“Are you ok y/n? did something happen?” Zak as he laid his hand on her shoulder. but as soon as his hand touched her a animalistic growl escaped her mouth making everyone take a step back in shock. that wasn’t her, it sounded like the growl they heard earlier. was this spirit affecting her? this was more dangerous than they thought. Nobody moved or said anything, the silence laid heavy in the air.

suddenly the spirit box came back to life: 

“leave... NOW...kill...Zak”

and at the same moment Zak could feel a burning feeling on his neck making him curse out and reach out to hold his neck.

“fuck Aaron give me some light, my neck burns like hell.” 

aaron was still standing shocked looking at them with wide eyes.

“AARON LIGHT NOW!” he yelled out clearly in pain making Aaron finally look up to him. 

“omg” Aaron mumbles as he takes his flashlight and shines it on Zak’s neck. once the light hits his neck Aaron is again shocked at what he sees, a big red mark covers Zak’s neck. the mark is bright red and in the middle are three large scratches.

“OH MY GOD ZAK, there are three scratches on your neck. I never seen them so big on anyone. I’m gonna take a picture of it to show you!” aaron rattles clearly in shock as he dives back into one of his pockets and gets a small camera out to take the picture. 

“Hey Zak where is y/n?” aaron asks as he looks around and notices that Y/n isn’t standing next to them anymore. 

neither had see her walk out of the only room that still had a roof and was mostly intact.

the scratches are quickly forgotten as they looked shocked around them, hoping they would find y/n still in the room with them. but she wasn’t, they called out to her but no reaction was heard. it was like she just went up in smoke, she was gone and that freaked them out even more. so they decided to stop their lock down, this turned too dangerous. y/n was missing, they needed to find a way to find her and get her back, it was clear now that the spirit here had possessed her. when they started walking in the direction from where they came they were surprised when they find out that the place where the door used to be was now a brick wall. they were trapped.

 y/n blacked out, she didn’t know what was happening. one moment she stood in the room with zak and aaron and before she knew she stood before a big wooden weird looking door. it was mostly black affected by the fire that turned most of the building to ruins. Looking closely she could clearly see strange celtic patterns all over the door.  on the highest part on the door stood runes. it’s been a long time since she last seen them.

“ ᚲᚨᛈᛏᚢᚱᛖ ᛟᚠ ᛖᚡᛁᛚ ”

“open the door babe.” Chase’ voice sounded what seemed like from her head. and before she knew it her hand had already reached out to the door but the strangest thing was that it wasn’t her. was Chase possessing her?

“ Yes babe, i’m using your body. it’s the only way to do this, to bring me back. now open the door.”

“But what about Zak and Aaron? where are they?” she asked a bit worried.

“they’re still in the main room but i locked them in there so they can’t ruin this for us.” Chase said

“but after it’s done you’ll release them, will you?”

Chase sighs

“Yes i will but only because they’re your friends.” he promises and pushes y/n closer to the door.

y/n relaxes a bit and slowly pushes the heavy door open. behind the door lies a dark room with the only bit of light coming from the open door. 

“there should be a goblet in here somewhere, we need to break it. it’s the anchor of my curse, break the goblet and i’ll be back.” he explained

“how the hell do you want to find a goblet in this place? it’s dark and i don’t have a flashlight with me.” y/n stated which made Chase chuckle.

“Oh babe, i think you forget who I am.” he laughs as suddenly the room is illuminated by a thousand floating candles making y/n gasp in wonder.

“wow, and then you tell me you hate harry potter.” 

“yeah yeah, we can talk later now let’s find that stupid goblet.” chase growls.

when they look around they see that most of the room was empty making there search easier. 

it didn’t take long before they found 3 goblets in the room but which one was the goblet with his curse attached to. 

“maybe we should just break all 3 of them?” y/n said

“we can’t do that, we don’t know if the others have something attached to them as well.”

“so how do we find out which one we have to break?”

“I don’t know, but you need to find a way.” chase pushes

“Chase! don’t okay, don’t put more pressure on me. just let me think for a moment.”

Chase just huffs and says “ okay i’ll leave you alone, i’ll check that stupid book that’s trapped with me again.”

Chase let’s go of the hold he has over her body and makes himself appear in his ghost form next to her. but y/n didn’t expect the sudden move and she loses her footing making her fall back. she sees the shock on Chase’s face as he tries to reach out to catch her. it’s already too late,she stumbles right against one of the columns with a goblet on making it fall over and smash against the floor. They both watch in horror as the goblet breaks in hundreds little pieces and smoke emerge from them. 

“Ow shit, I don’t think that’s good.” Chase mumbles from behind her, his voice clearly holding both confusion and fear. 

when y/n turns to Chase she sees the smoke that came from the goblet surrounding him, his hands in front of his face as if he’s protecting himself from something. but clearly it wasn’t helping, his hands, which were already transparent in his ghost form were disappearing. 

“Chase? what’s happening?” y/n started to panic

“I don’t know, this isn’t me.” he said as he looked up to her.

“I think i failed, i’m so sorry baby. I failed you, I love you, never forget that.”

“No, Chase. I failed you, it’s my fault. i love you so much.” she cried

but before Chase could respond he disappeared completely. y/n fell to her knees in the pile of broken goblet shards, she picked one up from the floor ready to throw it across the room when she saw the runs written on it.

“ᚲᚺᚨᛋᛖ ᚲᛟᛚᛚᛁᚾᛋ”

“wtf?” she whispered as she turned the shard in her hands,nothing else was written on it. just a name, his name.

she was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the sounds of voices screaming her name till she felt 2 hands on her arms. 

“Y/n? are you ok? what the hell happened?” Zak asked her in worry as he helped her up on her feet.

“He’s gone.” was her only response through her tears.

“who’s gone?” Zak asked while he whipes the tears from her cheeks.

“Chase” 

“well you can tell me all about him on our way back, we’re going home.”

As Zak leads her outside she starts to explain everything that had happened since she had met Chase till only minutes ago. but just as they reached the cars a loud explosion sounded behind them. 

the barn, it was the fucking ruins of the barn that exploded. how the hell could that happen, she thought to herself as she watched smoke and flames erupt from above it. but as soon as the smoke and fire came it also disappeared. everything was clothed in silence, nobody spoke, no wind, no animals, nothing, only silence. 

when she looked up at the barn she suddenly saw a familiar silhouette of a man standing in the door opening.

could it be ? 

“Y/N!” the man shouted

It was.

“Chase!”

please don’t forget to like, reblog or comment

tags:

@thisismysecrethappyplace 

@jamesbuckybarnes13

@lolabean1998

@seasidebarnes

@heyohheyitsgabi

@loricameback

@steve-harrison-protector

[until-we-fall-in-love]

kind eyes

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: You remember him with warmth, like he had swallowed a star and you were lucky enough to wish upon him. In his half form; when he looks mortal and dark skinned and gleaming, with his beautiful, feathered brown and glory gold wings. Always with a brilliant smile, with eyes so dark and shining.

Samuel. To you, only Sam.

(Angel!Sam and Demon/Fallen Angel!Reader AU)

Warnings: Mention of violence and gore, smut, kinda sacrilegious

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello everyone! this is for @thewritingdoll​ freaky500 writing challenge! congrats on reaching a milestone!!! i’m a day late because i was busy and didn’t have time to post yesterday but here it is! my prompt was the quote “kind eyes can look on anything and find it beautiful.” from penny dreadful, hope you all enjoy!! pls let me know what you thought!

***

    The sky opens wide and swallows you whole, sucks you fast and hot into its open jaws. You are helpless, lost to it, wings snagging and catching, unable to find a steady beat, a safe rhythm that will save you from the unforgiving ground that rapidly approaches. Your wings burn and stretch and twist unnaturally with the sharp, wrenching pull of gravity that plummets you down, down, down.

    You are lost, you think, unable to right yourself, unable to save yourself this time. As if there was any hope in the first place, as if you could’ve stopped this fall once it had been decreed. Once you’d been sentenced to it.

You shut your eyes and stop fighting, the wind whistling through your ears. Your wings shake and thrash and scorch. You are heavenfire and damnation and the breaking of bones and vows; the pull snap of your heart and your wings. 

You hit the ground like a comet, burning and bright and broken. 

There is agony and flame and darkness. There is pain, such great, unyielding and rattling pain in your ribs and your head and wings. 

I wish to die, you think, I wish for it all stop. Please, please, God, please. 

The prayer forms so effortlessly, so easily that you forget who did this to you.

So you open your mouth and let loose a cry, choked and wet and like the first, wobbling cry of a newborn into an unforgiving and brutal world.

***

You remember him with warmth, like he had swallowed a star and you were lucky enough to wish upon him. In his half form; when he looks mortal and dark skinned and gleaming, with his beautiful, feathered brown and glory gold wings. Always with a brilliant smile, with eyes so dark and shining. 

Samuel. To you, only Sam. 

And you remember his full form, too. Grander and more stunning somehow, with thorned wings and light pouring through his body, his eyes hollow and piercing and burning. Like he was dipped in heavenfire and holy water and sunlight. No mortal could look upon him then, and even you— even you and the other angels had to squint at his radiance. Always too strong, too good. The best of you. 

You remember his hand on your shoulder, fixing your stance and your wings and the sword in your hand. 

“Like this,” He murmurs, training you to be a soldier. A soldier like him and like the others. It is all you know. He makes you stronger, broader. More powerful. He touches your waist, sets your skin aflame. “There,” He softens, “That’s it, now tighten your core.” 

And his hands are there, too, broad and large as he flattens them to your stomach. You can feel the creep of warmth, it unfurls slowly and simmers outward. For him, you tighten the muscles there, feel his hand atop them as the bunch tightly. 

“Breathe,” He commands softly, and you do, you take deep breaths that fill you with strength, that fill the pit of your core. 

He steps away and you immediately miss his warmth, the support of him. But you hold, hold yourself steady and strong for him to examine, so eager and desperate to please him. 

When Sam says, “Good, that’s good.” With a smile of softness and praise, you practically glow. 

Your wings twitch happily, as if you could suddenly swoop into the air and never come down. The smallest smile curls at your lips and you think, for a heartbeat, he traces it with his eyes. 

You are so young and filled with such eagerness, such newness that you think he wants a taste. 

And perhaps you want a taste of something wise and beautiful and ancient, too. 

***

When you wake, there is only pain and brutalness. Darkness shrouds the cavern you have been dragged to; the jagged peaks and dips of the cave are like teeth, like claws and you are in the heart of it. There is a fire, low and dimmed, that casts shadows across you. They seem to dance and writhe all on their own, little hedonistic creatures you have never seen before. 

It is nothing like before, like all that you have ever known. It is not bright or gleaming or startling in its grandness. 

It is small and cramped and terrible, leeching the life from you, whatever is left, anyways.

You can barely move, so aching and burning that even breathing is a form of pain. Your very existence is nothing but agony; all of the broken bones that lay inside you, useless and shattered, all of the bruising or fractures. And your wings--

Oh, your wings. 

They burned, you think, and you can feel the charred flesh of them. The lack of downy soft feathers, the ugliness and weakness of them. They are useless, then, too. They are horrible, garish pink pieces of flesh that erupt from your back. The new skin, scabbing, has already begun, the skin all bright and waxy and tight. Infant looking and bald.

You wish you would’ve died.

You rattle out a groan, perhaps a sob.

There is movement in the corner of your eye before the shadows themselves seem to part and a figure emerges in your hazy, fading vision. A brightness that you would know anywhere, that has seared it’s way along the ridges of your heart, gold-lined and extraordinary. You don’t think you believe what you see--

It’s a vision, you think. Something false to tempt or torment me. 

Perhaps I am in Hell, you continue, perhaps I am in Hell and this devil is here to torment me. 

But Sam emerges in all his glory, his face awash with pain, too, eyebrows drawn inward, eyes so dark and burning and full of anguish. 

He kneels beside where you lay and the power of it is not lost on you; for such a valiant warrior of God to kneel, to drop down and bow his head to you, to you, so lost and fallen. Your heart trembles, your very being shivers and aches and cries out to him. A shudder of shadow, a ripple from you as if it is now what you own. 

 “Oh, my dove, what have They done to you?” He finally speaks and his hand, so soft and warm and gentle touches the cold of your cheek. He could burn you, but you wouldn’t care, because that pain would come from him at least. It would come from the tenderness he treats you with now. You are certain it is some dream, some far off, fevered fantasy that you have conjured in all of your misery. 

But his touch is real, Sam seems real.

“H-How are you here?” You croak, “On earth with the beasts and me?”

He smiles almost fondly, the smile that he once granted you when he used to teach and guide you. The kind that knows so much, far more than you, and that marvels at your naivete. You feel as if you haven’t seen it in a millenia. Perhaps it’s been so long. Time is so meaningless to you both, only marked by experience and faded, hazy memories. 

“I am old,” He says, “So old that I remember when the earth was Ours and not for humans and beasts.” He brushes hair from your damp cheeks with a gentleness that is stunning to you, “I know how to travel between the worlds.” He drops his voice now, low and rumbling, “And I couldn’t leave you, not when you don’t know this new world.” He gives you a fracture of the smile he once gave you, now wobbling, eyes glittering in the low light with what might be tears. 

Can Angels cry?

“And someone has to keep you out of trouble, don’t they?” He tries to tease, but your laugh is swallowed by a choked out cry. 

He is so loyal that it hurts. 

“You have to leave soon, though.” You say,  “You can’t stay with me.” You breathe, because you’ve never heard of such a thing. You’ve never heard of an Angel walking among such base creatures, caring for a Fallen. For a Demon like you.

The thought is new and infuriating and uncertain. How could you have changed so drastically? Why had They done this to you?

Did you deserve it?

“I can do what I please,” He responds as if it’s that simple. You know it isn’t. You know he could get into severe trouble--

“Sam,” You start, feel his name on your lips, so holy and sacred for you.

But he hushes your protests, commands you to sleep, to rest, to heal, and you let darkness overtake you once more, begging that when you wake again, he’ll still be here.

***

Sam’s angry with you because you have forsaken him, gone against orders and placed your divine life in danger. You’re barely a fledgeling, wings still unscarred and brilliant. Your eyes are still bright and shining with the light of heaven. You are over zealous and your sword drips with the black, vile blood of demons, of creatures you slay like cattle.

“I told you to fall back,” Sam scolds and his voice has dipped low and threatening, there’s a look in his eyes you don’t see often.

“But I still defeated them!” You say with a radiant smile, slick oil blood coating you, splattered onto your pristine face and wings. “Did you see me?” You press with wide eyes, eager for his praise, “I used everything you taught me.” 

You did and you’d been incredible, a flurry of steel and feathers and gore. But something about it itches at him, something about seeing you covered in the guts and blood of war and battle make him wary. You are too comfortable in it, he thinks. 

You didn’t listen, he reminds himself, despite the way he wants to gentle and soothe you. He wants to give you what you want. He wants to swipe the blood from your cheek and tell you that you were fierce and incredible, that the heavens could’ve trembled with you. Hell should be scared, he wanted to say. But instead he swallows and shakes his head. 

You put yourself in danger. You were reckless and proud and childish. 

“It doesn’t matter. You need to listen to me.” He reprimands sternly and you flinch back, sensitive little creature that you are. 

He wants to coo that he’s sorry, he wants to go easy and sweet as honey on you. He wants to teach you and guide you and lay you out beneath him so your wings spread wide on the ground and your halo flares with all your heat and glory.

He wants to punish you and make you as scared as he was when he saw that you hadn’t retreated, that you hadn’t listened. He wants to cradle you inside his ribs, keep you safe and tucked away beneath bone and feather and flesh and shield you from all the heavens and hells and earths. 

You look like you might cry, bow your head with fluttering lashes. 

“I’m sorry, Samuel.” You say and it’s so formal that it makes him ache. 

Call me Sam, he’d told you with a lopsided smile one day and you haven’t used his full, Angelic name since then, since now. 

You drop to one knee, as is customary of Angels. You keep your eyes fiercely on the ground, drop your sword at his feet with a clatter that echoes through him, and recite the words each fledgeling is practically branded with, forced to remember and recite and practice;

“I accept any righteous punishment you deem fit for me, for I am an instrument of God, and you act in His glorious image. I have been disobedient and I ask for your forgiveness.” 

Sam hates this, swallows hard because he doesn’t want to be your General, your Punisher. He shouldn’t be soft on you, either, should treat you as any other fledgeling that he has taught and trained and guided into Holy War. 

“Get up,” He says roughly, quietly.

You blink, stare up at him from your knees and he has to look elsewhere, cast his eyes outward else they turn to something unfitting--

“Get up,” He says again and now you are spurred into action, rising to your full height once more. You gaze up at him in confusion, in anticipation. 

“I won’t punish you,” Sam says quietly, “But you must obey me in the future. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” You breathe, relieved, looking up at him with such adoration. 

Sam shakes his head, eyes you, tries to place distance between you two out of fear of doing something foolish like touch your face or your hair or your wings. 

“You really are trouble, though, little dove, do you know that?” He asks with a wry sort of smile, watching as you follow him eagerly, that bounce to your step that marks you so young and fresh and new to their world. You burst and curl with new life, with the unmatched adrenaline that comes with the swing of a sword and sour blood caught on your hands. 

You smile at him, a curling of your lips that he wants to feel against his, “Somebody has to keep me out of it then, don’t they?” 

Sam barks out a laugh despite himself, feeling something unfurl in his great, broad chest. 

***

The next several days are a blur of wretched pain and sleep, all darkness, as you are becoming accustomed to. It is your new home, after all. But Sam is there, always there when you wake. He does not leave your side and it is all slow, horrible process. You heal fast, like all Angels or Demons or in between creatures. But what you heal into, what you become, is something you have hated and hunted for centuries. 

Sam should kill you, by the righteous blade of his sword, he should plunge it into your chest. Would you bleed black or gold? Angel or Demon? Have you fallen and turned so quickly? Are you already so unrecognizable?

Your feathered wings don’t return, instead the skin grows tough and silk and leathery, bruising darker. They are hideous and throbbing, still, make you want to hide in such shadows that you once abhorred so much. You don’t want Sam to see you this way. 

But he does. 

And he does not blanch or balk. He is not horrified with the new, growing form of you. He shows no sign of hostility, only the same gentleness that he has always given you so graciously. Not even when your eyes turn wide and crimson, or when your teeth begin to sharpen with sudden bursts of emotion. 

You become unrecognizable to yourself. Monstrous.

“Will you kill me?” You ask when you are almost fully restored, and your eyes are wide and glittering in the dark. 

“Why would I kill you?” He responds, but he goes very, very still. 

“Because I’m becoming a Demon and you know it. Will you kill me?” You ask again, with a child-like bluntness that turns his stomach inside out. You tilt your head in a way that you used to, when you pressed and questioned him, so curious and seeking. 

“Will you kill me?” He counters, looking into your transforming eyes. “Since you are becoming a Demon and you know it.” 

“No,” You say, quickly, “No, I would never.” 

Sam touches your neck, brushes fingers there delicately, “I wouldn’t, either.” He promises on a breath, and his touch is warm. So warm. He glances at your wings which are growing strange and horrid, so you shrink away, skitter backwards and try to hide them from his gaze. He used to love your wings, feathered and soft and to be touched and loved--

“Don’t hide yourself from me,” He says into the soft, flickering light. And he steps towards you again, “There are few places to hide here, anyways.” He then teases, because you are both still in the cave, and he gives you a smile that you have missed dearly. 

You eye him warily, though, before stepping towards him and letting your wings unfurl wide and proud and horrible. As if you could scare him. They are great and shadowy, like a bat’s wings, hooked and sharp and so deeply violet they may be black. They almost glitter in the haunted light, looking ghoulish and casting such tormented shadows upon the cave walls. You think you belong here, and he does not.

“Why don’t you leave?” You ask then, looking at the hooked, vicious shape of your shadows, “I am healed. Why do you stay?” You ask and you can feel something wretched growing inside of you, the inevitable pain you will feel for his loss. You know he cannot stay with you. You were foolish to think otherwise. So you can feel your teeth sharpening, you can feel your eyes simmering into a new, vibrant red. 

“Why do you stay?” You ask again, and there is a new sound to your voice, vibrant and slithering and vicious. 

But he only gazes at you in awe, at the wide reaching span of your wings, at your new teeth and eyes and claws. He marvels at you, as if you are something beautiful, when you are the furthest from. Gone is his little dove, his little seraphim, killed and swallowed by the raven, the darkling. You are new again, just as you were when he first met you. 

He steps towards you, unafraid, steps into your darkness. His light combats with your dark, each vying for more, give and take. His hand reaches up and slides against the strong muscles of your wings. You gasp at the heat, the touch of him. The sensitivity of it. He gets closer and you can feel the angles and lines of his body, the fire within him, the star that burns so brightly at his core and behind his eyes. 

You tremble on some new beginning, breath hitching. 

He flattens his palm for a firmer touch, glides along the violet leather of them. You find his eyes, molten and burning in the darkness. As if he cannot be quelled or stopped or doused. So glorious and brilliant in his light and he still gazes at you with such amazement, such love. 

It steals your breath away and you shudder when his other hand finds the curve of your ribs, your waist. 

“Because I have a new world to show you.” He tells you then and you lean forward as if commanded, as if you are unable to resist, until your lips are just a breath from his. Drawn to him as you have always been. 

The throb of your heart is loud in your ears, in the cage of your ribs. 

His lips smile against yours, eyes hooded and flaming, “But I don’t think I can call you dove anymore,” He says, brushes his lips against yours in a way that almost makes you whine, “You’ve outgrown it.” 

And he covers his lips with yours, kisses you deep and desperate and dark. It is wild, a fierceness that is new and foreign but lovely and right. Something breaks free inside of you, something that was dormant and now wakes with wide, sharp eyes. A beast that slumbers, but now jolts forward. Your need for him becomes violent, curved, and dipped in your newfound darkness. 

He groans, low and deep when your nails dig into the back of his neck, his shoulders. His mouth is open and moving and warm against yours. His hands are broad and strong, as they always have been, guiding and firm as they push you back. You’re pinned to the cave wall, the coldness seeps in, the rough stone against your new wings, against your back. 

There is no preamble, no gentleness, no waiting. He hitches your leg up, pushes in like he belongs there. Like you’re still home. He does, you think, he always has.

There is nothing divine about your coupling now, not like when you were new and soft and the dew still clung to you. Not when you were filled with dawn and all it’s gold and rose and hazy vibrancy. When you touched with a tentative eagerness, your eyes swimming with adoration and trepidation and love. 

You sink sharp hands into his wings, feel his growl against the fluttering pulse at your neck. You don’t think you’ve ever heard such a noise from him, something so base and unholy. It makes you shudder, and you let out a broken, half moan. 

You can already feel all the heat and pressure building, can feel him heavy and deep in the pit of you, filling you, breaking you open and apart. He lays claim to this new you, too, just as he had so many years ago. 

He gets rougher, teaches you to be brutal with him, to be primal. 

You wonder if this is how Adam and Eve felt after they’d eaten the fruit, after they’d disobeyed. You wonder if they’d felt this free, this powerful. You wonder if Sam feels it, too, feels this surge between you two. You wonder if he knows this is damned, this is hellish. This is cursed love now, you think. And it only makes you want to claim him more, suck the glittering life-blood from his body, sink teeth and nail into flesh and wing. You want him to be yours by his very marrow, you want to burrow in him, possess him. 

It doesn’t take much, not with this frenzy, this heat and love, and you fall apart with a cry, a bitten off snarl. 

“That’s it,” He grunts, “That’s my girl,” He gets out and his smile is a little more hooked, a little sharper, too proud, arrogant because he’s wretched your pleasure out of you, made you his, too. 

“My darkling.” He coos into the line of your jaw, into your very heart. 

***

 The first time Sam lays you down in the garden, you are breathless and curious and nervous. He’s slow with you, as sweet as the thick, flowered air. Your wings fan out beneath you, a vision of softness, thick and lovely. You glow bright and sparkling under the rays of sun and he marvels at you with a smile, with wonderful, kind eyes. 

When he touches you, slides palms along the lines of your body and covers you with his broad, muscled body, you squirm and blush. His wings cover you, shroud you in shadow. 

“Look at you,” He murmurs with such a fond smile, a tenderness that is only reserved for you. “Like a little dove.” 

You smile at him, impish, blowing your hair from your face until he laughs. “And what are you?” You try to tease, but your voice is hushed, like there’s a secret tucked behind your teeth. “Something mighty and strong and old?” 

“Oh, I’m old, now?” He counters, just as he slides his palm against yours, forces your hand down gently to the earth.

You giggle, nudge his cheek with your nose. “If I am a dove, then you are,” And you bite your lip, think for a moment, but Sam follows the movement with his eyes, wants to be the one with your lip between his teeth so he kisses you, slow and deep.

You smile into the kiss, because he’s over eager, because he’s smiling, too.

You push him away a little, “You never let me finish,” You whine playfully, kick a little to be disobedient. 

“What am I to you, then, baby?” He asks with happy, sparkling eyes. 

And you look at his wings, so brilliant and sharp and strong, richly brown and gold and stunning. 

“A falcon,” You say, “If I am a dove, then you’re a falcon.” 

His lips hitch up before they’re being pressed to you again, eager and soft and full of love. He spreads you out beneath him, opens you up all vulnerable and you’re a little scared, a little tentative, but so desperate and in need of him that you arch and squirm and sigh for him.

He praises you in a hushed voice, guides you with strong hands. He pushes inside of you and it is new and painful and sacred. You bleed gold the first time and all is laid out in the light and he moves in you so sweetly, so achingly perfect. 

It’s holy, your halo aflame all bright and burning and fire blue around your head and he laughs because of the surge in your power. You flicker between forms; half and full and he thinks you’re everything. He gets you to fall apart for the first time, the sweet shock of it parting your lips with a gasp, with a bloom of pleasure that sets you ablaze. 

“That’s it,” He murmurs, “That’s my girl. My little dove.” He breathes against your cheek, and into your soul.

***

You take to the skies when your wings have finished healing, when they are large shadows that protrude from your shoulders with a newfound pride. You grow into your new appearance, slowly at first, but the moment you feel the wind beneath your new wings, you feel stronger than you ever have. 

Sam flies beside you, unfurls his wings wide and large beside your own. You glide alongside each other, the wind against your face and the wide, open expanse of the skies that spreads before you. It used to be overwhelming, the vastness of the heavens, it used to humble you. 

But now all you can think about is covering all of it in your spectacular shadow. Devouring it all. You want to swallow all of the heavens and even hell, too. 

Sam’s wings touch yours, brush against it in a slow slide. 

You glance over at him, lift your eyes to his face, and decide that you want to devour him, too.

***

When you fly alongside Sam, it’s as if the skies have opened up for you both. It’s astonishing, terrifying. But you follow his lead, let your wings glide against his, just below his. You take refuge beneath him, find comfort in the strength he possesses. 

He guides you, let’s you twirl and dive and swoop in the sky playfully. You try to race and soar and stretch your wings as far as they can go. And you still feel humbled and small and unknowing against all of the clouds and the heavens. 

Sam watches you with love, with protectiveness. You look back at him, toss him a smile, and return to his side, dutiful and brilliant. You are small and content with it, content to be nothing more than a tool of God. 

Content to be a creation for someone else.  

***

The years tumble onward and you watch as humans change and shift and adjust on this earth you have been cast to. You lean into the new part of you, grow hungry and ferocious and decide that you can be something new.

You use all that Sam taught you, fight new Angels, kill them as easily as you’d once killed Demons. The first time Sam finds you covered in the glittering ichor of them, you are sure he will be disgusted with you. 

But it’s as if he gazes at you the way he had when you’d killed Demons once, still with a sort of reverence or fondness or astonishment. Perhaps like he might chastise you again. 

“Do you want me on my knees?” You ask him once, “Do you want me to beg for forgiveness?” You purr, pressing a blood stained hand to his chest. He eyes you with a quiet amusement, catches your wrist tight in the rough palm of his hand. 

“If you’re offering,” He responds, the smooth rumble of his voice that makes heat curl low inside you. It makes you want him, makes you want to give in to all your base desires of him. Would he take you like this, with all the gore on you? Does he want to? Is it a sin? 

You want to make him sin, you find, you curl your lips upward. Tempt and tease and simper until he’s got you pinned to the blood soaked ground, smiling roughly into your chest as he proves again and again that he owns some crooked, misshapen part of your heart. 

He shudders between his full and half form now and you prick your fingers on his thorns, receive burn marks from the heaven fire of his halo. Your own teeth and nails grow sharp and powerful, pushing into the muscles of his back, his wings, until his own sparkling blood drips onto your cheek, your neck.

Base, sacreligious creatures that mark and move upon the ground. He gets you on your stomach, like a serpent, takes you in rough, hard strokes that make you burst open and fall again and again for him. Another fall from Grace, but this one so much better, so much sweeter and vicious. 

You think it can’t last, you think that he’ll suffer or you’ll suffer for this coupling. No Demon and Angel has ever endured the years, the war, the differences. You think he’ll end up falling for you and for all your selfishness, you can’t imagine that. He is the best of Them- the brightest of the Angels and you have tainted and marred him with your darkness. You’ve brought him closer to earth, further from the heavens. 

Still, he is the best of Them. And somehow, he is in love with you, somehow he risks damnation for you. 

He gazes at you with the same tenderness he always has, as if you are something beautiful and holy. His eyes so kind, so full of heat and adoration for you. As if you haven’t fallen, tumbled down to the earth and exchanged your glory for nightshade, your soft feathered wings for the cutting brutality of your new ones. As if you don’t kill and slaughter Angels with everything he once taught you, stain your hands and your soul with their sparkling blood as if it could purge you. As if you are not something monstrous, as if he isn’t something miraculous. 

 As if his love has not changed or faltered once over these many years; loyal to the bitter, screaming end of it all. 

***

You look up at Sam through the haze of a rose gold sun, he is in armor and sword in hand. He stands tall and proud, his eyes gentle on you, though. Always on you.

“How long will you love me?” You ask playfully, the last of adrenaline from battle seeping through you, through him. He smiles at you as if he can’t get enough of you.

“Forever.” He tells you as you dance away from his reaching hands, “Forever and then some.” 

“What if I lost my feathers? And grew sharp teeth? And horrible eyes?” You challenge with a curling smile, as if you knew, “What if I was hideous?”

“I would still love you,” Sam laughs, “And all of your hideousness.” 

“Would you think it’s beautiful?”

He catches your waist, the sensitive curve of your wing with his other large hand “On you?” He croons slow and sticky sweet as the last of the light drenches you two in gold and flesh pink. 

“On you, it’d always be beautiful to me.”

[strawberrylovessebby]

Bloodlines Masterlist

Pairing: Hunter!Chris (Destroyer) x Banshee!Reader (Supernatural AU)

Summary: Nightmares, corpses and a big and grumpy hunter. Five months since you became a Banshee, and to be honest? You just want to fucking sleep.

Status: In progress

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, violence, sliiight abuse of alcohol, swearing. Also, it will contain smut! However, every chapter will have its own warnings.

A/N: prompt from @thewritingdoll writing challenge: “Honey, whatcha doin’? These guys don’t use doors.”🍓

part one: Nightmares

part two: Rugarus

part three: Drawings

part four: Family

[ballofstring66fanfic]

Daisy Chain

A “Daisy Chain” is a booby trap consisting of multiple explosive devices wired to a single detonator.

For the #FREAKY500WC writing challenge set by @thefvcker-tucker​

[my main blog is @icouldkillyouwiththistray​

Staff Sergeant William James [Jeremy Renner] & female OC witch/shapeshifter

Prompt - “There’s looking for trouble and there’s begging.”

[[This could well have more chapters - I can’t create a master list unfortunately as tumblr has gone very weird on me - my browser now does not give me access to see or manage my pages so I’m a bit stuck. ]]

***********************************************************************************************

Daisy Chain - Chapter one

James. Do you copy?  James! We need you back here do you copy?

Copy that. Gimme a minute Sanborn. Looking into something.

Staff Sergeant William James has his M4 jammed into his shoulder, the sun in his eyes and Sanborn still bleating in his ear.

What do you have Blaster one? Is there a threat?

I don’t know yet. Maybe nuthin’.

Give me your location. Do you copy?

He doesn’t reply. He’s following a noise he heard - an odd sound but only heard briefly - it sounded like sails billowing in the wind.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe something.

Maybe oblivion though something tells him not this time. Not yet. But he has to push towards it. Always. He’s aware that his compulsion breaks Connie’s heart. Is ruining their marriage. Not that they’re married anymore.

He rounds the corner into a quiet Baghdad back alley. The sun is directly in front of him - relentless - casting everything ahead into silhouette. He furrows his brows to get rid of the flies and proceeds - careful footsteps scraping in the sand. He can see the shape of a car blocking most of the width of the alley.  There is movement on the bonnet.

Only one, he thinks but there might be more. Adrenalin is firing through him and he fucking lives for that but he knows he should call for back up. The sun moves behind a building as he gets closer and he blinks to clear his vision. He stops where he is and settles the M4 a little better into position. He can handle one insurgent and he’s still far enough away to get out of there if there’s more.

"Get down, get on the ground. Get your hands up!" he barks orders to the figure on top of the car.  

"Don’t panic soldier."

He blinks. The figure has a well spoken English accent. Feminine. He can see her outline now. She looks slender. She looks naked. What the hell is going on?

"Get down on the ground now or I will shoot you. I will shoot you in the head."

"I don’t think you want to do that."

She’s perched on the bonnet of a beat up Audi like she’s at a fucking polo match or something - long brown hair swept across one shoulder, knees raised up with her arms draped across them. Her pale skin says she’s western and she has caramel eyes that’s he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t even be able to make out from this distance but their rich, vivid colour seems like the only thing that’s really alive in this sun-bleached, trash alley.

She is as naked as the day she was born. Sitting on a car bonnet in the back street of a goddamned war zone. His mind skips through all the possibilities - she could be a mercenary or a westerner that’s been radicalised? But why naked - it seems like a trap.  Social conditioning has brought him up to believe that a naked woman is not going to be a threat - that she should need his protection but his experience and instincts know this whole situation isn’t right. She shouldn’t be here and she doesn’t look like she needs anyone’s protection - there’s no hint of vulnerability - she sits with her ankles crossed on the hood like she’s just exactly where she wants to be.

“Get down from the fucking car. Put your hands behind your head or I will shoot you!” 

Why won’t she listen dammit? Is she crazy?

“I’m really comfortable where I am to be honest.” 

This is not how it goes. It’s fucked up. It’s fucked up and he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s weirded out enough to call Sanborn.

This is Blaster one. Blaster Mike do you copy? Sanborn? I need backup I’ve got something

But all he gets in return is static and a broken word or two.

He’s conflicted but he knows his job. As much as loves being close to oblivion - his M4 is still raised and it’s pointing at her.

"Ma’am this is not a fucking tea party I need you to get down off the car and kneel down with your hands behind your head. Now. Or I will fire. I will fire.” 

He has to make a call. He has to but he really doesn’t want to shoot an apparently unarmed, naked woman.

Silence hangs in the shimmering heat - sweat runs down his neck and inside his collar as his finger stretches and relaxes back against the trigger. 

Time stretches to breaking point then, thank the Lord, she steps down. He sees the puff of sand as her knees hit the dirt and her hands clasp behind her head. Sergeant James exhales and steps closer.

"Okay okay. Ma’am are you in trouble? Are you wired? Is there a bomb on you...?" 

His voice is pitched lower and softer now and he looks over her for injuries - signs of abuse. He’s heard of surgically implanted bombs - seen body bombs. He knows of devices placed into breast implants and his eyes travel up and down the kneeling woman but he sees no wounds and her breasts look natural to him. His gaze doesn’t linger - nothing about this situation is sexual. 

He wishes he had a jacket or something to cover her with.

Sanborn, do you copy? godfuckingdammitt!

The empty hiss of the radio tells him he is on his own.

"...is there a bomb in the car?" He walks around the vehicle but his experienced eye sees nothing.

"There’s no bomb, Sergeant. Can I put my hands down now?" she asks as if she’s requested he pass the sugar. 

His eyes are still scanning his surroundings - alert for any changes - any signs of a potential threat but eventually they come back and settle on the kneeling woman.

 "Where are your clothes ma’am? What happened to you?" 

Her skin is flawless and he believes she’s telling the truth. He’s checked everything short of a full cavity search.  

"Nothing happened to me, I’m fine, the nakedness is just...an occupational hazard. Of sorts." She gives a little shrug. 

"Are you a prostitute? Have you been trafficked?"

"Neither of those..."

"Then who the fuck are you? “ He has moved round in front of her again and he needs answers because none of this makes any fucking sense. “Who the fuck ... are you? Because you are very fucking calm for a naked lady in the middle of a war zone."

"I know, I know. There’s asking for trouble and there’s begging right? So...would you believe... your fairy godmother?"

"No I fucking wouldn’t."

"Genie of the lamp?"

"I don’t have a lamp, ma’am."

"Good point, Will."

The muzzle of the M4 suddenly presses hard into her forehead. "I did not tell you my name."

"No you didn’t..."

"Stay down. Stay. DOWN!"

But she ignores him and she’s rising to her feet slowly, hands up and open- pushing the gun barrel to one side with her forearm. Looking at him with those eyes like she can see into his goddamn shitty mess of a soul and he thinks he sees falling stars when he looks back in to them. 

"I came here to find you, Will. You’re not at all what I thought you’d be ..."

James do you copy where are you what’s going on?

His radio crackles into life

"Uh."

He drags his eyes away, turns and glances back down the alley as if he expects to see Sanborn come around the corner and when he looks back she’s gone -  as if she’d never been there at all.

"James what the fuck are you doing? What did I tell you about turning your radio off?"

Sanborn does come around the corner and finds James standing there with his mouth open. James is never at a loss - the cocky little shit always knows his next move but right now, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

"You okay, man?"

"Slap me. I need you to slap me, JT."

Sanborn knows his team leader. It’s not the first time he’s hit him and he doesn’t need to be asked twice.

"Okay," he shrugs and obliges.

Will’s head snaps around at the force and he works his jaw to loosen it as he stares at the ground.

"Feel better? What happened here, Will?"

"Thought I saw a naked woman.” He regrets saying it the minute the words start to come out of his mouth and he tries to make it a joke. “Naked, british woman.”

"Well damn, where’d she go?"

"Back into my dreams I guess."

"Thats real cute an all but and we have a job to do so let’s get on with it okay." Sanborn believes Will is bullshitting and shakes his head as he walks away. 

Will scuffs the toe of his boot, smudging the outline of the bare foot that’s imprinted in the sand then lifts his head and follows.

Back at the base, Beckham is kicking his ball around in the dust and Will drains his coke and calls him over with the hook of a finger.

“Hey, kid. You know of any british women in the area?”

“I get you DVD’s with women. Lots of women.”

“No, kid, you know - a real woman. A white british woman....” he hesitates then adds, “...naked. She might be wandering around with no clothes on. ”

He thinks Beckham is just going to try and sell him more porn but the kid cocks his head as if he’s thinking.

“Rukk?”

“What? What’s Rukk?”

“Rukk.” Beckham wafts his arms in a flapping motion like a giant bird and his mouth shapes itself into an O to make the accompanying noise.

It sounds like sails billowing in the wind.

[buckybarndoors]

Salvation - Part One

So here is my small addition to the perfect writing challenge that @thefvcker-tucker created for her amazing mile marker in hitting 500 followers! I really really hope this plays out well, and remember if you all enjoyed please don’t forget to leave feedback and, most importantly, spread some love to the lovely person who created this Supernatural - themed challenge in the first place!

Pairing: Angel!Bucky x SingleMom!Reader

Prompt: “If I am your salvation, you are mine.” Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide and drinking, along with a lot of reference towards religion; any of all which is mentioned is also never meant to be insulting or rude in any way, for it is the thought of a fictional character attempting to make sense of their own world :)

SALVATION SERIES MASTERLIST

Not proofread, so please ignore any mistakes in the following!

*gif not my own and imagery found by the poster @nemfrog*

     I have never been the kind of person to believe in God, even when life seemed to get the better of me and things seemed to be going to up and holy shit. No, for me, there was never a ‘man upstairs’ that helped with the little things or set my life and destiny out for me by giving commandments to live by and roles to fill. But, especially, there were no little angels with glorious voices and fluffy, feathery wings to match their golden, floating halos. The only angel and saving grace that I needed in my life was currently seated in the back seat of my car, happily sucking on one thumb while her free hand gripped tightly to the ratty old bear that she had found at the local Goodwill when we had stopped by earlier in the year. She was the only thing that I needed to keep me sane. Not some long-haired, holy and righteous man that claimed my life in his hands in return for my own faith and unrequited love.

     It may seem random enough to go on a sudden tangent about religion and the limits of my own belief when it came down to it, but it all wouldn’t have even happened if that stupid man wouldn’t have cornered me in the street while I was attempting to carry my little darling Judith into the car from the local daycare she stays in while I work, flinging papers into my face and saying things along the line of “Do you deserve to be saved?” or “What miracles has our Father given you?” before I had time to even realize what in the hell was going on and why such a man was screaming in my face in the first place. By the time I reached the car, Judith was wide awake and undoubtedly not going back to sleep anytime soon and I was about fed up with the people in this damn city that I was just tempted to keep on driving past our apartment and just take both me and Judith to my parents house for the weekend, if only just to catch a small, well-deserved break.

     But, instead, I heaved a large sigh and shifted the gear so that the car now hummed in ‘Park’, resting my forehead against the steering wheel if only to relieve just some of the pressure that was beginning to build in the space behind my eyes.

     “Is something wrong, Mommy?” A pause, before the little angel in the back of the car continues. “Are you upset because I sleeped at daycare when you told me not to? I promise I never do it again! Please don’t be sad.”

     I couldn’t help it. If anything, my very own daughter was kind of like my own kryptonite. With her gapped front teeth, curly hair, eyes that could make anyone turn into a puddle of goo and her inability to yet realize that ‘sleeped’ and ‘slept’ were not one and the same just made everything seemed the slightest bit lighter on my shoulders. So when the corners of my lips turned just the slightest bit upwards and the tension in my spine started to dissipate, I raised my head up from the steering wheel and shifted so that I was looking back at her, the smile still lingering on my face.

     “I’m not upset, Angel,” I promise, watching as the pout on her face slowly morphs into a large, toothy grin as she giggles and squirms in her car seat, removing her thumb from her mouth so that it could be seen as brightly as she wanted it to be. “Mommy’s just a little bit stressed, but how about we go inside and get you to bed?”

      In almost little to no time, the engine was shut off and I had the small girl in the safety of my arms as she clutched tightly to my neck with one hand and gripped the old bear in her other as if it were her lifeline. Haphazardly, I jam my only free hand into the pocket of my jacket and take out the keys to the apartment building itself, for since it was past eleven p.m. there was nobody there to let me inside, as per usual. But, just as the key itself made its way into its place inside the lock, Judith’s giggly voice in my ear catches my attention.

      “Mommy! Mommy! Look at the pretty man over there! He gots wings - is he a angel?”

      On instinct, my grip on her tightens just in the slightest as I turn with furrowed brows, one hand still placed on the now unlocked doorknob as my eyes dart every-which-way around us. Of course, I didn’t actually believe that my darling little girl saw a man with wings, but it wasn’t like her to have imaginary friends that went past her stuffed animal companions and picture books that littered her room. But now, as I gazed around us, it almost seemed as if Judith was, indeed, making up the simple fact of a man’s existence, wings or no wings. For there was nobody but us standing in the large expanse of street and sidewalk that we stood on and only the distant sound of something fluttering in the nonexistent wind of that summer night that truly kept the both of us company.

     “You missed him, Mommy! He flew away. But I promise he was there! He stand over there with big black wings and-”

     “Hush now, love. Let’s go to bed now. I have a big day tomorrow and you wanna keep me company, don’t you?”

     “Yes, Mommy.”

      With Judith tucked in and sound asleep (after a big battle on whether or not she could sleep with me for the night) while I consume a couple (four) glasses of wine to help settle the war going on in my own head, it was easy to say that I was already fed up with the new day that was to come, and it wasn’t even two in the morning yet. It was hard to tell whether or not the fact that I had the day off of work tomorrow was a miracle hidden within a nightmare, for the mere reason entirely that I could even earn this day free from any annoying customers claiming that I got their order wrong from the beginning of the day or any of the drunken men that came in to the bar that I worked inside of during the night as my second job would be because a stupid, meaningless Doctor’s appointment. Even now, as I gazed down at the seemingly endless pile of bills that sat atop the coffee table in front of the couch that I currently sat on, it almost seemed to echo in my mind just how dumb I was for believing that this Doctor’s appointment would be any different than the last.

     For, after all, who could possibly cure a poor woman without the proper funds to even put her daughter before herself, much less her own health, when she was slowly but surely going blind? It sounded like a nutcase. I was a nutcase for even believing the Doctors when they claimed to want to keep seeing me every time something new arrived instead of believing the obvious fact: I was slowly but surely going into a heavy debt that I just wasn’t going to be able to pull myself out of. All for some stupid pair of eyes that just couldn’t seem to work correctly.

     Without even thinking about it, I down the last few drops of what was left of the fifth glass of wine in my hand, scrunching my nose and wiping what lingered around my mouth with the back of my hand before setting down the glass object on top of the bills that read a lot of numbers with way too many digits than I favored. I felt lame as I pushed myself back to lay across the expanse of the couch, pressing my back against its cushions and tucking my legs underneath my body so that I could lay comfortably enough to ease just a little bit of the weight from my shoulders and back. This time, I didn’t have Judith to keep me from getting too in my head, just as it had been once before and reminding me all too much of the troubled times I had driven myself through when she wasn’t even alive to stop me from doing so. After all, she was my saving grace, forever and always, even if she didn’t know it. And if my sight was what it meant to make me a good enough Mother for her to have, then so be it. No matter the cost.

     “God,” My voice was breathy as I sighed, feeling lame for even saying the words but continuing nonetheless as my eyelids fluttered closed against the exhaustion that lingered inside of my bones. “Whoever you are, or whoever’s even listening to me right now while I slowly go crazy, I’m begging you to hear me out for a second. Just for a second.”

     I paused, for the air around me had grown thick with something that I couldn’t place, almost as if I were truly tricking myself into believing that somebody else other than myself was in the room with me, listening intently to the sound of my words as they slipped from my mouth. But still, I kept my eyes tightly sealed in fear of scaring away the feeling altogether. For even if it was a trick of my brain, it almost felt like it was what I needed at that very moment. The feeling of someone finally listening.

      “I don’t know how to be the perfect mother for the little angel that’s sleeping right now, but what I do know is that I so desperately want to be. So please, if there’s anything, anything at all that you can do to make sure that she grows up with all the happiness and love that she could ever need and so much more, with or without my sight, I desperately need to see it soon. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to-”

     With that sentence, my voice broke, separated by the tears that slowly began to drip down my cheeks, staining the fabric of the couch underneath my head with its salty remnants. There was nothing left for me to say, even if I did have the entire world of words flowing through my head as I let my cry, tucking my face deeper into the pillow.

     And it wasn’t until I finally fell asleep that night did the feeling of company disappear, easily pushing away the darkness of normal loneliness that had I grown so used to in the many nights of slumber and filling my dreams with the remnants of blue eyes and dark emerald and jade feathers that blended in so perfectly with the darkness of the night.

[ao3feed-hawkguy]

Daisy Chain

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32DXh4G

by Ballofstring66

None of this makes any fucking sense...

 For the #FREAKY500WC writing challenge set by @thefvcker-tucker on tumblr Staff Sergeant William James [Jeremy Renner] & female OC witch/shapeshifter Prompt - “There’s looking for trouble and there’s begging.”

Words: 1606, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Jeremy Renner - Fandom, MCU Hawkeye - Fandom, MCU Avengers, The Hurt Locker, Sgt Will James, Sgt William James, Hawkeye - Fandom

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Staff Sergeant William James, Morgan

Additional Tags: Excuse my ignorance of military procedure, and my shitty writing, And pretty much everything, how do you get a shapeshifting witch, into the hurt locker, this is how

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32DXh4G

[strawberrylovessebby]

Bloodlines (part one: Nightmares)

Pairing: Hunter!Chris (Destroyer) x Banshee!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Nightmares, corpses and a big and grumpy hunter. Five months since you became a Banshee, and to be honest? You just want to fucking sleep.

Warnings: Some bad words, a lot of blood and one (1) dead person. Also nightmares and a bunch of lies (does this need a warning?).

A/N: This is the first chapter of my entry for my beautiful bambolina’s FREAKY500 writing challenge! (@thewritingdoll)🍓 I really fucking love the prompt I choose and I can’t thank you enough for being my beta ;A; you have my whole heart! So, this is like my first fic in english, be kind please! Hope you peeps enjoy! Every kind of feedback is a b s o l u t e l y appreciated!🍓🍓

series masterlist

Before starting college two years ago, you thought about so many things that could go wrong while there. Like bad parties, too many lessons, nights spent studying and fake friends. However, not a single one of that thoughts included becoming a banshee.

And yet, here you were.

Five months after the bite you found yourself, in the middle of the night, in a place you didn’t even know where it was. Again. And at your feet; a corpse.

A woman. Laying on her stomach. From where you were standing you couldn’t see her face, but you could see, very clearly, the hole on her side. The flesh devoured by something.

The blood was everywhere, and you stumbled backward in the exact moment you realized you were standing with your bare feet in the middle of the pool around the body.

You bit back the tears, resisting the urge to scream, and wrapped your hands around your arms, tight. Your tank top and shorts doing nothing to keep you covered, while goosebumps raised on your skin.

The silence all around you broke when you circled the woman. Something telling you to look at her face. Voices, whispering quietly in your head.

Look. Look at her. Look at me.

Her face was pale. Eyes spent, watching nothing. Dread still lingering on her features.

Then, the woman was watching you and a name rolled off her tongue with more blood. And you screamed, opening your eyes.

“ Hey! Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare. Shhh. ”

You focused your gaze on your best friend’s face, her brows furrowed in a worried look, and slowly you started to feel your mind come back to reality. You felt the warm air of your house, the hard wood under your feet and heard the noises from the street outside your building. But the chills on your skin were still there, just like the distant sound of the raspy voice of the dead woman. The name still reverberating inside your mind.

“ Are you okay? ”

Your best friend voice startled you and you looked back at her. You didn’t notice that your gaze shifted from her to the door in front of you. And just in that moment you realized that you were standing in the entryway of your house.

“ I… yes. Sorry, I’m okay, just… ”

“ Don’t worry… let’s go back to sleep, okay? ”

“ Yeah. Sure… ”

You didn’t really try to fall asleep again for the few hours until morning, too scared you’d wake up in the street this time, or worse, that you’d see again the face of that woman.

The name she told you still clear in your mind. Were you supposed to know the person that name belonged to? You weren’t sure why, but it weighed on your tongue, so you left it slip out your mouth, breaking the silence in your room.

“ Chris. ”

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　•••

The morning went like any other day. Neither you or your roommate talked about what happened the night before. You convinced her many months ago that it was just stress, and you thanked anyone that was listening that she actually believed it.

You were ready to forget everything about that nightmare. Put the dead woman in the corner of your mind where you started to hide every weird thing you saw since the day you were bitten by that fucking alpha.

But life’s never so easy, right?

Most of the times, when you weren’t in your house, inside the college or at work in the library you focused yourself on the road you had to do. Keep your mind on the street. But that morning you couldn’t, because of the distant buzz in your ears.

The voices weren’t loud enough to be annoying, but they kept you distracted. You didn’t notice you took the way on your right instead to keep going straight ahead. Neither did you see the policemen until the alarm of one of the police cars snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked around yourself, cursing under your breath. You were definitely very far away from your college. And that place looked familiar, in a disturbing way.

A chill ran up your spine the moment you realized that you were standing not too distant from the spot where the dead woman was, in your nightmare.

You should spin on your heels and run to college; you were already late! But you couldn’t. So you didn’t.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and one step after another you made your way between the small group of people that blocked your view. A crowd of curious of every age and sex.

You managed to reach the yellow barricade tape without too many problems, the distant voices in your ears becoming more than a soft buzz the moment your eyes landed on the figure laying on the ground. The body was half covered from the agents scattered all around the place, but you could recognize the woman anyway. Same clothes, same hair and same pool of blood circling her middle and painting the floor.

Just like in the nightmare, you couldn’t see her face.

One of the agents, FBI perhaps, stood up after checking the corpse and your gaze was drawn to his face. He pinched the base of his nose, closing his eyes, and he seemed just so tired. And sad.

The man, after a long sigh, covered his eyes with the same hand, that then slipped over his buzzed haircut until the back of his head. His eyes looked down at the woman and you could see him talk, but you were too far to hear, or even try to read his lips. You averted your gaze, watching around him, trying to understand with who was he talking, but he was the only one near the body. And the only FBI agent too.

With every passing second the voices were becoming more insistent and you wrapped your arms around your waist. You couldn’t stay any longer, not without ending with a major headache and a lot of other nightmares. You couldn’t help anyway, no one ever would believe in what you could do. No one.

You watched the body one last time, before finding yourself in need to see again that FBI agent. So you looked up, searching the man, and you found him already looking at you from afar.

Your eyes locked together and you felt the voices roaring in your head, almost screaming the name the dead woman told you.

Chris. Chris. Chris!

You pressed your hands on your ears, closing your eyes, whining for the pain all those voices were making you feel. And you almost forgot that you were surrounded by people, the dead so loud that you couldn’t even understand what was real and what was just inside your mind.

You opened your eyes when you felt strong arms beneath you and a warm chest pressed against your side. It wasn’t easy to focus your gaze on something -anything- with the fucking headache currently splitting your skull in half, but the screams stopped the exact moment you heard the voice of the person that was holding you.

Drowning down the cries with every passing second and rumbling low in his chest, the man’s voice helped you until your view stopped being just a blur full of black little stars. And the first thing you saw was him. The FBI agent. From up close you could see his eyes; oceans of deep and dark water, agitated by a storm happening inside his mind. They were beautiful.

“ Hey kid, I’m talking to you. Can you hear me? ”

“ I’m twenty-one… ” you cringed at your own words, it was definitely not the smartest thing to say to this hot man, good job genius. “ Uh— I mean— let me go, please.”

You pushed yourself away from the man, almost falling on your ass if it wasn’t for him holding your waist.

He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow and lifted his hands from you the moment he was sure you weren’t going to fall.

“ Thank you. ”

You spoke with soft voice, averting your gaze from the man before you and finally seeing that he actually took you pretty far away from the crowd. The corpse was now inside a black bag, you could see the coroner pointing the back of the van before she disappeared behind it with the stretcher.

“ Did you know her? ”

The agent voice made your attention shift back to him. He was looking at the crowd, but his gaze came back on your form slowly. He watched you up and down and you couldn’t help but notice that he was, in fact, analyzing you. For a second, you were scared he was going to see something, a detail, that would gave away that you weren’t completely human anymore.

But he just looked you in the eyes, same serious expression.

“ Well… ” a thought popped up in your mind, an idea. You had to know who that woman was, and maybe that agent would tell you something more about her, if you could convince him that you knew her! “ Yes! Actually, yes… she was my— uh— aunt! Yes, my aunt. And uhm— I was on my way to college when I saw the crowd! I don’t know how I’m gonna tell my mom about her… ”

You felt some guilt build inside you and you thought about the real family the dead woman should has. Was she an aunt? A mother? A wife? The last thing you wanted to do was disrespect her and her family, but you had to know who she was. And why she was in your dream. And, most important, who was Chris.

“ Do you know who could have done that to her, agent? I’m so scared… Oh! I should call her husband! ”

“ Husband? ”

“ Yes… uhm, uncle Chris, he— ”

The neutral expression the man had plastered on his face during all your rambling shifted dangerously fast when that name left your lips. In a matter of seconds it became confused, then angry, and a chill ran up your spine. He took you by your arm, his grip was tight enough to hurt you.

“ Who the fuck are you? ”

“ Hey, let me go! I told you— ”

“ She didn’t have a single family member alive, so drop the bullshit. How do you know that name? ”

And then it hit you. Every detail get into place. The face he had beside the body it was because he knew her. And the voices getting loud the moment you saw his eyes but disappearing when he talked to you. Everything.

“ It’s you. You are Chris… ”

A shout came from behind the man, where the police was still working, and both of you looked back to see who wanted to gain your attention. And there stood two more agents.

They called again, a name that it wasn’t yours but now you could tell it wasn’t even the man’s before you.

“ Fuck. ”

Chris, sliding his hand from your forearm to your wrist, began to walk, fast, pulling you with him. You wanted to stop, resist him, scream for help or maybe just run the other way, you could do that, but you didn’t. Because you wanted answers more than how much you wanted to run.

“ Get in the car. ”

He left your wrist and you opened the car door, sliding in the passenger side without a word.