Summary: The Winchesters, best of the best in the hunting world. Their family have always been the best, as long as time can remember. Other hunters send their kin to the Winchesters for a few years for extensive training. Their methods are unorthodox, but they all know, to be the best…you must endure the worst.
Warnings: Angst, Torture, NSFW, Dark Dean (yes, that’s a warning), Kidnapping, Threatening Behavior, Mild Molestation (of an adult), (Please heed the warnings!!!)
Word Count: 1,828
A/N: So I was told that I was not living up to my full writing potential because I was not tapping into my darker side. Well, here is my dark side in all it’s angsty, threatening glory. Heed the warnings!!! I think I entered all the warnings for this part.Shout out to @sis-tafics. She’s not exactly a beta - and refuses to be called such - but we’ve agreed on “Creative Collaborator” for bouncing around ideas with me, putting up with my insane ramblings at all hours, and ensuring me this doesn’t suck! Love ya Jill! Also, special thanks to @arryn-nyx who suffered so much to make this aesthetic just right!!
The Winchester Way. It’s the way of the hunting world. The champions of history make the rules, all others follow in step like the good little soldiers they are. For centuries, the Winchester bloodline has ruled the hunting world with an iron fist. They know everything, have access to all information, and have so graciously taken it upon themselves to train all other hunters in their ways. Effectively, creating a well-trained army against the forces of the Supernatural world.
The Winchesters maintain a large bunker in the heart of the country. Their facilities are vast, allowing them to take in upwards of twenty trainees at any given time. Some trainees are offered as tribute, continuing the traditions of being trained under the Winchesters that their own families have maintained for decades. Some are obtained, taken with minimal negotiations as the Winchesters see fit, often as payment for their services and interventions.
No one dare complain. The Winchester network is far and wide, their power unrivaled. John and Mary Winchester ruled with great power and some compassion. However, as they grow older, they are looking to retire and withdraw from the hunting world. Their empire thus falling onto the shoulders of their two sons, Dean and Sam. Dean, being the older of the two, has taken on the role of ‘Leader-in-training’. He too ruling as his father before him, but with a significant lack of compassion. He feels compassion only leads to weakness, his reign reflecting the darkness of the world and within himself.
Previously, training regimens consisted of working with the individual, building up their natural talents and making them stronger. But Dean has argued that this only leads to cracks and weaknesses that can be exploited. His beliefs - his new process - is to completely strip and break the soul and spirit of the individual, leaving them blank and ready to be refilled with the skills and knowledge to be the best hunters possible.
The library, it transpires, is a converted guest room in exactly the same shape as their own, a floor above, complete with its own bathroom and balcony. But instead of a bed, dresser, and vanity, this room is full of wall-to-wall bookshelves, with a love seat, coffee table, and two wing-back chairs on an Oriental carpet in the center. The wooden door that divides all of the other hotel rooms is absent here, replaced by a set of handsome glass doors, which are unlocked, though no one is in the library at the moment.
“Is this all hotel history?” Mulder muses, following Scully into the room. She shakes her head.
“Looks like fiction on this wall,” she says, gesturing to the space between the bathroom door and the corner, where the balcony is located. Sure enough, Mulder can see some fairly recent releases, surrounded by well-worn paperbacks and older editions of classic works. He crosses the room, to the expanse of shelving to the right of the balcony.
“Nonfiction over here,” he says. "Lots of history… lots of books about the history of New York State, in particular.“ He turns around and grins. "Jackpot,” he says, returning to the wall that holds the door to the hallway. The books on these shelves are older, less uniform in their sizes. He and Scully scan them, looking for something helpful. Mulder’s eyes fall on what looks like a three-ring binder, and he pulls it down, flipping open the cover.
“It’s a scrapbook,” says Scully, as he pages through the assembled photographs and newspaper clippings. "Of the hotel, when it was a sanitarium.“ Mulder nods, and together, they page through the binder. There are brochures advertising the sanitarium, though none of them name it as such, or even call it a hospital. Clearly, the facility had been an exclusive one, a place for the wealthy to rest and recover without the public embarrassment of admitting that they, too, could suffer from the same diseases as the lower orders. The scrapbook ends with a newspaper article from the local paper, detailing the sale of the building to the Catholic Church in 1931. Mulder closes the scrapbook and replaces it on the shelf, then reaches for an identical one right next to it, opening it.
"Another scrapbook,” he says. "From when the place was a home for wayward girls.“
"It’s all very interesting, I’ll give you that, Mulder,” Scully says, stepping back and continuing to scan the books on the shelves, “but I’m not sure what it has to do with our investigation. Shouldn’t we be trying to get more information from the employees? Finding out if they’ve seen anything suspicious, if anyone’s been acting strange?”
Creepypasta #1076: My Friend Is Sending Me These Weird Texts
I threw a Halloween
party last night, and lots of people came that
weren’t, strictly speaking, invited. I wasn’t going to be a hard-ass about it,
and there were enough of my friends that showed up that I was able to enlist
them to help keep an eye on my place and make sure people didn’t wander places
they weren’t welcome.
Before long, everyone was mingling and having a good
time. I saw my buddy Dave chatting up this really attractive girl that I didn’t
know, and I remember thinking “good luck, she’s out of your league”,
and I think she even asked him out to dinner, but then I promptly forgot about
it since I was busy with hosting duties. The only reason I remember it now is
because I got a series of increasingly odd texts from Dave after the party.
Here’s how it started:
12:15 am/ Dave: Dood, where am I?
12:16 am/ Me: Dunno. Home, maybe?
12:18 am/ Dave: No. I was at ur party. Now I’m somewhere
12:19 am/ Me: Yes, that happens when you leave a party.
12:20 am/ Dave: No, man. I didn’t leave ur party. I was
there talking 2 this girl, now I’m here in this room.
12:20 am/ Me: What room?
12:23 am/ Dave: It’s got wood paneled walls, old looking
green couch, a blue upholstered wing back chair, an ugly oil painting, some
sort of metal disk on the floor, and an old wooden TV.
12:24 am/ Me: A wooden TV?
12:25 am/ Dave: U know- an old tube TV inside a wood
cabinet- looks 60s-ish. WTF? Just turned it on. It’s black n white.
12:25 am/ Me: Ok.
12:26 am/ Dave: There’s no door. Or Windows. What is this
place? Did you do this?
12:27 am/ Me: Do what? Roofie you and stick you in a room
made of the 60s with no way out? No. No, I didn’t.
I’m cutting in here because we spent the next several texts
going back and forth - him accusing me of drugging him because I wanted to meet
this girl he had been talking to and me denying it; then him telling me what he
could pick up on the TV. It sounded like some sort of closed circuit showing
him other rooms similar to his, some with a person, and some empty; and finally
him giving me a running commentary on his attempts to find a way out of the
room. I was ready to tell him I had to go to bed when this happened:
I woke well before dawn to sound of one of my soon-to-be daughters vomiting. Cursing under my breath, I hurried to the bathroom and found Jenny hunched over the porcelain bowl.
“Oh, lovie, why didn’t you wake me?” I knelt and swept the curls away from her face. For all her bravado and sass, Jenny had an incredibly nervous stomach with an anxious spirit to match.
She turned to me, her brow furrowed, “Because you’re getting married in the morning!”
My heart ached as I grabbed a towel, wiping her mouth and drying her tears.
“If you think for one second that a silly dress and a party is more important to me than you are, Janet Isobel Fraser, you are horribly mistaken. I’d wear a paper sack to the altar if it meant I could keep you from being sick.”
Jenny shrugged as she moved to lean against me, “I’m used to it.”
“I know,” I hugged her tight, “but that’s not my point. I would do anything - anything - for you.”
She sniffed but didn’t speak.
Jamie’s children hadn’t, on most days, had any qualms about me becoming their step-mother. I’d had many a conversation with them about what they would call me, what their life would look like in the future, and what they remembered of their mother. The littlest ones had only vague memories of Jamie’s first wife, but Ellen was Marsali’s age when their mother had passed, making Jenny barely seven. While the eldest Frasers were eager for me to be a part of their family, they naturally had reservations over me replacing the mother they held in very high regard.
Ellen and Willie had taken me at my word that all I wanted was to simply be me. I had no intention of forcing them to call me mother or any derivative, and I most certainly did not want them to ever forget the mother they had lost. I’d told them of my own childhood, how both of my parents and my only uncle were killed in a car accident when I was five. I wanted them to know I knew what it was like to lose someone so dear, to have a giant void in your life.
But now that void, that chasm of empty hopes and dreams, was being filled.
I now knew what it was like to belong. I knew how it felt to love someone and have them love me back, to hold a child in my arms who I may not have given birth to, but who would now forever be mine.
I smiled at the thought.
This tousle-headed teenager was mine.
Jenny had her father’s big blue eyes that were a window to her beautiful soul. She hated to let her siblings see her fragile heart or for them to ever know that the world could knock her down. She was one who saw possibility in everything and in everyone. It was almost as if that’s what fed her drive to egg on her siblings, especially her brothers. She knew they were capable of more, regardless of whether the action was right or wrong, and she wanted to be sure she saw it happen.
It was also Jenny who had struggled the most with her father’s engagement.
I kissed the top of her head, “What’s got you up this early?”
“Stuff and nonsense,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the tile floor.
I’d referred to something as such once and the children had latched onto it, fully absorbing it into their vernacular, but not always using it in the manner or context that I would have. Jenny was simultaneously teasing me and avoiding the question, both were things she excelled at.
“Oh, is that all?” I poked her gently in the ribs and stood, “Do you think you can fall back to sleep?”
“The sofa’s comfy too, shall I grab your pillow?”
Jenny gave me a nod this time and I quietly headed back into the bedroom.
“She ok?” Ellen’s head rose from her pillow.
“Yes,” I whispered back, hoping none of the other girls were awake.
Ellen sat up and moved to get out of the cot we’d moved in for the girls’ slumber party, urging, “You should go back to sleep, I can sit with her.”
I pushed her back down with a sigh and snagged Jenny’s pillow and blanket, as well as mine.
“Thanks, Elle, but I’ve got her. I don’t think I could go back to sleep anyway.”
“Butterflies?” Her teeth flashed white in the moonlight as she grinned.
I whumpped her with my pillow and she giggled, “Try stampeding elephants.”
Jenny had chosen to watch Peter Pan as a distraction in hopes of falling asleep. I’d drifted off sometime after they arrived in Never Never Land, but was roused again when Joan tentatively whispered, “Can I sleep with you?”
“Of course, cricket,” I murmured as I made room for her beside me. She slipped beneath the covers and was asleep again in moments, her head nestled beneath my chin.
Wendy’s voice drifted into my consciousness as I heard the pattering of little feet.
She’s the angel voice that bids you goodnight…
It was Maggie. Wherever Joan went, her younger sister wasn’t far behind. She smiled sleepily at me as she found the only free space on the sofa and wiggled into it.
Kisses your cheek, whispers sleep tight…
Four people sleeping on my average sized sofa was more than cozy, but no force on earth could move me from this spot. My heart began to sing along with Wendy as I drifted back to sleep with sweet Joan in my arms.
Your mother and mine, your mother and mine…
I woke sometime later to find the sun streaming into the living room and the Wizard of Oz playing on the tv. Blinking heavily, I discovered Marsali sound asleep in the winged back chair in the corner. The film was her favorite, as was the chair, and I was sure she’d put it in when she joined us.
How long ago had that been?
The Wizard frantically called, “Pay no mind to the man behind the curtain!”
Quite a while, it seemed. I lifted my head from the pillow and found Ellen curled up with a blanket in the overstuffed chair beside me. Turning from the screen, she greeted me.
“Good morning to you too,” I groggily responded. “What time is it?”
“About eight o’clock.”
Only six more hours to go, Beauchamp.
Joan stirred and began to wake. She clung to me, making small morning noises and generally melting my heart into a puddle. I caressed her cheek gently with my thumb as she opened her clear, blue eyes. She looked up at me in confusion for a moment, then smiled and whispered, “Happy Wedding Day!”
I pulled her close, tickling her gently, “Happy Wedding Day to you too.”
“I’m not getting married,” she giggled, “you are!”
Maggie sat up at this announcement and bounced joyfully atop Jenny as she loudly inquired, “Can I put on my dress yet?”
Jenny moaned gedoffame and pushed her littlest sister sideways. The five year old shrieked with glee as she collapsed onto my legs, then wriggled her way in between Joan and I.
“Maggieeeeee,” Joan wailed as her sister invaded her space and pushed her off the edge of the sofa. Ellen reached out her arms and she willingly moved into them.
A yawn sounded from the corner as Marsali drowsily joined the growing conversation with, “Is it time to get ready yet?”
“I think it’s time for breakfast,” I laughed.
“Good,” she responded emphatically as she pulled the blanket over her head, “I’m hungry.”
My maid of honor Geillis and Jamie’s sister Jenny swept into the apartment in a flurry of excitement, bearing fresh pastries and hot coffee.
Geillis, ever the American, had gotten me hooked on the wonderfully caffeinated substance during our many studying sessions during Nurse’s Training. She knew exactly what I liked in my coffee and just where to get the best cup available: Cafe Raymond. The cozy coffeehouse was only a block or so from L’Hopital, just over on Roseneath Terrace.
The children had grown to love it as well in our trips to Edinburgh in preparation for today.
I’m getting married today.
I sat down hard in front of my vanity and reached for my latte. The hot liquid did little to melt the icy shards of doubt that began to poke into my thoughts. Trying to focus on the girls and not on my quickly disappearing sense of internal calm, I watched in the mirror as Ellen skillfully resolved a problem between Marsali and Maggie.
“But it has a M on it!” Maggie whined.
Jamie and I had given each of the children a wedding gift to be opened this morning. The girls received monogrammed dressing gowns and a small string of pearls fashioned from an heirloom that had been passed down to Jamie’s mother. I had a strand of my own that went beautifully with my dress to wear today as well.
The boys received cufflinks of a unique sort of ivory. Oral family history said that the wild boar’s tusks had been given to an ancestor before the Jacobite rising of 1745. Jamie’s grandfather, Jacob MacKenzie, had several sets of cufflinks made from them for himself and passed them onto his eldest grandson.
“It does have an M on it,” Ellen agreed calmly, “but what other letters do you see?”
“A F an’ a E!” Maggie responded triumphantly, “For Margaret Elizabeth Fraser.”
Marsali made a defiant noise of exasperation, “That’s a C for CATHERINE!!”
“If you didn’t know how to read cursive, like you do, Marsali,” Ellen lowered her voice and placed her hand on her sister’s arm, effectively defusing another explosion, “wouldn’t you say it kind of looks like an E?”
“Maybe,” she grumbled as she glared at Maggie.
“And, Maggie, doesn’t this one look kind of big for you?”
Maggie’s little chin came up, not quite ready to quit, “That’s because I’m a big girl.”
I caught the smile Ellen managed to hide.
“You are, but this one is Marsali’s.”
“Then where’s mine?” Maggie demanded.
“I’m not sure,” Ellen replied as she turned Maggie towards the bedroom door and ushered her out. “I’ll help you find it, though.”
The interchange reminded me how much the children had changed in the time I’d spent with them. They grew up so fast, and before we knew it Maggie would be the one who was sixteen-going-on-seventeen. What would happen in ten years when Jamie no longer needed a mother for his children?
Panic welled within me and I moved to the stand at window, pressing my forehead against the glass. The icy fingers of intrusive thoughts quickly formed a frigid fist around my heart. My doubts began to pile on top of each other, each one pressing down with the weight of a thousand bricks.
How well did I really know this man? I’d been at Lallybroch a mere six months before we began our relationship and it’d only been four since then. Ten months. I’d known the man less than a year and, yet, in a matter of hours, I’d be married to him.
Are you really going to do this, Beauchamp?
The urge to run as far away from here as possible overpowered any and all hope of logical, rational thought and I had to grab hold of the window sill to stay upright. I heard the apartment door open and close, nothing unusual as the girls had been going out and coming back in all morning, but the low resonance of a certain male voice announced the entrance of my intended.
I spun around and fled into my walk-in closet, quickly shutting the door behind me.
“May I come in, Claire?” Jamie knocked on the open bedroom door.
No, Captain James Fraser, you bloody can’t.
Silence fell and I heard Geillis encourage him from the living room, “She’s in there somewhere.”
Jamie’s footsteps drew closer, his voice dropping in discretion, “Are you alright, mo nighean donn?”
“No,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my dressing gown.
A Scottish noise of empathy sounded as he stopped outside the closet door. He tried to open it, but stopped at my resistance.
“Please let me in,” he begged.
My tears were falling in earnest now and I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep him from hearing me cry.
“Claire,” he leaned against the door, tears of his own evident in his voice, “mo chridhe, you’re tearing my guts out.”
I slid down the door into a heap, burying my face in my hands. Jamie followed me down and I heard his knees hit the floor with a dull thud, “Will ye no’ let me see you?”
“Why?” I cried, my words escaping before I had control over them. “I don’t even know you and you know absolutely nothing about my life before I met you.”
“I have nothing to bring to this marriage, Jamie. You have a family and an estate and a career, and I have nothing. Nothing! All I have is a box full of photographs of people I don’t remember and what you’ve paid me in my bank account!”
“That’s it,” my voice cracked, “all I have is me!”
Jamie drew in a long, shaky breath and let it out again before speaking. I expected him to be broken, crestfallen at my revelation, but instead I could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. He slid his hand thru the considerable space between the floor and the door, palm up in supplication, “Tis you that I want, Claire, nothin’ more.”
“How can you want me when you don’t know anything about me?”
“I ken what matters,” he answered confidently
His hand slid closer, but didn’t touch me and I glared at it, “What the hell does that mean?”
“I mean I ken you, Claire,” his smile was in full force now, damn him. “I ken that you prefer honey to sugar in your tea. I ken you’ll stand toe to toe wi’ anyone who dares to threaten those you hold dear, but you run from-”
“I don’t run from things!” I insisted.
“Oh, aye?” He laughed, “Then why are you in the closet?”
I mumbled, “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Mhmm,” came his usual reply.
“It is!” I insisted with more enthusiasm than I felt.
“If I close my eyes, will you open the door?”
“I don’t even know your middle name,” I whispered as my hand hovered over his, the tip of my finger tracing the curves of his palm. My lips stopped and started awkwardly as I put words to the doubts in my heart. “How do I know… how do I know that you’re not just marrying me s-so you can have a permanent caretaker for your children? What happens when they’re all grown an-and off to university? Will you… will you grow bored of me? Leave me for a younger, more exciting woman with her own title and fortune?”
I will never leave you, Claire. Ever,” Jamie’s hand closed around mine as he vowed. His pulse beat fast at his wrist and the muscles of his fingers twitched in desperation. “Please, open the door?”
I released him and stood, my hand resting hesitantly on the door knob.
“My dress is in here,” I stalled. “If I open the door, you’ll see it.”
The floorboards squeaked as he responded, “My eyes are closed, I canna see a thing.”
Pushing the door open a crack, I peeked out. He had his back to me, but also had his hands covering his eyes as an extra precaution. There would be no way of him seeing something I didn’t want him to. His thoughtfulness brought on another wave of tears as I slipped thru the door, gently closing it behind me.
Jamie let his hands fall before turning to face me. In one fluid motion, he’d closed the gap between us and gathered me into his arms. I buried my face in his chest, clinging to him as I tried to think clearly, to untangle my legitimate doubts from irrational fears.
“Hello,” he greeted me, his voice uncharacteristically husky.
My cheek brushed against his cotton undershirt as I inhaled deeply, letting the familiar, musky scent of him overtake me. We were silent for a time as we held each other close. I felt him relax, all the tension in his body melting away as his fingers found a stray curl that had slipped out of the braid I slept in. Concentrating on syncing my uneven breathing with his long, deep breaths, I was caught off guard when he suddenly spoke.
“James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”
I tipped my head back and stared stupidly up at him, “Come again?”
A grin spread across his face as he lowered his lips to mine, taking his time with a kiss that warmed me to my very toes.
“You said you didna ken my middle name,” he explained.
“Oh,” I sighed, a smile of my own growing.
“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, pleased to meet you.”
The Slytherin Common Room. The echoing of footsteps against the cold stone floors. A huge room, crowded with objects and people, that still felt empty. Green light filtering in through the windows and causing shadows to dance around the room. The soft swishing noise of the black lake outside the windows. A cold room but a large fireplace at the centre, offering warmth and relaxation after a hard day of work. Tall, wing-backed leather chairs and handmade pillows with glittering embroidery. Intricate stone carvings decorating the high ceilings, many of snakes and statues. Old portraits of wise wizards with pointed hats and long, twisting beards hung up on the wall. Emerald green, grey and silver carpet stretching the length of the room. Round, polished wooden tables with spare parchment, inkwells and spell books piled on top. Cabinets in the corner filled with books and magical artefacts. The feeling of camaraderie in the room without even saying a word.
The Hufflepuff Common Room. The sound of high-pitched laughter filling the air along with the sweet smells of homemade cooking. Bowls and jars and boxes filled with delicious sweets and chocolate to snack on. A mini-bar like counter in the corner where one can get an endless supply of pumpkin juice. A crackling log fire surrounded by colourful cushions, couches, footstools and chairs that you sink into whenever you sit down. A cosy, round room that felt like home the minute you walked into it. Brightly-lit with rays of yellow sunshine streaming in through circular windows. Pot plants lining the wall and flowers hanging down in baskets. Small and worn but sturdy wooden tables dotted around the room, comfortable chairs tucked neatly around them. The buzz of social interaction and happiness. Small bookshelves filled with books about cooking, herbology and childhood tales that one would often reminisce about. Multiple rooms, all running off of one another, that are always filled with chatter and warmth.
The Ravenclaw Common Room. The buzz of satisfaction when you answer the door knocker’s riddle on the first try, and standing around and arguing with it when your answer is wrong. “What do you mean a raven and a writing desk aren’t similar just because they both have an ‘r’?” A high-roofed tower decorated to look like space, in which the tiny painted stars actually twinkled. White walls, columns, arches and exquisite architecture. Crowding around tiny, marble tables with rustic lamps for late night study sessions. Huge, wall-high pristine glass windows that let in white light. Equally high bookshelves crammed with all manner of books - books that are old, tattered and written in foreign languages, hardcover books where the paper glistens and comic books about superheroes brought in by muggleborns. The sound of scratching quills and quiet, excited whispers drifting around the room. Cobalt blue victorian styled chaise lounges with hampton style cushions. Inkwells, parchment and books scattered across the room - on the floor, on tables, on couches. The feeling of acceptance.
The Gryffindor Common Room. A roaring fire encased by a stone hearth, with a house crest carved into the masonry. Low, old, velvet red couches and chairs facing the fire, lighting up faces in a warm orange glow. Small seats but big groups, crowding together, sitting on people’s laps. Traditional red, gold, black and blue decorated drapes hanging down every wall - some detailing artworks of lions, some of wizards and some of horses. Tiny wooden tables with tattered books, brass objects and oil lamps covering their surface. Ebony brown chairs with red cushions half-tucked under the tables. Large, fire-brick coloured chairs facing one another, encouraging conversation. Green, red and gold pillows dotted around the room. Big, faded carpets worn out from being walked over for decades. Chessboards set up around the room, scarves and blankets tossed carelessly onto chairs, decks of cards sprawled over coffee tables. Gold-framed paintings of wizards and witches hanging from creaking wooden rafters. Checkered stone walls and tall, medieval-type stained glass windows. The feeling of safety, comfort and fellowship.
when i was 4 or 5 years old i remember waking up in the middle of the night to some strange light in my room. right in front of my bed i saw a figure with huge wings kneeling on a chair. it didnt have a head, i remember it looking like it had eyes where his collarbones should be. it was just staring me down with those large red glowing eyes. i got scared and hid under the covers. after few years i started gaining interest in paranormal and i learned about mothman. i used to have sleeping paralyzis but i know that time i was wide awake cause i could move. my ex once jokingly told me that mothman could be my father because of my love for moths (but i kinda took it seriously)
Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: Remus happens to visit the Reader’s antiquarian, but when he is stuck there during a storm, he finds what he was looking for, even though in a different way than he might have expected it. Word count: 2666 A/N: This is my submission for Fanfic of the Year 2017, that you got to choose the pairing and an object of. I hope you enjoy and I’d be incredibly glad if you would leave some feedback.
commission for @gneisscastiel, thank you so much for the support <3 info about commissions can be found here
summary: dean and cas finally get time alone, and dean insists on grooming his angel’s wings and giving him a present.
tags: a lot of fluff, wing grooming, dean in panties and a tiny bit of angst
word count: 2k+
Though it wasn’t late yet, it was already dark outside. The rain gently tapped on their bedroom window, setting the mood without it getting too gloomy. Dean lived towards these nights, the nights he was alone with Cas. Sam and Eileen had gone out on a date and Dean knew they wouldn’t get home for the night. It was rare they got time, so they’d find a hotel and stay there to have privacy themselves, but also give privacy to Dean and Cas. And Dean had been dying for some quality time with his boyfriend for days. They had been hunting non-stop for the past two weeks and barely had time to sleep and eat, let alone spend time together.
But tonight was all theirs and Dean knew there was something important to do.
Alpha!Draco Malfoy X Omega!Male!Reader warnings: light sexual themes, mpreg themes he/him pronouns used for reader * reader and draco in same year, sixth year to be exact, and reader is in syltherin ** au where there is no voldemort because they deserve to be happy *** contains blaise/pansy, harry/george VERY LONG I AM SORRY 5k+ WORDS ___
“Nams!” You called out opon entering your hotel suite. You shut the door behind you and hung your jacket up on the coat rack, before moving further inside the suite. Opening every door of your large suite, you searched for Namjoon, but he was nowhere. You took out your phone and texted him.
Princess: joon! where are you?
A box on the bed caught your attention and your curiousity couldn’t be contained so you went to examine the box. A piece of paper was placed on top of the black box and it read:
Princess! Put this on for me and wait until I get back ♥ I’ll be back soon! Yours, Joon
You smiled at the note and opened the box, revealing a set of white lace lingerie and a peach coloured satin robe under the unpadded bra and thong. Your fingers ran across the lace as you picked it up and skipped to the bathroom with it, a shiver of excitement running through your body. You were finally dressed in the bra and thong and all you had left was to slip on the robe, pull up the stockings and clip them onto the garter. It took all your energy to try and restraint yourself from playing with yourself alone, and you were sure that if you rubbed at your clit a few times you’d cum a lot and there would be nothing left for your husband.
You finished getting ready: you fixed your hair, applied lipstick and put on the stockings and slipped on the robe. You played a sexy playlist from your phone and you sat in a large wing chair in the corner of the room, waiting for Namjoon to return. Jay Park’s ‘You Know’ played when the door opened and Namjoon walked it. He looked at you, licked his lips and walked towards you with hooded eyes.
You stood and leaned up to kiss him as a greeting, your hands resting on his toned chest. The satin robe you had on was tied very loosely and the bra and your perky breasts peaked out, giving Namjoon the perrfect view of your boobs and cleavage. He ran a finger across your breasts and down the valley between them and all the way down to the knot of the robe. He quickly untied it and began to push the satin material off your shoulders, his lips on your neck.
Namjoon grabbed ahold of your hips and guided you to the large bed, pushing you back when the back of your legs hit the edge, so that you laid down. He crawled in between your legs, meeting at your lips in a deep kiss. You moved further up the bed and Namjoon stayed on top of you, kissing every inch of your skin. He sat back on his heels between your spread out legs and began unbuttoning his dress shirt. When he reached the last button at the bottom you pounced onto him and swapped positions so that you were on top. You slipped lower and licked across the bottom of his tummy and then proceeded up from his navel up to his neck. Your fingers fumbled with the belt and button on his jeans and when that was undone, you pulled the clothing low enough so that you had access to his clothed cock. You kissed the bulge and nipped at the skin above the boxer band, sucking a hickey on his hip.
Namjoon’s hand threaded through your hair when you took his cock out from his boxers and began playing with it: stroking it up and down and teasing the tip with your pinky finger. Your tongue glided up from the bottom of his shaft to the tip and swirled around the head before taking his inside your mouth. You bobbed up and down for a while but then you realised you didn’t want him to come without him fucking you. You pulled off and pecked the rosy tip.
You sat back and spread your legs wide open for Namjoon, your finger teased yourself and him by rubbing up and down the tiny piece of material that covered you up. You beckoned your husband forward towards you and he moved close between your legs to your pussy. He blew cold air on your pussy that began growing wet and you shivered at the breeze. He moved his finger to your covered clit and teased it through the lace, which felt kind of rough against your sensitive nerve bundle. Namjoon hooked his finger under the thong and moved the material to the side, and went to town with his tongue. You started laughing when he started kitten-licking your clit and slipping it lower at the same time the song changed to Jay Park’s ‘Aquaman’.
Namjoon was basically reanacting Jay’s words and by the time the song ended, you had orgasmed with loud, lengthy moans escaping your mouth.
Namjoon aligned himself with your entrance and lapped up your juices. Once he felt lubricated, he bagan to push in and you squeezed your eyes shut at the stretch. Your hands looped under his, that rested at either side of your head, and your nails dragged down his back when he moved in and out of your tight pussy. His thrusts were powerful and sharp, making you feel every inch of his inside of you. He thrusted continuously and then grunted when he was close. You gasped, but smiled, when you felt his warm seed release inside of your walls. Namjoon collapsed on top of you, still buried deep inside your pussy as he rode out his orgasm. This was the most sensual moment of your life; you had fully tied the knot of your marriage with Namjoon and opened another chapter to your life.
A few weeks later you started feeling unwell and your body rejected your favourite foods, making you crave things that you normally wouldn’t on a daily basis. You told Namjoon how you felt and he took you to the doctors, where your suspicions where confirmed: you were pregnant.
It was what you and Namjoon wanted though - to have a baby together. Namjoon was extremely happy to the point he shed tears in the gynacologist consultation room and you held his hand comfortingly, smiling st him. The doctor printed off the ultrascan where not much could be decipted, but it was proof of your first baby. Within that week you and Namjoon travelled to Ilsan again to visit his family again. When you told his parents and sister the news, his mother started crying happy tears, his father patted Namjoon’s back and hugged you, whilst Namjoon’s sister looked at you both with a smirk.
Prompt: I absolutely love your writing and I’m so excited that you’re taking requests again, even if it’s tentatively. I wanted to ask if you could do another Bucky x Steve x reader smut? I’m a horndog and I’m so embarrassed to be requesting this, and u totally get it if you don’t write it. I love your writings, and I hope you have a great day!! <3 <3
Man, I would love a Steve x Bucky x Reader when they’re all on a mission together and after the last day (and a particularly hard day) they take the pressure off one another by indulging in frenzy of hot rough sex.
A/N: Well, mysterious anons, today is your lucky day. Because I like a little threesome every now and again with these two fellas too. Thanks for requesting!
Warnings: None, unless you need a warning that Percival will slay your soul with his perfection.
Request: “SOMEDAY KILLED ME. I’m typing from the grave … to request more Percival, because I can’t deal. Maybe something with 50/102? (I’m weak for danger-dodging kisses.)”
50. In order to avoid a dangerous situation, both characters are forced to stay hidden in a small, enclosed space.
102. “Kiss me, quick!”
A/N: AH what is wrong with me? Why am I such a jabber jaw? I literally can’t write anything short to save my life so consider this the first part of a two part series. Hopefully I’ll have the next one done tomorrow. Once again, I’ve made up some characters and something for the sake of the plot but hope you don’t mind. Eek!
The sound of tiny, flapping wings was incessant. I narrowed my eyes, rolling up the sleeves of my cardigan, because now I meant business. The paper currently fluttering over my head, which had been intricately folded into the shape of a bird, didn’t seem at all phased by this. I had already decided to jinx whoever had thought it was a great idea to send me a memo and then charm it to act like an utter idiot when I tried to coax it down from the ceiling. It had to be a joke. I was sure that when I finally got my hands on the paper and opened it up, there would be a big ‘HA’ written in bold, dark letters. It would take some investigating to figure out just who the culprit what. It was a good thing that was what I did for a living.
“Alright, you stubborn piece of crap.” I muttered, brandishing my wand toward it. “Accio memo!”