the howl of wolves, moonless nights, dirt under fingernails, stained silk, chattering teeth, voices hoarse and cracked, rotting fruit, echoing drums, dry heaving, hanging cobwebs, stifling humidity, bloodshot eyes, the roughness of rusted steel, wild rosebushes, muscle cramps, the sound of splintering wood
A Midsummer's Night Dream:
Crackling fires, ivy crawling on stone, the faint music of running water, petrichor, dirty, bare feet, tattered clothing, thistledown, wilted wildflower crowns, late evening birdsong, curling leaves, a symphony of croaking frogs, drifting feathers, the eerie sound of windchimes at night, humming bees, beds of clover
Shattered glass, a cluster of fraying ribbons, unanswered knocks on doors, lingering dampness, white noise, inexplicable drafts, migraines, bleeding ears, the taste of metal, reflected mirrors, dry, cracked lips, the sound of tearing paper, fogged windows, memories of dreams, tarnished silver, protruding veins
OKAY SO earlier today I’m home alone chilling, reading my book, trying to ignore the shitty stormy weather, when the phone rings. Now, we always let the answering machine get the house phone because it’s always solicitors. Well.
WELL. LET ME TELL YOU THIS FREAKY SHIT. THE ANSWERING MACHINE PICKS IT UP AND THERE’S A PAUSE BEFORE THIS AUTOMATED VOICE SAYS “GOODBYE”
What the fuuuuuuuuuckkkkkLKK????
Most ominous shit ever. And it’s now just occurring to me that this is some kind of BS that Kaz would pull on Pekka like can you even imagine that bastard with phone access?
“Rollins here, go.”
*crackling, hissing service, shady whisper* “Brick by brick” *click*
And then Jesper likes holding another phone in a different room and while he listens to Pekka flipping his shit, “caw caw motherfucker”
Plot: Sasuke knew people were still afraid of the club and especially of its Sergeant at Arms – and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had been untouchable then and still was now. Indeed, there was nothing and no one in this world that Sasuke Uchiha feared. Except Sakura fucking Haruno. Biker AU.
Note: I have waaaaaay too many ideas and prompts for this pairing, but I just had to write this one down, since I love modern day AUs. Let me know what you think of it. I live for your reviews, the more I get the more likely it is for this to live on and not die a miserable death as an unfinished prologue. *laughs threateningly*
“I swear to God, you’re dumber than a piece of bread.”
“Oh yeah? You wouldn’t know what a piston ring looked like if it bit you in the ass.”
“I wouldn’t trust you with making me a goddamn sandwich, let alone with repairing a car. You’re such a shitty mechanic you couldn’t even fix a horse carriage.”
Sasuke lazily took a sip of his beer as he watched the prospects bicker over how to properly fix a boxer engine. He already knew it was a crack in the valve covers, he had an eye for things like that. Sasuke could just step in and help them, but then again, where would be the fun in that?
Just as the two boys were about to get violent with each other, he picked up a small wrench and threw it at them. “Quit your damn pissing contest and get back to fixing the fucking car.” The two boys immediately went still, threw a startled look at their boss, and silently resumed their work.
Sasuke knew he was an intimidating man; he had to be in order to keep the prospects in line. With his raven hair, pitch-black eyes, and 6'2 of pure muscle he was the epitome of terrifying. Add to that his rank of Vice-President and Sergeant at Arms of the infamous Havoc MC and you got one of the most dangerous and frightening people the quaint little city of Konoha has ever seen.
Emptying his beer bottle, Sasuke went back to polishing his black Harley V-Rod Muscle. As usual, it was a busy day at the MC’s auto shop. Fixing cars was one of the main sources of income for the Havoc club nowadays, at least one of the legal ones. They abandoned most forms of criminal activities decades ago, with the exception of a few raids here and there and minor shady, albeit lucrative dealings.
Despite going mostly legit, their club was still one of the most feared and respected in the entire country, not least because of their ruthless members and their shared violent and bloody history. Even though they were docile now, memories of the club’s merciless past were enough to keep anyone from messing with them. He and his brothers sacrificed a lot for this well-deserved peace and he would rip anyone to shreds who dared to take it away from them. Luckily, nobody was stupid enough to try. After all, their infamous reputation still preceded them, even after decades of tranquillity. Sasuke knew people were still afraid of the club and especially of its Sergeant at Arms – and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Smirking arrogantly, the raven haired man thought back to the time he nearly ripped a man’s arms out in front of his entire club. He had been untouchable then and still was now.
There was nothing and no one in this world that Sasuke Uchiha feared, he thought proudly.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he saw an old olive-green VW Beetle appearing in the shop’s driveway. He would recognise this car anywhere in the world. Sasuke could feel himself grow nervous at the thought of the Beetle’s owner stepping out any second. Please let it be someone else, he prayed silently.
Frowning in concern, he watched the door open with a loud creak as someone stepped out. It was already dark, and Sasuke couldn’t make out who exactly it was, which only made his uneasiness grow. The person shut the door with such a force you’d think the driver had a personal grudge against the car. The figure whirled around suddenly and furious eyes stared directly at him.
Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks as he whispered, “Fuck.”
Indeed, there was nothing and no one in this world that Sasuke Uchiha feared.
Except Sakura fucking Haruno.
Her perfect porcelain face contorted in anger and she threw him a look of pure disdain before turning around and heading for the club house. Despite wearing high heels she was surprisingly fast. The burning desire to tear the President a new one was probably what drove her, Sasuke guessed.
“Sakura.” Calling out to her, he jumped to his feet, but he couldn’t catch up. She didn’t even flinch at hearing him shout her name; instead, she raised her left arm. The last thing Sasuke saw before she disappeared into the club house was Sakura’s middle finger.
Once he reached the door to the President’s office, they were already screaming at each other. Sasuke was just about to barge in, when Jiraiya blocked his way. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, the older man sighed apologetically, “Sorry man, I can’t let you in.”
Sasuke raised his chin and defiantly stared at the Havoc’s Road Captain. “I hate to pull rank on you, Jiraiya, but you’ll let me pass right now, that’s an order.”
“Sorry kid, I got direct orders from above to not let anybody disturb the two. I’m afraid the President’s daughter outranks even you.”
Sasuke snorted in anger and glared at the door for another moment, silently willing it to magically open itself. As he heard the yelling inside grow louder, he decided it was best to let the two blow off some steam in private.
He’d come back later to pick up the pieces.
Sasuke had gone back to the auto shop and decided to distract himself by helping the two prospects fix the Mustang. Just as he was starting to push Sakura’s unexpected arrival to the back of his mind, his gaze was drawn to the club house as the door flew open and Sakura marched out, emanating fury and murderous intent.
She was like a Valkyrie, descending upon a battlefield in a blaze of glory, reaping the souls of the dead.
Sasuke remembered then how terrifying Sakura could be; and what an incredible turn-on that was.
He released a shaky breath, before raising his voice, “Sakura, look, I know it was-”
“You!”, she growled, pointing her perfectly manicured index finger at him while stomping towards the shop. He was in for some serious ass-kicking, Sasuke knew that. Running a hand through his chin long black hair, he sighed in defeat and followed her to the back of the shop.
Just as they passed the prospects, Sasuke could hear the two boys snicker and whisper to each other. “Never thought that such a pretty little doll face would have the mighty Serg by his balls.” Apparently, Sakura hadn’t missed their jokes either, as she whirled around suddenly and pressed a big wrench to one of the boys’ throats.
“Call me doll face again and I’ll punch you so hard you’ll cry for your momma.” Sasuke watched the two boys’ eyes widen in fear. Smirking proudly, he said, “I saw her do it. Don’t tempt her.”
Sakura dropped the wrench and walked to the office in the back of the auto shop with Sasuke in tow. As soon as he closed the door behind them, the raven haired man cleared his throat and started explaining everything, when he was interrupted by Sakura’s cold voice.
“Sit your ass down.”
He knew that commanding tone all too well and it did not allow any objections, so he obliged and took a seat. Sakura came to a halt right in front of him and leaned forward, resting her hands on the armrest of his chair.
Their faces were so close Sasuke could already smell the cherry scent of her lip gloss.
She fixed him with an unwavering stare and whispered, “Now you listen to me, Uchiha Sasuke, and you listen really good, because I will only tell you this once. If I ever catch you, your prospects or any other member of the club dealing drugs in this city or any other city on planet earth, I will come for you, I will strip you naked, cut off your balls, and feed them to you for breakfast, have I made myself clear?”
Unblinking, Sasuke answered, “Yes, ma'am.”
Sakura leaned in even closer and snarled, “Good.”
She straightened herself, turned around, and ran her slender fingers through her pink tresses. Sasuke could hear her sigh as her shoulders slumped. Seconds ticked by where she stood with her back turned to him, seemingly deep in contemplation.
That couldn’t be it, Sasuke thought to himself. This was way too easy; where was the yelling, the punching, the overall ass-kicking? Sakura was obviously livid about this, and if he knew one thing about the Prez’s daughter it was that she exacted sweet sweet revenge whenever someone wronged her.
Didn’t think she’d let this go so easily, Sasuke mused silently, I thought there would be more-
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a burning sting on his right cheek as his head whipped to the left.
Ah yes, there it was. Let the ass-kicking begin.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
Pressing a hand to his cheek, Sasuke got up to defend himself. “Sakura, if you would just listen I-”
“Did I say you could get up?”
“No, ma'am,” he replied, sinking back into his chair.
Sakura fixed him with a furious gaze mixed with suspicion. “I thought you were done with this.” – “We are.”
“Then what the hell happened?”
Sasuke sighed in annoyance and rolled his eyes. “It was just a stupid mistake, Sakura, it won’t happen again, alright? So calm down.”
Judging by the are-you-fucking-kidding-me-look on her face, that probably wasn’t what she wanted to hear, Sasuke realised. “A stupid mistake? How can you play it down like that? This is a big deal, asshole, you don’t get to play it down; you don’t get to do this to me.” – “I didn’t do this to you Sakura. I told you it was a mistake, the prospect got too reckless and he-”
“You’re right, it was a mistake, your mistake. You’re in charge of the prospects, it’s your duty to keep them in line.” Sakura leaned over him again growling and pointing a finger accusingly at his chest.
“It is and trust me when I tell you he’ll get what’s coming to him,” Sasuke growled back. He wasn’t just saying that to appease Sakura, he was very much looking forward to ripping apart that screw-up of a prospect. He watched as she straightened herself again in front of him. The anger left her face and gave way to an emotionless expression. “Too bad I don’t trust you.”
Sasuke leaned forward in his chair and spoke with as much determination as he could muster, given the fact that he was scared shitless of Sakura. “Look, as much as I would love to see you kick his ass personally, this is club business. You can’t get involved.”
“I’m already involved in case you didn’t notice,” Sakura spat back.
“Well, this is as far as you go. The rest is up to me, and only to me.” – “I told you I don’t trust you. I’m not letting you handle this alone.”
Sasuke ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. Slowly, he was losing his patience, and he had a shit ton of that when it came to her. “Sakura, you know what I think about drugs. I hate this as much as you do. I’m not gonna screw you over on this one. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Oh please, I’m not buying your self-righteous bullshit. In case you forgot, you don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to upholding your honour.”
A look of hurt flashed in his eyes at hearing her accusation, but he blinked it away the next second. She was right, and Sasuke knew they’d have to talk about it eventually. Only I suck at talking, he thought grimly.
“Sakura… Back then, I-” The sound of Sakura’s ringtone suddenly filled the room, interrupting his apology. Sasuke released a shaky breath then, he didn’t know if it was out of relief or anxiety. He could hear her groan in front of him. Sasuke remembered she hated being interrupted while tearing people a new one. One look at her screen had her features soften though.
Sighing, she tapped the green button and held the phone to her ear. Sasuke could faintly make out a man’s voice on the other end, but couldn’t hear what exactly he was saying.
“Hey… no, at my Dad's… I told you there was something important I had to take care of… No, probably a few more hours… Today? I really don’t have the time… Can it wait? … Alright, you know what, I’ll talk to you later, ok? … Yeah, bye.” Sakura ended the call and tapped around some more.
“You know you shouldn’t keep your boyfriend waiting for so long. Dude must be pissed already.”
Rolling her eyes, she pushed her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “It’s none of your business. And this isn’t over yet.”
“I told you, you should let me handle it. I wouldn’t do anything to harm you,” Sasuke said softly, his eyes gently staring into her own. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest and stared back with cold eyes. “Yeah, like you haven’t done so much worse to me already.”
A deep frown graced his features then and a look of sadness crossed his face. Sasuke was usually careful to conceal his emotions, but with her, he didn’t care. “Sakura…,” he searched for words, “back then, I was-”
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: all fluff, a little bit of smut!! unprotected sex (for god’s sake just wrap it before you tap it) Summary: Bucky wasn’t the same kid from Brooklyn like back in the 40′s, but he also wasn’t the soviet master assassin; The Winter Soldier, no. He was somewhere in between. You are the bright yellow in his life that always brings him back down to earth. (Artist!Reader AU) A/N: Sorry this is so short, here’s my way of making it up to you guys for being so inactive xxx Word Count: 1.6K
so @sammywilk-imaginations is doing a little contest, and I just thought hey, why not. so here’s a sammy imagine. sorry, I got a little carried away, and the ending kinda sucks, so I’m sorry, but please enjoy.
I’d be happy with any of the 4 giveaways if I do by chance win any of the prizes. preferably the tie dye shirt, and if not one of the shirts, the montrose matte liquid lipstick.
But even if I don’t win, I really enjoyed writing this imagine, and I really hope you guys like it. -ma
I had just gotten off work, taking the back way home to avoid traffic. The roads I was so familiar with due to the late night car rides at 2 am with him.
Pulling up to the stop sign I was hit with one of my favorite memories.
‘I told you we shouldn’t have gone this way.’ I giggled from the drivers seat in Sammy’s jeep as he was by the back tire, trying to dig us out of the mud we were stuck in.
‘just shut up and give it some gas babe.’ he spoke, smiling at me in the rearview mirror.
‘okay.’ I called out, lightly stepping on the gas, the sound of the engine revving making things much more difficult to hear.
I heard Sammy’s muffled voice call out to me, telling me ‘more’ so I put my foot down further on the pedal, letting up after the jeep didn’t budge, turning to look at Sammy to see him covered in mud.
Covering my mouth I let out a few giggles as he trudged up to the drivers side, stopping and looking at me, wiping the mud off his face, a wicked grin on his face.
‘Sammy, don’t you dare!’ I warned, trying to back away, but Sammy quickly reached out and smeared his mud covered hand all over my face.
‘Samuel Wilkinson’ I yelped, in shock, getting out of the jeep and chasing after Sammy who was laughing hysterically.
I scooped down, grabbing a thing of mud in my hand, sneaking around the jeep as Sammy was crouched down, trying to hide, and throwing it at him.
Soon it was an all out mud fight, and I was in a fit of laughter as he ran up to me and bear hugged me from behind, rubbing mud all over my face and hair.
shaking my head to rid the memory, I continued on my way home, turning on the radio to help clear my mind.
Pulling up to the stop light back in the city, the familiar beginning of what was, and still is, my favorite song came on.
take off those heels
lay on my bed
whisper dirty secrets while I’m pulling on your hair
poison in our veins, but we don’t even care
Candles drippin’ on your body, baby this ain’t truth or dare
Everybody wonders where we’ve run off to
My body on your body, baby stickin’ like some glue
Naughty, let’s get naughty girl, it’s only one or two
The fever’s fuckin runnin’, feel the heat between us two
I couldn’t find myself to change the song as the familiar song played, quickly singing along to the words of Chase Rice’s version of ride, the memory of that day rushing back.
Our 6 month anniversary, and I wanted it to be perfect. I was in my studio apartment, cooking dinner, and setting everything up. Too focused on setting the table perfectly, wine glasses filled, candles lit, the smell of the chicken roasting in the oven filled the room, but I was still so nervous it wouldn’t be perfect.
So stressed over the night and how I wanted things to go, I didn’t even hear the door open, or close. Or his footsteps approaching. Only when his arms snaked around my waist from behind me, I knew Sammy had made it from the studio.
‘baby, this is incredible.’ he muttered in my ear, nibbling on it, giving me chills.
‘you like it?’ I muttered, still focused on his lips that moved to my neck, the radio playing in the background.
‘love it. almost as much as I love you’
I threw my head back, exposing more of my neck to him.
‘is dinner done?’ he muttered against my neck.
‘not yet. probably 20 more minutes.’ I spoke breathlessly.
‘perfect.’ he spoke, turning me around and kissing my lips passionately, things quickly heating up as he walked me over to the couch, the faint sound of ‘ride’ coming from the speakers, as we made love for the first time.
That’s when I knew, I wanted to be with Sammy for as long as possible.
Driving by the park, I saw a group of guys playing basketball. I try to blink away the memory, but it fills my head quickly.
‘you dragged me all the way to the park to watch you play basketball?” I laughed as we walked up to the court, seeing Nate, the Jacks and a few of the other guys I’ve grown to know over the past year.
‘yeah, I figured you could be my cheerleader, although, I’m still wishing you’d be wearing one of those skirts.’ he smirked, pulling me into him tighter as we got closer.
‘we’ll save that for later babe, if you win.’ I teased, leaning up and pecking his cheek.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, I had a few tears in my eyes, wiping them away as I made my way up to my apartment, unlocking the door and dropping my bag by the door, and heading into the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water.
I was out on my little deck, staring out at the lights of the city. I sighed, another memory hitting like a brick.
‘(y/n)’ Sammy whispered next to me, his hand locked with mine, tracing shapes on the back of my hand with his thumb. ‘i love you so much.’
‘I love you too Sammy.’
‘these have been the best 3 years of my life. And I can’t picture my life without you.’ he spoke, staring out at the lights of the city below, continuing. ‘and I just, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.’ he spoke, causing me to turn at him and look at him wide eyed.
he turned and sent me a soft smile.
‘I mean it. I’m not proposing now, trust me, I’m gonna make our proposal unforgettable, I’m just warning you now.’ he joked, looking back out at the city. ‘I just, I think of my future, and I see you next to me for the rest of my life. Raising our first child together, I know you’re going to be a great mother. And our first born is going to look out after their little brother and sisters. And we’ll move to somewhere away from the city, so we can have a family away from all the crazy that is LA. I just, I know that I wanna be with you, forever.’ he spoke, bringing my hand up to his lips and kissing it.
Laying in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep, after another day filled with the memories I just couldn’t get rid of. My never ending thoughts, flooding back.
did he still think about me? as much as I thought about him?
did he even still care? as much as I still do?
fighting with my own thoughts, I eventually managed to fall asleep, tossing and turning as I was hit with slumber, and left to my dreams.
tears flooded out of my eyes as I sat on the bed, watching Sammy pace back and forth.
‘Sammy’ I sighed.
‘(y/n) don’t. how could you even think of that?’
‘Sammy, we talked about this-’
‘no we didn’t.’
‘Sammy, we said we wanted to wait till after we were married.’
‘we’re engaged, what’s the difference.’
‘Sammy, we still have so much planning to do. A baby’s just gonna get in the way.’
‘I can’t believe you don’t want it.’
‘Sammy, you have to understand where I’m coming from with this.’ i sighed.
‘do you not want us to be a family?’ he asked. I hesitated before I answered, and that was enough for Sammy. ‘oh my god. you don’t. you don’t want us to be a family?’
‘Sammy I didn’t say that I j-’
‘you didn’t say anything (y/n)! clearly you’re having second thoughts.’
‘Sammy’ I sighed, reaching out, but he pulled away.
‘don’t. I love you, but I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want to be a family.’
‘Sammy, w-what are you saying?’
‘I…I’m done. I can’t be with you if you don’t want to be with me and start a family together. I love you (y/n) I really do, and I can’t be with you knowing you don’t love me enough if you’re having second thoughts on becoming a family.’
and I sat there speechless as I watched him get up off the bed and walked out the door, leaving me alone with the so much on my mind.
I sprung up, grabbing at my stomach, rubbing circles on it to try and soothe it.
It’s been 6 months since Sammy and I went our separate ways. I still thought about him all the time, he never left my brain. Especially with the fact that I was carrying our child, a permanent reminder of him. of us.
My phone going off, caught my attention. Groaning I reached out and grabbed it, unlocking it and reading the messages that flooded my screen.
Biting my lip, I nervously replied, my heart skipping a beat at his reply.
I sat nervously on the couch, the sound of a knock on my door startling me. I jumped up and answered the door, my breath hitching in my throat seeing him stand before me.
Staring at each other, just taking in being in front of one another for the first time in 6 months, his eyes flicked down to my enlarged stomach.
“oh my god.” he gasped. “t-that’s-”
“it’s ours.” I smiled, a tear falling from my eye from happiness.
“(y/n) I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” he muttered, his hand on my stomach.
“It’s okay Sammy. The last conversation we had was about me getting rid of it. But, I just couldn’t.”
“why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“I-I thought you hated me. For even talking about getting rid of it. I thought you’d be mad.”
“no baby. I’m so so happy. I’m sorry for everything. Please. Can we forget these past 6 months. Can we pick up where we left off? I love you (y/n) and I don’t want to miss out on watching my baby girl or little boy grow up.” he spoke, his hands cupping my face now.
I couldn’t find words. All I could do was nod my head eagerly, and throw my arms around his neck, our lips meeting for the first time in months.
Pulling apart, our foreheads resting against one another’s he whispered out to me.
“I’m glad to finally be home. I’ve missed you baby.”
We arrived to Namjoons party a quarter to 11pm. As we walked in we were immediately greeted by loud music. Namjoon spotted us rather quickly and headed our way. “Hey guys!” Namjoon shouted over the music. “I’m so happy you guys came!” Namjoon gave me and Jimin a big hug. “Hey, if you guys are thristy, the drinks are over there on the corner table by Jin and Kookie I’ll talk to you guy’s later, I have a “friend” I have to talk to.” Namjoon winked at us and ran away hand in hand with one of his attractive lady friends towards an empty room. -Typical Namjoon.- I nudged Jimin asking him if he could get me a beer while I go find a spot to relax at in the crowded house. I decided to sit on the couch next to a overly groping couple. As I turned to face the couple, I recognized the man instantly. “Tae?” I meant to whisper his name but somehow it came out louder then expected, nearly making tae drop the drunken horny girl off his lap.”Y/N!” Tae shouted. “Yes Tae, it’s me.” I responded with a sarcastic tone. “Why do you look so suprised?” I asked furrowing my brows. “No reason. How’ve you been?” I gave Tae a confused look raising my left eyebrow. “I’ve been fine, but Tae, aren’t you going to help your little friend? She’s falling asleep as we speak.” I pointed at the nearly passed out girl on Tae’s lap. “Oh shit!” Tae shouted. “Come on , let’s take you to my room so you can sleep baby.” Tae picked the girl up and took her to his room so she could sleep her drunken mishaps away.
Jimin was walking over as Tae was taking the girl to his room, Jimin nearly tripping over Tae. “Was that Tae?” Jimin asked while letting out a chuckle. “Yup. Way to go Tae!” I sarcastically chanted while knocking beers with Jimin. After a few minutes adjusting myself to the couch that was now only occupied by me and Jimin. I caught myself looking at Jimin and the more I looked at him, the more I studied his features and god, was he beautiful. I shook my head attempting to shake any thoughts I had out. After a few drinks my bladder decided I had to go. “Shit Jiminie, move please, I have to pee!” I squealed. Jimin moving out of my way instantly and laughing at my fast pace to the restroom. As soon as I opened the bathroom door, I was greeted by yet another drunken couple with their tongues down one anothers throats. Except this time it was someone I didn’t expect. “Hoseok?” I cried. Hoseok and the girl jumped at the sudden greeting. I stood there frozen. My heart suddently feeling as if it sunk into the depths of my stomach. “I’m a fucking idiot.” I mumbled. I felt the tears starting to swell up in my eyes. “Fuck..” Was all that came out of Hoseok’s mouth.
“Y/N, I’m sorry baby. Please, it was a mistake.” Hoseok whined while attempting to reach for me.” I backed away letting the girl escape the small bathroom before I had the urge to kick her ass. “Fuck you, Jung Hoseok. I’m done.” I screamed. Jimin came running to the sound of my voice. As he came up behind me he could see my tear stained cheeks in the reflection of the mirror behind a pathetically begging Hoseok. Jimin wasted no time and attempted to grab Hoseok but instead was met by my arm blocking him from doing so. “Stop Jiminie, it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.” I hissed. “What the fuck did you do Hoseok?” Jimin’s veins were now protruding from his neck. Hoseok stayed silent tears running down his tan cheeks. “Jiminie, please just take me home.” I begged. Jimin immediately wrapping me up in his arms and escorting me outside to his car. For the first 10 mins of the car ride back to my place, the car was filled with silence. “Fuck what happened babe?” Jimin asked with nothing but concern laced in his voice. “I-I found him making out with some girl in the bathroom.. I’m stupid. Why did I ever believe him?” I felt my stomach tighten and I felt sick at the thought of my stupidity. “Y/N, you’re not stupid. He is. I don’t understand how someone could hurt someone as amazing as you. You know, if it was me, I’d treat you like a princess. The way you deserve to be treated.” His words hit me and for some reason I felt nervous. I looked over at my him and could see the confidence that was normally drawn on his face, was now gone. After another 10 mins we arrived at my place. Jimin kept his arm wrapped around me till we entered my apartment. After setting me on the couch he went to get me a cup of tea. Tea is the one thing that calm’s my nerves. “Jiminie, you don’t have to stay here with me, I’ll be fine.” I said in a low tone with my head down facing my cup of tea. “Y/N, I meant what I said in the car.” Jimin pulled my chin up so that my eyes were looking into his. “You know, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, Y/N. It’s to bad you haven’t noticed. I could and would treat you better then that asshole ever did.” His words yet again hit me like a brick. “Jimin..” I whispered. “Don’t say one more word.” Jimin said before pressing his lips onto mine.
It’s quiet and still in the lobby. You search the room with your eyes for Liam, and see him crouched by a doorway in the corner. He turns his head toward you and beckons you with his wolf hand. Paw. Thing.
You walk over and crouch next to him, clutching your baseball bat. You watch as he reaches down to the doggy door and opens it a fraction of an inch. Peering through, you see a bunch of figures standing in a dimly lit room with a silver operating table in the middle of it. Lydia is bound to a chair in the back corner, without a scratch, but with duct tape over her mouth. A young police deputy is standing in front of her, looking bored. That must be Parrish. Scott, Stiles, Malia, and Kira are tensely poised, ready to fight.
“I said, let her go.” Scott says, calmly. How is he so calm all the time?
Parrish raises his eyebrows and leans against the silver table. “I’m looking for a trade.”
“What do you want?”
“It’s not a what. It’s a who.”
Liam tenses beside you. You place a hand on his shoulder.
“And I don’t want them,” Parrish continues. “I need them.”
“What do you need Liam for?” Malia asks, less calmly than Scott.
Parrish sighs deeply. “First of all, I’d like everyone to be in the room for this discussion. Not just peeking through a doggy door.”
Everyone looks toward your hiding place. Your grip on Liam’s shoulder tightens. He looks at you meaningfully over his shoulder and stands up. He opens the door slowly and you follow him into the chilly room. You feel silly for bringing the bat now, but it gives you confidence. You don’t feel completely helpless, now.
“Second of all, it’s not Liam I need.” Parrish’s eyes lock with yours and you freeze. Liam’s not the target. You feel a pressure on your chest as you realize the trap you’ve fallen into. The corner of Parrish’s mouth tilts up knowingly. He’s got you right where he wants you.
The eyes have it.
Your eyes? What was special about your eyes?
The others become frantic, rushing to your side and guiding you back toward the door.
“You’re not laying a finger on her,” Scott growls.
“Hell no! Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Stiles mumbles while tugging on your elbow. But you don’t turn and run. You don’t pull your eyes away from Parrish’s gaze. The baseball bat suddenly feels very heavy.
“Me?” You ask quietly. Parrish smiles. He’s handsome, and looks very friendly. Innocent. You can see why the pack trusted him.
“You.” He takes a step toward you and your friends bristle. Malia looks ready to pounce. “Oh, calm down,” he says, chuckling. “You don’t want to fight me, I’d murder you.” He says this so casually, it’s unnerving. Malia recoils.
“This is simple,” he continues. “I just need a banshee. That’s all. So I’m giving you the option: Lydia or Y/N.” He shrugs. “And I know none of us want it to be Lydia.”
“Neither! You’ll have neither,” Scott snarls, without hesitation. His eyes are glowing red.
“You really think we’d just give up like that?” Kira asks. She pulls off her belt and it turns into a sword. A freaking sword.
“Honestly, no,” he replies, his eyes glowing. “But you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Guys, wait,” Liam says. “Be careful. I think he’s a kanima. Deaton’s paralyzed in the next room.”
Parrish raises his eyebrows at Liam and looks thoroughly amused. “A kanima? Wouldn’t that be funny!” He beams at Liam, who looks severely uncomfortable. “But really, why do you think I led you guys here? To Deaton’s office? Full of supernatural toys?” He reaches for his pocket. This movement prompts the pack to jump into battle stations.
“Get down!” Stiles all but tackles you to the ground as Kira stands above, sword in hand. Liam and Malia sprint for Parrish, and Scott rushes around the table to untie a struggling Lydia.
You watch as Parrish reveals the item to be a small glass jar. He opens it and, just before Liam and Malia reach him, he splashes a bit of clear, slimy-looking liquid in their direction.
The effect of the droplets hitting their skin is instantaneous. Liam trips and crashes onto the silver table, rolling off the other side, while Malia falls to her knees before collapsing onto the floor.
“Kanima poison,” Stiles mutters and scrambles to his feet. “Scott, look out!” Parrish intercepts Scott on his way to Lydia and flicks the jar in his face. Scott stumbles backwards, grabbing at his eyes, and crumples against the wall.
“You’re a coward,” he spits from the floor. Parrish chuckles again as he throws the remainder of the jar at Kira. She dodges it, but it shatters against the corner of a filing cabinet and spatters poison onto her exposed neck. She drops the sword and falls to the floor, groaning in frustration.
Parrish turns his attention to a panicked Stiles, now. You rise from your place on the floor as the deputy starts across the room. You’re white-knuckling the baseball bat with both hands. You pull back and swing with all your might at Parrish’s face.
The sound of the impact is earsplitting. The aluminum bat bounces right off his flesh and your arms shake violently from the reverberation. You drop the bat and it bounces noisily across the room. Parrish stops walking and side-eyes you with an unbruised face.
“Maybe you should try the sword,” he suggests. You swallow hard and look at Stiles, whose eyes are bugging out of his head. Parrish turns toward him again and grabs him by the hair on one side of his head.
“Stop! Please don’t,” you plead. Your request is ignored as Parrish forces Stiles’ wriggling head to the floor and presses his face against the poison-soaked glass. Stiles’ body goes limp, and Parrish raises his head to look at you. His eyes are yellow.
“What…are you?” You ask, willing your voice not to tremble. Parrish smiles and rises to his full height. You watch as his arms and face begin glowing softly from beneath. His skin looks like it’s being heated over a fire, and the air surrounding him blurs as if he’s giving off heat.
“That is the question our friend Lydia helped me answer,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at her. When his eyes meet yours again, the yellow seems to be flickering like flames. He walks toward you, slowly closing the distance as he speaks. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me. A bird, born from the sun? Immortal, reborn every 500 years or so?”
“Phoenix,” you say quietly, backing up until you’re leaning against the wall of exposed brick.
“Right,” he whispers. He’s only a foot away now and your heart is pounding out of your chest. You can already feel the immense heat radiating from his body. Every instinct in your muscles is screaming at you to run. “And do you know how it’s reborn?”
You shake your head spastically.
“When it becomes very old, it climbs to a high peak and calls to the sun. Then, it’s engulfed in flames, and reborn as a young phoenix from its own ashes.” His eyes are searching your face for a reaction, and they hesitate at your mouth. He leans closer to you, staring at your lips. “Do you know the one sound that’s louder than a phoenix’s cry to the sun?”
Before you can answer or shake your head, Parrish slaps a strip of duct tape over your mouth and grabs your wrists. His hands are hot, but not unbearable. You struggle and grunt, but he doesn’t budge.
“A banshee’s scream,” he whispers. “It’s a phoenix’s one true weakness. It’s the one thing that keeps it…keeps me…from being truly immortal.”
“It’s pretty ironic that you needed a banshee’s help to figure that out then, isn’t it?” Stiles grunts from his place on the floor.
“Don’t touch her!” Kira yells.
“But,” Parrish continues, ignoring your friends’ words. “There is a way for the phoenix to overcome its weakness. It’s possible for me to become completely indestructible. The only thing I need is your blood.” His searing grip tightens on your wrists. His hands are getting hotter, and you feel your skin start to sizzle. Your heart is beating so fast you think you might pass out. “All of it.”
“Stop! You don’t need to do this!” Scott commands from across the room.
“Oh, but I do.” Parrish pulls his gaze away from your panicked eyes to look at Scott. “I’m capable of becoming immortal, Scott. Can you imagine? Being unkillable? And all I have to do is drink the blood of a banshee.” His eyes wander to Lydia, and they soften as they see the tears streaming down her cheeks. “It was never going to be you,” he says quietly.
“You’re not going to drink all of her blood. That’s disgusting and impossible,” Malia croaks.
“It may take time,” he says, turning back to you with a sinister glint in his eye. “But I’ll get the job done.” There’s a quick movement of his hand, a sharp pain at your temple, and then darkness.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m so fucking pathetic.
One little drop of poison and I’m down for the count while she’s being smacked around by a lunatic.
And now she’s gone.
This can’t be happening, not so soon after meeting her.
I need her to live.
I need her.
There’s a steady ache pulsing throughout your body. You feel heavy, like your bones are made of lead. It takes all your strength just to flutter your eyelids.
“Oh, you’re waking up?” Parrish’s voice is gentle. “I didn’t think you would. I wonder how it feels…”
His voice is close, like he’s standing beside whatever hard surface you’re laying on.
“How does it feel to have your blood drained from your body?”
You concentrate, and open your eyes. You immediately have to squint, as sunlight and blinding blue sky fills your vision.
“Bright, isn’t it? Yeah, that’s the point. I figured I’d want to be close to the sun.” You look toward where the voice is coming from. Parrish stands next to you, watching you closely. Then, you make the mistake of looking down at your body.
You’re strapped to a slab of cement with your arms splayed out and strapped down. The palms of your hands are facing the sky, and IV-like tubing is messily inserted into your burned wrists. The blood that isn’t flowing steadily into the tubes and down below your vision is dripping across your arms and creating small pools on the plastic sheet underneath you. Your skin is three shades paler than usual.
“I know, it’s a bit sloppy,” he says, eyeing your wrists. “I’m not an expert that this kind of thing.”
Your pained groan is muffled by the duct tape still covering your mouth.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Just go back to sleep. It’ll all be over soon.” His tone actually sounds comforting. His eyes look concerned, as if he cares about your well-being.
What a jackass.
You close your eyes to humor him, and listen for his movements. There’s the scraping of a bucket on the ground as he shifts it, and then another. Then there’s silence for a good minute. You slit your eyes open and peek at your surroundings again. There are small sections of fences blocking off squares of what looks like electric equipment. There’s only one wall that you can see, with a metal door. The rest of the expanse is wall-less, with nothing but blue sky surrounding you.
You’re on a rooftop.
Parrish is over standing by the door, pacing nervously and peering over the edges of the roof. You wiggle your lips against the duct tape, and it feels a bit looser than it was at the animal clinic. You decide that Parrish isn’t going to become immortal. He’s going to feel very mortal very soon. But you have to act quickly, because you’re fading fast.
You begin licking frantically at the bit of duct tape that’s accessible to your tongue. It’s definitely looser than at the clinic, probably from sweat. You make slow progress until there’s a sizable space between your lips and the tape. When Parrish stops to look over the edge of the roof again, you turn your head to the side and raise your shoulder as high as you can. You rub your cheek against your cold, bare shoulder, and the corner of the duct tape rolls back from the friction. You turn your head back and take a second to breathe as Parrish paces to the door. You don’t have much energy left. When he turns away, you return to your shoulder, using it against the sticky, exposed corner of the tape. You push your shoulder toward your mouth, and the tape rips away. At least half of your mouth is free. That’ll have to do. You open it as wide as you can, take a deep breath, and scream.
The sound that comes out of you is unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You’ve screamed before, but never like this. Never a banshee scream. You hear a crowd of other screams coming from inside your head. The familiar, strange voices are joining you, intensifying the noise. It takes all of your strength, but you keep screaming. You scream for Liam. You scream for Lydia and Stiles. You scream for Kira, Scott, Malia and Mason. You scream for your new friends, who won’t have to avenge your death, because you’re doing it for them.
Parrish’s initial reaction to your scream is complete shock. He stands motionless, staring at you, before violently twitching his head to one side. He continues this twitching, like he’s trying to get water out of his ear, as he jerkily walks toward you. His eyes are panicked as he falls to his knees halfway across the roof, blood oozing out of his ears. He begins shaking and convulsing, so you look away.
Now you’re looking at the sky as you run out of breath and the scream dies away. The echoes of it bounce excitedly off the walls in your mind. You focus on those sounds, and all noise outside of your own mind fades away. You stare dreamily at the sky and observe the white spots floating around in your vision. You close your eyes, and all sense of time escapes you. You smile, because you don’t feel anymore pain. You accept that your purpose in life must have been to protect Lydia from Parrish. She’s a genius, and the world can’t afford to lose her so soon. You, on the other hand, are expendable. And you’re happy to be that. As you fade out of consciousness, a tear slips from the corner of your eye.
Your smile disappears.
He must be close.
You decide to hold on a little longer, if only to say goodbye.
You open your eyes again and the world floods back to you. The pain, the brightness, the heat, and the noise. There are sirens in the street, and a wild banging nearby. You force your eyes to focus on the door, ignoring Parrish’s still, bloody body on the ground. Someone’s pounding on the door, trying to get through. You try to call out to them, but your throat is dry and raw. With an angry roar, the door slams open and Liam bursts through.
He immediately freezes, along with the rest of the pack behind him. The first thing he sees is Parrish’s body, then his eyes find yours. And his face collapses. He stumble-sprints over to you and stands next to you, his eyes running over your body frantically.
“Oh, god. Oh, god.” He looks young, again.
“Unhook her,” a woman’s voice says. You want to look at her but you can’t lift your head again. Liam and Scott remove the tubes from your wrists and the pain is excruciating. You don’t have the energy or voice to scream anymore, so you grunt softly.
“I’m sorry. Oh, god, Y/N. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Liam sounds like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true. You’re not so sure that it is. You feel someone undoing the straps at your legs as Liam and Scott get the ones at your arms.
“Jesus.” Stiles removes the rest of the duct tape from your face and smooths your sweaty hair off your forehead. There are little cuts on one side of his face and it makes you sad. “She’s so cold.”
A woman with curly brown hair and kind, focused eyes comes into your range of vision. She’s wearing hospital scrubs. She quickly wraps bandages around your wrists while giving orders to your friends.
“Okay, get her up and carry her downstairs. Follow me. Somebody take care of that body.”
Stiles and Scott push you into a sitting position, and your head lolls forward.
“I got her,” Liam’s voice says as he lifts you into his arms. With your head resting on Liam’s chest, you have a better view of the rooftop. Kira’s standing nearby, holding the straps that kept your legs down. You see the bloody concrete slab you were on, as well as the buckets on either side of it. They’re each about halfway full. And they’re big buckets.
You tear your gaze away and watch Malia lift Parrish’s body as if he weighs nothing. Blood is still dripping out of his ears, nose, eyes and mouth. You did that to him. This is way worse than the buckets. You look away.
You see Lydia standing at the door, holding it open, alternating between staring at you and staring at Parrish’s body. The guilt in her eyes makes you want to cry. But there doesn’t seem to be any liquid left in your body.
You settle on looking at Liam. At his soft blond hair and scared blue eyes. It seems like longer than two days ago since the last time he carried you like this. He follows the woman into the building and everything seems really dark compared to the sun. You look around and see more people in scrubs. You realize you’re at a hospital. Thanks, Parrish.
You pass by windows and catch your reflection in them. You barely recognize yourself. You look seriously awful. The color of your skin is faded and gray, your eyes are dull and out of focus. Your chest is rising and falling so delicately, you look like you’re going to break. Liam’s holding you like you’re a china doll. You look away from the glass.
Blinking slowly, you accept the fact that you’re losing consciousness again, but this time it feels like it may be for good. The last thing you see before closing your eyes is Liam looking down at you with shiny, tear-filled eyes. You’re okay with that being your final memory.
You throat is dryer than it’s ever been before. You’re sitting on the floor in a small, closet-like room and there’s a glass of water right in front of you. You try to reach for it, but your arm is strapped down. You look down to see that your limbs are attached to the floor with tiny strips of duct tape. You struggle, but you’re not strong enough to break free. You look back at the glass of water to see that it’s full of blood instead. The closet door is opened and Parrish walks in. He picks up the glass of blood and drinks the entire thing. He crouches down directly in front of you. There’s still blood on his mouth. He leans in and places a small peck on your lips. When he pulls back, he’s turned into Liam. Blood begins pouring from every orifice on his face. Then, he lifts a glass of water to your mouth. You try to drink, but there’s duct tape over the top of the glass. You look at the side of the glass and see your reflection. You have little cuts on one side of your face. You start to cry.
“Y/N?” You inhale sharply and sit up. You immediately start coughing, tears already sliding down your cheeks. “Y/N, you’re in the hospital. You’re okay, honey. Just breathe.” You blink wildly to clear your vision as a hand strokes your back. You realize that you’re not in a closet. You’re in a hospital bed, and the kind-eyed woman is next to you.
“Water,” you croak in a voice that’s not yours. She already has a cup ready and lifts it to your lips. You drink gratefully, cold drops slipping down your chin and onto your hospital gown. Water has never tasted so good, and your throat is finally soothed. She sets the cup on the side table and you take a deep, shaky breath. Your head is pounding. You look down at your wrists and they’re wrapped in more bandages. There’s an actual IV in your arm now, too, which is comforting.
“I’m Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom,” the woman says. You look at her and smile.
“Thank you, Melissa,” you say, your voice cracking. She smiles back and squeezes your shoulder, standing up.
“So, your friends have been begging to come in and see you. I wanted to give you some peace and quiet, so you could rest. But if you feel ready for them…”
“Yeah, I think I’m good. How long have I been asleep?”
“Oh, let’s see. Twelve hours? It’s 10:21 PM right now.” She looks from the clock to you. “It was pretty touch and go at first, Y/N. You’re lucky to have survived. You’re a fighter, for sure.” She smiles, again, and turns toward the door. “So, should I release the hounds?”
You grin and nod weakly. She leaves the room and you settle back against the pillow. You briefly consider that you probably look like shit, but you’re too tired to care.
Less than a minute later, you hear your friends’ voices in the hallway.
“Don’t overwhelm her,” Melissa says quietly. “She literally just woke up. Go on in.”
Liam peeks his head through the door with those big, curious eyes. He exhales a big breath and the tension in his shoulders releases. He doesn’t say anything as he walks toward you, shaking his head slightly.
“Hi,” you say in your scratchy voice as the rest of the pack files in.
“I’m so, so sorry this happened,” Liam says, sitting on the stool next to your bed. “If I had just stayed outside with you at Deaton’s…I was so stupid. This is my fault.”
“This is all our faults,” Scott interrupts from the other side of the bed. “We should have been more prepared, Y/N. We shouldn’t have underestimated Parrish, and we shouldn’t have brought you with us.” He sounds even guiltier than Liam.
“Are you kidding?” You ask. “If it hadn’t been me, it would’ve been Lydia. That would’ve been so much worse.”
The group is silent. Lydia stands near the foot of your bed with furrowed brows.
“Y/N,” Liam says, pulling your attention to him. He’s shaking his head again, almost smiling. “You’ve gotta stop doing that.”
You scrunch your nose in confusion. “Doing what?”
“Acting like we don’t care about you. Selling yourself short, telling yourself that you’re not worth as much as anyone else here.”
“Yeah, Y/N,” Stiles speaks up. “Have you realized that without you, we wouldn’t have even known Parrish was a bad guy? You were the one who got us the codes. You helped us make sense of them.”
“And you scrambled Parrish’s brains.” Malia adds, earning an elbow in the side from Stiles. “Also, that scream is what helped us find you.”
“The codes, though, I didn’t make much sense of those,” you protest. “‘The eyes have it?’ What does that have to do with me? And why did I think it was about Liam? The code was probably something else.”
“The eyes,” Kira says. “Parrish needed a banshee. Banshees have visions of the future. So, ‘The eyes have it.’”
“Oh,” is all you can think to say.
“I’ve been thinking about why you were so sure Liam was the target,” Lydia says softly. “The mental connection you two have, it’s severed by the connection made during eye contact. Your brains exist on a similar wavelength, and your eyes interrupt that wavelength. So when your intuition was trying to tell you that your eyes were the target, you must’ve automatically associated your eyes with Liam’s and made the conclusion that he was the target instead of you.”
You blink at her. “There’s not enough blood going to my brain right now for me to process everything you just said.”
“Liam and Y/N have a connection?” Scott blurts.
“What I mean is,” Lydia continues. “Your banshee senses were trying to tell you that you were the target. But you and Liam are so similar in your mind that you mistook those signals for warnings about him.”
You flinch at his voice in your head and look at him. He’s smiling knowingly at you.
“So please stop thinking we don’t need you,” he says, placing his strong, steady hand over your frail, bruised one. “Because we do.” He closes his eyes and his brows crease in concentration.
He lifts his eyes again, and you feel tears welling up in yours.
“Amen,” Stiles says.
You smile weakly, looking at your friends as the tears spill over.
A chorus of comforting words and laughter surrounds you, and your heart feels warm. The pack takes turns hugging you before they leave you to rest, and then Liam is kissing you and the warmth in your heart spreads to your fingers and toes. And you know that you belong with this group of people. With this boy. And as long as you stick together, you’ll remain strong through whatever weird adventures the future has in store for you.
You should do a fic about emmet getting hurt and the job and Lucy worrying over him.
If she wasn’t awake before, she is now. She falls out of bed in a mess of sheets, throwing on her sweatshirt and jerking the zipper up to her chest. She stumbles through a mess of clothes on the floor before hurdling down flights of stairs to the street.
“Ms. Style? This is 911, Emmet Brickowski was in a construction accident and is currently being hospitalised.”
Hey I know your requests are closed but I kinda
need to say this before I forget it. When you have time and energy
again, would you do a one shot about dean and sam finding the reader
somewhere, and she’s hurt, and they want to help her but soon sam
notices that she’s jess’ little sister? Im sorry I sent this at a
time like this. By the way I absolutely love your blog, you’re a
Word Count: 1,080
It’s no problem, honestly! I don’t massively mind when people send
requests when they’re closed – it’s more of a control thing than
anything else. Thank you so much, I hope you have an awesome day!<3
PS. Exams are officially OVER for the year. As in, the two I had.
So, thanks for bearing with me, and I’m back! Lots of love<33
“Sammy? Sam, dammit!” Dean hurtles through the darkened corridor,
unable to defend himself from the threat too close behind for his
liking. His hands are full with a load he can’t really put down.
“Dean?!” There’s a yell, and a figure appears in a doorway, “What
“He had a chick in there.” He nods in your direction, bringing
Sam’s attention to you unconscious, bloody body, “She’s alive, but
“A chick? Why?” Sam asks, pulling his gun and holding it up to
the corridor. In the other hand, he holds out his torch, letting it
light the dim corridor. Dean stares at you, your face too pale and
your eyes closed. Your breathing is shallow,your chest just barely
rising and falling.
“Sam? She needs to get out of here.” Dean hisses as footsteps
echo down the corridor. Sam tenses, and the werewolf comes into view.
Bang, bang, bang. Three
shots, three silver bullets into his chest. He goes down quickly, and
the guys escape the scene before anyone comes to investigate the
Although you’re unconscious and
obviously bleeding from an indeterminate location, your condition
doesn’t seem to be worsening. Sam and Dean rush you back to the
bunker, quickly getting you onto a bed. They cut away your shirt,
where the bleeding is worst, and find claw marks up your ribs.
There’s no bite, however, as they feared – a welcome development
after the day they’ve had.
In the process of turning you over
to stitch you up, however, they find strange markings stretching over
your back. An anti-possession tattoo – that’s familiar. Some
Enochian lettering, and some other symbols dance over your back in
permanent ink, too.
The stitching job is quick and
accurate, the sutures neat and effective. You’re still out cold, and
don’t feel a thing. They do silver and holy water tests, but when
there’s nothing, they leave you to sleep it off.
Sam, however, is drawn to you. Not
in a weird way, but… you seem familiar.
“Will you quit staring at the
chick?” Dean snaps, shoving a bottle of beer at the other hunter,
“She’s just… conked out, I guess.”
Suddenly, it clicks in Sam’s mind
and he’s out of his chair in an instant, bolting to your side. He
shakes his head in disbelief, before touching your hand.
“Oh, no.” He whispers in
disbelief, “No. Not you.”
“It’s… her.” He says softly,
staring at you, “I knew I know her! I knew it!”
“Who is she, then?”
“It’s… It’s Jess’ sister. Y/N.”
He whispers, staring at his brother with a mixture of guilt and
“Thanks again.” You smile
slightly, accepting the coffee being handed to you, “I… uh…
yeah. Appreciate it.”
“No problem, Y/N.” Sam says
quietly, standing up from the bed. Your eyes widen, and you stare at
“Uh… how do you know my name?”
Sam freezes. He wasn’t going to tell
you, and hope you didn’t recognise him. And then he had to
let it slip. At the look on his face, it hits you like a ton of
“No way.” You whisper, a million
memories flooding back to you. Sam winces.
“Uh… hey.” He breathes. You’re
out of the bed in an instant, with no regard for the scalding hot
coffee threatening to spill on your hand or the threat or torn
“Sam?!” You cry out, looking
behind him at his brother, “I thought… I thought you were dead!”
“Y/N, please.” He shakes his
head, “Sit down. You’re going to hurt-”
“You… you…” Your eyes are
wide and tears are quickly forming.
You’d been good friends back in the
day. Sure, you’d been a fifteen-year-old, only in high school, but
when Sam and Jess came home for family things, you’d gotten on like a
house on fire. Sometimes Jess would joke that you were better suited
to him than she was, which you would always reply to with, ‘yeah but
you’re hotter’, and you’d laugh it off like nothing mattered. Maybe
it didn’t. Not back then.
“Y/N, look… I’m so sorry.” He
whispers, not meeting your eyes, “This is all my fault.”
You pause, frowning at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I just… I left. I didn’t say
goodbye. I left you curious, and… look where you are.” He shrugs,
motioning to your side. You’re swamped by one of his shirts; your own
“Where I am? Sam, this isn’t your
fault!” You laugh humourlessly, “What are you even on?”
“I got you into this!”
“No you didn’t! That demon got me
into this!” You counter, “The only thing I resent you for is
killing him before I could.”
This elicits a laugh from both
brothers, which puts you at ease. You smile slightly, your hand
moving beneath the shirt to explore the stitches for the first time.
“How long have you actually been
“I’ve been hunting for… seven
years? I was eighteen, I know that much. It was the first time you
two were wanted by the FBI,” You explain, “And I was at home and
you came on the news and my mom said something about you being such a
nice boy and she wouldn’t expect it of you. Something clicked in my
brain – like, I already knew about demons and everything, but I
just… couldn’t pretend anymore, I guess.”
“You knew?” Dean asks, looking
at Sam, “Did you tell her?”
“Of course he didn’t. I just…
put the pieces together.” You say nonchalantly, taking a sip of the
quickly cooling coffee, “Don’t worry.”
“Worry? Y/N…” Sam shakes his
head, “How much do you know?”
“All of it. Well, most of it. I
heard about your antics – all of them, I think. Thanks, by the
way.” You smile brightly, which causes frowns from both brothers.
“For what?” They ask in unison,
and you roll your eyes.
“For saving everyone’s
asses a thousand times over.
Like you could forget.”
“We usually get slapped for nearly
killing everyone.” Dean remarks, and Sam shrugs as if to say 'he’s
right’. You laugh.
i wouldn’t mind the hanging–He thinks, you are not human. Not anymore. –or, the hair-cutting fic where bucky decides that it’s time to take back control of his life.
Five AM finds him staring at the bathroom mirror.
It’s cold: the apartment is cold, he is cold. It’s like ice on his skin, and he shivers, still entombed in the chaotic ramblings of his nightmares. It feels like his mind is being pulled in a thousand different directions, each one worse than the last, an endless hallway of unlocked doors concealing unimaginable horrors. He feels as if he could shudder apart, right now: one wrong movement and he’ll crumble, scattered over the tile floor.
names handed out
boxes checked on hospital-white paper
tucked in a drawer with family passports
I can fly
off the sort of table nothing good happens at
eyes locked on the shed roof
I am a boy
insists on wearing only black and brown
finger-paints plates in beige
knows he will grow right
scrapes his knees on bricks-
hears grandparents whisper about doctors
scraped scaly skin
distorted through water
fingers catching in soaked hair
swim trunks, short curls, open arms
a small foot meets water-droplet skin
not like this
with tablecloth dresses
smells of burning
glass lip gloss sticks to everything
stinging treatments cure nonexistent acne
unbelievable he went unchecked for so long
so much better now
curls retreat an inch at a time
until he can feel air
elderly whispering starts again
he finds a name
he finds a friend
willing to place an online order for him
hugs on elephant-skin schoolbus seats
hungry for more of himself
he finds another boy
another boy like him
here’s a recipe for falling in love
one part admiration
one part pity
one part recognition
one part longing
one part quiet
you should get
suicide pacts made between classes
paragraph-long deleted texts
laying wide awake with closed eyes
feeling each other breathe
on the edge of the football field