#I don’t know what other tags to add just take the cowboy

[annakwashere]

Spoiler free UTY fanart

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[callsigndragon]

Sunshine | Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

(I love this gif so much I'm not even joking)

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Wife!reader

Word count: 1010

Warnings: nothing! Pure, lovely fluff.

This was requested by @bookaholics-stuff. Thank you, honey! This was such a cute request and I just had to write it NOW. Hope you like it!

FOREVER TGM TAGLIST: @tayrae515 @alexxavicry @xoxabs88xox @mercurio23 @shrimping-for-all @abaker74

(if you want to be tagged, ask me!)

Mrs. Seresin was the only thing Jake didn't brag about. Don't get me wrong, it's not because he is not proud of you. Quite the opposite. 

He's so damn happy to have you in his life that he wants to treasure you. Keep you to himself. 

And there hasn't been a lot of time to talk about each other's lives during this mission. Phoenix wants to fix this matter, actually, suggesting all the members that a day at the beach could be a good opportunity to get to know each other. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jake had agreed to meet with the rest this Saturday, have something to drink at the Hard Deck, play some Dogfight football… Just a bunch of friends spending a normal day at the beach without having to worry about the safety of the planet. But that plan is thrown out the window when you, Y/n Seresin, the love of Jake’s life, ring the bell of Jake and Javy’s shared house. 

“Sunshine? Oh my god, what are you doing here?” Jake says, while hugging you tightly. It has only been a few weeks since the last time he saw you, but it feels like a lifetime away from you. 

“Heard that my handsome hubby had chalked up another kill, saved the day and also the famous Maverick. I had to come here and celebrate!” you explain, covering his face with kisses, Jake scrunching his nose due to the pure happiness of the moment. 

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush, Mrs. Seresin��� 

“Where’s Javy?” you ask, entering the house and leaving your small suitcase in the bedroom. 

“I don’t know, he said he was gonna meet Mickey and Reuben to buy something. Don’t ask me why because I can’t remember” he confesses, laughing. 

“Oh my, Jake Seresin, aren't you a bit young to be forgetting things?” you joke as you lay down on the bed, tired from the flight from Austin. You had been staying with your sister-in-law and her two kids for a few days, not wanting to be alone when you found out how dangerous this mission was going to be.

“It’s your fault. Do I have to remind you how I forgot my own name when I first saw you?” he recalls, sitting in the bed next to you, his hand quickly moving to your hair, and moving some strands out of your face. “You still have that effect on me, Sunshine” 

You smile, satisfaction running through your body as you realize that no matter how much time passes, Jake will always be completely and utterly in love with you. “I saw the beach while in the taxi. This place is amazing, Jake. And you are definitely sunbathing without me, huh? Look at that golden skin” you poke his cheek, making him giggle like a teenager.

Everyone saw Hangman, the aviator. 

But only you were able to see Jake, the loving husband. 

“Want me to take you to the beach, sunshine? We can take a bath and go for a walk.” he offers, kissing your forehead. 

“I’d love to”

-

“Is that woman talking to Hangman?” Phoenix questions out loud while leaving the cooler that Mickey, Reuben and Javy had bought earlier to fill with drinks, in the sand. 

“Maybe he is talking to the poor woman,” Fanboy suggests, moving his sunglasses down his nose to try and understand the whole situation. “Should we go rescue her?” 

“She doesn’t seem uncomfortable, though” Payback adds, the whole squad standing there like a bunch of sentinels, ready to jump into action if the lady needed to be liberated from the blonde cowboy. 

Seconds later, Hangman is throwing the poor girl over his shoulder and walking straight to the water. “Oh god, he’s gonna get smacked,” Bob laughs, opening his blue folding chair and sitting down to enjoy the show. 

“JAKE SERESIN PUT ME DOWN” you yell, trying to leave your husband’s arms, only to be thrown in the water. You stand up, your sundress now completely stuck to your body. Thank god you are wearing your swimsuit underneath. “If I didn’t vow to love you for the rest of my life I would kill you” 

“Did she say ‘vow’ as in ‘wedding vow’?" Rooster asks, looking at the rest of his team. “Man, I don’t understand anything” 

Javy, who had been trying to get the beach umbrella from the trunk after it got stuck, walks happily to the rest, wondering why the heck are they standing there like… well, idiots. “Guys what are you- Y/N SERESIN?” 

“JAVY!” the woman, who now everyone knows it’s a Seresin, runs to Javy, almost tackling him to the ground. "I'm so glad you're okay" 

"What are you guys doing here?" Questions Hangman to the group, joining his wife and his best friend. 

"Dude, beach day. We told you" Fanboy looks at Hangman, wondering if the pilot really had forgotten about it or was just messing with them. 

"Excuse my husband, he's having trouble remembering things lately" you tease him, earning a glare from Jake. 

"Husband" mutters Bob.

"Husband?" asks Phoenix. 

"Husband!" confirms Javy. 

"I'm Y/N. We've been married for three years now. And no, I wasn't forced to marry him, Rooster. I know you were about to say that" you say to Bradley, leaving him shocked. 

"I was gonna ask that, yes. How did you know? And how did you know I was Rooster" 

"Oh, cause I'm good, Rooster. I'm really good" you retort, making Jake laugh. 

"Oh no, there's two of them. We're doomed" Bob says, sitting down again. 

"I'm guessing Javy was the best-man?" Javy nods at Phoenix, answering her question. "Well, Mrs. Seresin, would you like to play some Dogfight football with us?" 

"I don't even know what's that but teach me, and I will play" you say, taking off the sundress and stealing Jake's sunglasses from him. 

He looks at you, wondering what had he done in a past life to be this lucky. Good job, good friends, and the perfect wife. His own personal sunshine. 

[genjispeace]

Perfect - Genji X Reader

tags: genji x gender neutral afab reader, insecure reader, virgin reader, body issues and insecurities, mirror sex, unprotected sex, praise

a/n: this is very uhm self-indulgent :) i hope you enjoy it as much as i do

tw: this deals with insecurities including body issues (primarily with one's stomach), so please keep that in mind while reading it. take care of yourselves

You suck in a deep breath before your knuckles rasp against Genji’s bedroom door. Part of you feels bad for bothering him this late, but you really don’t have any other choice. You can’t get the zipper on your dress pulled up all the way, and it’s too late to try to figure out another outfit. Granted, you are probably overthinking all of this, but it is not often that you are asked on a date.

The door swings open in front of you, and Genji’s eyes widen when he sees you there. His eyes track up and down your body, his dark eyebrows raising. It’s probably strange to see you all dressed up like this, especially considering you’re usually in jeans around him.

“Can you help me?” You ask, and you know you sound desperate. Genji just steps to the side and lets you walk in, before closing the door behind you. 

“You okay?” His voice is slightly muffled from the cloth mask he has on, but he still sounds more confident than you. 

“No…well, yes. I mean,” you try to speak, but the words get jumbled in your mouth. Are you going to be late? What if this outfit is bad? What if you say something stupid? 

You are so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice Genji getting closer until his hand is resting on your shoulder. He squeezes it slightly, and the pinch brings your mind back to the present. 

“Relax, Sunshine,” Genji says, his nickname for you already calming your nerves. He’s called you that since the first day you transferred to Overwatch. It’s been a while now, and he still won’t tell you why he calls you that. “Breathe, in and out, and tell me what’s wrong.”

“I have a date,” you say after a deep breath. Genji’s hand twitches on your shoulder. “And I can’t get my dress zipped.”

Genji’s hand slides off of your shoulder and his eyes level with you. The dim lighting in his bedroom makes it hard to tell, but he looks like he may be furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Who is your date?” Genji asks, his voice sharpened to a sudden edge. 

“Cassidy,” you say softly. 

“Turn around,” is all Genji responds with. You nod, turning until your back is to him. You feel his hands ghost along your back, and you have to fight a shudder at the feeling. You haven’t talked about it a lot, but you are painfully inexperienced in anything physical. It’s another thing that you’re nervous about, especially if this date goes in that direction.

“You’re doing it again,” Genji says. 

“Huh?”

“Thinking too much. You always chew on your lower lip when you’re thinking too much,” he says. Your eyes snap up and realize how he saw you doing that. You’re both standing in front of a mirror, and the second you look up, his eyes lock onto yours. 

“It’s not my fault. I’m nervous.” You pull at the ends of your dress. Maybe it’s just to occupy your hands, or maybe it’s because Genji is looking at you with something you can’t name. 

“It’s zipped,” Genji says, and you find yourself turning to face him. He looks down at you, his dark eyes warm. “What do you have to be nervous about?”

“I don’t date often. What if he hates me? Or hates my body? What if he thinks I’m ugly or something? I-”

“I’ll kill him.” Genji’s voice is stern, and you frown. Surely he’s joking, right?

“I’m being serious, Genji,” you say. You wish you could see under his mask.

“You think I’m not?” He says, but before you can respond, he adds “You look amazing.”

“Genji-” you start to thank him, but he cuts you off.

“Better get going. You don’t want to leave the cowboy waiting, do you?” 

____________________________________________________________

The date didn’t go horribly, but you wouldn’t say that it went well. You like Cassidy, but there’s just not a spark there. He seemed to pick up on the same thing and was nice about it, but a part of you can’t help but feel the sting of rejection. Maybe it’s your insecurities showing, but it hurts when things don’t work out. It’s almost like you feel unwanted, ugly, anywhere. You can’t help but laugh at yourself as you walk back to your room. It’s a bitter laugh, one you choke out to keep from crying.

“Hey, Sunshine,” a voice calls to you. You look up, seeing Genji standing in his bedroom doorway. You almost forgot you have to walk past his room to get to yours. Though, he shouldn’t have been able to hear you coming, so why is he just standing there? “Hi, Genji,” you whisper, but hide your face quickly. He knows you too well, and you’re sure he could tell how upset you are based on your face.

“I’m not going to let you go to your room and cry yourself to sleep, so you might as well come here now,” Genji says. You take a deep breath. You know he’s serious. Too many times has he followed a crying you to your room to sit outside until you let him in. He’s stubborn, you’ll give him that. You cross your arms and turn, stomping past him and into his room. 

You plop onto his armchair, keeping your arms crossed. A tear slides out and you wipe it away quickly. He closes the door and turns around to face you. 

“I have my blades sharpened. Just say the word,” Genji says, and you snort. 

“Shut up,” you say through a sniffle. 

“Tell me what happened.” Genji sits down on the edge of his bed.

“Nothing happened. That’s the problem!” You blurt out. “Nothing ever happens.”

You stand up quickly, crossing the room to hide your face from Genji. You hate people seeing you cry, even if Genji has already seen it before. 

“I don’t feel good enough for anybody… I feel too ugly, too annoying, too loud, too everything,” you sniffle out. 

“Ugly?” Genji says from behind you.

“I mean, for fuck’s sake, I haven’t even had my first kiss yet. Do you know how pathetic that feels? To not be wanted?” You say. You know he doesn’t. Genji is attractive now, but before the accident he was like a god. 

“Don’t talk like that,” Genji says. You just shake your head. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper out, wiping your face dry. 

“Look at me,” Genji says. His voice sounds closer, and you turn around to see him standing next to you. You smile at him, but you know it looks pained. He reaches up and his thumb swipes away another tear. 

“I want you,” he says softly. Your mouth opens, but no words come out at first. He continues to cup your cheek, and you lean into his touch.

“You-what?” Are the only words that manage to come out. He tilts your head up and forces your eyes to lock.

“I. Want. You.” 

“Genji, don’t-” you start. Fear rolls around in your heart, and your insecurities are yelling in your ear that he’s lying. 

“I do. Fuck, I could kiss every part of you,” he says. You keep searching what you can see of his face, but nothing shows that he’s joking. You’d be lying if you said that you never thought about Genji in that way. You’ve had feelings for him for a while now, but you always thought he would never feel the same. 

“Prove it,” is all you can say. The words barely get out of your mouth before Genji is yanking his mask off and pressing against you. His hands softly cup your face and his lips gently press against yours. Part of you reacts in shock, not expecting him to be serious, but most of you reacts in contentment. His lips are soft and warm against yours, and the feeling is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You melt under his touch, and he backs you up against the wall. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and your mouth opens for him. One of his hands trails down your body, latching onto your hip and digging his fingers in. You let out a soft moan that Genji swallows, and when you bite onto his bottom lip, he pulls away. You whimper in his absence, and his chest heaves as he stares at you. 

“Genji?” You say. He runs a hand through his dark hair as his chest heaves. 

“Let me show you how beautiful you are, how wanted you are,” his voice is soft, almost pleading. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can barely speak at all. 

“Please,” is all you can say, but it’s all Genji needed to hear. He moves so fast that your brain can barely keep up, but he quickly has you pulled into his lap on the ground. You’re facing away from him, and confusion starts to take over. His lips press against your neck, pressing soft kisses into the skin there.

“I’m going to show you just how wanted you are, and you’re going to watch yourself until you like the way you look,” he growls against your skin. You shudder when you look up and see the same mirror in front of you. It’s a big mirror, reaching all the way down to the floor. You can see your whole body in it, as well as Genji’s entire body behind you, who is leaning his back against the bed. He starts to unzip your dress, and you can feel his hands ghosting over your skin. 

He slides the straps off of your shoulders, and pulls the dress slowly down until your chest is bare. He watches his movements in the mirror, his eyes latching onto your breasts. Your nipples harden and a chill shows on your skin. 

“Lift your hips for me, Sunshine,” he says. You obey without question, and he pushes your dress down and you shimmy out of it the rest of the way. Your insecurities start to rear their ugly heads, and you try to cover your stomach with your arms. 

“I will pin you down if I have to,” Genji warns. You shudder in his arms. “You have no reason to hide yourself from me. You’re so fucking beautiful, like the gods created you with perfection in mind.”

A dusting of blush appears on your cheeks at his words, but more so at the way he’s looking at you in the mirror. His eyes are dark, glowing, hungry. He’s looking at you like he’s starving and he wants to devour you. Your eyes lock in the mirror, and a sickly sweet smile appears on his face. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror,” he says. You nod an understanding. Your eyes stay locked with his even as his right hand trails down your body and straight to your core. He doesn’t waste any time, and immediately dips his hand under your underwear. His fingers circle your clit softly, and your nerves feel like they’re on fire from just that touch. A soft moan escapes, and he takes it as a confirmation to keep going. His fingers pick up the pace, softly working your clit in circles. When he reaches lower and dips two fingers into you, your head falls back onto his shoulder. He stops moving his hand, and uses his free one to grab your jaw and force you to look back at the mirror. A soft whine escapes your throat, and you can see him smile in the mirror. 

“It’s okay, Sunshine. You can do it,” he says, softly gripping your face. The command is clear: don’t look away. You follow his orders and keep staring at the mirror. A soft gasp escapes when Genji pulls a knife out of his belt loop and slices your underwear away with it. Part of you feels like you should be scared. You’re completely bare, vulnerable, and he’s fully clothed and can see everything. Nobody has ever seen you like this before.

“Stop thinking, just feel,” Genji says, and his hand dips back to your core. He keeps working your clit, and when his other hand wraps around your neck, you can’t help the moans that come out. He’s not holding your neck roughly, but it’s enough to keep you in control, under his command. He moves his fingers faster and you start to feel an orgasm building in your core. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect,” Genji growls. “Come for me, Sunshine.”

Genji’s words are all it takes to push you over the edge. You moan out his name softly as your orgasm rushes through you. He keeps going, unforgiving in his movements. Your head almost falls back, but Genji holds you in place. Your body shakes, and you pant softly. You’ve given yourself orgasms before, of course, but it doesn’t even compare.

“I’m not done with you,” Genji says. You smile softly, and he catches it in the mirror. “Insatiable, are you?”

“Maybe,” you whisper. Genji shifts you slightly, just enough for him to pull his jeans and boxers down. He pulls you back onto his lap, and you feel his hardness pressing against your back. 

“See what you do to me? And you think you’re unwanted,” he tsks, but his voice takes on a more serious tone. “I know you’re a virgin, so we can go slow. You’ll be on top, so you can be in control, okay?”

“You want me to-” You start to say, your eyes widening in the mirror. 

“To ride me? Yes, if you want to,” Genji says. 

“I do,” you say. Genji smiles in the mirror, his hands moving to your hips. It’s a bit tricky getting in the right position like this, but Genji is so patient with you. You try to turn, but he insists on staying to face the mirror. Once you’re lined up, you start to sink slowly onto his cock. His gaze stays on the mirror, but his eyes flick down to where you’re slowly taking him in. 

“You take me so fucking well, Sunshine,” he says through a grunt. The praise makes you flush, and you keep taking each inch. He’s not small, that’s for sure. The stretch stings in a way that feels better than any toy ever has. When you’ve finally taken every inch, you look up at him in the mirror and see sweat dropping along his forehead. His hands grip your hips, where you know you’ll have bruises in the morning, and he guides you up and down slowly. 

“Fuck,” you say. Your brain catches the way your stomach bounces as you ride him, and normally that is the kind of thing that would bring you to tears, but the way Genji is looking at you, the way he’s touching you, it’s more than enough to quiet those insecurities. 

“So fucking perfect,” Genji says, pressing his lips against your neck. You ride him slowly, and sloppily, but he seems to be perfectly content in it. He starts to match your riding with his own thrusts, and each of them get you closer to the edge. He wraps his arms around you, holding your back against him as you start to fall apart again. One of his hands pinches your nipple as he’s holding you, and it’s enough for you to fall apart on him. You clench around his cock, screaming out his name as your orgasm rocks through your body. You whimper as he thrusts his hips a few more times, and when his legs start to tense under you, you know he’s about to come. You look up in the mirror, locking eyes with him. His head drops against your shoulder as his orgasm takes over, his soft hair tickling your bare skin. You reach to his hand, intertwining your fingers together. 

He takes a few minutes to recover, but he eventually helps the two of you to stand. You both go into the bathroom, where he turns on the shower.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He says. 

“Mhm,” you reply sleepily. All your energy, all your worries, all your insecurities, are gone now.

“Worn out, Sunshine?” He says with a chuckle as he leads you under the water. 

“It’s your fault,” you say. You hear him stripping the rest of his clothes before he steps into the shower with you. 

“Guilty,” he says. He grabs his body soap and starts to lather it into your skin. You can’t help the flinch that you do when he reaches your stomach. He looks up at you, then kisses you on the forehead.

“Your stomach is perfect, Sunshine,” he says. You smile softly, and you know you look like you’re hopelessly in love with him right now. You kinda are, honestly. 

“You ever gonna tell me where that name came from?”

“You always smile, your eyes are always bright, like a ray of sunshine,” he says softly. Your heart warms at his honesty. He really does like you, and you like him. You both want each other. 

“Genji…can we do this? Like…can we try dating?” You say softly, the water from the shower head beating against your back. He freezes, and your heart stops for a split second. What if he’s about to reject you? You almost take your lip in between your teeth, but his words stop you.

“I’d love to,” he says. He presses another soft kiss against your lips before he finishes getting you cleaned up. You eventually end up in his bed, cuddling while naked, which is something you didn’t think you would ever be able to do. Your insecurities have no room between you and Genji.

[moonysfavoritetoast]

Introduction !!

im so sorry to the people who aren’t used to my antics

sorry if this is rude, but please stop sending the gofundme asks. they’re overwhelming me.

last updated 11/10/24**

*month/day/year

*updated tags, husband list, fandom list

about me

hi i’m evan or james or cosmo :) i love love LOVE nicknames! as long as they aren’t sexual or directly calling me a girl, i don’t mind! *

i’m a MINOR in eighth grade, don’t be a creep. im a MINOR.

i use he/they/it/star pronouns

i’m transmasc, non-binary, bisexual & aceflux (i also use demi-boy as a label!)

* i especially love the nickname ‘ev’, as my sister had it first and my family will not call me that. i don’t want to be sexualized, it makes me uncomfortable. i am a boy, and i don’t want to be called a girl. eg; ‘good girl’ ‘my girl’ ‘girlfriend’. as for sexual stuff, i mean LITERALLY any nickname said with sexual undertones. i don’t mind being called a good boy, but the moment it’s said with anything sexual you might be blocked. for that reason, please use tone tags, as i am pretty bad at figuring out what some things mean at times.

i don’t usually answer chain asks because they scare me but do know they don’t go unnoticed i appreciate them

rambling

FREE PALESTINE

PFP WAS DRAWN BY MY LOVELY WIFE @meerealsssss

currently matching pfps with @meerealsssss

first post limit 3/12/24

expect vent posts from time to time

i’m always going batshit crazy over ghost and fallout (honorable mentions are house md, gravity falls, and sally face !)

i complain a lot, sorry

will x isaac

deer :3 and and german shepherds :3

jizz pants (will anf dom know what this means)

watch just add magic, do it please /nf

i love love love minecraft diaries (aphmau) gagagag lawrence and aaron are my fave characters (please talk to me about aphmau i swear i’m not cringe)

nico <3

starr <3

alex <3

ace <3

mee <3

my wife is @meerealsssss

my wife is @homoashell

my wife is @catinasink

my wife is dominic

my wife is also undyne

my wife is also mrs claus

my wife is trashcan carla

my husband is @aceiined / @muthafuckinaro

my husband is @homoashell

my husband is @catinasink

my husband is @the-rizzly-bear

my husband is the man in the yellow hat

my husband is terzo. i will not be taking criticism at this time.

my husband is also rick sanchez

my husband is also jazon broadly

my husband is also izerah (fuck you what is his last name, mee?)

pac-man is also my husband

my husband is alastor (hazbin hotel)

lucifer is my husband (hazbin hotel)

my husband is rj maccready:3

my husband is john hancock (the gay one)

my husband is the ghoul (on my knees for that cowboy ass mf)

my husband is ford pines

lord farquaad is my husband

my husband is jeremy fragrance

my husband is prae jack ;3

MY HUSBAND IS DR HOSUE

my partner is @alex-the-bard <3 <3 <3

my partner is @homoashell <3

my partner is @catinasink <3

likes/dislikes

like: music, tv, friends, my cat, cool socks, writing, rick sanchez, genloss, tadc, musicals/theatre, undertale/deltarune, ducks, omori

dislike: loud noises, silence, school

i’m currently obsessed with: ghost, dreamscape nexus, rick and morty, gravity falls, etc

i post about:

• marauders

• (mostly) random thoughts

• dreamscape nexus

• other random things

• rick and morty

• gravity falls

• percy jackson

• undertale/deltarune

• hazbin hotel

• helluva boss

• fallout

• omori

• sally face

• ghost

• mad max

• house md

family/pets

i have a younger sibling, evie (any pronouns)

i have a cat named daniel tiger

i have two dogs, gunner and roxie

timezone

EST

if you’re interacting with me past midnight, i’ll probably be a bit sillier than normal

DNI

maps/pedophiles, z00philes, bigots, ED and porn blogs

if you have ‘mdni’ in ur bio

simon cowell

donald trump

neo-nazis

if you don’t like furries and therians please get the fuck away from my blog

and if you shit on other’s religions, get away

what can you call me?

no: feminine related terms (unless you’re using them in a gender neutral way or as a joke) like girl, sister, wife, etc (bbg is always ok)

yes: boy, guy, partner, husband, dude, man (basically anything masculine/gender neutral)

sideblogs

@ricksanchezsboyfriend is my rick and morty sideblog

@mountainsmissingshoes is my ghost sideblog

@alastorsbigdick is my hazbin hotel rp sideblog (matching ace)

@giddingstexasenthusiast is my southern mom rp blog

@cryingunderstars is my writing sideblog

i am also @hadesfavoritechild

i run @rosie-rosier as well (marauders rp blog)

@scandalous-triangle and @myst3rytw1n are my gravity falls rp blogs (dm to join?)

extra info

birthday is august 7 :3

tone tags appreciated

i’m some flavor of neurodivergent (except i’m not diagnosed (parents r more worried about my sister) soz)

i play trumpet + i want to learn electric guitar or drums

i’m a gryffindor

child of hades

my favorite band is ghost

i speak english and i am currently learning french (might learn swedish)

satanist

feminist

alterhuman

fictionkin

theatre kid (crew) currently doing little shop of horrors

my fav number is 173

i write

i live in my own head. sorry.

i live in michigan and i guess this is shameful (shrimp bullies me for it)

i kin dipper pines

i have another sideblog. if you find it, idk i’ll give you chocolate or something (it’s embarrassing)

fuck wilbur soot. if i post about lovejoy, please know that i do not support him.

ask me about ghost (band) i have an oc and want to talk about them

send anon asks

tags!

• screenshots of dm’s/discord/texts: #evan leaks their texts

• lyrics: #evan screams lyrics at you

• my asks: #evan gets an ask *gasp*

• anything related to my book w/ @meerealsssss: #brokenly beloved

• anything related to moonlex (@alexthescaredenby and i’s ship name): #moonlex tag

• dreamscape nexus: #dreamscape nexus / #dn

• bracelets i make: #evan’s bracelets

• ace’s shit quotes: #ace needs to shit

• me talking about the man in the yellow hat: #tevan tag

• pictures of me: #literally evan

• me screaming about something: #on todays episode of evan is slowly going insane

• certain anon who signs off with a ☀️: #☀️ anon

• shit about omori: #evan plays omori

• shit about sally face: #evan plays sally face

• reblogging mutual’s art: #REBLOG (mutuals art)

• stuff that i post at theatre: #theatre shenanigans

• anything about house md: #evan gay dr house

• everything else: #evan's rambles

people i talk about

my teachers :3

• mr sharpie/mr shark is my band teacher (he/him)

• madam eddinger is my french teacher

• mr crowner is my science teacher

• mrs bryant is my math teacher

• mr stowe is my social studies teacher

• mrs erskine is my ela teacher

• mrs seals is the old ass transphobic building substitute

• mr jacobs is our theatre director

• ms carmen is from theatre

——— previous teachers

• mama is a teacher from sixth grade (she/her)

• mrs kopykat - seventh, ela (she/her)

• ms k - seventh, ela student teacher (she/her)

• mr bones/skeleton - seventh, science (he/him)

• mr margarita/montague - seventh, social studies (he/him)

• mrs doty/dodds - seventh, math (she/her)

my irl friends :3

• crotch demon is my sister (any pronouns)

• my sweet little expired english muffin is @meerealsssss (she/her)

• ace @aceiined / @muthafuckinaro (they/them, mal/they)

• wife part two is my wife, they asked me to not name her here (she/they)

• al/allie is from school :3 (she/her)

• smurf is from school (blue hair, hence the nickname) (he/him)

• tomato is from school (silly :3) (he/him)

• boom boy/isaac is from school (he made me a netherite pickaxe after someone else burned mine // the pick had unbreaking // boom boy likes tnt) (he/him)

• boomerang/matt is from school (he/him)

• (irl) alex is from school :3 (he/they)

• khris is from school

• colten is from school (father) (he/him)

• will @skibitygamer is from school (he/him)

• dom is from school (he/him)

• luca was from theatre (mf graduated)

• maryn is from theatre

• gavin is from theatre

• chris is from theatre

• andrew is from theatre

parents are now getting their own nicknames

• hades is my dad (he/him)

• will come up with one for my mom (she/her)

where else can you find me?

pinterest (moonysfavoritetoast)

pinterest (cryingunderstars)

youtube

wattpad (please don’t take this seriously)

tiktok (moonysfavoritetoast)

tiktok (cryingunderstars)

facebook mom account

my nintendo switch friend code is SW-4260-6971-6714

roblox is /@moonysfavorite_toast

and discord (@moonysfavoritetoast)

[thewolvesof1998]

Fuck it Friday

Tagged by @hippolotamus and @daffi-990

Still toiling away for NaNoWriMo and I've been working some more on Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em chapter three (previous snippet and Masterlist):

“I did, didn’t I? Well, I can’t do that if you’re clothes are on,” Eddie says withdrawing his hand from Buck’s underwear. Buck whimpers at the loss of contact before Eddie’s words register, as soon as they do Buck sits up and rips off his shirt. He moves on to his underwear but instead of standing up to take it off, like a sane person, Buck lies down and lifts his hips in the air and pulls them halfway down his thighs. Eddie watches, captivated, as Buck desperately tries to pull them off but they get stuck on one of his ankles. Finally, after a lot of swearing Buck manages to get them off, he throws them on the floor and lies back slightly panting, cheeks pink and avoiding meeting Eddie’s eyes.  “I don’t suppose you can forget you just saw that?” Buck asks Eddie snorts, “I think that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.” Buck throws his arm over his face, “Oh good, great.” “Buck,” Eddie places his hand on Buck’s arm. “Just let me die of embarrassment.” “Buck,” He tries to tug Buck’s arm away from his face but it’s like trying to bend metal, goddamn he like how strong Buck is a little too much, “Darlin’,” but even the nickname doesn’t work. Eddie sighs, “Baby please, I need you to look at me.”  He gets a muffled ‘why’ From Buck, “Because you need to see the truth on my face when I say that you being so desperate for me that you couldn’t even wait to stand to get naked is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”  “Say it again?” Buck asks, his arm finally lowering.  “What? You’re so desperate for me?” Buck shivers “Yes-” shakes his head “-No, the other thing.” Eddie feels a smile tug at his lips, “Baby?” Buck practically melts at the term, “You like when I call you baby?” Buck gives a small nod.  Eddie leans over and presses an open mouth kiss to Buck’s pulse point, “Such a desperate baby, huh?”

tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz​ @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammy-souffle @smilingbuckley (let me know if you want to be taken off or add to this tag list!)

[redfurrycat]

🤠🐓The Chicken Peach & the Zenithal Cowboy Fic Recs🐓🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors:

WITHOUT PLOT* — Acetonitril, Anonymous, Crueltether, Dalearden, Discosleaze, Earthangel_44, Elizabethgee, Ginnydear, Indybob, Irrlicht74, K0ralik, Lesbiseresin, Lovelybattle, Magdarko, Nimuetheseawitch, Nixie_DeAngel, Popstar, Renai_chan, StoriesofmyLife, Tasteofoxidation, Teacupivy, UsedDivinity, Winterbucky.

WITH PLOT *— AllForReading, Aphroditedany, BethAnnAngel, Dracculaura, Earthangel_44, FlowersOnMyMind, ForMaverick, Fuddlewuddle, HalbarryTrashcan, Halestrom, Hangmanbradshaw, Ilarina, Indybob, Leavemeinthelibrary, Lesbiseresin, Local_troubled_writer, LoveMadeThemDoIt, Mackwinnon, Magdarko, SaintClaire, Teacupivy, Vannral, VarjoRuusu, Winterbucky.

*Purely subjective. + May include variations other than the targeted theme, so read the Ao3 Tags, Summary & Author Notes with caution! :)

PWP {🤠🐓} > Bosom!Hangman > The Perched Rooster & the Brooded Texan > Everywhere. Every-Fucking-Where.

‼️Art Visual‼️ ==> Cock-A-Doodle-Do by lowlife_symptoms {E}

/WITHOUT PLOT/

your body's writing checks (that I wanna cash) by StoriesofmyLife {E}

Sometimes, in a rare show of vulnerability, Bradley will let Jake take the reins. Or: After waking up from a nightmare, its Bradley’s turn in the cockpit, so to speak. Aka: the Jake tops Bradley fic that this fandom is severely lacking.

They Could Have Had That So Much Sooner by Irrlicht74 {E}

The kiss was deep and passionate, more tongue and teeth than real finesse, but it made Jake lose what little had been left of his mind after the first time Bradley had kissed him. Short and sweet by comparison, but intentional, saying yes to... Well, him, Jake Seresin. A relationship. Maybe more. It was... about fucking time, to be honest. They could have had that so much sooner if they hadn’t been such idiots about it.

the way we move by Anonymous {E}

"Oh, fuck. Holy shit." Bradley's words catch his sharper attention now, pulling him from the dizzying state of bliss he'd been losing himself in. He opens his eyes to see Bradley's head turned to the side, eyes widened and mouth slightly agape. Jake realizes he's looking at something, eyes laser-focused in. "What? What is it?" Jake asks as tries to follow his gaze. "It's..." Bradley breaths, and Jake's breath leaves him like a punch to the gut as his gaze finally reaches its end destination. As he sees what exactly it is that Bradley's looking at that's got him looking more heated than Jake's seen him in a while.

I’m in the mood, the rhythm is right, move to the music (we can roll all night) by StoriesofmyLife {E}

“You don’t see me for over a year,” Bradley pants, moaning when teeth bite at his neck, a hot tongue soothing the sting a moment later. “And that’s how you greet me?” ”You don’t seem to be too put out about it.” Jake drawls. “Least of all from where I’m sittin’.” He adds, rocking his hips upwards for emphasis. * Or what should've happened, in my opinion, after the bar scene ft. sex in the Bronco and Bradley (attempting) to be the ultimate power bottom.

You got me stuck on the thought of you by Popstar {E}

“Where’s your hat?” Javy asks as he comes to stand next to him. Jake’s eyes flick from Bradley to Javy, then he jerks his head towards Bradley but keeps his gaze on Javy. “Rooster just took it.” Javy’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “He came by and took your cowboy hat?” “Uh-hu.” “Does he know about the rule?” “I doubt he does.” Or the one where Bradley takes Jake’s cowboy hat.

The Octagon by Earthangel_44 {E}

Monday

“Unless you can’t mount me,” Bradley baits in a low voice, “unless you can’t fuck me like you think you can.” Bradley cups Jake through his sweats and squeezes. “Unless I need to find another alpha to fuck me and finish what you started.” AKA: Omega MMA fighter Bradley with Alpha Boxer Jake.

Tuesday

Bradley watches Jake fight for the first time since they’re together.

Whipped Cream by lovelybattle {E}

Bradley hummed, “you taste good.” He tasted like whipped cream, mixed with the spiced rum that Jake had been drinking along with some hot chocolate and a hint of cinnamon. All topped off with something that was just Jake, a taste that Bradley has come to love.

Take me to places I can't imagine by UsedDivinity {E}

Rooster gives off bottom vibes and he's gonna get bullied for it the fic

hold me close and make me yours by Anonymous {E}

It's completely unfair, really, how attractive one man in a worn-soft long-sleeved t-shirt and old gray sweatpants can look just silently reading a book, sinking into the cushions with his legs splayed out like that and looking so relaxed.

Santa, Baby by Renai_chan {E}

Jake puts on another costume for Bradley, and Bradley isn't quite sure about this one. On the one hand, Jake is sexy in all his forms. On the other hand, he's dressed as Santa.

I Tried to Read Between the Lines by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley finds himself between a wall and hard spot

spend it like it's gold by dalearden {E}

There’s something about the closeness, the primal need for skin on skin that keeps them hot for each other even now they’ve got rings on their fingers and are getting older every day."

just friends by ginnydear {E}

we passed "just friends" about 20 fucks ago.

you flipped a switch and now im on you by tasteofoxidation {E}

Jake knows how the night is going to play out when Bradleys first port of call is not to answer to the call of his name. Instead, he waves Nat off with a raise of his finger, goes to the bar, and doesn't look at Jake once.

old habits by crueltether {E}

“How long are you stationed here?” Bradley asks, toeing his shoes off. Jake sets his bottle down on the table just next to the door and shrugs a shoulder. “Long enough. You wanna keep talkin’ or do you wanna get what you really came all the way out here for?”

virgin beefcake bradley gets fingered by confident hunk by elizabethgee {E}

Bradley has never been with a man. Jake has. Bradley gets much more than he bargained for (but he's not complaining).

Cravin’ You by indybob {E}

Bradley has been feeling some type of way all day. His not-so-subtle hints to Jake all seem to have gone unnoticed. That is, until they get each other alone. Or: Bradley has been desperate for Jake all day, and Jake loves riling him up.

sugar on my tongue by discosleaze {E}

"pierced nipples taste like keys and baby, i'm coming home" - Bradley Bradshaw's pinned tweet, probably. Jake has a pierced nipple. Bradley is incapable of thinking about anything else.

big boy, come on 'round by acetonitril {E}

Jake can admit that he’s always had a thing for Bradley’s more sturdy body parts, the ones he could hold on to and sink his teeth into. So seeing Bradley like this feels like an invitation, like something just for Jake. Bradley’s still very much the same, but there’s simply more of all his favorite bits now. Bradley, enhanced.

I only pray (don’t fall away from me) by Anonymous {E}

Jake Seresin has an acquired taste. It comes in the form of the clubs most desired; Rooster. His wide doe eyes, ridiculous pornstache that fits him so perfectly, and his tan, toned body. And what Jakes wants, Jake gets.

relax by Anonymous {E}

austin interlude by lesbiseresin {E}

Long distance is something that isn’t easy to pull off. Some nights, Bradley missed him so much that he could feel his absence aching in his ribs, right behind the place where he’d cracked them during the mission with Maverick. Letters can only do so much. Phone calls make it more bearable, but nothing is better than having each other close. That’s how Bradley usually feels, anyways. He also usually likes Texas, but right now— “I wish we’d never come here.” (alternatively: jake & bradley finally sharing the domesticity they deserve)

I just want back in your head by nimuetheseawitch {E}

It's the faculty holiday party, and all Bradley wants is for his ex-husband to notice him. Once Jake does, the rest is history.

your DNA's bein' messed with my touch (can't beat us) by teacupivy {E}

“What do you need?” “Don’t know,” Bradley’s already shaking his head. “Just distract me.”

humorous beautiful weeds by winterbucky {E}

Life on a ranch is hard but rewarding, and Rooster finds himself happy - probably for the first time since he left his home. The only downside is the annoying son of the owners, Hangman, but... even he has some pros. Like getting Rooster's back blown out under the stars. Or pretending there's nothing but sex between them. Spoiler - pretending isn't going great or ranch au where they fuck under the stars and possibly start something more

taste your beating heart by magdarko {E}

Wanna take you home and get my mouth on you, he’d said, wanna spread you out and make you scream for me, and Bradley had nodded desperately against his mouth. * In which Jake does... pretty much that

curiosity killed the cat by k0ralik {E}

Bradley Bradshaw has been told his whole life that men don't cry. That men are conquerors and should never show any weakness, let alone ask for something. They shouldn’t ask, no, they should take it, rip it out with their teeth, fight for it tooth and nail, even if they get their hands dirty. But he doesn’t feel any less a man when he asks for it. or: bradley wears nothing but a maroon rope and a pair of socks, and jake rules his world

Now I'm Down Bad by Nixie_DeAngel {E}

Sometimes secrets coming to light is a good thing. And sometimes secrets coming to light is the start of something wonderful.

drippin' in my favor by k0ralik {E}

Apparently, surviving a suicide mission by the skin of your teeth not only takes a physical and emotional toll on you, but can also give you insomnia. There’s the feeling of restlessness pulling at Bradley’s chest, making it more difficult to breathe, and if there’s one medicine to it, Bradley knows where to find it. or: bradley can't sleep. jake soothes him. Apparently, surviving a suicide mission by the skin of your teeth not only takes a physical and emotional toll on you, but can also give you insomnia. There’s the feeling of restlessness pulling at Bradley’s chest, making it more difficult to breathe, and if there’s one medicine to it, Bradley knows where to find it. or: bradley can't sleep. jake soothes him.

he's not the jealous type by discosleaze {E}

dear diary, don't* date a twin. love, bradley. *nevermind.

Your Body Is My Alter by Nixie_DeAngel {E}

Sometimes Jake just needs to wring every ounce of pleasure from his husband as he can.

/WITH PLOT/

Top Gun: Maverick retold by Fuddlewuddle {E}

I'll ride in this life with you

Rooster is called back to Top Gun along with 11 other pilots for an important mission. Not only does he have to deal with the unresolved issues with Maverick now the Captain is going to be the one training them, but he's also been assigned to live with the one person who seemingly lives to infuriate him; Hangman. He'll be lucky if he even makes it to fly in the mission in the first place. (Or, my alternate take on the events of Top Gun: Maverick if Rooster was made to live with Hangman).

Promise me, Just hold my hand

It follows Rooster and Hangman's relationship over the months and years following them getting together.

fever started a long ago by vannral {M}

'Okay, Bradley has to admit, this wasn’t one of his brightest ideas. He should’ve stayed home, taken some ibuprofen and just sucked it up and passed out but no. He had to push it. And here he is, dealing with the consequences of his own stupidity.' In which Bradley gets sick, Jake gets jealous of a guy at the bar and takes care of Bradley. They’re both pining for each other and are even worse at hiding it.

learning steps by vannral {E}

”So, an instructor?” A straight hit. Bradley shifts uncomfortably on the leather seat and clears his throat. ”… Yeah.” In which Bradley becomes an instructor after the mission, Jake keeps showing up to his classes and his students are very curious about their dynamic.

A One Time Thing by ForMaverick {E}

“I’m fine. Stay the fuck where you are.” Bradley inches closer to the shower wall, the coolness of the wet tiles soothing against his burning skin. “Or better yet, leave.” “You don’t look so good—” “Fuck off.” Bradley closes his eyes again as another wave of pain and nausea sweeps through his body. “I’ll be fine, just leave me the fuck—” “Bradley.” That makes Bradley stop in mid-sentence. Jake using his first name is a rarity. ‘Rooster’ is familiar territory. A teasing ‘Bradshaw’ is not too uncommon either. Hell, sometimes that menace of a man will even drawl out the full ‘Lt. Bradley Bradshaw’ when he’s going for maximum asshattery. But just ‘Bradley’? That’s—that’s new. Bradley exhales shakily. “I’m asking this from the bottom of my heart and as politely as I possibly can right now: please fuck off.” “Are you—” Jake pauses. There’s a sharp inhale. “Dude, are you going into heat?”

the way we surrender (tender, no pretense) by vannral {E}

’”Well, Rooster, you’d better not be expectin’ any flowers, though, that’s not gonna happen.” A small, treacherous part under Bradley’s sternum falters, twists into knots. No. It’s a bad idea. You’re gonna get hurt in the long run. There’s a reason why you two are always at odds.’ In which Bradley and Jake agree to blow off steam together, all the while being in love with each other and convinced this is all they're able to have. It’s a train wreck from the start.

Paper Rings by Earthangel_44 {E}

Jake comes back from deployment and Bradley has waited too long.

if honesty means telling you the truth (I’m still in love with you) by local_troubled_writer {E}

Bradley “I got sent on a suicide mission” Bradshaw and Jake “and I took the ‘suicide’ part personally” Seresin. Aka, the one where they go on the impossible mission, somehow make it out alive and someone confessed some feelings.

this side of paradise by lesbiseresin {E}

“I don’t know if I should–” “Why shouldn’t you?” Natasha asks, completely matter-of-fact. It’s like she’s already got a read on his bullshit, which is both endearing and unnerving, because Bradley isn’t really all that used to people not letting him run away from his problems. Or in this case, a perfectly good chance to spend some time with his friends. “Most of us flew that mission. We were all trained to. We’re in this together. Only reason Bob’s not coming is because his mom would kill him if he didn’t come home for his grandma’s birthday.” Bradley runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, but eventually can’t stop himself from asking— “What about Hangman?” (alternatively: seven thirty-something year olds holing up in a rich person’s vacation home for ten days ft. bradley trying to convince himself the crush he has on hangman is something he can easily get rid of)

Riding In Cars With Boys by SaintClaire {E}

He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the anniversary or something else altogether, but he usually has to wring Bradley out for a lot longer than this before he gets him begging so easily. His pretty boy, normally so reluctant to admit what it is he wants and how he wants Jake to take it.

I will love you, dear, forever by FlowersOnMyMind {E}

"Do you have someone to take care of you?" Jake asks. "Are you offering, Seresin?" "Are you asking, Bradshaw?" or Jake and Bradley help each other through their ruts and heats. Jake pines.

Rolling Hills and Stormy Skies by VarjoRuusu {E}

Everyone thinks Jake Seresin is from Texas. Something he doesn't bother to correct, he just enjoys when his friends try and pin down exactly where his family ranch is, north, south, it's near Dallas, no it's near Austin. He sips his beer and lets them guess until the topic changes. He elbows Rooster in the side when the other man can't stop snickering because only Rooster knows Jake Seresin's ranch is in Montana. -Or, a tale of Bradley and Jake.

all night, I’ll riot with you by lesbiseresin {E}

Bradley would really like to say that Hangman is the one who started it. It being their return to petty squabbling, starting straight from the moment they first came face-to-face with each other for the first time in years. But to tell the truth, he’s not sure of how true that claim would be.

First Love/Late Spring by HalbarryTrashcan {E}

These memories are the scenes replaying in Bradley’s mind over and over again as his plane plummets towards the earth. He always thought when he died he would be thinking about his dad or his mom - hell, given his weird and fucked-up situation with Maverick even that could have been an option. This was the last thing he expected.

Take Me Home Tonight by indybob {E}

“You’re not a pilot, are you?” Jake asks. Bradley shakes his head, “No, I’m actually an aerospace engineer, but I work for the Navy at North Island. It’s how I know Natasha.” “I figured you weren’t a pilot,” Jake says, “I would have met you before, and I don’t think I could forget a face like that.” Jake gives him a suggestive look, and Bradley realizes he’s flirting. His heart jumps at the idea, and he feels the blood rush to his face. “Is it because of the mustache?” Bradley asks, trying to play it cool. “Not just,” Jake winks. Or: AU where Bradley is an aerospace engineer who is getting back into the dating scene after a breakup. He meets Jake at a bar with Phoenix, and the sparks start flying.

You Can Make My Wish Come True, If You Let Me Treasure You by hangmanbradshaw {E}

“Jake…you know you’re my family right? If we do this, we do it together. It’s not a Bradshaw only thing.” The man blinked at him and then smiled softly. “Okay. You’re my family too so if you’re doing this, I’m riding shotgun.” Bradley nodded and grinned brightly. “Think we’ll have to fight off any zombie founding fathers brought back to life?” “I’m putting $5 on at least two. I call dibs on fighting off Franklin though.” Or, The one where, fresh off their mummy adventure, Jake and Bradley steal the Declaration of Independence, make way too many mummy related jokes, and get married, all with a little help from their friends.

Everything You Lose is a Step You Take by mackwinnon {E}

A comment from Bob turns Jake's entire world on its axis. Or: Jake thought that Bradley was just really great at handling things, unflappable and steady. It's a good thing the Navy didn't pay Jake to think.

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away? by LoveMadeThemDoIt {E}

Jake has no illusions he’ll come back from this mission. He’s the best fighter pilot the Navy has got on staff and this is not his ego talking. He’ll fly the mission, and it’ll be a shit show, because none of them have even managed to fly the simulation in the way they need to. In his weaker moments, Jake wonders if his father is how he’s gotten this gig.

Two Times The Love by Leavemeinthelibrary {E}

Maybe they were right.” Jake whispered. “When they said “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” “It wasn’t better” Bradley whispered softly, instinctively checking over his shoulder and then forced Jake to meet his gaze. “Trust me.” Bradley sighed. “It wasn’t easy for my dads or their time in the Navy or me. The policy was wrong, plain and simple and I was happy to see it go.” Jake swallowed hard in disbelief. “Your dads? As in more than one?”

jet blue skies by winterbucky {M}

Neither Hangman nor Rooster have any idea how come none of their friends know they're married, and have been for years. Sure, they're not the most affectionate in public, but they're smitten with each other, and to be honest, they went at it in way too many public spaces not to be caught. Apparently, their friends and Captain are just not that bright, which turns very interesting when Rooster becomes obsessed with getting Mavering and Iceman together. Somehow, through it all, neither Hangman nor Rooster realise their marriage is somehow a secret... or secret relationship hangster but their friends are just idiots + icemav getting together + a lot of fluff

I want to brainwash you into loving me forever by hangmanbradshaw {E}

“So…this is fucking weird and I have no clue what to say here.” Bradley smiled warmly and leaned his forearms against the table. “Don’t worry, Mav already filled me in, and I’ll do it.” Jake blinked. “You’ll do it?” “Yeah.” Bradley sat back with a nod. “You want to come out, right? If us appearing to be in a stable relationship will help, then I’m in.” Or, Jake Seresin has it all- fame, money, a NFL MVP trophy, a Super Bowl appearance, a lonely house, and a problem. He wants to come out on his own terms. Enter Bradley Bradshaw, the solution to said problem, or maybe, the beginning of a new problem. After all, you don't fall in love with your fake boyfriend. aka the Fake Dating NFL AU

hold me like a grudge by lesbiseresin {M}

Whatever truce he and Hangman might’ve temporarily made on the beach still wasn’t enough for Bradley to want to hang out with the guy in his free time. Except, here he is with the Bronco pulled into one of the spaces that line the stretch of sidewalk beside Hangman’s house. He can see Hangman’s truck sitting in the driveway and the light for the living room turned on inside. Hangman is here, and so is Bradley. For what exactly, he isn’t sure. He knows he’s searching for something. An answer, maybe. Figuring that out would require thinking, which isn’t what this is supposed to be about, but the uncertainty must show on his face. Hangman opens the door without him even having to knock, eyebrows raised and the obvious question quick to come. “What are you doing here, Bradshaw?” (alternatively: in which bradley takes the phrase ‘don’t think, just do’ a little too literally)

Messy by BethAnnAngel {E}

Jake gives Bradley what he wants in bed without having to ask for it. But a lack of communication has them both lost for a moment there.

top gun missing scenes by teacupivy {E}

the whole time, under the lights

Jake "Hangman" Seresin is unraveling the mystery that is Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, one thread at a time, if it kills him. They've been fighting and fucking for years, and everything comes to a head when they're recalled to Top Gun for a special training detachment and find themselves competing to be team leader.

as he falls from his perch

Bradley Bradshaw has a knack for losing people, either watching them go or running them off. Jake Seresin seems to just keep coming back.

It's all white and azure blue to me by Aphroditedany {E}

Bradley, Jake, and an ever growing half Greek family. Or, when your boyfriend gets you all hot and bothered just by speaking in the language of his maternal family.

spend my time trying not to feel it by lesbiseresin {M}

“There was a flier for what their upcoming events are. You know Halloween is on Thursday.” Fanboy waits for him to nod to go on. “They’re doing something every night this week. Different themes on different nights.” Bradley raises his eyebrows. “Let me get this straight. You’re trying to drag me to a costume party?” (alternatively: halloween, a gay bar, jake, and bradley. what could possibly be complicated about that?)

this shirts made of boyfriend material by halestrom {E}

A night out on the town, while dressed to the nines, sounded like the perfect way to have a little bit of fun and spend time with the newly formed Dagger squadron before they were back on duty. Especially since, ever since the Mission, things between him and Hangman had changed, the anger from the years before gone, and in its place was the promise of something new, or perhaps, the promise of something that had started forming long before Bradley was willing to admit.

cuz you know I love the players and you love the game by hangmanbradshaw {E}

Jake's the star quarterback, Bradley's the star baseball captain. They both like playing games, turns out they want the same prize. Or Bradley dresses as a cheerleader for the team and Jake hates him (except that he totally doesn't)

here i stand (i'm your man) by magdarko {M}

Ever since that first night back after the mission, when Jake had cornered him out behind the Hard Deck and grinned winningly before dropping to his knees and making Bradley see God, all Bradley’s wanted is to lay Jake out, map out that golden body, store up Jake’s gasps and moans and soft, bitten-off words. Bradley has a good thing going with Jake, but deep down, he wants more. So when everything he wanted drops into his lap, it's the best thing that's ever happened to him. Right?

Are you ready, are you ready for love? by Ilarina {E}

Bradley had, deep down, loved the dance between rivals that they had maintained for years, ever since the naval academy. After flying, there was nothing that made him feel more alive than talking to Jake and bickering with him about everything. He knew they were like two sides of the same coin - Bradley methodical and calm, Jake cocky and quick - and the awareness of how much he made Jake alive had come to him on a silver platter with a last-ditch save and a pair of bright green eyes smiling happily at him from a plane hovering next to him. No further demonstration was needed for Bradley to realize that Jake felt the same feelings that he, for years, had tried to bury under their jokes, the looks and the tension that enveloped them like a bubble. He had rushed to save him, disobeying a direct superior order and risking his career for him – he might as well have shouted that he loved him by writing it in the sky with airplane acrobatics. Well, he pretty much had done it. [Bradley and Jake are finally a couple. But there is something else that Bradley wants to give to the man he loves]

Weekend Trip by AllForReading {E}

Jake's first weekend with Bradley in the Mitchell-Kazansky house. It's chaos and banter and maybe also a bit embarrassing but they nevertheless can't leave their hands off each other.

i've got a blank space (i'll write your name) by halestrom {E}

Bradley just wants to find love. Jake is his divorce lawyer.

Maybe We Were Always Meant To Be by indybob {E}

“And since my flight got rerouted I have to stay at a hotel nearby. It’s supposed to be a nice one at least.” Jake sounds a bit on the annoyed side considering he’s going to be stuck at a hotel for his entire leave, and Bradley can’t say he blames him. The idea of Jake having to live out of a hotel doesn’t sit right with Bradley. It sounds just as boring and lonely as it’s been for him alone in his house. He’d hate for his friend to go through that for two weeks. The perfect solution suddenly dawns on him. At least, it’s perfect logically, but in reality, it’s probably a terrible idea. Oh well. He’s got to jump off the perch sometime, right? “What if you come stay with me?” Or: Two boys. Two weeks. One everlasting love.

Hold me closer, tiny dancer by Ilarina {E}

Bradley loved Jake, and it had been such a quick and ordinary process that he didn’t even feel the panic that perhaps he should have felt at that realization. It was insane how the boundaries between them had been torn down, how what was once thought to be hate or aversion was simply a safe way to be close to each other without putting themselves on the line all the way – insane for two pilots who risked their lives in the sky every day. In the following six weeks since the Mission, Bradley had learned to accept the love he had never thought he deserved in his life. And the source of this solid love was the man who at that moment was arranging pots and dishes in his kitchen. His boyfriend. [five times Bradley wants Jake to live with him and one time he finally manages to ask him]

when we hit the ground by dracculaura {E}

Bradley doesn’t ever plan to see Jake Seresin again, had written off their one night as just that – a one-time only thing. If he were in the habit of kissing and telling, it would even be a fun story about that time he got fucked by a professional bull rider.

I can't breathe, until you're resting here with me by Ilarina {E}

“Try not to miss me too much, Roo,” Jake stated with his usual self-confidence, his Texan accent entering Bradley’s ears like warm, liquid honey. Bradley snorted an exasperated breath on his skin and rolled his eyes, his mustache curling in a mock-irritated expression. “You’d like that, babe. I don’t think I’ll even have time to miss you... life here in San Diego will go on without you, you know?” Bradley replied, his fingers caressing Jake’s smooth cheek, soaked in his aftershave and soft as velvet. A low chuckle spread from Jake’s chest at those words, like the little rumble of a perfect plane about to take flight. “We’ll see how your life has gone when I get back on Thursday night,” Jake said, his jade green eyes looking straight into Bradley’s chocolate ones as if there was nothing else in the world at that moment except the two of them, standing at five in the morning next to Jake’s car. [Jake goes back to Lemoore for a few days, and that pushes Bradley to really think about their relationship and their love]

for real? by teacupivy {E}

“Hey Siri, set a timer for ten minutes,” then to Bradley, hands on his thick hips, “I really gotta go after—“ “Don’t care.” Bradley wrenches a hand into Jake’s hair to pull him into a bruising kiss, the other now moving more firmly in his pants. or: Jake gets an idea, and it ends with tears, begging, and a love confession

Caught by the taste of your kiss by FlowersOnMyMind {E}

"You put on quite a show." "Yeah, it's kinda what I do." "And what else do you do?" Jake asks with a grin. He sees Bradley's eyes flick down to his lips. Or For Jake Seresin AKA Hangman, life was good. He was the leader of the most feared gang in LA. He had money and could have anyone he wanted in his bed. What more could he want? The answer comes in the form of Bradley Bradshaw.

[oneforthemunny]

munny's one-derful year

to celebrate my one year on tumblr (january eighth, to be exact), i have decided to open up a little writing prompt. some of my favorite lores, asks, and others for anyone to participate in <3 thank you all so much for your love and following me around onto three blogs lol!!! i love you all so much!! 

rules: must tag #munnysonederful and @oneforthemunny to each entry so i can read and reblog ofc. unlimited entries, and i will be reblogging and making a masterlist on my own page so everyone can read/find the works :)  can be blurbs, full works, headcanons, honestly anything you want! 

prompts: 

rockstar!eddie and nepo baby!reader’s favorite hate fucking moment. where does it happen? why does it happen? are they just playing, or did one prompt the other? What happens ;)? get as smutty and gross as you want to babes, no one here will complain lol. 

based off the lore that older!eddie gets slutty on teqila lol. gimme tequila eddie. make it slutty. the og prompt was at the beach for a wedding of a cousin, if you’d like to follow that, but if not- where does it happen? how do you think it would go? don’t spare a single detail please!!!!

modern!eddie and his lil mean girl’s first date, like official date. i get a lot of questions on this and i honestly want to know what you guys think! what’s it like? where do they go? any awkward moments? what’s the convo like? does he try to over impress or play it like he’s too cool? have fun with it! 

ofc i would never deny anyone here a chance to write about our beloved mafia!eddie and the dogs lol. vecna, diablo, lucifer, and zeus (and beelzebub if you want to add him). i love anything with the dogs, specifically with them being spoiled, so spoil me for a moment and write about them! eddie’s bitching because they’re “guard dogs!!! they’re trained to kill!!!” and you’ve got them totally spoiled, so tell me about it. how would you spoil them? 

janitor!eddie deserves the world, so give it to him. give me something with spoiling him. why are you doing it (birthday, valentine’s day, hard week)? how are you doing it? is it planned or a surprise or impromptu? and of course, how does he react? could be angsty, fluffy, smutty if you’re feeling it. just show him some love. 

cowboy!eddie and sweet girl’s animals. i gotta know about them. there’s three parts of lore here: the cow, the chickens, and the goats. take your pick or choose all of them. make it your own, or me, personally, i want to know how they came to be? how did that conversation of convincing eddie to get them go? expectations vs reality? have fun with it, be silly with it. 

the horny hours convo we had (in april??? maybe lol) with dom!eddie was quite possibly the most successful and most interacted horny hours we’ve ever had. so with that being said, i’m opening up the prompts to be rewritten in your version. so there was three big ones: “don’t make me pull this car over” aka car troubles, “go pick a switch” aka switching it up, and the bath brush aka dripping down. rewrite it, make it your own, make new drama, if you’re not a brat make it non-bratty lol, make it slutty is all i ask. 

bouncer!eddie being a switch really shook everyone up and i loved it, so i want whatever version of him you want to write. him being subby, him being dominant, him just being him and being a little flirty and silly and slutty and the love of my life. expand on the walk in blurb if you need inspo, or what happened after a night where you or him got jealous from someone flirting at the hideout. 

funson’s freebies: 

in honor of my og blog (funsonmunson, gone but not forgotten) these are freebie plots for any of my au’s <3

give me an angsty breakup fic. why did they break up? who broke up with who? make me cry, ruin my day- or take mercy on us and give us a happy ending, up to you. 

self care nights. what do they do? is it a night in? a night out? is eddie taking care of you, or you taking care of him, or a little bit of both? what’s going on, just let me feel all gooey and lovey inside!!! 

i always get birthday requests, and technically it’s my tumblr birthday, so what do the eddies do for your birthday? where do they take you? what’s the cake situation? surprise party, planned party, no party? night in or out? presents? birthday sex? truly whatever you picture!

another highly requested, is a wedding. i love weddings and my guilty pleasure is wedding fics idk why, so give me that. you can follow the lore if they have it, or do whatever you want! proposal, ceremony, honeymoon- honestly whichever you want! where does it happen? what’s the details? who’s there? if you put vows i’m gonna sob so just fyi on that. 

finally, i have to give it up for the domestic babes. give me something soul crushingly domestic. dog!dad eddie, dad!eddie, pregnancy one, newborn, child- i don’t care. i want to feel motherly in this bitch after i read it. 

[mcytblr-archive]

Early MCYTblr Interviews: wormweeb

our interviewee today is @wormweeb, author of the cowboy au, nominee in the 2020 MCYTblr election, and overall MCYTblr veteran. below is a transcript of the questions and answers!

Q: What do you remember most fondly about “Early MCYTblr”? (2020-2021)

A: I think early mcytblr had the perfect mix of being an insular, small community with enough people actually posting (whether it be shitposts, art, fix, etc.) to keep the community alive. Perfect reblogger-creator ratio, I think. I loved seeing the familiar notifications from blogs that frequently RBed my stuff and familiar Urls in the tags (which I probably checked daily lol). There was this infectious energy that made being in the fandom so fun, with all the inside jokes and interactions and inter-blog familiarity.

Q: Do you recall your experience in the first MCYTblr election? What was it like?

A: Honestly, there was a lot of anxiety. I didn’t have many friends in the fandom in the sense that I didn’t often DM with people or talk in discord servers. I was kind of reclusive, so having to reach out to find running mates was nerve-racking! And then being thrust into a huge discord server with a bunch of other people I didn’t really know at all… It was all bizarrely anxiety-inducing. I didn’t really care about the results that much, since it was kind just a popularity contest (no hate, just true). I think the elections were cute and fun, another sort of fandom activity that I think only could’ve worked in an insular but involved fandom.

Q: Building off the last question– in my time archiving, I’ve seen people both hold you in high regard and condemn your blog wholesale. Is it odd to be talked about as a pseudo-historical figure in MCYTblr culture? 

A: It’s mind-boggling! When I did all my posting as wormweeb, roughly July 2020 to august 2021, I was 16/17 and literally never left my house due to quarantine. It’s bizarre to think I was influential in that microcosm of a fandom, because I was truthfully just Some Guy irl. It was weird to see the extremes of how people treated me, with some users (much younger than me, I should add) treating me like a cc, with other people acting like I was a toxic supervillain.

At the time, I was deeply concerned with my image in the fandom. I reveled in the shocked reactions to some of my more… avant guard posts… but I was also really bothered when people talked badly about me. I wanted to be liked and popular, but I also wanted to be shocking and critical. I had contradictory motivations behind my posting, which I probably lead to such polarized reactions to my presence in the fandom.

Ultimately, I think it’s super interesting to see how people talk about me — whether they remember me as ‘that one crazy truthing blog’ or the cowboy au author or a proto-critblr poster or a toxic bad takes poster, etc. I don’t take any of it too personally any more, thankfully.

Q: Do you think that MCYTblr’s cultural shift away from crit and ‘truthing’ has been an overall good or bad thing? 

A: I can’t really say. I think it’s natural that as a fandom expands, the most palatable takes will become the dominant ones, and any unpopular criticism / trutherisms will be pushed to the fringe. I can see why some people thought criticism was toxic and truthing was intrusive, but truthfully, I don’t think it reflected any poster’s moral character. I’m not involved in mcytblr anymore, so I don’t know exactly what the state of the current fandom looks like.

Q: Do you ever find yourself missing 2020-2021 MCYTblr? If so, what do you miss the most?

A: I often do miss that era of my life. Truthfully, I miss the attention and (infinitesimally small, microcosmic) cultural import I had. There was an exciting thrill that came with getting notifications every second of the day — that’s not an exaggeration either. I liked having people leave deranged asks in my ask box, or ask my opinion on some random streamer micro controversy, or people asking me when the next chapter of my fanfic would come out (lol). I, of course, miss the other elements of being in an active fandom — the fanfics, the fan artists, the familiarity between blogs,

However… I also know I was mentally unhealthy during that time. I was isolated, so it was fun and exciting to be an ultra-micro celebrity, but at the same time, I took it way too seriously. Because I painted myself as some sort of moral guardian, the great Intellectual Critiquer of content creators, I was terrified to make any bad takes… which, ironically, I made a lot of. I had painted myself into a corner both being dteam critical and (unfortunately) a genuine dteam stan at the time.

Q: Several in-jokes have lost their context (jewge, ancap dream, tradwife george/dream, homophobic dream and sapnap, republican dream, mega milk sapnap/george, etc). Would you like to provide their context, for archival and media literacy purposes?

A: Here’s a rundown for all of them!

“Jewge” was actually sparked by warpedfungusonastick, which I helped popularized. There are a few old videos where George’s friends called him jewge, and that combined with his ashkenazi last name led me to speculate he was jewish — for what its worth, im also jewish. Unfortunately, I think those videos of baby jewge have been lost to time. But nonetheless, that spawned a mini-jewge fandom, which jewge fanart!

Tradwife George and dream… I don’t know even know. I think the idea of “male wives” was trending on general Tumblr at the time. There was already this fandom idea of Dream being a “needy top” and George being the sugar baby/bitchy/uninterested love interest, which I just transplanted onto the idea of tradwifery. Dream as the doting tradwife, George as the unloving tradwife, etc.

Republican/Anarcho-capitalist dream — Ah, this one is kind of embarrassing!! I was really into jreg, and I was, for the first time ever, exposed to political ideas outside of the generic democrat vs republican dichotomy. I was really fascinated by right-wing libertarian or “ancap” ideology, and I already saw dream as a kind of self-made capitalist success story. At least, that’s what he portrayed himself as. My critique of dream and calling him ancap/republican was kind of a baby’s first leftism moment for me… but I nonetheless think the jokes were mostly funny.

Homophobic dream / sapnap — They gave me republican vibes. Dream especially, with some of his older, unsavory tweets, reeked of edgy gamergate humor.

Megamilk sapnap — I didn’t really pioneer this one! I believe this was mostly a Tumblr user who I think was pandascanpvp, or it was Plates gayminecraftmen (or both).

I’ll use this opportunity to catalogue a few more obscure wormweeb-pioneered AUs.

Homestuck au! I think I imagined it as dream = dirk, George = Jake English. Colournotfound (rip gone but not forgotten) did so much of the sustaining of the au.

Scott Pilgrim au. Dream = Scott, George = Ramona. Fundy = envy. This one got fan art!

Q: What was your physical, mental, and emotional reaction when kaceytron pulled up your crit post on stream?

A: Baffled. Excited. God, I wish I had clipped it! I still have a screenshot. I desperately hoped she would read it to dream (who joined the stream later). That felt like I had peaked as a cc stan blog… having a C-list streamer pull up my post on stream. Literally google searching “dream queer baiting” because she didn’t even know what she was accusing him of, or how to support her argument.

Q: Is there anything else you particularly want to share or talk about? 

A: I was just want to say that although I don’t watch or support any member of the dteam any more, I still am proud of the cowboy au. It’s kind of a relic of the time (especially the gnf and Maya mxmtoon stuff). The general response to the fanfiction was… wow!! Everyone who commented on that fanfiction was so exceedingly kind. People even drew fan art. I am still happy to have written something that, despite the inherent cringeness of it, positively affected so many people.

[theraggedygirl11]

Sospeso tra finzione e realtà

SUMMARY: Bojan was turned into a vampire some years before. The band met the famous photographer Damon Baker while in London and now it's time for Bojan's photoshoot, but something unpleasant happens.

PAIRING: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin/Damon Baker (+kind of implied poly!jo)

WARNINGS: anxiety/panic attack, blood, sex (not too explicit), angst and more angst, hurt/comfort, death/homicide mentioned, slight torture

WORDS COUNT: 4.891

LINK: AO3

NOTES: This comes from a collective work that's going on since last July or August, I don't remember. The AUs spawned on their own, we have too many and you'll find everything under the tag #vampire!bojan and #vampire!bojan storyline. So, I'd like to thank @signoraviolettavalery who supported my nocturnal brainrot in this post here, and also @touchyourblood and @nyx-aira who added a general background in this other post.

The title comes from this Italian song, feel free to go and listen to it. Here you can read the translation into English.

This is not beta-read, we die like men here! I just took what @signoraviolettavalery and I wrote, put it together and wrote something more around it

I just hope I added every tw in the tags, if something's missing, feel free to tell me and I'll add them!

* * *

“Bojan, are you sure you want to do this?” Kris asks while looking at the vampire. “You know you’ll be all alone with Damon, right? And that you’ll end up showing your vulnerable side?” 

“Yes, Krisko. I’m fine, and I’ll be fine,” he reassures him before pecking his lips. “I fed on Jure this morning, I’m relaxed, I feel good, London is showing its sunny side and I’m ready to conquer the world!” He even giggles. He’s truly in a good mood and full of energy. 

“Call any of us if anything happens, ok?” Kris looks at him, still worried. 

“Yeah, sure, don’t worry,” Bojan winks at him, then quickly kisses the others before leaving their apartment to go and meet Damon at his house. 

Damon and he already discussed about his photoshoot, so Bojan knows what he’s about to face. He’s truly relaxed, he didn’t lie to Kris. That part of his life is over, behind his back forever. 

As soon as he arrives at Damon’s, he changes his clothes to the ones they chose for his photoshoot: tight leather trousers, a leather belt with a broken heart on it, an oversized shirt and an untied bowtie around his neck. Oh, he loves this outfit, it’s sexy and makes him look so much masculine, but at the same time he starts feeling uncomfortable, uneasiness crawling up his spine. The Bojan he sees in the mirror isn’t the Bojan he wants to show to the world. He notices a shade of red in his eyes and immediately changes them back to brown. 

“Are you ready, honey?” Damon asks while getting closer to Bojan. “Oh, you look amazing, sweety. I could ride this cowboy any time! Or you could ride me,” he winks. 

Bojan giggles. He’s now used to Damon flirting with him. He likes it. “We can go, I’m ready.” 

The photoshoot starts. The poses that Bojan decides to do exhale aggressiveness and masculinity, and the more the photoshoot goes on, the more aggressive they become. He doesn’t want to, but his instincts tell him to do so, to assert his dominance over the person who’s taking pictures and the ones that will see them. He’s unconsciously showing the predator inside him that is violently ramping against the weak human surface, it wants to come out because it feels in danger. And what does an animal in a dangerous situation? It shows aggressiveness and attacks. 

The moment Damon gets closer with his camera, something snaps inside Bojan. His entire body is petrified. His mind shows him a memory he thought he had locked up in the deepest corner of his mind. He’s again in front of her, she’s taking pictures of him right after she fed on him. He’s covered in blood, he’s crying and begging her because he’s feeling dizzy, he just wants her to lick the bitemarks to close them or he will bleed off.  

But she keeps taking those pictures, she grins showing her fangs and her lips still stained with blood of the most vibrant shade of red. She’s in full control and the only thing he can do is stay there and hoping she will make him stop bleeding. Tears run down his face. He’s so scared, so powerless and hopeless. He wants that all that ends as soon as possible. 

In the present Bojan’s eyes got red. He didn’t even notice, at least until Damon brings him back from the spiral he was falling into. 

��W-What are-” 

He can’t even finish the sentence. Bojan snaps back into reality and in a blink of an eye he attacks the photographer in front of him, pinning him down on the ground. The camera slides on the floor while he grabs the human’s wrists with his hands and blocks them above his head. He growls, showing his fangs in an intimidating way. Bojan’s on top of the photographer, his instincts full in control of his actions, he can’t even recognize Damon. 

“B-Bojan...?” Damon whimpers, terrified. 

The fog that invaded Bojan's mind and finally fades away and he can restraint his vampiric instincts. He stands up faster than a normal human would. He’s afraid of what he just did, he feels so ashamed for having lost his control. 

“I-I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to-” 

He just runs away, out of the window. He doesn’t care if someone sees him, he just needs to go away, far, far away from Damon. He looks like a scared prey chased by an unknown predator. While he tries to remember where to go to reunite with his bandmates, he looks around, overwhelmed by sounds and smells and colours and lights. 

He’s panting, he’s panicking, his mind is barely functioning at this point, he’s letting his impulses rule over his actions. He doesn’t even know how, but he manages to go back to the apartment, jumping from one roof to the other. 

Bojan enters the room where Nace and Kris sleep through the window. He immediately searches for Kris’s colourful sweater in his suitcase. He needs some familiar scent around him to calm himself down. His heart is beating fast in his chest, his eyes are still red. He’s still wearing the clothes he was using in the photoshoot. 

When he finds the sweater, he puts it immediately on and lets Kris’s smell surround him. He takes deep breaths and closes his eyes. He tries to block everything else out. He sits on the ground, right next to the bed. His knees are against his chest and his arms embrace them. He’s trying so hard to look smaller. 

You are safe, Bojan. You are safe. Damon is alive, you didn’t kill him. You are safe. He keeps repeating these sentences in his mind, trying to regain control over his body, now dominated by fear and panic. He is shaking too. 

After some minutes someone enters. He’s too focused on Kris’s scent to identify who that person is. 

“Bojan?” This voice is worried.  

Soon after a hand is laying on his shoulder. Bojan winces and raises his head suddenly. It’s Nace. 

“What happened?” 

Bojan doesn’t answer, he just hugs Nace and hides his face against his chest.  

“I-I couldn’t do it. I-I showed myself. He knows-” 

“Hush, hush,” Nace gently caresses his hair after hugging him back. “It’s ok,” he whispers. “Breathe. You are safe here, no one’s going to hurt you here.” 

It takes Bojan at least fifteen minutes to calm down. He slipped, he thought he could be strong enough to face that photoshoot, but something clearly snapped in him and made him reveal himself. And he’s so ashamed of it. 

“Let’s go to the others,” Nace suggests when he sees that Bojan is a little bit more relaxed. His eyes are now brown and he stopped shaking. 

They go down the stairs together, holding hands. He can hear the others talking in that small living room, but their voices stop when they see Nace with Bojan, with Kris’s sweater and not his own clothes on. They know that something’s wrong. And Bojan confirms their suspects. 

“He knows.” 

Two simple words, but they all understand.  

“Oh, Bojč,” Kris sighs, then stands up and hugs the vampire. 

“I-I thought I was over her, b-but-” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kris replies, interrupting him. “We’ll talk to Damon and we’ll find a solution. But now you are more important. Come here and sit with us.” 

That evening the band take care of Bojan. They cuddle with him, they prepare his favourite human food, they make him feel comfortable, safe and loved. And in the end he falls asleep on Jure’s shoulder, exhausted by the intense emotions he felt that day. 

Nace takes him in his and Kris’s room so they can sleep with him in the middle. It is a “standard procedure” when Bojan happens to have a bad day. Having familiar scents around him helps him to relax and feel safe. 

The next day Kris wakes up before anyone else because he needs to drink some water. He goes downstairs, but his attention is caught by his phone buzzing. He takes it. It’s a message from Damon. 

Damon: Hey Kris. Yesterday happened something uncomfortable during Bojan’s photoshoot. I’m really sorry. 

Damon is still online and is trying to write something else, but he keeps stopping. Kris decides to reply. 

Kris: We know he’s a vampire. He told us what happened yesterday. 

Damon: I guessed you should know, you are so intimate with one another 

Damon: Is he ok? 

Kris: More or less, he managed to sleep at least 

Damon: Do you think Bojan would like to meet me again? 

Damon: I just want to talk with him 

A couple of days later, a bit reluctantly, Bojan is again at Damon’s house. He drank blood before going, just to be able to control himself better. In a bag he has the clothes he wore the other day. 

Damon lets him in and welcomes him with a smile.  

Bojan knows Damon is afraid of him, he can smell his fear in the air and feel it in his heart beating faster than the usual. He harnesses his predator’s instincts with all the strength he has. He doesn’t want to be intimidating. 

They sit, Damon on an armchair, Bojan on the couch. They are far from each other. There’s silence between them, both are nervous. But Damon talks first. 

"Look, I'm still a little scared. I mean, who wouldn't be? It's human instinct, right? You'd think there was something wrong if I wasn't scared." And Bojan, who remembers what it feels like to be preyed on, nods.  

"But I've also gotten to know you. I've gotten to see you. I think you're a good person. And I think you're just as scared of what you are. Maybe even more."  

Bojan nods again. "This thing...it's like this monster inside me that I have to control. A demon."  

"I know a little something about having a demon inside me," Damon says and Bojan's eyes widen. Oh. "But you find ways to control it, right? To cope. A support network, friends who keep you from falling."

Bojan nods again. "Kad neman tebe, sa mnom su moji demoni," he says. "It's from our song. 'when you're not with me, my demons are with me.' My friends are there for me, and they keep the demons away."  

Silence falls again between them. Well, at least for Damon. Bojan’s ears are dominated by the constant beating of Damon’s heart, the blood pumping in his vessels that sings to him, calls him. 

Damon breaks again the silence and asks one basic question. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Bojan sits straight, his body stiffens. Damon is curious, but his vampire instincts allow him to recognize the stance of a prey that's trying to not look nervous or scared.  

Should he talk? Should he tell him how he got turned? Should he explain to Damon why he snapped during the photoshoot? Should he really allow himself to be this vulnerable with a guy he barely knows? 

But Damon, poor little scared human Damon, seeing that Bojan doesn't talk, asks him another question, trying a new way to communicate with him.  

"How should I approach you? Like, are there movements or stuff I should avoid doing to make you feel more comfortable? Or words, I don't know. I don’t want to trigger any negative reaction in you." 

Bojan then starts talking, even if he's hesitant. He explains that his senses are much sharper than a human’s, so he's bothered by strong noises, intense lights, very rich smells, but for a brief period of time he can resist.  

"How do I smell like?" 

"I beg your pardon?" Bojan is really confused. Why that question? 

"How do I smell like? How's my scent?" 

Bojan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on Damon. The scent of fear is slowly disappearing. "It's sweet. Comfortable. It makes me feel safe, in some way," and it’s tempting, but he keeps these words for himself.  

And there Damon smiles widely. "That's perfect, because I have something for you to wear, honey." He gets up and takes this stripped and fluffy black and white piece of clothing from a bag next to the armchair. "This is my favourite sweater. It makes me feel safe and I'd like you to wear it," and stands up, gets closer and hands him the sweater, which of course is soaked in Damon's scent. 

Bojan's brain stops working because, well, he didn't expect this reaction. Damon, still afraid of him, is asking him to wear a piece of clothing that makes him feel safe. Some sort of peace offering.  

I want you to feel safe with me, even though I’m still scared. This is how Bojan reads this gesture. His hearts almost melts. 

He grabs the sweater and smells it, inhaling his scent and shivering. He quickly takes off his jacket and shirt, then wears the sweater. It’s warm and fluffly and soft. He’s immediately enwrapped by Damon’s scent. 

“It suits you,” Damon says, giggling. 

“It’s a nice sweater,” Bojan replies, nodding and hinting a shy smile.  

The vampire is really feeling safe with it on. He wasn’t afraid of Damon per se, he’s not dangerous, it was the photoshoot that made him feel too vulnerable and made resurface bad memories. 

Damon, seeing that Bojan is lulled by the comfort of his sweater, tentatively suggests "if you're comfortable with it...I'd like to photograph that side of you, too. Not for the public, of course. Just...for us. Photography is how I get to know someone, and that's a part of you too."  

"I don't want to scare you," Bojan admits.  

"I'm already scared. But that doesn't matter. I want to know you, all of you."  

Their eyes meet, prey and predator, human and vampire, two creatures completely different but similar at the same time. And Bojan feels some kind of connection with Damon, something he haven’t felt since the first time he saw his bandmates after the transformation. 

In the end Bojan agrees to this, tentatively. But he wants Kris to be there with him, just in case. Kris knows exactly how to calm him down. He will know what to do or say if he loses control. 

“You won’t need me, you're not going to lose control," Kris says while looking at the vampire. "Even if he does smell extra tasty."  

"How do you know that?" Bojan asks.  

"I know you," Kris replies. "I know that when you inhale his scent, you want." 

Bojan diverts his look and starts fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. Well, with Jan’s sweater. Having his bandmates clothes on helps him relax and push back his anxiety, so it’s easy seeing him with clothes owned by the others. 

A couple of days later Bojan it’s time for him to show that side of himself to Damon. Kris is with them, just to reassure both human and vampire.  

Damon's obviously still scared, Bojan can smell it. But he doesn't run away when Bojan changes his appearance in front of him, sharp claws and fangs, eyes of the purest and the most intense red ever seen.  

Damon admires this version of Bojan, stunned by his beauty. He looks Bojan in the eyes, and gets close, and takes those photos. Beautiful photos that capture not just the 'monster' inside him, but also the fear, the uncertainty, the angst Bojan is consumed by. How he doesn't want to be the monster. His red eyes on display and a look of sheer terror on his face...which is quite a photo, because predators don't usually look terrified. That's reserved for preys.  

Kris observes silently and not so far away from them. He’s worried more for Bojan than for Damon. He knows how much this photoshoot is testing Bojan’s self-control on his vampiric side and memories. 

And that’s why after the shooting Bojan needs time to decompress, to relax and make his human side come back to the surface. Kris, who was there the whole time, helps him, with tender words whispered to reassure him, caresses and kisses. 

Damon observes them, silently. Bojan is a predator, he could kill both of them and they could do nothing about it because he's faster, stronger, he’s built to hunt and murder his preys, to feed on them, just like a lion or a tiger. Now he’s so vulnerable, so human. 

But that scene is so intimate, so caring, Damon almost feels he's third wheeling. Kris trusts Bojan with his life because he’s keeping the vampire’s mouth so close to his neck, he’s letting him inhale his familiar scent while running a hand though his soft hair. 

Damon decides to ask another question, because in the end he's curious to know about Bojan and his kind. He saw vampires portrayed on the screen, many variants, but he's different. He's a real vampire. 

"May I ask one thing? You don't need to answer, if you don't want to." 

Bojan looks at him, fangs no more visible but eyes still a little bit red-ish.  

"Yeah, sure." 

"What's the most intimate act your kind can perform with a human? Like, how can a human show to a vampire that they fully trust them?" 

"Feeding," Bojan answers after a short silence. "Feeding directly from the neck or the wrist or any other body part. Giving freely the permission to take something as vital and as important as your blood." 

"So do you...feed on your friends?"  

Damon's starting to put two and two together. The way Jan had wanted a turtleneck on during his photoshoot. The way Jure had put his photoshoot off for days claiming to be "sick." Were they covering for the bite marks, then?  

Bojan gets a slightly panicked look on his face, and it's Kris who answers.  

"Yes. With our consent," he reaches for Bojan's hand, squeezes it. "We trust him, and we know he'd never hurt us."

Bojan gives him a shy smile, thanking him for baking him up.  

And Damon thinks about that. How intimate they all are with each other. How clearly trusting the other boys are around him. He's been around them all, seen how they cuddle, how close they get to him, how none of them is scared. Remembers Bojan resting his head on their shoulders, or face-planting into their chest, realizing he must have been smelling them, hearing the blood pulse beneath their skin. And they hadn't skipped a beat, hadn't been scared for a single second. He's never seen them too-pale, ashen-faced, too drained of blood and energy to function. Clearly Bojan is careful, never takes too much, and they trust him.  

And he realizes he trusts him too.  

"Would you like to feed on me?" He asks.  

Bojan is obviously hesitant, his entire body stiffened, but Damon immediately adds "it's how a human shows trust, right? Letting you feed. I'd like to do that."  

"I - " Bojan is hesitant because he wants. He wants so much. He hadn't been lying, Damon smells so good. He's so drawn to him. He's thought more than once about that beautiful pale neck, about sinking his teeth into it. He’s salivating, savouring Damon’s taste just by smelling him from afar. 

"Kris should be there," he says finally. "Just in case. He knows what to do if I - if I lose control."  

"Are you likely to lose control?" Damon asks.  

"No," Kris says before Bojan can even open his mouth. "He's never lost control, not since I've known him."  

He can hear Damon's heart beating, so, so fast. He's nervous. But that heartbeat also calls to him, all that blood beneath the pale skin. He wants. He wants so much. He craves it. 

Bojan can feel his eyes changing colour and his fangs becoming sharper. He's struggling to control himself, but he manages to not jump on him right away. Damon’s sweater on him isn’t helping much his self-control. He focuses on Kris heartbeat, slower and more familiar, to keep him grounded. 

"It's better if you sit down on the couch. The first time can be overwhelming for both," he suggests.  

So Damon and he take place on the couch, Kris follows them, sitting behind Damon. He holds him, a comforting, warm, human touch.

"Do you want to know what you'll feel?" Bojan asks, looking the photographer in the eyes. 

One side of Damon wants to know it, so he can at least be prepared, but the other one doesn't. No, he wants to dive into those feelings, experience them without any anticipation. He then shakes his head.

"Where do you want to bite?" he asks then. 

Bojan's eyes, now as red as blood, lower and stop on his neck, so pale and so alluring. He feels like a moth attracted by the light of a lantern in the middle of a night without moon, so captivating but so dangerous at the same time.  

Kris notices Bojan’s look, where it’s laying, so he puts his hand in Damon's hair, tilting his head back for Bojan, an offering. His gesture is forceful but gentle at the same time. 

Bojan leans forward, closes his eyes and kisses Damon’s neck before sinking his fangs in his skin and then deep in his flesh. When the first drops of blood touch his tongue, he moans intensively. Damon's blood is so delicious, much more than what he expected. 

Without even realising Bojan straddles Damon's laps and pushes him until he's completely laying on Kris, the vampire on top of him. It feels like ecstasy. Bojan is so used to feeding on his friends that he forgot the pleasure of unknown blood running down his throat. The bond creating between the vampire and the human. The pure sense of trust of letting a creature like him taking away something so important. Damon's blood is singing to him and he could write both melody and lyrics based on what he's feeling in that moment.  

He’s too lost in it. He's drinking and drinking and it's addicting. Until Damon starts getting dizzy, eyes feeling closed, and it's Kris who warns him. 

"Bojči." Then, more firmly. "Bojan."  

And Bojan pulls away reluctantly, dazed, eyes a little glassy, panting with his mouth open and dirty with blood, that's also running down from his lips, dripping on Damon’s white t-shirt. 

"Fuck," he breathes. "Damon."  

Damon, half-dazed himself, looks up at Bojan, and he sees the fangs and the red eyes but all he can think is how beautiful Bojan looks. His perfect profile, those beautiful features, like something out of a novel, and the blood and the shadows just heighten it. He reaches a weak hand up, traces his cheek, murmurs a feeble "you're beautiful."  

Bojan leans forward then, licking the last drops from the wound, licking it closed, but then staying there, breathing in Damon's scent, placing a kiss where the wound had been. And when he moves away, so that he can look at Damon again, Damon's hand has found its way into his hair.  

And he doesn't know who moves first, but suddenly they're kissing. They're kissing and Damon is moaning and Kris is there, holding Damon, his hands find their way under Damon's t-shirt, tweaking a nipple, which makes Damon gasp into Bojan's mouth. 

Bojan breaks the kiss so reluctantly, resting his forehead against Damon's, murmuring "fuck" a second time. He wants, he wants everything.  

Vampires can give different types of bites. The ones given when the vampire wants only to feed are violent and brutal, but the ones given when a human offers his blood and shows his trust...well, those ones are truly intense and can cause great pleasure, both in the vampire and the human. 

Bojan notoriously has great self-control, but Damon is really testing his limits. He is scared but at the same time he wants to give in to his instincts, to the taste of pleasure he got from possessing Damon in that way. He wants to possess him totally, in every aspect. 

"Kris, I want more," he reverts to Slovenian, his mind is clouded and thinking in English is really hard. His voice sounds more like a growl. He raises his head to look Kris in the eyes. 

And Kris recognises the longing in Bojan's red eyes, the desire, the craving. He experienced on his own skin and body the frenzy that blood can cause on a vampire and on the human they feed on. 

Damon in the meantime starts kissing Bojan's neck. He wants him too, that bite made him feel all sorts of things, from deep pain to intense pleasure. He expected it to hurt, not to be aroused by it. 

Kris wants them too. Maybe it's a sick kink but observing Bojan feeding and moaning because of the blood always awakes something in him.  

Kris then kisses Bojan, his lips still dirty with blood, basically giving him the permission to continue what he was doing with Damon. 

Bojan grabs Damon’s face with a hand, gently diverting it from his neck, so he can kiss him on the lips deeply. His fangs touch slightly Damon’s lips, making him shudder intensively.  

They undress him, soon after their clothes end up on the floor too. Bojan kisses Damon all over his body, tasting his excitement and making him whimper. In those brief moments of clarity, Damon can see that Bojan and Kris are used to do this together, so he completely hands over the control to them. 

Oh, the sex with a vampire is even better than drugs. Bojan knows perfectly where and how to touch Damon to make him whimper and moan. He bites him in specific points on his body, liking the wounds right after to not make him bleed out.  

Kris joins barely, just to kiss Damon sometimes or to make Bojan tone down what he’s doing, to not make him completely give in to his instincts and do something he will regret.  

They all reach their climax at the same time, Kris almost untouched, the view of Bojan carnally possessing Damon was enough for him. They all collapse on the couch, panting and shaking because of the pleasure they just experienced. Damon’s body is covered in bitemarks. Bojan is on top of them, his head is on Damon’s chest, eyes closed. 

Kris starts running a hand through Bojan’s hair and plays with some of his strands. That simple gesture can make him calm down and relax after some intense emotions. Damon imitates Kris, still a bit hesitant. And Bojan begins purring, just like a cat. 

“Is-is he purring?” Damon asks, surprised. 

“Yes,” Kris giggles. “He loves when you touch his hair.” 

They keep cuddling Bojan as he slowly gets back from the high of the intercourse.  

“It was a photographer who turned me,” he suddenly talks. He decided to explain to Damon why he reacted in that way during their first photoshoot. “She approached me when I was barely 20. She bewitched me, oh-she was stunning, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

“A photographer?” Damon asks. 

“Yes,” Bojan raises his head to look him in the eyes. He grabs one of his hands and intertwines their fingers. “She thought that I was the perfect muse for her work. She kept taking pictures of me for a couple of years, she fed on me, then turned me against my will, just because she wanted that my beauty lasted forever. Even turned I was helpless, I couldn’t escape, she had full control over me.”  

Damon gently caresses Bojan’s cheek, trying to comfort him. He can see the distress he’s feeling while telling him about his past. 

“You don’t have to tell me-” 

“I want to,” he interrupts him. “You trusted me, you showed it to me, and this is me showing you I trust you. The only people that know my story are my bandmates.” 

Damon nods slowly in response. Bojan is showing his other vulnerable side, the moment he lost his humanity to become a demon of the night, a monster that feeds on people to survive. Bojan then keeps telling him his story: how important he felt when he was with her, how he liked her attentions, how she basically tricked him into letting her feed on him and then turn him into this monster, how she dragged Kris into the picture and how they eventually escaped from her. 

"I killed her."

“You...killed her?” 

Bojan nods. “She was seriously threatening Kris. He is part of my nest, and no one can hurt him. So I snapped, she couldn’t control me anymore and I killed her. I don’t regret what I did, she deserved it.” 

Silence falls once again among them. Damon is clearly trying to process that piece of information. 

“Vampires are protective of their nest. They are social creatures, just like us humans, and they will do everything to protect the people they care about,” Kris explains.

“Am...am I part of this nest, now?” 

Bojan nods. “Yes. I know that we can't be always together, but I’ll make sure no one touches you,” he kisses Damon on the lips. “You accepted me for who and what I am. You are important to me.” 

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

it's 2am so it's tuesday here already, and I can't wait to post a snippet of the alive shannon fic so I'm gonna start tease tidbit tuesday today with a lil buddie moment haha I'm sooo excited for this fic, I hope it'll turn out as good as it is in my head haha

___

He doesn’t know how much time it’s been, when he feels someone’s hand on his shoulder, and almost jumps. He’s sitting on the hard chair in a hospital waiting room, Buck right next to him – it’s his hand still resting on Eddie’s shoulder, while in the other he’s holding a cup of coffee, extending it to Eddie. He’s out of his uniform already, but Eddie’s not sure if their shift is over, or if Bobby just let him go early – because he knows that Buck must have insisted, that he’d come anyway, no matter the consequences, just to be there for Eddie. That’s Buck.

“Hey. Any news?” he asks, and Eddie can just curtly shake his head once. He just notices that he’s been clenching his jaw so tightly he doesn’t know if he can open his lips enough to speak right now. He doesn’t think he trusts himself not to burst out crying. He needs to keep it together for just a while longer. “Got you some coffee.” he adds when Eddie fails to take the cup from him. Eddie shakes his head again. He doesn’t think he can stomach anything right now without throwing it up. “Alright.” Buck puts the coffee cup on the floor next to his chair, his hand falling off of Eddie’s shoulder in the process, now resting on Buck’s thigh, fingers fidgeting nervously. “You wanna be left alone? I can go-” another shake of Eddie’s head. On impulse, he reaches for Buck’s hand, as if he’d leave anyway. Eddie knows he wouldn’t. They haven’t known each other long, it hasn’t even been a year, but in that short time Buck became the best friend Eddie’s ever had. He trusts him more than anyone, and he knows Buck would never leave. “Alright.” Buck breathes out, leaning back against the chair. “Just so you don’t worry, I called Carla, she’s fine staying with Chris a couple hours longer. I can go take over later, if you wanna stick around here.” he adds, and Eddie just nods, so grateful for Buck, so grateful that he cares, that he thought to check in on Eddie’s kid, when all of Eddie’s thoughts are consumed by what’s happening. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he didn’t realize Christopher already got off school. He doesn’t know what he’d do without Buck.

(...) Buck lets Eddie hold his hand, even when his grip tightens and he squeezes it as hard as he can to keep from crying – which he doesn’t notice he’s doing until he looks down and sees his white knuckles. Buck doesn’t complain, just smiles reassuringly, and Eddie almost cries for a whole different reason. The kind of support he gets from Buck, has gotten from him since they met, the way Buck always has his back – it’s amazing, and touching, and so unlike any other relationship in Eddie’s life. He likes to think he’s reciprocating as much as he can, that he’s better at it now, that he won’t ever run again, not from Buck. Somehow, with Buck at his side, everything always seems better and brighter, and more hopeful. Even now, sitting here and waiting to hear if his wife survived the accident – Buck’s mere presence makes him allow himself to hope that maybe, just maybe she’ll be fine, even if it shouldn’t be possible, not with her injuries, not with how her heart stopped in the ambulance once already. They’d need a miracle to happen, and Eddie doesn’t think he believes in those.

___

no pressure tags: @jeeyuns @loserdiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazass @elvensorceress @translasso @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @thewolvesof1998 @shortsighted-owl @watchyourbuck @alyxmastershipper @transbuck @honestlydarkprincess @housewifebuck @wildlife4life @jesuisici33 @diazblunt @cowboy-buck @lover-of-mine @911onabc @giddyupbuck @theotherluciferr @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @eddiediaztho @jesuisici33 @forthewolves

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck It Friday

(Checking it’s Friday right… definitely Friday) tagged by @thekristen999 @shortsighted-owl and @swiftiediaz thank you my friends 💕

A clip from chapter 10 of Good Knight Sweet Prince finally nsfw under cut if you don’t want spoilers but can be enjoyed alone for a smutty treat and maybe it can tempt you into the story only takes 75k to get there but I think it’s worth it 😉 it’s a long weekend what could be better than a slow burn pine ridden angsty Prince /knight AU. (tags under cut)

Suddenly the weight on him is gone and Buck’s left confused and blinking at the loss of heat. His objections however die swiftly in parted lips. Eddie’s sitting up now, still on his lap and lifting his shirt over his head. The swift movement exposes the golden skin of his chest and Buck’s touching before he’s thought about it. He watches his own hand trace across firm muscles. He scratches a nail over a nipple and has to breathe slowly when that makes Eddie gasp, lips parting beautiful. When he pinches and Eddie moans deep and low he can’t control the answering jerk of his hips. He catches the other nipple and squeezes them both.

The ‘fuck’ Eddie exclaims is long and drawn out, his head is thrown back, panting through the quiet curse. He’s beautiful. Buck feels a fierce surge of pride, he’s done this to Eddie. He’s the one making Eddie moan, he’s making one making Eddie’s cock leak. There’s a damp circle on his pants and the image will forever be seared into his brain.

Buck tracks the movement of his own hand again, watching it trail lower until he hits his goal. He has to bite his lip as he rubs his thumb over that slowly spreading damp patch and Eddie jerks. It’s the first time he’s gotten to touch him there. He takes his time to explore. Fingers tracking the long hard length of him. Eddie has his lips pressed together tightly his eyes closed.

“You like that?” Buck can tell he does, he’s not blind but he likes praise and he wants to hear it from Eddie’s lips.

Eddie nods “s’good” so he adds a little more pressure, enjoying the way it makes Eddie tremble and make a pleased noise. He hums again, “harder, please, just a bit”

Buck’s happy to oblige. “Like that?”

He presses harder again, uses his whole hand to rub and please Eddie. He gets a nose that makes his own aching cock jump

“Yeah yeah, like that, Ahhh, fuck!” Eddie’s panting, thrusting into his hand. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.”

“I wanna know what you taste like.” He says it without thinking.

Eddie’s eyes fly open. His nostrils flare and his jaw goes tight hand grabbing Buck’s wrist to still him. “St stop” he manages then breathes deeply for several heartbeats. Buck can tell he’s close to coming and he feels hot with pride that he’s driving Eddie so close to the edge. When Eddie has more control of himself the grip on his wrist loosens a little.

He watches Eddie tongue slide over his lip, his pupils are huge, he looks wrecked, it’s wonderful.

“If you do that right now I’m gonna come.”

Buck notices it’s not exactly a no, maybe he has a chance, “That’s the plan.”

“Not my plan.” Then Eddie’s hand is on him, cupping him and squeezing, stroking him firmly, no tease this time, his breath stutters at the sudden wave of pleasure. He lets himself fall into the feeling, there’s nothing in the world but a strong hand on him for three, four, five, strokes, his breathing getting louder each time.

Eddie’s voice encourages him to let the feeling build.

“That’s it, hmm, so pretty like that.” He gasps and feels two fingers tease his mouth as well, “you wanted something to taste.’ He eagerly licks at what’s being offered, it’s not what he really wants, not his cock but it’s good, so good. He pulls them into his mouth and sucks.

Eddie swears again “See I’d be coming all over you if you did that.”

Tagging @alyxmastershipper @monsterrae1 @the-likesofus @wh0re-behavi0r @rogerzsteven @buddierights @cowboy-buddie @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @swiftiediaz @megsvstheworld @loveyourownsmiilee @spaceprincessem @hippolotamus @putijeansdiaz-ronordmann @buckleysbee @bekkachaos @stagefoureddiediaz @jobairdxx @like-the-rest-of-la @sibylsleaves @jacksadventuresinwriting @yelenascowboys @fatedbuddie @elvensorceress

[crit20art]

OC lore drop

An overview of my OCs and the settings they belong to! The settings range from “fully-outlined/partially drafted novels that i genuinely intend to write one day” to “loose string of scenarios to put my guys in.” 

Casey and Vincent

(she/her, he/him)

Premise: Casey lives in the middle of nowhere Texas with an elderly woman (Margie) for whom she’s a live-in caretaker. Vincent shows up on her doorstep with a shovel in hand, asking if he can dig up something of his that’s buried on Margie’s land. Casey tells him no, and don’t come back. A few days later, while visiting a neighbor, Casey is attacked by monsters. They tear the neighbor to shreds and almost get Casey, but Vincent comes out of nowhere and distracts them while she runs for home. When she gets there, she realizes that the monsters can’t seem to cross the property line. Vincent gets badly injured, but Casey drags him to safety. 

They are then stuck indefinitely on this square acre of land, unable to leave lest they get torn to shreds by the many-toothed creatures prowling the invisible barrier. Casey nurses Vincent back to health and in doing so realizes that he is definitely something Other Than Human. She also learns that he’s really weird, but really sweet, but mostly really weird. He starts to dig up the land but still won’t tell her what he’s looking for. 

genre is romance and soft horror, very similar vibes to my tma fic "resigned" if you’ve read that. Vincent and Casey’s dynamic is p much "it's not body horror, not to me, not if it's you."

Max and Braiden

(both he/him)

These two are from a story that was basically my highschool big brain take on "what if superpowers happened in the real world but people who had them got EXPERIMENTED ON??" That’s still the setting but the plot has taken a sharp turn into classic American road trip. Max has the power to generate, manipulate, and breathe various gasses, and Braiden can make copies of himself. 

The basic premise is that, while escaping the facility where he’s been trapped for a number of years, Braiden meets Max for the first time. Max already knows him, however, and is in fact madly in love with him. It turns out that Max was in a relationship with one of Braiden’s copies who was recently killed, and meeting the Original(™) Braiden is the first time he finds out that there’s more than one of him. Cue lots of questions about nature/nurture, what makes a person inherently themself, and Star Trek style philosophical ponderings on the personhood of clones. All of this happens in a ragtop convertible against a backdrop of late summer highway.

(if braiden reminds you of my martin design, no he doesn’t <3 (actually he does because he is a character i put a lot of my own struggles with depression into, and his personality is adjacent to martin’s s5 I’m A Huge Bitch Because I Have Boundaries Now vibe, so martin ended up reminding me of him and i committed IP theft on myself about it))

Fantasy / DnD OCs

I’m bad at fantasy worldbuilding so i just kinda toss all of these guys into scenarios in my head and mix them like salad. I’m trying to put together something with a cowboy/western kind of energy but i haven’t gotten far <3

I have a group of OCs from a scrapped fantasy setting who I’ll add to this when I have more recent sketches for all of them. (If you’re wondering where the lesbians are. They are here. I’m sorry I don’t have more drawings of you on hand, lesbians)

More dnd OCs can be found just in my dnd tag but here are the honorable mentions:

August

(he/him)

Half-elf bard. He has been the icon on my personal blog for years and, in retrospect, playing him was absolutely my first step towards questioning my gender. He has 18 intelligence and 10 wisdom. He once hooked up with an NPC and scored a 24 on his performance check. He even has a meme. Party on, king

Aurelian

(he/him)

(2nd image is before i gave him horns. ft. fiancé Pesh, they/them)

Aurelian is a pirate. He’s an outlaw. He’s a horse girl. He’s been looking for his mysteriously vanished fiancé long enough that he has trouble picturing their face. He exists because I heard Chasing Twisters by Delta Rae and had to make a dnd character about it.

Vasha

(she/her)

Angsty wild magic sorcerer who started as a hostile NPC when i DMed for some friends. Took on a life of her own and ended up in lesbians with the party’s orc fighter. Since that campaign ended I am trying to find her a gf like Mrs. Bennet matchmaking for her five daughters

[all-for-the-simps]

"Sword in a Gunfight"

: Prologue :

CoD x Original Character Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II 

Context: I know nothing about the military or how it works, I've never played CoD and all the characters are probably ooc 'cause I don' know what I'm doing but please, enjoy just as I have written it :))

A/N: This prologue chapter is a little boring, it's mostly just an introduction but. I had a lot of fun with this and I've got a big old plan and I can't wait to show you people. Anyway, please respect my dni rules and i appreciate your reblogs :) (I'll add pics and cool stuff like that to this soon, my wifi is dying right now-)

🚫female-aligned people DNI🚫

-----

“‘Los Vaqueros’? What kind of a name is that?”

“Frost…” Price sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Mexican Special Forces and they named themselves ‘The Cowboys’? They could’ve picked any other name but had to go with one that makes them sound like a gang of immature teenagers trying their hardest to be rebellious.” Frost said, earning a groan from the rest of the unit.

“You finished?” Ghost asked, giving Frost a tired glare.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m done.” Frost nodded. Soap chuckled and Gaz just face-palmed. As you can probably tell, this sort of thing happens quite a lot.

“I suggest you don’t repeat any of that when you meet them, you might get beat up,” Soap said, leaning an arm on Frost’s shoulder. Frost raised an eyebrow but nodded, agreeing. Price leaned his hands on the table they were all standing around and sighed before glancing at Frost to make sure he wasn’t going to open his mouth again.

“... As I was saying…” Price said, giving Frost another glance. “We have been hired to help protect a man named Mateo Perez. Lives on the outskirts of Las Almas, that’s why we’re working with Los Vaqueros.” Price explained as his men listened.

“Unlike El Sin Nombre, Perez is a community donor-type. Giving a portion of his money to the people. No gang connections, no drugs, no weapons, nothing. From our intel, he’s just a rich guy who loves his hometown.” Gaz added, crossing his arms as he spoke.

“Then why would he need protection from 141 and Los Vaqueros when he probably has his own unit of bodyguards?” Frost asked, tilting his head to the side. “It doesn’t seem like a matter of national security.”

“He’s got a point.” Soap muttered. “Is there another reason we’re taking this gig?”

“We don’t know. He wants to discuss the details personally and that’s all we were told.” Price shrugged.

“Soap,” Frost whispered to the man beside him.

“Yeah?” Soap replied, leaning closer.

“A tenner says this is an ambush,” Frost said.

Soap took a second to consider, “Yeah, alright, you’re on.” 

“Hell yeah,” Frost said before the both of them turned back to the conversation the others were having.

“We meet with Los Vaqueros when we touch down in Las Almas. From there, they’ll take us to Perez.” Ghost said.

“Wheels up at 0600.” Price said, tapping the table. “Dismissed.” As everyone walked away, going to get ready to leave, Soap walked alongside Frost.

“It’ll be good to see Alejandro and Rudy again.” Soap said. Frost nodded and kicked a rock across the ground.

“Alejandro? Rudy?” Frost repeated, looking at Soap.

“The colonel and the sergeant major of Los Vaqueros.” Soap shrugged. “Good guys, the pair of them.”

“And how do you guys know them?” Frost asked as he fiddled with the dog tags around his neck.

“We had a mission with them a while back. Stopped a couple of missiles and a terrorist, found out who El Sin Nombre was, we were betrayed by Graves and the Shadow Company, General Shepard had something to do with it too, but I think Price and Laswell are going to handle that-” Soap rambled on, only to the cut off by a very confused Frost.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait… First of all, what the fuck? And second of all… What the fuck?” Frost furrowed his brows and shook his head, trying to process everything Soap had said.

“Has no one ever told you this?” Soap asked.

“No??” Frost said. “Who the fuck is Sin Nombre?”

“El Sin Nombre. Head of a drug cartel who was helping a terrorist. Apparently, her name is Valeria and she knew Alejandro. Bit of a shock to all of us, really.” Soap explained.

“... Alright. I know about the Shadow Company and Graves thing but I didn’t realise Shepard was involved in that.” Frost said.

“None of us really understand it.” Soap shrugged. “Graves took control of Los Vaqueros’ base and held them all captive. Rudy got out of there and helped us, but Alejandro was detained.”

“I’m guessing this Graves guy is dead.” 

“Very.” Soap nodded before they both went their separate ways to get ready to leave.

“I’ve always hated flying,” Gaz grumbled as he sat stiffly between Frost and Ghost.

“You didn’t always. You can fly helicopters.” Ghost said.

“Still,” Gaz grunted. Soap, who was sitting opposite them all cracked a mischievous smile.

“Does this have anything to do with that one time you fell out of that-” Soap was cut off.

“Yes!” Gaz said, shuddering at the memory. Frost frowned and patted Gaz’s back.

“It’s going to be fine, man.” Frost smiled.

Ghost shifted uncomfortably, “Wish they made the seats more comfortable.”

“Yeah, both sides of my arse are asleep.” Soap added and Frost gave him a look. “What?” Frost just raised his eyebrows and looked at his boots.

“Tell me, Frost…” Ghost started, looking over at him.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you never wear any gear?” Ghost asked. “Bit of a stupid move if you ask me.”

“You don’t even have a proper shirt. You let your shirt open a bit.” Soap said.

“And?” Frost asked, defensively.

“You’ve got your chest out, practically begging to be a target.” Soap said.

“No protection at all, they’re right you know,” Gaz added.

“Whoa, guys. You don’t have to gang up on me, we haven’t even landed.” Frost said, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Is it because you want to show off your tattoos?” Soap asked, almost mockingly.

“Yes, but it’s not just that,” Frost said, glaring at Soap who just smiled.

“What could it possibly be? You’re going to be the first casualty at this rate.” Ghost said.

“If you shut up, maybe I’ll get around to telling you.” Frost crossed his arms in annoyance.

“Alright, keep your hair on!” Gaz exclaimed, rolling his eyes as the others sighed.

After a pause of silence, Frost nodded, “Thank you… It’s because the fighting style I have requires manoeuvrability and having gear on just restricts movement.”

“The gear also makes sure you don’t get shot.” Ghost mumbled.

“Have you seen his reflexes, Ghost?” Soap asked, baffled. “He split a bullet in half with a sword!”

“No way.” Gaz shook his head. “Impossible, man.”

“He did! I was there!” Soap yelled.

“Jesus, keep your fucking voice down, mate!” Ghost said.

Frost shook his head, “You know, you guys are so-”

“Landing!” The pilot’s voice echoed from the front of the plane, interrupting Frost’s thought. As the plane lurched and started to descend, Gaz gripped Frost’s and Ghost’s knees on either side of him. Ghost and Frost looked at each other before sighing and just letting him.

Once the plane had landed and everyone had gotten up and stretched, the hatch opened and they were greeted by the bright light of the Las Almas afternoon sun. 

“Jesus, it’s hot out here.” Soap grumbled, trying to adjust his gear as they walked. Ghost simply grunted in discomfort, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wriggling a finger under the neck part of his mask to make himself more comfortable.

“Yeah, it really sucks to have heavy gear on now, huh?” Frost laughed.

“You can shut your fucking gob, man,” Soap said, pointing a finger at Frost's face.

“Will you two behave please?” Price said, walking past them all. “It’s like babysitting… Only worse.” Ghost nodded in agreement and joined him.

“Where did he come from? I didn’t see him on the plane.” Frost said, pointing after his captain.

“I think he was sitting in the cockpit,” Gaz said, stretching his back a little before following Ghost and Price.

“Alejandro!” Soap yelled out, Frost jump out of his skin at the sudden volume. Frost watched as Soap jogged towards two men who he assumed were Alejandro and possibly that other Rudy guy.

“Good to see you again, hermano,” Alejandro said as he grabbed Soap’s hand in greeting, a wide smile on his face.

“For fuck’s sake, Soap, you scared the shit outta me,” Frost said, slapping Soap over the head.

“Ow! Fuckin’-” Soap said, turning around but then just sighing.

“Who’s this?” Alejandro asked, looking Frost up and down curiously. 

“I don’t remember him from the last time you were here,” Rudy added, smiling slightly.

“Alejandro, Rudy, this Fr-” Soap started but got immediately cut off.

“I’m a grown-ass man, I don’t need you to introduce me,” Frost said and Soap rolled his eyes. Frost looked back at the two men and smiled slightly.

“Frost.” He said, putting out his hand. Rudy took it first and shook it graciously with a friendly smile. Alejandro took it next and gave it a firm shake, but he didn’t take his hand away for a hot second. Frost slowly let go and Alejandro followed before giving Frost a wide grin.

“Welcome to Las Almas, Frost.”

-----

AHHHHHHH IT'S HEREEEEEE

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: Dean gets a second chance to right a wrong from his past when they get a mysterious tip from his father about a case they'd worked years ago.

Warnings: Cannon violence

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred

Word Count: 9,145

Something Wicked

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch, Outfit Board)

The boys bicker back and forth rapidly. “Yeah. You probably missed something, that’s what,” Dean argues. Nothing truly brings out an argument like their Dad and his directions. “Dude, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers, and I couldn’t find a single red flag. Are you sure you got the coordinates right?” Sam spits back. 

“Yeah, I double-checked. It's Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important Sammy.” “Well, I'm telling you I looked and all I could find was a big steamy pile of nothing. If Dad's sending us  hunting for something I don't know what.” “Well maybe he's going to meet us there,” Dean suggests. However, I thought it was pretty clear their Dad didn’t want to interact with them again until it was all over, safety and such. “Yeah. Cause he's been so easy to find up to this point.” “You're a real smart ass you know that?.... Don't worry I'm sure there's something in Fitchburg worth killing.” “Yeah? What makes you so sure?” “Cause I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right,” Dean smirks.

“Dude, no it doesn’t,” I chime in, “That holds no merit.”

“It totally does,” he retorts, “And I’d know, I’m the oldest.”

“Yeah, by two years,” I point out, catching his eye in the mirror, “So don’t get ahead of yourself there, cowboy.” But he just shrugs, that smug smile on his lips, “Those years make all the difference. ‘Cause guess what….” he pauses, “I’m still older.”

A slight breeze rustles through the trees. It’s chillier today than it had been the last couple of days. Gloomier too. The clouds seem to swallow the sky with a gray hue. The town is bare and quiet as if the clouds had drawn them away. Even the playground is empty.

A warm drink is nudged into my hands, pulling me from my thoughts as my chilled fingers find their way around the to-go cup that Dean settles there. He leans his head down, his eyes catch mine before he releases the cup into my possession. His green eyes are serious, eyebrows pinched together just slightly, a silent question. A small smile breaks on my lips as I give a gentle nod, confirming I’m okay. I’m unsure why he decided to check up on me but God is he lovely regardless of how simple the action was. “Well…the waitress thinks the local Freemasons are up to something sneaky but other than that no one’s heard about anything freaky going on,” Dean informs, joining our leaning against the Impala. 

I hum in recognition, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid encased in my cup, “Today’s not a holiday, is it?” I ask. 

“No,” Dean answers, “Why?”

“Look at the time,” Sam points out, seemingly picking up on my point too. The older Winchester lifts his wrist up, looking at his watch, “Ten after four….” his eyes follow to where Sam directs. A lone girl in a pink sweater and pigtails climbs on a bare playground. No other children around, hell, no other adults around except for the woman who must be the young girl's guardian sitting on a bench. “…School’s out isn’t it?” Dean asks, connecting the dots. 

“Mhm,” I hum, “But where are the kids?” 

“This place should be crawling with them,” Sam adds. 

Dean takes that as his sign to step forward. He places a hand on my upper arm, nodding his head in the direction of the barren park, silently beckoning me to join him. I comply, moving with him across the dead street to the park. Carefully, we approach the woman who sits on a park bench, her magazine coming into view. “Sure is quiet out here,” Dean announces, gaining the woman’s attention. She looks up from her reading, “Yeah, it’s a shame.”

“What happened?” I ask softly, knowing it has to be something serious for it to be like this. “You know, kids getting sick, it’s a terrible thing,” she says, a frown pulling on the corner of her mouth. Yet, the way her eyes become locked on her child, the way something like worry flashes in her eyes hints this is more than the common cold or flu. “How many?” Dean asks, his voice rather solemn. 

“Just five or six but serious, hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it’s catching,” she explains. And there it is, the likely reason why we’re here. 

The Hospital reeks of, well, hospital. The clean yet almost sickly smell and the bright fluorescent lights wouldn’t suggest any foul play, or that a horrible sickness was hospitalizing kids. I’m not sure if I want this to be our sort of case or not, on one hand, if it is then we can solve it and maybe fix this mess but if it isn’t then it’s on the doctors to think of something to help, except if they can’t; then we’re all helpless. “Dude,” Sam hits his brother's shoulder, “Dude, I am not using this ID,” he complains even though we’re already here, already clad in professional clothes. “Why not?” Dean counters.

“‘Cause it says bikini inspector on it!” Sam grumbles, eyes fluttering every which way to make sure no one heard him. He holds up the ID in question, his little photo next to a normal name, and an insane job position. I haven’t a clue where Dean even produced this from. “Do you want me to use mine?” I ask, ready to save him the trouble and embarrassment. 

“Please,” he answers, shoulders deflating. 

“No, no,” Dean pauses us, “He’s a big boy he can do it himself. She won’t look that close, alright?” he grins, “Hell, she won’t even ask to see it. It’s all about confidence Sammy.” He takes his brother's shoulders, spins him around, and lightly pushes him towards the receptionist's desk. I give Dean a pointed look, “That was just cruel,” I say. But, he just smiles that stupid shit-eating grin. Far more amused than he ought to be. 

It’s hardly ten seconds since Sam is at the reception desk when he holds up his ID for the lady. His brother snickers beside me and doesn’t let up even when Sam throws him a dirty look over his shoulder. If anything it worsens his laughing fit, having to drag a hand down his mouth. Soon after Sam is walking towards us with his classic bitchface and a slight pink hue on his cheeks, “See. I told you it would work,” Dean grins wildly. 

Sam huffs, shaking his head as he glares daggers at his brother, “Follow me. It’s upstairs.”

                               ****

An older man with black hair and tired eyes, the doctor, leads us down a corridor, “Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydecker,” Dean says. And I have to admit the doctor’s name reminds me so much of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, even if there isn’t any correlation. “Well, I’m glad you guys are here. I was just about to call the CDC myself,” the Doctor informs, “How’d you find out anyways?”

“Oh some GP, I forget his name, he called Atlanta and, uh, he must’ve beat you to the punch,” Dean lies seamlessly. Maybe it is all about confidence, or maybe he just has too much practice. 

“So, you say you got six cases so far?” Sam asks, getting right to the heart of it.

“Yeah, five weeks. At first, we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia,” he informs, all doctor words for typical or common pneumonia, “Not that newsworthy. But now…” 

“Yeah?” I ask.

“The kids aren’t responding to antibiotics. Their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren’t doing their job. It’s like their bodies are….” his voice grows softer, “wearing out.”

“Have you started exploring other ideas?,” I point out, crossing my arms across my chest. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to answer as a petite brunette nurse approaches with some paperwork, “Excuse me, Dr. Hyecker,” she says, handing him the forms. 

“To answer your question,” he says, peering up from the forms, “We are trying to explore other possibilities but I’ve never seen something this severe before.”

“And the way it spreads…” the nurse adds, sighing, “that’s a new one for me.”

“How so?” I ask.

“It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another,” she explains and it only affirms that this must be our sort of case. As far as I’m aware no sickness works like that, nor should. Sickness doesn’t target certain age groups, which is not to say that certain age groups can’t be more susceptible to illness. But, with six cases which is likely more than two families the statistical chance of the parents not being affected lowers. And the fact that it almost strategically moves from sibling to sibling…It has to be our case. “‘You mind if we interview a few of the kids?” Dean asks. 

“They’re not conscious,” the nurse answers. 

“None of them?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised in shock.

“No,” she says simply, a frown pulling on her lips. It only makes this all the more concerning. 

“Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?” Dean tries instead. 

“Well, if you think it’ll help,” Dr. Hydecker responds a little strangely. Why wouldn’t it help? 

“Yeah. Who was your most recent admission?” Dean asks.

                          ****

The man in front of us slouches in his chair, his eyes tired and filled with so much sorrow and fear. He holds his jacket between his legs, his hands fidgeting, and that expression seems to burn itself into my mind. The kind of look reserved for parents who worry for their kids, sick or not. “I should get back to my girls,” he insists, his voice thick with emotion.

“We’re really sorry about this all, and having to put you through this questioning. We’ll make it quick I promise,” I say softly, offering sympathy that would not fix the situation he’s going through. “Now, you say Mary is the oldest?” Sam asks, matching the solemn mood of the hospital. 

“Thirteen,” he confirms. 

“Okay. And she came down with it first, right?” Sam asks, “And then…” 

“Bethany, the next night.”

“Within 24 hours?” Sam pushes. 

“I guess,” he shrugs and it’s apparent he’s going through too much to truly focus on this conversation, “Look, I, uh, I already went through all this with the doctor.”

“Just a few more questions if you don’t mind,” Dean urges, “How do you think they caught pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?” 

“No. We think it was an open window,” he answers. Yet, I do not attempt to suggest that it isn’t just pneumonia at play let alone that it’s unlikely that an open window by itself could cause something like this. But I’m not a doctor. “Both times?” Dean questions.

“The first time, I— I don’t really remember but the second time for sure. And I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed,” he replies. 

“So you think she opened it?” Sam asks.

“It’s a second-story window with a ledge. No one else could’ve,” he puts it plainly, a sharp edge to his voice. 

                                    ****

Back down the corridor, we go, leaving the father to worry over his kids. God, this situation was so messed up. “You know this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia,” Sam points out.

Immediately I’m shaking my head, “I don’t know for sure if this is supernatural but it certainly isn’t just pneumonia. Speaking of which, I don’t like the doctor.”

“Why?” Dean asks.

“Well, he’s either a sucky doctor or just not well-equipped for this case. I don’t know why he’s not already exploring new options or calling in experts when the conditions are worsening and they aren’t reacting to antibiotics. Let alone why he’s not doing more testing. I get not wanting to do anything intrusive to kids this young and with how low their white blood cells are, but, God, we’ve been here less than 30 minutes and I get the feeling that nothing is really being done to help these poor kids.”

“Someone’s passionate,” Dean remarks. I hit his arm, “Of course I am. Is this not all…I don’t know…strange?”

“I don’t know, but Dad sent us down here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree,” Dean answers. 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Sam says.

“What?”

“That guy we just talked to? I’m betting it’ll be a while before he goes home,” he elaborates.

Bethany’s room is everything you’d expect a young girl's room to be, from clothes peeking out of drawers to the various stuffed animals on her bed to the doll house in the corner. To think this girl was now lying in a bleak hospital, completely drained of all the color and life that’s presented here. I’m still not sure if I want this to be our sort of case, even if by now I’m mostly convinced it is. If it is just some sickness then maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to help. All I’d need is some time with the patients to heal them periodically. Admittedly it’d take longer than the average hunt did but at least it would feel more productive or helpful. In the meantime though I guess it was nice to be in normal clothes again. “You got anything over there?” Sam asks from one corner of the room. I get up from the floor, fixing the carpet back in place after checking beneath the rug and bed–the sort of things you just sort of have to double-check when your job is in fact about hunting the things that go bump in the night, “No, nothing here.”

“Nah, nothing,” Dean says too, waving around his EMF.

“Yeah, me neither,” Sam sighs. I move to the closet next, sparkly dresses and some costumes exploding off the hangers, but as I check the insides of the doors and the ground there's no sign of anything there. “Hey, guys?” Sam suddenly says. I look over my shoulder, shutting the closet some as I watch Sam by the open window. “Yeah,” Dean answers.

Sam stares at the windowsill, quiet for a moment before speaking, “It’s not pneumonia,” he declares. My eyebrows furrow as I step towards the window and the mysterious clue, Dean swiftly at my side. The younger Winchester scoots aside to give us room to look out the window to see a dark handprint with long skinny fingers engraved into the wood, like it was burnt or something. “It’s rotted,” Sam says, correcting my thinking process, “What the hell leaves a handprint like that?”

“I’d say something pretty darn evil,” I mumble, looking up at Dean to gauge his reaction. But his face drops. His eyes are far away like he’s in a distant land or like the world is tipping on its axis, his face is almost sickly pale, lips parted just slightly, and I’ve seen this look before. This far-away look. The look he gets when he’s reliving an unpleasant memory, stuck in the confines of his mind. I place a hand on his upper arm, trying to offer something. Maybe later, if he allows me the chance to know which memory, I can comfort him better. I cannot erase the memory or fix that sick feeling on his face but maybe I can give him comfort and security. “I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job,” he declares. 

It’s dark out by the time we pull up to a motel. “So what the hell is a Shtriga? I’ve never heard of it and it’s not in Dad’s journal” Sam asks as we exit the car, a name that Dean had labeled as what we’re hunting.

“They’re a type of witch from Albanian mythology and folklore,” I answer, old information from spending years researching types of witches coming back, “They feed off of the life force of children while they sleep, well, if we’re getting specific then they feed off of spiritus vitae,” the Latin slips off of my tongue with ease, a perk of having it as a second language.

“Spiri-what?” Dean attempts.

“Vitae. Spiritus vitae, it’s Latin and translates to, um, ‘spirit of life’ but I think it’s sometimes confused as ‘breath of life,’” I inform, “You know, there was this composer around 1914 who had a song with the name and I—“ I’m cut off by the clearing of his throat, an intentional move. “Right,” I exhale, feeling my face grow just a little warmer.

“Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about 16, 17 years ago,” Dean adds his information which would help explain his previous reaction, “You were there,” he directs at his brother, “You don’t remember?”

“No,” Sam answers simply.

“I guess he caught wind of the things in Fitzburg now and kicked us the coordinates,” the older Winchester elaborates.

“So wait, this…”

“Shtriga,” I fill in for Sam.

“Right. ‘You think it’s the same one Dad hunted before?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean nods, slowly heading in the direction of the motel's office.

“But if Dad went after it why is it still breathing air?” Sam asks, following after him.

“Cause it got away,” Dean says simply, almost with a lack of emotion or conviction.

“Got away?” Sam echoes.

“Yeah, Sammy, it happens,” he snaps.

“Not very often,” Sam pushes despite the clear frustration on his brother's face.

“Well I don’t know what to tell ya, maybe Dad didn’t have his Wheaties that morning,” he remarks.

“What else do you remember?” he continues to push.

“Nothin’. I was a kid alright?” he spits, opening the door to the reception area a little too harshly. For whatever reason he doesn’t want to talk about that memory, likely the same reason he looked so sick before. He may deny its existence, but his defensive response is too defensive to be the truth. We both know that. He walks straight up to the desk, hitting the little silver bell. The idle noise of a distant television continues as a young boy no older than 12 with blonde hair walks up to the counter, “A king or two queens?” he asks. The soft noise of the TV becomes accompanied by small laughter from a seemingly younger boy.

“Two rooms, two queens and one queen,” Dean answers as he has done countless times before. A brunette woman enters then, her eyes tired but her smile warm as she approaches behind the kid, “Hi,” she greets.

“Hi,” Dean answers plainly with hardly a hint of his usual flirtation. If I weren’t worried about him already I certainly would be now. “Checking in?” she asks, still wearing that bright smile. “Yeah,” he exhales.

The woman turns her attention toward the boy first, “Ahh, do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner,” she directs.

“I’m helping a guest!” his voice goes just a little higher as he defends himself. Expectantly, she gives him a pointed look and quickly he gives in, grimacing as he turns to go. “Will that be cash or credit?” the woman asks, back in business mode.

“‘You take MasterCard?” he asks and she nods, “Perfect. Here you go.” He hands over the fake card and immediately his eyes go to the boys in the back room, the older boy pouring a glass of milk for his younger brother. And once more he gets that look on his face—that far-away look.

****

“You were right, Y/N,” Sam says looking up from his laptop, “Wasn’t easy to find but you were right.”

“Naturally,” I smile, letting myself be a little cocky. He scuffs, shaking his head with a hint of that bitch face he has. “Anyways,” he starts, “I was thinking what if when she takes your vitality maybe your immunity goes to hell, and pneumonia takes hold. Shtriga’s can feed off anyone but they prefer–”

“Children,” I conclude, “That’s an interesting theory, and children, of course, have developing immune systems making them, typically, weaker than one of an adult which could be why they’re favored. That or they have more life force….Probably the latter….Definitely the latter.”

“And get this, Shtriga’s are invulnerable to all weapons devised by God and man,” he informs, a detail I was unaware of or forgotten.

“No, that’s not right,” Dean corrects, “She’s vulnerable when she feeds.”

“What?” Sam asks, leaning back from his laptop.

“If you catch her when she’s eating you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron,” he explains, “Uhhh, buckshots or rounds I think.”

“Ooh, look at you Mr. Knowledge,” I say smiling rather proudly at such a small thing. And maybe him demonstrating his knowledge was a little hot in a weird way but that stays between me and myself.

“How do you know that?” Sam asks, focused on the “important” things.

“Dad told me. I remember,” he puts it simply.

“Oh, huh,” Sam hums, “So, uh, anything else Dad might have mentioned?”

“Nope, that’s it,” he answers and we know it’s a lie. He’s clearly remembering a lot from that time period, or enough to make him act weird or uncomfortable twice now. I wish he’d just talk and share more. I know it’s not a “he doesn’t trust you enough” kind of thing but rather afraid to be vulnerable because he feels he’s not allowed to be. It’s moments like these where I particularly hate their father. “What?” Dean exclaims, looking between his brother and me—we must’ve been staring. “Nothing,” Sam exhales, “Okay. So, assuming we can kill it when it eats, we still gotta find the thing first, which ain’t gonna be a cakewalk. Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they’re not hunting.”

“What kinda human disguise?” Dean asks.

“Historically, something innocuous. Could be anything, but it’s usually a feeble old woman, which might be how the witches as old crones legend got started,” Sam explains.

“Worst misconception ever,” I shake my head.

“Hang on,” Dean says, crossing the room.

“Hanging on,” I say. He pulls out a map from his bag, unfolding it and lying it down on the bed forcing us to get up and crowd around him. “Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far,” his finger travels over the paper, moving to each mark, “And dead center?”

“The hospital,” I answer, eyes jumping to the center of the marks, “Man, triangulation is good.”

“The hospital,” he confirms, “Now when we were there I saw a patient, an old woman.”

“An old person huh? In a hospital? Phew,” Sam snickers, shaking his head, “Better call the Coast Guard.”

“Well listen, smart-ass, she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall.”

*****

We move past the empty reception desk, the lateness of the night giving us the perk of a bare hospital. But, apparently, it is not bare enough for Dr Hydecker to be gone. Quickly we slide down a side hallway, sticking to the wall as he walks backwards, a coat hanging in the crook of his arm, “See you tomorrow Betty,” he says to a nurse down the hall receiving a “Try to get some sleep,” in turn. He spins the right way around, walking past us as he continues down the hallway.

Taking our opportunity we continue on to the old woman’s room. Dean creeps the door open, and like on autopilot we draw our guns as we enter the room. It feels incredibly horrible to be pointing a gun at an old person, especially when she seems to be peacefully sleeping in her wheelchair facing the corner of the room. Yet, we move to the other side of the room, surrounding her. And ever so slowly Dean moves closer until he’s right beside her, and even slower he moves closer and closer to her face until— “Who the hell are you?!” she screams, turning her head towards the man in question. Dean leaps up, quite literally taking air before his back hits a wall cabinet. “Who’s there? ‘You trying to steal my stuff?” she grumbles, “They’re always stealing around here.”

I nudge Sam to hit the lights, quickly concealing my gun behind my back before they flicker on. With light soaking us we can see the old lady clearly now, her eyes clouded with a greyish fog otherwise known as cataracts. “We’re so sorry ma’am, we didn’t mean to startle you,” I say.

“We’re maintenance,” Sam cleverly adds, “We’re sorry. We thought you were sleeping.”

“Ahhh, nonsense. I was sleeping with my peepers open,” she laughs at her own joke, then gestures at the wall, “And fix that crucifix, would ya? I’ve asked four damn times already!”

*****

It’s early morning when we pull into the motel parking lot and all I want is a nice shower and either a nap or a lot of caffeine. It would’ve been worth the lack of sleep if Dean’s theory was more fruitful than it was. In fact, Sam’s still laughing about the whole ordeal, “‘I was sleeping with my peepers open’?” he quotes, laughing like a crazy person as we exit the car.

“I almost smoked that old woman, I swear. It’s not funny!” Dean replies.

“Oh man, you shoulda seen your face,” Sam snickers, whipping away a lone tear.

“No, you should’ve seen how far you jumped,” I laugh nearly bellying over, “Dude, you took flight.”

“Yeah, laugh it off,” Dean grumbles, “Now we’re back to square one.” And it’s that that sobers me up. While the ordeal was funny, the kids in the hospital aren’t. We have no more leads. We might as well be back to square negative one. Suddenly Dean holds a hand up, “Hang on,” he says halting us as he walks over to the boy from last night. The blonde boy sits on a green bench with a worried almost pained look on his face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks the boy softly. The boy looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “My brother’s sick,” he croaks.

“The little guy?” Dean asks, crouching down to see him better.

The boy nods, “Pnemunioa. He’s in the hospital. It’s my fault.” My heart might as well break. God, this was so messed up. How much life force did this damn thing need? “Ah c’mon, how?” Dean asks.

“I shoulda made sure the window was latched. He wouldn’t’ve got pneumonia if the window was latched,” he explains, rationalizing the best he can. Dean looks away for a moment, eyes meeting the ground before moving back to the boy, “Listen to me, I can promise you that this is not your fault. Okay?”

“It’s my job to look after him,” he defends, shaking his head.

“Michael!” the woman from last night suddenly calls, grabbing all of our attention. She hurries out of the motel to a black car with all sorts of bags on her shoulders and a giant blanket rolled beneath her arm, “I want you to turn on the no vacancy sign while I’m gone. I’ve got Denise covering room service so don’t bother with any of the rooms,” she orders.

“I’m going with you,” Michael declares, rising from the bench.

“Not now, Michael,” she responds, placing each item in the back seat of the car.

“But I gotta see Asher!” he argues.

“Hey, Michael. Hey,” Dean steps up, “I know how you feel–I’m a big brother too, but you gotta go easy on your Mom right now, okay?” Michael seems to take this advice, no longer arguing, even if it’s clear he doesn’t want to. “Dammit!” she suddenly curses at the drop of her purse, she buries her head in her hands. “I got it,” Sam announces, picking the small bag up and handing it to the stressed woman. “Thank you,” she responds.

“Listen, you’re in no condition to drive,” Dean starts, “Why don’t you let me give you a lift to the hospital?”

“Wait,” I say suddenly, moving closer to them or rather to him, “let me do it,” I insist. His green eyes bore into mine, asking a silent ‘you sure?’ I nod, “Yeah, I got it.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly…” she butts in, shaking her head.

“No, it’s okay, really, I wanna help,” I respond. What's another day wearing the same clothes from yesterday? It’s her turn to study me now, maybe to decide if this really will burden me or to determine if I’m trustworthy, maybe both. Either way, she hands over her keys. “Thanks,” she says, trying to manage a small smile. She turns to her son then, “Be good,” she tells him. He nods, frowning, as I help her into the passenger seat. Closing the door behind her, I turn to the boys, “I’m gonna see if I can…do something,” I explain quietly. They nod, picking up on what I meant, “Be safe,” Dean warns, eyebrows pinched in worry.

“I will,” I answer, smiling softly.

“We’re gonna kill this thing,” he adds, face dropping its worry as it’s replaced by determination, “I want it dead, you hear me?”

“Copy,” I exhale even if it was directed at both Sam and me. Then, I round the car and hop into the driver’s seat.

The second you step into this hall of the hospital you could practically feel the walls lamenting, like they too grieve for the children. It’s all parents holding on to each other as nurses bustle around, or a parent sitting over their kid's bed with their hands clasped and their head down as if in prayer. It’s horrible. I wish I could fix it all with the snap of a finger, I wish it could be as easy as that. If I were to get a moment alone with them and heal them I’m not sure if it would even work or be effective, though the ‘maybe’ isn’t going to stop me from trying.

I see the father from before, he sits between his two kids, a hand holding onto each of theirs as if holding their hands alone would be enough to keep them on this plane. Meanwhile, the very woman I drove here, Joanna, is walking away with a nurse asking question after question. And with her gone, even just a couple of feet away, I can try. I can be helpful.

I take the seat close to the bed that his mother had been occupying. He looks so small in the bed, an already small child being swallowed whole, and he is so pale like not only life but color was sucked from him.

I want this thing gone just as much as Dean does.

The monitor he’s hooked up to beats steadily as I carefully pick up his small hand from his side, it’s cold as I cup my hands around it. I take a deep breath, letting my eyes shut on the exhale, and my shoulders relax a little as I clear my mind the best I can.

I don’t care about the morals of this, of the gray area, or anything. If I can help every kid here I would, but I don’t even know if I can help this one person. Healing Dean all those months ago increased how long I can hold on for— my tolerance, but again this was a serious scale. The most I could do or try was to help the white blood cells out, to give them a break or replenish what was lost. But that’s just about the same scale of difficulty as fixing a heart affected by a heart attack, and even then one healing session only helped so much or rather so little. There would be no way for me to do multiple healings to each kid if it were to work, so maybe this would all prove to be futile— and yet trying wouldn’t kill me, while not trying might kill them.

So, I let the magic flow, using my mind's eye to envision what I want to do—what it would be like to restore the cells and strengthen them. My eyes roll close as the magic seeps further into his body through the layers of skin and flesh. It flows from my veins, the world becoming deafeningly silent as if it was all vacuumed away into a black hole. Everything falls away, and nothing else exists here. My ears buzz with the absence of sound, yet I feel the steady thrum of my heart, pulsing like a mantra in the quiet. The energy hums between us. I can sense his body’s weakness, feel the sickness clinging to him, and I push against it, hoping that my magic can reinforce what his body cannot. The warmth from my hands spreads slowly, but whether it’s healing or just comforting I do not know. It feels like a fool's bargain. Another witch has already eaten at his life force, and now, as his body sinks deeper into sickness, I’m trying to use my powers to piece it back together—something that may not even be possible. Strengthening him might not matter if he’s already bound to die because of that thing. All I might be able to offer is comfort.

The clearing of someone's throat behind me pulls me back to reality with a sharp tug. My eyesight feels slightly lopsided, the faint buzz in my ear lingers, and something warm runs down my lip. But I do not have time to dwell as I shoot up from my seat, powers flicking off with a blink as I view the interrupter. A nurse about my height smiles with a clipboard pressed to her chest, “Sorry, I have to check on him,” she explains. I nod, moving out into the hallway as I use the back of my hand to wipe away the warmth that seeps from my nose. I pull my hand away, staring at the blood that sticks out from the rest of my (s/c) skin. But, I can ignore a bloody nose when it's likely not even half of what the kids feel like. And yet I have no idea if it did anything—some witch I am.

The faint buzzing of my phone clashes with the noise in my ears. I flip my phone open and hit answer, knowing who it is without having to look, “Hey,” I exhale.

“Hey,” Sam greets, “How’s the kid?” I look back at the room, the nurse writing things down on that clipboard of hers, “Um….” It didn't seem like there was any change, “...Not good.” There's shuffling on his end, grumbling, and a distant “No dude, give me room,” followed by another shuffle before a different voice speaks, “Hi, sweetheart,” a familiar voice greets.

“Hi,” I say again, “What happened there?”

“Ah, nothing—” I can practically hear that sideways grin on his lips even as there’s more shuffling—“You sound tired, ‘you okay?”

A smile pulls on my lips at his question, at that faint concern in his voice and it’s like I can see that furrow in his brow. “Mhm,” I hum, “Tell me you guys have something, please.” The line goes quiet for a moment before there’s shuffling again, “Oh, thank you for my phone,” Sam grumbles sarcastically, he huffs before he speaks again, “Anyways, we’re at the library. I’ve been trying to find out as much as I can about this Shtriga.”

“And now you’re gonna share the great and happy news, right?” I answer hopefully.

“Well…” he drags out, “Bad news…I started with Fort Douglas around the time Dean said our Dad was there and it was the same deal. Before that, there was, uh, Ogdenville, and before that North Haverbrook, and Brockway. Every 15 to 20 years it hits a new town. This thing is just getting started in Fitzburg. In all these other places it goes on for months. Dozens of kids before the Shtriga finally moves on. The kids just…languish in comas and then they die.”

Silence hangs on the line. There is nothing to be said. There is nothing but realization to fall upon you. It has happened before. It will happen again. The kids will die. “How far back ‘this thing go?” I hear Dean ask.

“Uh, I don’t know. The earliest mention I could find is this place called “Black River Falls” back in the 1890s,” Sam answers, “Talk about a horror show….” he mumbles before cutting back in with a “Whoa.”

“What happened?” I ask quickly.

“Hold on…” the line fills with distant clicks, “I’m looking at a photograph right now of a bunch of doctors standing around a kid’s bed,” he explains, “One of the Doctors is Hydecker.”

“No,” I say almost in disbelief, my mind connecting the dots. “God, I’m so stupid.” You would think I of all people would connect these dots far sooner, but instead, my only hunch wasn’t an actual hunch and was more so just thinking that his name sounded like a book that happens to have a complex yet wicked doctor. “You’re not, none of us knew,” Sam

“What are you guys on about?” Dean asks, his voice suddenly louder, I presume he got closer to the phone.

“Look at the date,” Sam directs and the line falling silent is enough to gauge his reaction. “This picture was taken in 1893,” Sam adds.

I shake my head, this is a lot. Not only is the Shtriga someone we’ve met but it’s a doctor who has direct access to the children and the vulnerable parents. These people trust him. Talk about right under our noses. “You know this means this guy has been doing this for centuries, right?” I ask though it’s more of a rhetorical question than anything. “I’ll um….” I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling, “I’ll meet you guys back at the motel.”

How I wish he wasn’t only vulnerable when he was feeding, otherwise, when I finish with the phone I’d take care of him. “I’ll pick you up,” Dean declares, his words a little rushed and his voice far closer to the phone than before. That smile pulls on my lips again, “Okay, thank you.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid till I get there,” he adds as if he knew what I was thinking. Although, he was likely thinking the same thing. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I answer.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he says more firmly.

“Okay,” I give in, “I won’t be an idiot.”

“Good. Be safe,” he says, cut off by some mumbling between the two boys before the line goes dead as he hangs up.

I shove my phone back into my pocket as I lean off the wall, moving towards the kids' room. He’s still lying in that bed. His heart monitor beats the same rhythmic beat, he’s still pale, still unmoving, still—-

“Does The CDC have anything so far?”

His voice makes me jump, my heart leaping in my chest. I spin towards him, a new smile already plastered on my face, “We’re still working on a couple of theories.”

What I wouldn’t give to do something now. Patience is not an easy virtue. “It’s nice to see you care as much as I do, coming on your time off and all,” his eyes briefed over my frame. I’m not in professional clothes like yesterday, although it’s not clear if he means to point it out as a way to show his suspicion. “Nothing more important than helping kids, right?” I respond with instead.

“That’s what I always say,” he adds. And I’d really like nothing more than to punch him in the face… among other things. Violent things. “Well, let me know if I can help,” he offers.

He can help by not existing anymore. “Of course, thank you,” I nod.

*****

Dean leans against the Impala, arms across his chest and daggers in his eyes. He doesn’t need to be around the doctor to be angry. I wonder if my expression resembles his—a mutual hatred for the same person. “It didn’t work,” he says, referring to my healing. He takes a few steps towards me, closing the short distance between us.

“No,” I exhale, frowning, “I don’t think at all.” Then, his arm is around my shoulder, pulling me into his side before he walks me to the passenger side of the car. I move away from his hold to be in front of him, my back to the door, “I don’t like this hunt,” I admit.

His eyes drop to the frown on my lips, his eyebrows furrowing, “Me neither.”

“Did you guys think of a plan yet?” I ask. His eyes sweep over the car, no longer willing to make eye contact or look at me at all. “Yeah, but—”

“But you don’t like it,” I finish for him. He looks at me again, his shoulders deflate, a tired expression washing over his face—it’s seeing him without his facade on. This is about more than their plan. I place a hand on his arm, “Do you want to talk about it?” But, his eyes avert again and he shakes his head like I knew he would and I nod because I will not push him. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. When he wants to. Then, he stands straight, the walls back up as he meets my eyes and I can still see the remnants of a plead. He reaches his hand up, slipping it easily onto my face to cup my cheek. And, slowly his head leans down, inching forward till he’s but a breath away. He leans his forehead against mine, his breath on my skin. I could push up and our lips would touch…

His arms wrap around me then, bringing me to his chest, keeping me close. The familiar scent of him fills my senses, this is safe even outside a hospital with an evil doctor. His head moves to my neck, those shoulders decompressing again. Maybe the walls weren’t all that up. “I messed up,” he mumbles into my skin, yet I can still hear the catch in his voice like a croak. My hand instinctively goes to the back of his head, “What do you mean?” I ask softly.

“It’s my fault all these kids are dying,” he elaborates, his tensing jaw flexing against my neck.

“How is it your fault, Dean?”

He pulls his face away, his jaw set. “Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. We were in a crap motel room for three days and I was climbing the walls. I needed to get out. When Sammy fell asleep I went to the reception area to play a game they had there. I was only gone for—gone for—” he swallows, “The Shtriga was there, feeding off of him. If my Dad hadn’t shown up when he did he would’ve—”

“Hey. Hey,” I say softly, and it’s my turn to cup his cheek now, “You made a mistake in a situation you couldn’t have possibly predicted. You were a kid. Okay? You were a kid. These kids aren't your fault.” But, he shakes his head. He won’t or can’t accept it and I know it was John who convinced him of this. “You were a kid,” I repeat.

“Sam said the same thing,” he answers instead, confirming that he had told his brother this.

“Of course he did. No one could blame you for what happened, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t make the same mistake twice,” his hands slip from me and I retract too, “It’s going to come for Michael next. We’re gonna take advantage of that.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I know you don't like it,” he quickly says, “But it will work. I'm going to kill it.”

*****

Asking a kid to be bait went just as well as one would expect. Horrible. “Well that went crappy,” Dean mumbles, “Now what?”

“He’s a kid, you can’t ask that of him,” I answer, “Maybe it’s for the better anyways.” I don’t like this plan. I don’t like the idea of putting a kid in danger, let alone exposing them to the very same world they were forced into. It’s not fair. “You can’t ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid,” Sam adds.

Then, there’s a knock at the door. Dean gives us a questioning look before he opens it, the young boy standing there. “If you kill it, will Asher get better?” he asks quickly.

“Honestly? We don’t know,” Dean answers truthfully.

“You said you were a big brother,” Michael says. Dean nods, “Yeah.”

“You’d take care of your little brother? You’d do anything for him,” Michael asks. The man in question looks back at his brother, a look shared between them. “Yeah, I would,” Dean replies, looking back at the boy.

“Me too. I’ll help,” he says.

Dean hooks up a security camera in the corner of the room, moving it into place while Sam ensures it’s working from the next room over, watching the feed. I study every inch of the room to commit to memory. I wasn’t leaving this up to chance, I don’t care how quick we can get here because it won’t be quick enough. But, I can be here quickly, in a single second. “This camera has night vision on it so we’ll be able to see clear as day,” Dean tells Michael before calling out to his brother, “Are we good?”

“A hair to the right,” he directs, and Dean adjusts it, “There, there.”

“What do I do?” Michael asks from his bed, tucked in and sat up. This was a horrible idea. Dean moves towards him, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Just stay under the covers.”

“And if it shows up?” he asks, his voice hard with determination but his face giving away his fear.

“We’ll be right in the next room. We’re gonna come in with guns. So, as soon as we do, you roll off this bed and you crawl under it,” Dean directs.

“And if they’re too slow I’ll be here in seconds,” I add, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“How?” he asks. And although it’s an obvious question I still fumble for a good answer, “I have a trick up my sleeve,” I muse, hoping that a kid will let me leave it at that.

“What if you shoot me?” he asks now.

“We won’t shoot you. We’re good shots. We’re not going to fire until you’re clear, okay?” Dean answers, Michael nods tentatively, “Have you heard a gunshot before?”

“Like in the movies?”

“It’s gonna be a lot louder than in the movies,” he answers, and he’s so careful with this kid even though we’re putting him in a horrible position, “So, I want you to stay under the bed, cover your ears, do not come out until we say so. You understand?”

Michael nods slowly, but the fear in his eyes is prominent, his bottom lip quivering. “Michael, ‘you sure you wanna do this?” Dean asks. Silence fills the room, he isn’t sure—he shouldn’t be. This poor kid.

“You don’t have to, it’s okay, I won’t be mad,” he says softly. He’s giving this boy a choice, more than he ever got and that thought alone makes me want to cry. “No, I’m okay. Just don’t shoot me,” Michael answers.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

*****

The night drones on. The feed remains relatively the same except for when Michael shifts in his bed. He’s safe and I wish it could remain that way all of tonight and forevermore. I almost don't want the Shtriga to come if it means keeping him safe and away from the world I know. But, that’s not an option or a choice and the gun weighs heavy in my lap. “What time is it?” Dean asks. Sam checks his watch, “Three. You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?”

“Consecrated iron rounds, and yeah it’s what Dad used last time,” Dean answers.

“Hey, Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam suddenly says.

“For what?”

“You know, I’ve really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad’s orders,” he elaborates, “But I know why you do it.”

“Oh, god, kill me now,” Dean grumbles, never one for vulnerable moments. Sam laughs softly, knowing to stop there. The room falls back into silence, eyes staring intensely at the screen.

Something moves outside the window, a mass of darkness, “Look,” I point out. The window slides open, the Shtriga slides inside, “Not yet,” Dean orders, placing a hand on my thigh to stop me from getting up. I throw him a sideways glance, logically I know we have to wait but everything else screams we shouldn’t.

The being in a hooded cloak creeps closer to the bed. It leans closer, and closer. I shoot up from my chair. It opens its mouth. I envision Michael’s room in my head and I’m there. “Get down!” I order, finger ready on the trigger. The side door bursts open. He rolls off the bed and I don’t waste time in shooting the thing. Over and over. Their guns accompany mine. It gets hit from two different angles. It crumbles to the ground. The guns stop. “Mike, you alright?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” he answers from beneath the bed.

“Just sit tight,” Dean directs. He approaches the Shtriga carefully, his gun at the ready. He stands over it, waiting for movement. But, there isn’t any. He relaxes slightly, he glances at us. Suddenly, the Shtriga jumps up and grabs him by the throat, moving at an inhuman speed. It lifts Dean and throws him against the wall, something shattering behind him.

It moves quicker than my eyes can follow. Suddenly, it’s on me, its long fingers wrap around my neck, lifting me up before sending me back into the far wall. My gun knocks out of my hand as I hit the floor, skidding across the wood. Then, it has Sam. It throws him into the wall and the moment he hits the ground it’s on him.

I extend my hand out, an invisible force grabbing hold of my gun. The Shtriga forces his mouth open. I drag my gun towards me as I pick myself up on my knees, the pain spreading in my back protests such action. It opens its mouth widely, a great white energy begins to extrude from Sam’s mouth. Finally, I grasp my gun, quickly I lift it and—“Hey!” Dean shouts. The shtriga looks up and he shoots it right between its eyes. It falls backwards, leaving Sam to gasp for breath. “You okay little brother?” Dean asks.

Luckily, he nods and holds up two shaky thumbs-up. I force myself to my legs, moving over to Sam to help him stand. The corpse of the Shtriga lies there with its mouth agape, white energy spews from its mouth like a puff of air in the cold. Still, Dean raises his gun and shoots it three more times. More energy escapes from it until it disintegrates, the black cloak falling in on itself. I didn’t expect it to do all that but at least it’ll be gone for good. It won’t be able to hurt any more kids or their families.

The morning seemed chipper than the previous day, like the earth knew to be happy. Or, maybe I’m just projecting because we got rid of something that caused a lot of harm.

Dean takes my duffle bag from me, packing our things away in the trunk. Joanna comes out of the reception office looking around. “Hi! How’s Asher doing?” I ask as she approaches us. I hadn’t seen him since yesterday, since before we killed the Shtriga. “Have you seen Michael?” she answers instead, worry on her face. And as if on que Michael comes running up, yelling, “Mom! Mom!”

He jumps into her arms and she holds him closely, “Hey!” she smiles, her boy safe in her arms. “How’s Ash?” he asks.

“Got some good news. Your brothers gonna be fine,” she says.

“Really?” Michael beams.

“Yeah. Really. No one can explain it—it’s a miracle,” she glances up at us, answering us at the same time, “They’re going to keep him overnight for observation and then he’s coming home.”

“That’s great,” Dean answers.

“How are all the other kids doing?” Sam asks.

“Good. Really good. A bunch of them should be checking out in a few days. Dr. Travis says the ward is going to be like a ghost town,” she answers.

“Dr. Travis? What about Dr. Hydecker?” Sam asks, faking confusion.

“Oh he wasn’t in today. Must have been sick or something.”

“Yeah, you know it’s common to get sick in hospitals with all the exposure to the germs brought in and the drug-resistant bacteria,” I reply, realizing only after how the explanation is probably not the most reassuring thing ever. But, she doesn’t seem to dwell on it as she looks at her son and asks, “So, did anything happen while I was gone?”

Michael glances at Dean, “Nah, same old stuff.”

“Okay,” she smiles, “You can go see Ash.”

“Now?” he beams, his smile wide. He looks to Dean again who nods slightly. God, he’s so good with kids. “Only if you want to,” Joanna answers. Michael doesn’t answer, instead he runs to the car. She laughs, “I, uh, I’d better get going before he hot wires the car and drives himself.”

This was the true rewarding part about hunting. To see their smiles, to fix what was wrong, to save people. It makes all the trauma worth it. “It’s too bad,” Sam says.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Dean brushes off.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant Michael. He’ll always know there are things out there in the dark—he’ll never be the same, you know?” There’s a long pause as the weight of it sets in. I had already thought of this, but there’s nothing we can do now but hope he doesn’t have to be exposed to anything else that goes bump in the night. “Sometimes I wish that…”

“What..?”

“I wish I could have that kinda innocence,” Sam admits.

“If it means anything…sometimes I wish you could too.”

I wish they both could be ignorant to this aspect of life. I was doomed to know of it even if I didn’t decide to hunt it because I am a part of the things that go bump in the night. But, they didn’t have to be doomed. Even though I love them, if never knowing them meant saving them from this world, then I’d make that deal.

[angelasscribbles]

Drake's Amazon Cart: A Bad Romance Drabble

Series: Bad Romance

Bad Romance One-Shots

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: [(Riley x Liam x Max) + (Riley x Drake)] + (Riley x Rashad)

Paring this chapter: Riley x Drake

Rating: MA just to be safe but there’s nothing bad in here

Warnings for this chapter: mature themes, I guess. Murder is alluded to.

Word Count:  681

Song Inspiration: Angel Boy by Tim McGraw (Heard this in the car today right after I finished writing this and was like, oh, yeah, this is perfect!)

A/N: Blame/Give credit to @21-wishes @harleybeaumont and @3pawandme for this. A discussion about how and where Drake gets his murder gloves got out of hand. If you want to see that conversation, you can to go to Cordonian history in the Bad Romance universe and read the comments!

Shout out to @nestledonthaveone for sending me a picture of the whiskey soap!

Huge thanks to @harleybeaumont for the customized meme at the end! It still makes me laugh every time I see it!

My other stuff: Master List.

Drake Walker sat at his desk pulling at his collar. His eyes kept going to the window. It was such a gorgeous Friday afternoon. He should be outside, but he was stuck finishing up the quarterly expense reports. He had to sign off on everyone’s expenses and enter everything onto a spreadsheet to be sent over to accounting. He hated it.

He turned his attention back to his computer monitor with a sigh. He stared at the spreadsheet briefly then popped open his internet browser. Just for a minute, he promised himself.

He checked the scores and rankings for the Dallas Cowboys then flipped through a few memes’ Max had tagged him in on social media. An ad for a porn site popped up. He scrolled past it. He scrolled back up and bookmarked it for later.

He navigated to amazon; he needed a new tent. He got distracted by kayaks for a while then finally added a tent to his cart.

He minimized the window and started working on the expense reports again. What the fuck had Marco needed eight hundred dollars in petty cash for? He scanned down the invoices and the duty rosters for that day. Never mind. Marco had been assigned to Riley’s detail on the day in question and she had been out of town on “business” with her “lawyer”. He didn’t want to know. He approved the expenditure.  

A notification popped up from Amazon that he might want to purchase shampoo. He looked at the notification bubble for a long second. How the fuck did Amazon know he needed shampoo? Well, shit, he did need shampoo. He opened the window back up and added some to the cart.

A suggested product appeared on the screen. He ran the mouse across it so he could read the description. Ohhh, soap made with whiskey? What the hell was that about? He stared at the screen for a moment, then shrugged and pressed add to cart.

More suggestions populated his feed. The same company that made the whiskey soap made a product for the “nonmedical treatment of malodorous and unruly hair, both facial and otherwise.”

Other suggestions included Hanes cotton t-shirts, a denim shirt and a bottle of whiskey. He added it all to the cart.

“Hmmmm.” He hummed distractedly as he scrolled through the items that popped up on the “buy again” tab.

He clicked on the black leather gloves.

A suggestion popped up, “You purchase this item frequently. Add to subscribe and save for a discount?”

“Huh.” He said out loud, “I do buy those a lot, don’t I?”

His head jerked up and his eyes scanned quickly around the office. He was alone. Thank God. No one knew.

His eyes returned to the computer monitor. “The things I do for that woman.” He muttered under his breath as he added a case of them to the cart.

He looked up at the clock. Almost five. He quickly checked out and paid for his purchases, then rushed through the rest of the expense reports before shutting everything down and pushing away from the desk.

He and Riley were taking the kids to the cabin for the weekend. He was going to teach them how to fish. Liam was out of the country on crown business and Max was needed at Ramsford for the weekend. He had her all to himself until Monday and he wasn’t wasting a moment of it.

He pulled the office door shut behind him. It latched with a soft click as he hurried down the hallway, thoughts of boat rides and late-night campfires filling his head. He was going to teach Jax how to make s’mores. He was going to catch fish and cook them for dinner. The kids were going to catch fireflies at dusk and minnows at dawn.

The memory of Riley standing on his dock as he taught her to fish all those years ago was still one of his favorites. Now he’d teach his son to fish from that same dock.

Yeah, all the murder was worth it.

Photo cred: @harleybeaumont