#y: 1945

[bwallure]

MILDRED PIERCE (1945) dir. Michael Curtiz

[tina-aumont]

Gabinete Telegráfico. Ministerio de la Gobernación. Madrid. España

18 de noviembre de 1945.

Mi querido primo Armando.

Hace días estoy por contestarte tu afectuosa carta, pero he estado tan sumamente ocupada terminando a la carrera mi último film «Tánger» antes que el «peligro de expansión» (debido al bebé que estoy esperando en Febrero) sea más obvio, y cuando regresaba a casa estaba tan fatigada que todo lo que podía hacer era comer y dormir. Pero a Dios gracias, terminé el film ayer y estoy libre ahora para descansar y escribir a mi familia y amigos y preparar la mursey para el baby.

Naturalmente Jean Pierre y yo estamos extáticos con el bendito evento. Lamento decirte que tu carta de Canarias no ha llegado, tal vez se perdió, así que dame otra vez la información que en ella me dabas, tengo al respecto una enorme curiosidad.

Estos son los nombres de mis hermanos y fecha de nacimiento:

Isidoro Rafael Gracia y Vidal, 3 de abril de 1911.

Aquilino Mario Gracia y Vidal, Mayo 14 1914.

Joaquín David Gracia y Vidal, Agosto 26 1915.

Luis Antonio Gracia y Vidal, Junio 10 1923.

Jaime Enrique Gracia y Vidal, Agosto 24 1925.

Nacidos en Barahona- Republica Dominicana.

Nombre de mi mamá: María Teresa Vidal y de Santos Silas.

No dejes de mandarme una copia del árbol genealógico, y toda la información respecto a la familia Gracia.

¡Qué viaje tan bonito te distes de vacaciones!

Mi hermano Aquilino, que es un chico muy bien, se casará en diciembre con una chica andaluza llamada Mary […] de Haro, muy graciosa y llena de chispa, y después ellos van a venir a buscar trabajo y fortuna en Norte América y le deja el negocio de la familia a Isidoro y Joaquín. Jaime y Luis están en la Universidad estudiando. Yo tengo intensiones de mandar a mamá a España a fines del año entrante cosa de que Jaime, Luis y Teresita (la más pequeña de nosotros y una preciosa chiquilla) tengan una buena oportunidad de estudiar en una gran Universidad española. ¿Es la vida muy cara allá en Madrid? ¿Cómo es Zaragoza, hay buena Universidad allá?

Te agradecería infinito si me das detalles al respecto —cuánto cuesta al mes en Madrid o Zaragoza un apartamento chico o una casa bien de alquiler, y qué tal es la vida por allá, adónde está la mejor Universidad y qué clase de clima se goza.

No te olvides en tu próxima de darme las direcciones de mi familia de Canarias, me gustaría escribirles unas carticas y dame detalles de cuántos quedan, si están casados, o solteros […].

Te diré que Adita, Consuelo y Lucita son unas holgazanas de mil diablos, así que perdónalas si no te escriben, ellas son unas corresponsales pésimas, pero te quieren y recuerdan siempre con sincero afecto.

Lo que me dices de mi popularidad en España me halaga mucho y me hace feliz.

Naturalmente yo estoy imposibilitada de viajar por un tiempo, pero después de febrero tomaré unas vacaciones e iré a Europa más cuando Jean Pierre regresará a Francia a filmar una película en francés, esto si Dios y la Metro […] (el trabajo para la M. G. M.) así […] que entonces te veré.

Mi suegro no llegó a Madrid por eso no te llamó.

Mi esposo acaba de terminar un film con Ginger Rogers llamado «Latido del Corazón» (Hearbeat) y comienza en diciembre un film en tecnicolor sobre la vida de Rimsky Korsakov, lo cual lo tiene muy contento.

¿Quiénes son ahora los novelistas de moda en España? Los mejores libros? Dime, pues aquí nada se oye al respecto, y me gustaría saberlo.

El primo Aquilino está lo más tristón, tengo entendido; como sabes, se casó con una dominicana (no de alto rasgo social […]) y la chica se le volvió loca al dar a luz, ¡el pobre!

¿Qué te cuentas de nuevo?

Yo acabo de firmar un magnífico contrato con la Universal por siete años con todas las cláusulas que yo quería, lo cual es una buena noticia, ¿eh?

A mí me gusta mucho mi último film «Tánger»; en ella soy una madrileña y bailarina, es una película moderna y de intriga […], y en ella tengo trajes preciosos […]; mis galanes son Robert Paige y Preston Foster. No te olvides mandarme todos los detalles respecto a nuestro abolengo. Cariñosos recuerdos a Isidoro —las muchachas te saludan y lo mismo Jean Pierre.

Cariñosamente,

María.

~*~*~*~

Telegraph Cabinet. Ministry of the Interior. Madrid. Spain

November 18, 1945.

My dear cousin Armando.

I've been about to answer your affectionate letter for days, but I've been so extremely busy rushing to finish my latest film "Tangier" before the "danger of expansion" (due to the baby I'm expecting in February) becomes more obvious, and when I got home I was so tired that all I could do was eat and sleep. But thank God, I finished the film yesterday and I'm free now to rest and write to my family and friends and prepare the mursey for the baby.

Naturally Jean Pierre and I are ecstatic with the blessed event. I'm sorry to tell you that your letter from the Canary Islands has not arrived, perhaps it was lost, so give me the information you gave me again, I am extremely curious about it.

These are my siblings' names and date of birth:

Isidoro Rafael Gracia y Vidal, April 3, 1911.

Aquilino Mario Gracia y Vidal, May 14, 1914.

Joaquín David Gracia y Vidal, August 26, 1915.

Luis Antonio Gracia y Vidal, June 10, 1923.

Jaime Enrique Gracia y Vidal, August 24, 1925.

Born in Barahona- Dominican Republic.

My mother's name: María Teresa Vidal y de Santos Silas.

Be sure to send me a copy of the family tree, and all the information regarding the Gracia family.

What a beautiful vacation trip you took!

My brother Aquilino, who is a very good boy, will marry in December an Andalusian girl named Mary […] de Haro, very funny and full of spark, and then they are going to come to look for work and fortune in North America and he leaves the family business to Isidoro and Joaquín. Jaime and Luis are at the University studying. I have intentions of sending mom to Spain at the end of next year so that Jaime, Luis and Teresita (the youngest of us and a beautiful little girl) have a good opportunity to study at a great Spanish University. Is life very expensive there in Madrid? What is Zaragoza like, is there a good university there?

I would be extremely grateful if you could give me details about it—how much a small apartment or a good rental house costs per month in Madrid or Zaragoza, and what life is like there, where the best university is and what kind of climate is there.

Don't forget to give me the addresses of my family in the Canary Islands next time, I would like to write them some letters and give me details of how many are left, if they are married, or single […].

I will tell you that Adita, Consuelo and Lucita are lazy as hell, so forgive them if they don't write to you, they are terrible correspondents, but they love you and always remember you with sincere affection.

What you tell me about my popularity in Spain flatters me a lot and makes me happy.

Naturally I am unable to travel for a while, but after February I will take a vacation and go to Europe more when Jean Pierre will return to France to film a film in French, this is if God and the Metro […] (the work for the M. G. M. ) so […] then I'll see you.

My father-in-law did not arrive in Madrid that is why he did not call you.

My husband just finished a film with Ginger Rogers called "Hearbeat" and is starting a Technicolor film on the life of Rimsky Korsakov in December, which makes him very happy.

Who are the fashionable novelists in Spain now? The best books? Tell me, because here nothing is heard about it, and I would like to know.

Cousin Aquilino is really sad, I understand; As you know, he married a Dominican woman (not of high social character […]) and the girl went crazy when she gave birth, poor thing!

What news have you got?

I just signed a magnificent contract with Universal for seven years with all the clauses I wanted, which is good news, right?

I really like my last film “Tangier”; In it I am a Madrid native and a dancer, it is a modern and intriguing film […], and in it I have beautiful costumes […]; My boyfriends are Robert Paige and Preston Foster. Don't forget to send me all the details regarding our ancestry. Fond regards to Isidoro—the girls greet you and so does Jean Pierre.

Lovingly,

Maria.

~*~*~*~

This transcription is possible thanks to @74paris who sent me a document called “Los orígenes turolenses y canarios de la actriz de Hollywood María Montez” written by María Victória Hernández Pérez, courtesy of Cabildo de la Palma.

Now I have some comments to do...

Maria Montez writes her mum's name as "María Teresa Vidal y de Santos Silas", this fact makes more difficult to trace María Montez mother's family line and even in some biographies María Montez name is wrong listed. Maria's mum real name was Regla María Teresa Vidal Recio.

Now, according to Tom Zimmerman, in his book “The Queen of Technicolor. Maria Montez in Hollywood”:

I've never heard that Regla María Teresa Vidal Recio had Dutch roots, as far as I know she was creole, but nothing else can be found, even if you look at her family tree nothing is known about her ancestors... but why Maria lied about her mums surnames and always told she was so pround of her father being Spanish? I think she wanted to protect her mother from fame, paparazzis? who knows ... she kept that secret with her...

The other striking information is that Maria Montez doesn't give the correct birthdate of her youngest brother Jaime Enrique. Little is known about him as the films were he is supposed to work are really hard to find and checking his passing date and age, the date her sister Maria gave doesn't fit. It's a very known fact that she changed her birthday in all her Hollywood contracts just to make everybody think she was younger - this was a normal thing to do in the 40s just to get a nice contract - and for the same reason, I guess she doesn't give to her close-cousin the birth dates of her sisters, but lying to him about the birth of her youngest brother seemed very strange to me, although it seems she did it deliberately.

Well, I hope little by little we will find more information about the Gracia Family and their ancestors.

[sefaradweb]

German Nazism and the Origins of Argentine Anti-Semitism

🇦🇷 El antisemitismo organizado en Argentina no era desconocido antes de 1930, y ya había jugado un papel importante durante eventos como la "Semana Trágica" de 1919. Sin embargo, con la llegada del nazismo en la década de 1930, se intensificó el antisemitismo influenciado por la propaganda nazi y la llegada de miles de refugiados judíos europeos. Entre 1933 y 1945, Argentina recibió entre 35,000 y 45,000 refugiados judíos, lo que representó un aumento considerable en la población judía del país. La inmigración judía contribuyó al desarrollo comercial y cultural de Buenos Aires, aunque también provocó reacciones negativas en ciertos sectores de la sociedad, especialmente en el contexto de los movimientos fascistas locales. Durante las décadas de 1930 y 1940, el fascismo argentino se inspiró en los movimientos europeos y promovió una visión excluyente y antipopulista de la argentinidad, que, aunque no llegó a los extremos del nazismo, sentó las bases de un antisemitismo estructural y violento que se perpetuaría en las décadas siguientes, incluyendo la Guerra Sucia de los 70.

🇺🇸 Organized anti-Semitism in Argentina existed well before 1930, notably playing a significant role in events like the "Semana Trágica" of 1919. However, with the rise of Nazism in the 1930s, anti-Semitism intensified, influenced by Nazi propaganda and the arrival of thousands of Jewish refugees from Europe. Between 1933 and 1945, Argentina received between 35,000 and 45,000 Jewish refugees, leading to a significant increase in the Jewish population. Jewish immigration contributed to Buenos Aires' commercial and cultural development, although it also sparked negative reactions from certain societal sectors, particularly within local fascist movements. Argentine fascism, inspired by European movements during the 1930s and 1940s, promoted an exclusionary, anti-populist view of "argentinidad" that, while not reaching Nazi extremes, laid the groundwork for structural and violent anti-Semitism. This would later be reflected in events such as the Dirty War in the 1970s.

[gyuzgrl]

too sweet //lsm//

summary- when Jeonghan brings up BDSM at dinner, your boyfriend is keen on trying it out for himself. you laugh it off, telling him he doesn't have the stomach for it, and he decides to show you just how capable he is in bed.

Crystal-chandeliered ceilings, a live cello performance, a bottle of Domaine de la Romanee- 1945; you're in the lap of luxury. After a particularly long week, your boyfriend decided to organize a 'little' get-together to get your mind off work. Something small, he said. Just a little dinner with Jeonghan and Hoshi- nothing much.

That's how you find yourself here- seated in one of the best restaurants in Seoul, surrounded by friends, donned in a dress so stunning it would've killed a small Victorian child.

Earlier on in the relationship, you used to get awkward in places like this, wondering how much it cost, trying to order the cheapest thing on the menu, but now? Now you've grown accustomed to Dokyeom's treats. It's how he shows his love for you- among many other ways- so who are you to say no?

"and yeah- we fucked." Hoshi states, mouth full of food as Dokyeom's eyes widen to the size of saucers.

Jeonghan giggles, turning around to see if anyone heard, and shakes his head.

"and?"

"and-" Hoshi continues, prodding a bit of beef with his fork, "and it was like painfully vanilla,"

You watch as Jeonghan's face contorts into a disapproving frown, and sip at your wine, praying to whoever's listening that your sweet, baby boy doesn't open his mouth to ask any questions.

But of course, you've never had much luck with the universe, have you?

"like ice cream?"

Aghast, the older man turns to Dokyeom.

"dude..."

When the inquisitive, wide-eyed stare doesn't leave his face, you cut in, clearing your throat.

"c'mon don't be like that- you know how he is Han"

Your boyfriend shifts his gaze to you, now wondering how you of all people know what his hyungs are talking about.

A sheepish, watery smile paints your face as you reach for your glass, taking another sip.

The air stills for a minute, awkward pauses flooding the space while Hoshi and Jeonghan share knowing glances.

They turn to you, flashing you those up-to-no-good grins, before fixing their attention to your poor boyfriend.

"alright buddy," Jeonghan starts, reaching out to grasp Dokyeom's shoulder, "lemme teach you about sex."

Immediately, you see the tips of his ears burn red. Poor thing.

"why are we uh, why're we talking about sex?"

"cause you still think we're talkin' about ice cream" Hoshi sneers. You shoot him a glare, and his shrinks back.

Ever the explorer, Dokyeom chimes in again, turning to you this time.

"we're not talking about ice cream? what are we-"

"sex." Jeonghan whispers, voice taking on a mock-sultry tone. He turns to you,

"what's he like in bed?"

"hey!-"

"he seems vanilla now, so I'm guessing it's basic shit" he continues, eyes narrowing in on you.

Suddenly you feel conscious of your surroundings. A nice evening out has somehow turned into a free-for-all analysis of your sex life, and your most intimate moments with Dokyeom have come under the looking glass.

"y-yeah, we're vanilla"

"oh you poor thing," Hoshi fakes a sob, bringing his hand to his chest as if your house caught on fire.

"don't be like that- some people prefer vanilla y'know?"

Some people, sure.

Not you, though.

As much as you love how Dokyeom makes you feel, you have to admit, he's a little, well... basic. It's the same old scene, classic p-in-v sex, sometimes he goes down on you, sometimes you do him, nothing apart from that.

Not that it doesn't feel good- it feels amazing- but you've always wanted something more. Something you're sure he won't be able to pull off.

"uhuh, I'm sure they do," Jeonghan muses, seeing right through you.

"what are we even talking abou-"

"sex!" all three of you whisper-shout in unison, starling Dokyeom.

"but- vanilla?"

"it's classic, like your basic animal-planet kinda sex" Jeonghan's voice turns serious, brows set in a firm line. "there's more than that, though"

Hoshi watches intently, moving a bit of bread to his mouth in slow motion, as the scene unravels before him. You find yourself equally invested, eyes fixed on Dokyeom's wonderstruck expression.

"there's more?" he gasps.

"oh you bet- d'you know what BDSM is?"

Your mouth goes bone dry.

"I think so? it's the stuff with the knives and leather and like latex-"

Jeonghan shoots you a quick glance, mouthing 'you're welcome', before moving back to the man next to him.

"that's not- it's not all intense and gory... there's layers to it, kay?"

Dokyeom nods, eyes shimmering.

"BDSM as a concept is deeper than just leather and blood. B and D stands for bondage and discipline, D and S stands for dominance and submission, and S and M stands for sadism and masochism-"

"so that's what Rhianna was talking about-" he cuts in, jaw falling slack as he listens further.

"each of these can come out in different ways- bondage could include cuffs, rope, shibari, or y'know whatever material you have on hand. discipline is meant in its literal sense- you do things to teach your partner the quote-unquote rules of sex, which could include spanking, using gags for punishment or doing things they like for reward. Sadism and masochism basically play on pain. Sadists like to cause it, masochists like to feel it- again, many ways to do this."

Hoshi stares in awe as Jeonghan concludes, putting his fork down to clap.

"wait- what about dominance?"

A sly smile quirks up Jeonghan's lips.

"oh that."

You swallow at the lump settling at the back of your throat, unable to tear your gaze away from your boyfriend's face- so eager, so fascinated by what he's heard.

"it's the premise of what all this is; discipline, sadism, bondage, it's all built on power play. One of you is in control and the other follows, letting themselves be controlled, it-"

"what about consent?"

Oh sweet, sweet boy.

"that's where safe words come into play. I use the traffic light system, so if my partner says green it means they're feeling good, if they say yellow, they're still okay but I need to slow down, and if they say red, they want me to stop"

"huh."

Dokyeom sits still for a minute, eyes glued to the plate sitting in front of him, and you can practically hear his brain churning to process all that he's learnt.

As the night goes on, he seems quieter than usual, staring at you, absorbing information, listening to what's being spoken about around him. Every time you turn to the side you meet his gaze- intense, preoccupied.

Dinner comes to a close with him shoving his shiny black credit card into the waiter's hands before anyone else beat him to it, and soon, you find yourselves saying your goodbyes, heading to the car.

Dokyeom opens your door, making sure you're seated, and moves over to the driver's seat.

"you don't- do you like how things are now?" Out of nowhere, his voice sounds in your ears, catching you off guard.

You look at him, surprise etched in the rise of your brow, and shake your head furiously.

"of course I do! baby, I love how things are with us, I love you"

He sighs, turning on the ignition, and begins to drive.

"not like that, honey, I meant physically,"

The blank look on your face has his cheeks burning as he works up the courage to say it.

"sex, y/n" he says, a little louder than before, "do you like the way we do things now?"

Oh.

You hadn't expected the conversation from earlier to stick with him, but evidently, it has. A shiver runs through you when he says it- sex. He's never brought it up so unambiguously before. It feels dirty, somehow, even though you've laid with him multiple times.

"I-"

"be honest, honey, okay?"

The earnest, gentle tone of his voice has your heart softening. He really is too pure for this world.

"I mean, I love the way we are now," you mutter, eyes focused on your lap as you pick at your nails, "you make me feel good"

Technically you aren't lying to him- you're just choosing to keep some things hidden. Dokyeom doesn't need to know that you've spent your nights thinking about his fingers buried deep inside you, forcing you to cum again and again until you're sobbing and shaking. He doesn't need to know you've been fantasizing about his arms, wondering how they'd feel pushing you down, leaving you helpless, completely at his mercy.

He's a nice guy, after all. They don't usually like stuff like that. And even if they think they like stuff like that, they don't have the stomach for it.

One stray teardrop and Dokyeom will be on his knees, apologizing profusely, crying along with you as he chastises himself.

"I'm not convinced," he sighs, shoulders slouching against his leather seats. "if this is about protecting my feelings-"

"no! no- not at all baby,"

"so tell me- I know you, I know when you've got something hidden away in that pretty head of yours"

Caught between a rock and a hard place, you find yourself in a bit of a dilemma. Should you be honest with him and take your chances? Or should you pacify him and convince him that plain old vanilla lovin' is all you need?

"I-"

"baby," he soothes, voice gentle, "I just wanna make sure I'm doing the best I can for you,"

A car passes you by, blaring loud pop music, and he breaks into a sheepish smile.

"there's a lot I didn't know before today- stuff that you knew about... so I just- I'm checking. If there's something you'd like me to do, someone you'd like me to be, I wanna try"

"oh,"

You stay silent for a bit, thinking over what to say. Sure, telling him that you're actually a submissive and you hate taking charge is simple, but the execution part leaves you tongue-tied. Someone as sweet and innocent as Dokyeom wouldn't be able to handle taking control.

Nothing against him, it's just that he's so cute and naive- there's no way he'd be able to restrain you and make you cry.

"there's one thing..." you mutter, voice so meek you're barely audible.

His ears perk up.

"y'know the dom-sub thing Hannie spoke about?"

"uhuh, one of us is in control and the other one listens,"

"yeah, I kinda, uh- I tend to lean towards being controlled rather than being in control"

"oh, we can do that if you like, baby" he chirps, twisting the steering wheel as he pulls into your apartment, "we can try whatever you want,"

There's a smile on his face- that same shining, star-studded gaze, eyes crinkling, teeth on full display- and you feel your heart sink.

You'll just have to make do with vanilla for the rest of your days.

The lift ride up is tense. You chew on your lower lip, tapping your heel impatiently against the ground as you move higher and higher, finally reaching your house.

Dokyeom keys in the passcode, unlocking the door, and you stumble inside, rushing to the bathroom for a bit of space.

Locking the door behind you, you stare at yourself in the mirror, worry etched in the crease of your forehead. Your face is beet red, pupils blown wide, and your throat feels dry.

All that talk about the bedroom has you feeling a little jumpier than usual and you can't help the way your brain automatically shifts to its usual Dokyeom fantasy- tied up helplessly in bed as he eats you out over and over, saying the filthiest things known to man.

God, the things you'd let him do to you...

His nose is built just right, bumping into your clit perfectly as he eats you out, tongue lapping up your arousal from your past orgasms. Those long, slim fingers would be splayed across your thighs, forcing your legs open, even when your body spasms, begging for an intermission.

'snap out of it- Christ' you tell yourself, shooing away any wandering thoughts as you unlock the door and head into your bedroom.

"everything okay, honey?"

You curse the universe when your eyes are greeted by his broad frame, standing by your dresser as he clicks his watch open, shaking it off his wrist in a few crisp motions.

"y-yeah I'm-" you cut yourself off when he begins to fold his shirtsleeves up, dragging the white fabric up around his elbow, putting his forearms on display. The way his veins frame the shape of his arms so perfectly, peeking out just enough, has you growing restless with desire, and you feel your face grow hot.

"baby?"

When you stay silent, he eyes you through the mirror, making sure you're still listening, and continues-

"I was thinking about what you said in the car, and I think we should give it a try"

Before you can stop it from happening, your lips part, letting a taunting laugh slip past them. Dokyeom halts his actions.

"why's that funny?"

"it's not! I just uh-" you nibble at your lower lip, trying desperately to conceal the smile perking up the corners of your lips, "I appreciate you saying that, but we really don't have to do things you won't be comfortable with,"

"how d'you know I won't be comfortable?"

You sigh, walking over to him.

"Kyeommie, you're a really great guy- you're sweet, you're kind, you're funny- and I love those things about you,"

"uhuh"

"it's just that you're too sweet, y'know? You won't be able to handle the stuff I'm into, baby"

His brows furrow, and he opens his mouth to speak, but you cut in, sugarcoating your words as much as you can.

"being nice isn't a bad thing at all, okay- don't get me wrong. I love you exactly as you are, so there's no need to make yourself uncomforta-"

"you think I can't do it, don't you?"

His voice is low, dripping with a kind of venom you've never heard from him before. You reach out, moving your hand to soothe over his shoulder, but he catches your wrist, pulling you into him.

"Dok-"

"I may be slow, I may not understand the things you do as easily" he sneers, his grip tightening, "but I know my way around your body-"

"I know I can make you feel good."

He inches closer, nose bumping against yours, and you let out a shaky sigh. Your heart thuds rapidly against your chest, banging against the confines of your ribs so noisily you're sure Dokyeom can hear it.

You've never heard him speak like this before, never seen his eyes flood with such darkness. The once glittering light in his pupils has now dimmed to a darker, lust-filled ocean, void of mercy.

The expanse of his broad shoulders shield you from the front, and a hand slides down your arm, resting at the curve of your back, trapping you in his hold.

"what is it that you want from me, hm?" he mumbles, angling your chin up towards his face, "want me to take control- be a little aggressive?"

Your breath catches, and you stare up at him, eyes wide. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd hear him talk this way, with his voice all low and mean. The way he holds you too, it's different from before. There's no gentle embrace, no tentative grip- no, he's sure right now. There's a certainty with which he holds you, a forcefulness he would've once been afraid of.

"tell me," he whispers as he walks you backward, heading for the bed, "tell me what you want and I'll make you feel good,"

With each step forward he takes in your direction, you take one back, staring up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. Is this really the same guy from two hours ago?

His gaze pierces through you, challenging you as if to say- 'try me, I dare you.' It's simultaneously intimidating, yet somehow exciting, and you feel a familiar heat spread in your lower belly.

Like some sort of predator, dead set on catching its prey, Dokyeom stalks toward you, moving further and further, until your calves make contact with the bed.

He smirks.

You've been caught.

"what's wrong, honey?" a faux pout graces his lips, "you were saying so much a minute ago-"

You gasp as he closes in, leaving no room for anything but your body and his. The hand on your face leaves your chin, and he traces a finger down your throat, stopping just below the divot of your collarbones, lingering over the hem of your dress.

There's an evil glint in his eye and you watch, waiting patiently to see what he does next.

"strip."

Certain you heard him wrong, you stay still, staring up at him dumbly.

"oh, we don't feel like listening today?" he quirks a brow at you, loosening his grip on your waist as he lets his hand travel up your back, "either you do it- or I'll do my fucking self."

On beat, he thumbs the zipper of your dress and tugs it down in one sharp motion, leaving you stunned. The fabric falls slack against your body, loosening at your neckline just enough to give Dokyeom a peek of what lies underneath.

He trails his finger down your clavicle, pushing your dress down to reveal the lacey surface of your bra- the fabric flimsy and transparent, letting your nipples poke through.

"someone's excited," he bites his lips, smirking down at your hardened nipples. "you wanna take this off for me, baby?"

His voice is raspy, taunting almost, and your body obeys, arms hastily undoing your bra as you shimmy out of your dress. You should feel embarrassed, getting naked so desperately like some sex-hungry nympho, but you don't.

The arousal pooling in between your legs is far too distracting to leave any room for humility or shame.

Dressed pooled at your ankles, bra tossed aside, you stand bare before him.

Teasingly, Dokyeom lets the pad of his extended finger trace down your chest as he leans in, lips ghosting over yours. Your eyes flutter closed and your lips part- ever so slightly- bracing for impact. You feel his breath fanning across your face as his presence nears, skin almost touching yours, before he sends a sharp tweak to your nipple, pulling away with a devilish grin.

Jolting at the sudden stimulation, you gasp, eyes opening wide. There's a current running down your body, stemming from the spot he abused seconds ago, and you feel it land in your clit.

You want to argue, to call him an idiot and tell him to kiss you proper- to quit teasing- but you know you like this. The way he's got you all figured out, the way he so effortlessly gets you to bend to his will, god this is what you've been waiting for.

"get on the bed."

The firmness of his voice tells you to bite your tongue and acquiesce, but there's something deep inside of you that wants to see how far you can push him.

"don't wanna"

He pauses for a second, looking into your eyes-

"do you actually want to stop or are you just being difficult?"

"the latter," you singsong, staring up at him with a challenge dancing behind your eyes.

There's a moment of silence as he prods his cheek with the tip of his tongue, taking in what you've just said. His blood boils at the mockery in your voice, eyes hardening to a cold brown.

"brat." he spits, clenching his jaw.

In one forceful motion, Dokyeom yanks you towards himself, lifting you up by the thighs before tossing you onto the mattress behind.

"baby-!" You can't help but squeal as he manhandles you effortlessly, showing you just how strong he really is. Your body lands with a dull thump on the bed, sinking deep into your duvet as he stares daggers into your sprawled out frame.

"sit still."

Dokyeom steps back, standing before you at the foot of the bed, and keeps his eyes on yours. A sly hand creeps up his neck, fingers weaving into the intricate knot of his tie, and he pulls it loose, tossing the silk fabric near your feet.

Undoing the top buttons of his shirt, his hand travels down to his belt, clicking the buckle open with ease. The metal comes apart in his hand, loosening with a single flick of his wrist, and you feel your mouth begin to water.

He looked sinful. With his sleeves rolled up- biceps straining through the fabric, the way his chest peeked out tauntingly through his shirt, how his eyes bore into yours, not breaking contact for an instant- it made you want to scream.

The sound of metal clanking pulls you from your thoughts, and you realise that he's shucked off his trousers, leaving himself in his CK black boxers and a partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Kyeommie," you pout, reaching an arm out towards him, "c'mere"

It takes every bit of his strength to keep himself from crumbling instantly, but he manages it with a firm shake of his head.

"thought I told you to stay still, hm?"

You frown, your pout still evident, and turn away with a huff.

"I'm taking this off, y'know," he teases, plucking open the buttons of his shirt, and you feel your attitude fade to dust as you turn back to him in an instant.

Who wouldn't? After all, he does have the body of a God.

As he undoes his last button, you're greeted by his sculpted torso, tanned to perfection.

Dokyeom smirks, ego inflating at your star-struck reaction as if you haven't seen him like before.

"every single time," he mutters, shaking his head in amusement.

Before long, the shirt is discarded to some remote corner of the room, and he stands before you, nearly bare.

"where were we..."

Grabbing your ankles, he tugs you down till your hips reach the foot of the bed. A startled gasp escapes you at his actions and he can't help but smirk.

"if tossing you around was all it took, you should've just asked, sweetheart"

Your cheeks burn red. Never once has he spoken to you like this- so direct, without scaffolding.

"makes me wonder what else you might like,"

Dokyeom brushes his fingertips up your legs, kneeling down to face your clothed cunt.

"I learned a lot today," he bites his lip, eyes fixed on the damp spot growing under your panties. "will you tell me which of all those you like or should I find out for myself?"

His gaze shifts to you, eyeing the flush on your cheeks, the scandalized widening of your eyes.

"I- I want-" you trail off, voice so small it makes him melt.

"I'm listening, honey, tell me what you want,"

That soft, silverish quality of his voice resurfaces, and you feel your body relax. He rubs slow circles into your thighs, trying his best to coax the words out of you, but you remain hesitant.

Embarrassed, rather.

You've never told anyone what you want from them so plainly, with nowhere to hide. You feel exposed in front of him for the first time in a while and the feeling excites you.

"don't stop." you murmur, unable to meet his gaze. "don't stop after just one... y'know-"

His eyes darken.

"oh I'm going to like this"

Deft fingers slide up your inner thighs, hooking under the last of your lingerie and pulling it apart, tearing the lace off of your body to reveal what Dokyeom wants most.

The most intimate part of you lies spread out all for him, glistening with arousal, and he has to suck in a breath to calm himself.

"don't- don't do that,"

"do what?" he asks, backing away slightly just in case you've changed your mind.

"try to control yourself like that- just don't hold back"

You breathe shakily before continuing- "I want to see how far you go-"

Something snaps within him, that final band of restraint finally tears apart, and he yanks you down onto his tongue, licking fervently at your cunt like this is the last time he gets to taste you.

Your lips part, letting breathy, helpless cries slip past, and Dokyeom knows he's doing well.

Despite the gusto with which he devours you, his movements are precise, practiced. It's exactly as he said earlier- he knows how to make you feel good. He knows your body.

He works his tongue against you, lapping at your clit without any care of hypersensitivity or overstimulation, pressing harder and harder into you as your legs spasm around him.

"wai- oh my god-" you moan, back arching up, hips lifting off the bed for a second, before Dokyeom pushes you back down firmly with his hand splayed across your lower belly.

Squirming helplessly under the force of his arm, your body tries to move away, to get just a little respite, but all in vain. He doesn't let you. The weight of one hand holds you secure, while the other cups the underside of your thighs- pushing your leg up as far as it can go.

With your legs spread out further, his assault on your clit feels even more direct, with each firm motion of his tongue sending shockwaves across your body, and you feel your muscles tighten, building up for release.

Dokyeom seems to have noticed too, and his lips curl up at the corners into a deeply satisfied smirk. You feel it against your skin.

"already?" he abashes, eyeing your tensed frame, "after all you said?"

"m'sorry- please, please can I-"

"can you?" he echoes.

"can I cum ple-please"

You've done this before- asked for permission before- but not with him. Never with him. Dokyeom's smirk only widens when he realises the power he now holds over you. To be able to deny one their right to pleasure is... exciting, to say the least. He certainly seems to enjoy it, considering the bulge growing in his boxers.

"mm, I didn't quite hear that honey, come again?" His voice is patronizing, mocking.

"please Kyeommie please let me cum"

Dokyeom's never thought of himself as a man who likes to abuse his power, but right now with the way you're begging? He wants to see just how much you can take before the seams begin to rip.

"no."

Your eyes fly open, jaw agape as your clit throbs under his tongue.

"w-what"

"you asked, I said no."

Now he knows he isn't being fair, he knows. But the tears welling up in your eyes have him entranced. There's this urge he has deep inside to see them all spill out and stain those pretty cheeks of yours.

"but-"

"are you gonna act up? 'cause that's not how you're getting what you want sweetheart"

Dokyeom's voice sends a chill down your spine. With the way his tongue abuses your clit, you're certain you won't be able to hold yourself back, not when your high is almost near.

You want to be good for him, you really do- but is this even fair? As he laps into you, nudging your sensitive nerves just right, your head tips back into the pillows and you moan out a string of profanities, getting completely lost in the pleasure he gives you.

He isn't happy.

"if you wanna cum that bad- I should give you more, hm? who am I to deny?"

You know very well from the tone of his voice what he's got planned.

Grabbing the tie- now dangling precariously off the bed- Dokyeom crawls over your spent frame, balancing his weight on his knees.

"gimme your hands."

Tentatively, you hold out your arms, pushing your wrists together.

"what are you do-"

"you know what I'm doing, sweetheart"

You do.

He pulls the fabric of his tie taut, looping it at your wrists before tying a firm knot to keep you from moving. The black silk, although soft to the touch, presses into your skin, and you hiss when he gives the fabric a sharp tug.

Dokyeom's eyes draw back to yours, and he grabs your wrists, pushing them up above your head.

"keep these here," he murmurs, gulping slightly when he notices how close your faces are.

Your eyes burn holes into each other's, and he sees something in your gaze that he hasn't before-

Hunger.

"Dokyeom," you breathe, chest rising shakily,

"kiss me"

Waiting no longer, he pushes his lips to yours, capturing the plush crimson in a slow, hard kiss. The way your lips mold so perfectly together, fitting into each other like pieces of a puzzle, makes this moment that much more meaningful.

When he touches you, when he kisses you, you know deep inside that this man is your forever. No one has or ever will make you feel so alive.

Dokyeom swallows your whimpers, your cries, as he slips his tongue into your mouth. It's sloppy and messy and desperate- but you love the way it feels, the way he feels.

Leaving your wrist, his hand comes down to cup your jaw, tilting your head back so he can kiss you harder, deeper.

"wa-wait-" you pant, feeling your lungs burn.

As you try to pull away, a deep growl emanates from within his throat, and he tugs you closer, unwilling to let go.

A surprised 'mm!' escapes your occupied lips, muffled by his own, and your body lights up- embers of red-hot desire scattering across your skin.

Dokyeom's own lungs beg him to move away, to breathe, but he holds still, stubborn as ever. You feel far too good. If this is how he dies, he'll go gladly.

The airy whimpers and gasps from you, however, finally get him to let go.

Your chest heaves as you gulp in precious breaths to soothe your lungs, as does his own. Staring up at him in shock, you manage to stutter out-

"where has that been all this time-"

He lets out an airy laugh, pressing a tender kiss to your jaw, trailing down your torso until he reaches your gushing sex.

"the hands stay up there- got that?"

You nod eagerly, holding your wrists up to show him, but you're quickly cut off by his tongue, pressing back into your clit.

"oh-"

Tracing slow figure eights into you, Dokyeom works his tongue deftly while his fingers prod at your entrance. With ease, he slips two long digits inside, pushing deep till your arousal trickles down his knuckles.

"Dok- oh fuck oh my god"

Each knuckle of his fingers adds further stimulation as he begins to pump in and out of you. Every time he draws back, you stretch to accommodate the balls of his joints and it feels divine.

You've always loved his hands. Those slender, long fingers were perfect for you, and the fact that his knuckles jut out at each joint only makes it all better.

The kinks in his fingers have your legs quivering, and his tongue- god his tongue- nudges your clit with the perfect amount of pressure.

Feeling your orgasm build at record speed, you moan, completely defenseless as Dokyeom slurps noisily at your sex while his fingers push up against that one particularly soft spot inside you.

"Kyeo-Kyeommie m'gonna-"

"that's it, sweetheart- just let go for Kyeommie"

With a sob, you feel your orgasm burn through you, twice as intense as the previous one, and your thighs quiver.

You're spent. You're spent and he's only made you cum twice.

Watching the way your muscles twitch from the weight of your orgasm, Dokyeom grins, feeling particularly proud.

Now usually, this is where it ends. His arms would slip out from under your thighs, and he'd kiss you sweetly, telling you how amazing you are. He'd check to see if you wanted him to make love to you, and if you agreed, he'd do exactly that.

Tonight, however, he stays firm in place, his mouth still connected to your cunt. Limbs still quivering, your eyes widen when he begins to move against you, barely giving you a second to catch your breath and recover.

Your body goes limp when he pokes his tongue against your over-sensitive clit, licking gentle yet firm stripes with precision. Each oscillation elicits the most delightful sound, just as a clock chimes with the motions of its gong.

All you can do is clutch the fabric of his tie, nails digging into your palms as your skin burns under his touch. Your nerves throb, pulsing in time with your heart, in time with his tongue.

"so good for me, honey," he mumbles into you, sliding his fingers back inside you in one fluid motion. Your back arches comically off the bed, mouth hanging open in a mix of shock and pleasure.

Once more, you find your belly rudely forced back down. Dokyeom narrows his eyes at you, irritation flashing behind his deep brown pupils, and keeps his hand there- splayed over your lower belly, pushing down with just enough pressure for his fingers to prod out from under your skin.

You gasp, feeling fuller somehow with the added force, feeling his fingers drag deeper against your walls. Within moments, your cunt clenches down around his digits, and he laughs in disbelief.

"again? baby c'mon you have a point to prove, don't you?"

Under any other circumstance, you would've bitten back, calling him some name, yelling some profanity- but now? Now you need him. You're so close, right on the edge of the water, ready to fall in, and only he can give you that last push. You know better than to open that smart mouth of yours right now.

"is this all it takes? y'know if you're gonna start off by being a brat- you gotta keep up with the act at least-"

"m'so-m'sorry-" you gasp, tugging against your restraints as you feel your high mere seconds away, "m'sorry please can I cum please I've been so good for you-"

Dokyeom nods, scissoring his fingers in and out of you more rapidly than before, and you cum with a scream, straining against the cloth binding your wrists as your orgasm rips through you like a whirlwind.

"that's my girl-" he sighs, placing a kiss to your inner thigh, while his fingers continue their movement inside you.

"Kyeom- oh- t-too much,"

Your cries fall on deaf ears, and he shoots you a sly grin.

It has been over an hour now, you're certain. Dokyeom's held you still and pulled orgasm after orgasm from you with his tongue, his fingers, both.

"p-please-" you whimper, tears streaming down your face as those long fingers slide into you once more.

"just one more, honey,"

Dokyeom presses tender kisses to your inner thighs- now wet with your slick- and pushes further into you.

"just one more for me, hm? you can do that for me, can't you baby?"

You nod, small sobs wracking your body. Of course you'll do this for him. You'll do anything for him. Plus, you can't say you aren't enjoying this-

"that's my girl."

[alightinthelantern]

Movies on Youtube:

Brief Encounter (1945, David Lean)

Opening Night (1977, John Cassavetes)

Close Up (1990, Abbas Kiarostami)

Taste of Cherry (1997, Abbas Kiarostami)

The Song of Sparrows (2008,  Majid Majidi)

Russian Ark (2002, Alexander Sokurov)

Dreams (1990, Akira Kurosawa)

Dersu Uzala (1975, Akira Kurosawa)

The Idiot (1951, Akira Kurosawa)

Drunken Angel (1948, Akira Kurosawa)

Tokyo Story (1953, Yasujirō Ozu)

Early Summer (1951, Yasujirō Ozu)

Late Spring (1949, Yasujirō Ozu)

The Flavor of Green Tea over Rice (1952, Yasujirō Ozu)

Good Morning (1959, Yasujirō Ozu)

An Autumn Afternoon (1962, Yasujirō Ozu)

Sword for Hire (1952, Inagaki Hiroshi)

Rebecca (1940, Alfred Hitchcock)

Thunderbolt (1929, Josef von Sternberg)

Larceny (1948, George Sherman)

Among the Living (1941, Stuart Heisler)

Andrei Rublev (1966, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Mirror (1975, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Solaris (1972, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Ivan’s Childhood (1962, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972, Werner Herzog)

Fitzcarraldo (1982, Werner Herzog)

Medea (1969, Pier Paolo Pasolini)

Medea (filmed stageplay)

Is It Easy To Be Young? (1986, Juris Podnieks)

We'll Live Till Monday (1968, Stanislav Rostotsky)

Ordinary Fascism (aka Triumph Over Violence) (1965, Mikhail Romm)

Battleship Potemkin (1925, Sergei Eisenstein)

The Third Man (1949, Carol Reed)

Johnny Come Lately (1943, William K. Howard)

Mister 880 (1950, Edmund Goulding)

Beethoven’s Eroica (2003, Simon Cellan Jones)

Katyn (2007, Andrzej Wajda)

Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004, Brad Silberling)

Mean Girls (2004, Mark Waters)

The Neverending Story (1984, Wolfgang Petersen)

The NeverEnding Story II: The Next Chapter (1990, George T. Miller)

The Thief and the Cobbler (Richard Williams)

Osmosis Jones (2001, myriad directors)

Megamind (2010, Tom McGrath)

Ghost in the Shell (1995, Mamoru Oshii)

Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence (2004, Mamoru Oshii)

Steamboy (2004, Katsuhiro Otomo)

Badlands (1973), Terrence Malick

Wargames (1983, John Badham)

By the White Sea (2022, Aleksandr Zachinyayev)

White Moss (2014, Vladimir Tumayev)

The Theme (1979, Gleb Panfilov)

The Duchess (2008, Saul Dibb)

Bed and Sofa (1927, Abram Room)

Fate of a Man (1959, Sergei Bondarchuk)

Ballad of a Soldier (1959, Grigory Chukhray)

Uncle Vanya (1970, Andrey Konchalovskiy)

An Unfinished Piece for Mechanical Piano (1977, Nikita Mikhalkov)

Family Relations (1981, Nikita Mikhalkov)

The Seagull (1970, Yuli Karasik)

My Tender and Affectionate Beast (1978, Emil Loteanu)

Dreams (1993, Karen Shakhnazarov & Alexander Borodyansky)

The Vanished Empire (2008, Karen Shakhnazarov)

Winter Evening in Gagra (1985, Karen Shakhnazarov)

Day of the Full Moon (1998, Karen Shakhnazarov)

Zero Town (1989, Karen Shakhnazarov)

The Girls (1961, Boris Bednyj)

The Diamond Arm (1969, Leonid Gaidai)

Operation Y and Shurik's Other Adventures (1965, Leonid Gaidai)

Ivan Vasilievich Changes Profession (1973, Leonid Gaidai)

Unbelievable Adventures of Italians in Russia (1974, Eldar Ryazanov & Franco Prosperi)

Office Romance (1977, Eldar Ryazanov)

Carnival Night (1956, Eldar Ryazanov)

Hussar Ballad (1962, Eldar Ryazanov)

Kin-dza-dza! (1986, Georgiy Daneliya)

The Most Charming and Attractive (1985, Gerald Bezhanov)

Autumn (1974, Andrei Smirnov)

War and Peace: Part 1 (1966, Sergei Bondarchuk)

War and Peace: Part 2 (1966, Sergei Bondarchuk)

War and Peace: Part 3 (1967, Sergei Bondarchuk)

War and Peace: Part 4 (1967, Sergei Bondarchuk)

The Red Tent (first half) (1969, Mikhail Kalatozov)

The Red Tent (second half) (1969, Mikhail Kalatozov)

Sherlock Holmes: The Hound of the Baskervilles (1939, Sidney Lanfield)

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1939, Alfred L. Werker)

Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror (1942, John Rawlins)

Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon (1943, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes in Washington (1943, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes Faces Death (1943, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Spider Woman (1944, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Scarlet Claw (1944, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Pearl of Death (1944, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The House of Fear (1945, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Woman in Green (1945, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: Pursuit to Algiers (1945, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: Terror by Night (1946, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: Dressed to Kill (1946, Roy William Neill)

If any of the links don’t work, try looking up the film in this playlist: link

[wonryllis]

𝜗𝜚 'OH' I LOVE LOVE HER?

╰ 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗎𝗇.

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. enhypen realizing it's you 𖥔 ݁ rom-fluff, kinda poetic? LIB? fem!reader requested word count ` 1945

꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ love how this turned out!! <3. unedited!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

he doesn't know much about love, he's never really experienced it yet. he has fallen for conventional and unconventional things, things that compliment and things that complete, he's been through the good phases and stuck through bad ones, he held on to things he shouldn't and let go of things he should.

there are a lot of lessons he has learned along every relationship he has been in the lines of yet lee heeseung doesn't believe he's ever been in love until he has been with you.

it wasn't something he knew he felt, but it was surely something he realized in the spur of a moment, in a split second of epiphany. he knew what he felt for you was something deep when he realized that yes he wouldn't hesitate to die for you, but what he wants is to live for you. it's easy to be the first to go but to hold your strength through everything and survive for someone, that is definitely love is what heeseung believes.

"baby, baby calm down i'm okay," he reassures your crying and frantic figure as you scan his injuries, ones he got from trying to protect you from a fatal fall. perhaps it was the situation or perhaps it was realisation of it all.

when he jumped to saved you all he could think about was he'd give his life if it meant you lived, but in this moment he cannot bear to see you so devastated, to think he could've left you like this? no, he's decided he is never going to do it until he can't help it and even then he'd fight to stay with his love.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆

he has lived his life prioritizing his family over everything else. to him nothing can go above and beyond familial love. he doesn't really believe he can love anyone anything like he loves his family and that is a statement of disappointed in itself. if there's anything he wants to give his best for it's people who have stuck with him since day one.

bonds need to tested by time is the belief he holds dear until his world crashes into yours and time changes from something that defines to something that builds. his relationship with yours is not as long as people he's close to but however long you have spent together seems to strengthen and augment the bond.

his love for you settles into an understanding of his when finds you running through days and nights in the hospital caring for his family after a big blow. a choice to choose, not an obligation to carry out. a crack in his notions you give him a new definition of love.

"y/n? baby come on go and freshen up, i'll watch over mom," his hand rests on your head, soft caresses to wake you up after the long night you spent sitting beside his mother while he ran around for paperwork.

as you leave the room in a rush wanting to come back quickly and take his place so that he can get his rest, jay finds himself seeing you in a new light, telling his mother that he's found an angel. the angel she always told him about, the angel he loves.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍

he has spent years jumping from person to person, reveled and basked in moments of happiness and run away amidst the weights of problems. there is a price to pay for everything and love is no exception but he has yet to accept the fact of reality, the thorns that come along with the scent and beauty of roses.

love gives and love takes, love heals and love hurts. it takes several trials and a meeting with you for jake to understand that.

to him it is a conscious decision, a hard hit and an opening of eyes when he realizes you're the one for him. he has never made it work until you, coming to the conclusion in the middle of the worst argument that you're worth all the trouble. and if wants to have you by his side, he needs to fix this and he needs to cherish you.

he can see himself with you for the rest of his life, one single person he is willing to fight for. for jake sim you are a sphere of acceptance, you redefine love and endurance for him.

"one day we're gonna have kids together and i want them to see that daddy really loves mommy, i'll change for the better i promise," jake's voice softens as he hits the big realization, getting down on his knees, tears falling free. your arms slip around him in a hug and jake swears he'll do all it takes to become the one for you, he'll do all it takes to make this worth it, he'll do all it takes to have you stay. because he's found the one he loves, the one he wants to be his best for.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

he has always felt a gaping hole in his chest, a feeling of homesickness even when he is home, a feeling of vanity even when he shines bright soaring through all the achievement of his dreams. to him there's something that's always missing.

no he has never thought of love but he has never despised it either. he doesn't dwell on the possibilities of it but the absence and lack of them. until you enter his life completing him like a perfect piece of puzzle, a missing piece of him.

he realizes his love for you in bits and moments of warmth, slowly step by step as you fill the void. from helping him through his hard times and cheering him on in his good ones, sunghoon finds his home in you, a walk so long but finally arriving at it's destiny, where it's always been meant to be.

perhaps he's always longed for love and never understood it. nevertheless, park sunghoon finds it in his moments of mundanity with you. you teach him the power of the presence of love.

"my little charmie, loved your pretty banner," sunghoon leaves a wet kiss on your lips, arms going around your waist as he comes rushing to you a second after winning the championship, cameras all panned on the champion of the season but all he can see is you. you feel like a warm hug on a rainy day, a blanket of comfort near the fireplace. all the anxiety he ever felt, the pressure to be on the top, you took it all and turned it into something beautiful and enjoyable.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎

he has grown up surrounded and so bathed in love, he thinks he knows it all, he has seen it all. every version of love, and everything that exists in between. so confident he'd know it instantly, the one for him, the love of his life.

but love takes time and love find it's loopholes. someone that evokes no romantic feelings could become everything in just a turn of events. kim sunoo never believed or cared to understand that until he felt that something for you. that little upturn of sparkles and butterflies, that intense emotion kindling in his heart when he sees you in a new ambience. a single moment of revelation when he's staring at you talk about things that you love, things that he doesn't like but suddenly he doesn't mind hearing about it.

he knows he hasn't felt this way before for you, there's something different and that difference makes him rethink his entire relationship with you. you become so important to him in a split moment, love so familiar and calm yet unfamiliar and exciting.

"go on i'm listening," sunoo has his head on his hands, eyes shaped crescents, a gaze so loving anyone can see how he feels, so transparent.

the tiny flowers behind you would look so pretty on you, no- you look so much prettier than the flowers, your voice is so pretty, the way your lips move, the way your eyes light up, has sunoo always loved hearing about legos? no. has he always loved listening to you? he doesn't know but he could hear you talk forever.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍

he is one who sees love in everything around. the little things and the big things. in the light and in the dark. in memories of the past and in possibilities of the future. there is not a specific instance where he realizes his feelings. to him you are the premonition of love. he knew it from the very moment he met you that you are the one he is going fall in love with. that inner instinct that instantly sparked up when you entered his life.

every day and every second it grows, it piles up, it escalates. the weight of life and the wings of love you make everything easier. one who has always given meeting one who gives back to him.

overwhelmed in an ocean of new eternal verities, a feeling so mad, blind and passionate he finds himself wanting to be bound to you by his every bone. if there's a forever then he wants to spend it with you taking walks by the river, watching the lantern festival with a smile on your faces, so sick in love it makes everyone else sick.

"i wish this wish comes true," jungwon whispers to himself as he watches you walk ahead of him, turning back time and again to tell him how far your lit lantern made with a pretty little smile on your face. he wants to see this everyday, every morning, every night till however long he can and if possible even in his afterlife and all the lives that come ahead.

to be the one to be chosen by you because he for one will always choose you in all forms of reality and at every chance,"baby wait up for me, let's go together!" hand in hand all along.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈

he has always found himself struggling to express his emotions, words and actions alike. something so inherent in him, he can't seem to overcome it. the sheer desperation to get his feelings through to someone, he's never felt it. he hasn't ever felt the need to feel it. to connect so closely with another is not something he has ever been comfortable with or wanted to be comfortable with.

until you happened and riki's world went through a turmoil of sentiments, wrecking him from inside so intensely he could never go back to before. love is something he has never experienced and something he could never fathom.

it just never made sense to him, how one could feel so much solely for another. but in moments of his silence where you struggled to understand it all, he realized the importance, the willingness to learn to express his feelings.

your tears and your smiles he wanted to be the one to comfort and the one you showed your happiness to. the one you love and the one he loves.

"i've never said this before but you are so special to me, what i feel for you is something i've never felt for anyone else and i don't wanna lose you by not letting you know that. i'm wanna learn to show you that again and again,"

riki smiles through his tears letting himself be vulnerable before you, as you hold the little handmade gift he got. your own tears threatening to fall while you nod vigorously reaching forward to let him know it'll all be okay.

TAGLIST ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @nanabbg @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Can you do a Bucky x hydra oc fic

They were engaged in the forties but out of the blue hydra agents kidnapped her and conditioned her to be a winter soldier with powers like Wanda but her powers are purple

Years go by the avengers break into a hydra base and run into y/n Bucky recognizes her immediately however y/n doesn’t both soldiers go head to head until Bucky sedates her and then brings her back to the tower.

Weeks go by with Bucky trying to get her to remember one day he loses his tags she comes across it and suddenly she gets her memory back and runs through the facility looking for him and tells him that she remembers him and them and tells him she still wants to marry him and it ends in smut

Found My Way Back To You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Fiancée/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Fiancée/Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky were engaged in the 1940s and finds you’re alive and he gets you back to the Avengers Compound safe and sound and does everything he can to get you to remember him and you eventually find your way back to him.

Warnings: Fluff, little bit of Angst, Smut ending (18+), language, HYDRA, flashbacks, crying, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, praise kink, Bucky’s dog tags, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

A/N #2: The reader is another Winter Soldier and she has powers like Wanda. Flashbacks are in italic text.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

1945

You woke up to the sound of movement. You got out of bed to check it out. You opened the bedroom door and stepped out in the hallway, cautiously walking towards the living room. You poked your head around the corner to see men dressed in black looking for something. You quickly went back to your bedroom and hid in the closet and put your hand over your mouth. They must’ve heard you somehow, because they made their way to your bedroom and broke down the door. They looked around the room and under the bed. One of the men stopped in front of the closet door and pressed his ear against it, hearing the sound of whimpers. He opened it and pulled you out of the closet. You kicked and screamed, doing everything you could to get away from them. You yelped when a needle pricked your neck. Within a few seconds, your eyes fluttered shut and your body went limp.

A few hours later, you woke up strapped to a chair in what it seems to be some kind of lab. One of the guards noticed and alerted everyone else in Russian. A man approached you and crouched down in front of you.

“Welcome to HYDRA.” The man said in Russian. “You’re going to be our newest experiment.” He says.

Before you could kick, scream, or protest, a scientist put an IV in your arm that had some kind of blue liquid in it. That’s when all of the pain began.

PRESENT DAY

Bucky walked up and down the hallways of the HYDRA base with his gun held in front of him and checking every corner and room. He thought everything was clear, but he was wrong. He got caught off guard and thrown into a wall. He groaned and stood up, reaching for his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You say.

Bucky froze in place. He knows that voice. It’s a voice from someone he was very close to in the 1940s. He hasn’t heard that voice in years. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He turned around slowly so he can see the person. His eyes went wide and his breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t believe what- who he was seeing. His fiancée from the 1940s is standing a few feet away from him.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know who the hell Y/N is.” You slightly tilted your head. “What I do know is that you’re not supposed to be here, Soldat.” You say.

Bucky’s heart broke in a million pieces and he cringed when you called him Soldat. He hasn’t been called that in a while.

“Y/N, please…” He pleads. “It’s me. Bucky. Your Bucky.” He says.

Bucky stepped forward, getting closer to you, which was probably a mistake cause that got him thrown against the wall again. Bucky groans and stood up.

“Alright, doll…” Bucky sighs. “You want to fight, we’ll fight.” He says.

Bucky watched a purple ball of light glow in your hand and your eyes glowing purple. He knew this wasn’t going to end well, but he might as well give it his all.

You threw the purple energy blasts at him. He dodged every one of them and got closer to you as he did so. He managed to grab one of your wrists, which probably wasn’t a smart thing for him to do cause he got blasted through a door into a room. Bucky groaned and looked around, trying to gather his surroundings.

“You should just give up now, Soldat.” You walked in the room. “Just face it, you’re not as strong as you used to be, even with the metal arm.” You say.

“I’m not giving up.” Bucky stood up. “I’m just getting started.” He says.

Bucky seen something from the corner of his eye. He glanced over at the table and seen a syringe filled a sedative. That’s when an idea popped into his head. Bucky is going to attempt to pin you down and inject you with the sedative.

Bucky approached you, dodging your blasts each time. When he finally got to you, he tackled you to the floor. You didn’t let that stop you. You put up a fight. He wrapped his vibranium arm around you, pinning your arms down to your sides. He stood up with you squirming in his arms.

“Let me go!” You demanded, trying to squirm out of his strong grip.

Bucky ignored your pleads to let you go. His right hand took the cap off of the needle of the syringe and picked it up.

“I’m sorry, doll.” He apologizes before injecting you with the sedative.

A yelp left your lips when the needle pricked your arm. After a few seconds, your eyes fluttered shut and your body went limp in Bucky’s arms.

Bucky threw the syringe somewhere in the room and eased you down to the floor. He moved your hair from your face to get a good look at you. He felt his eyes tear up as he looked at you.

“What did they do to you, my sweet doll?” Bucky asks in a whisper, his voice cracking.

Bucky picked you up bridal style and carried you to the quinjet. He was met by Steve and Natasha at where they came in the base.

“What took you so- who’s that?” Natasha asks when she seen you in Bucky’s arms.

“I’ll explain later.” Bucky says.

Steve got a good look at your face when Bucky laid you down somewhere comfortable in the quinjet. He immediately knew who you are.

“Is this Y/N?” Steve asks Bucky.

“Yes.” Bucky answers, not taking his eyes off of you.

“What- how-” Steve couldn’t figure out what question he wanted to ask first.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Bucky says.

When everyone got back to the compound, Bucky’s first priority was you. He got you cleaned up and put comfortable clothes on you that Natasha and Wanda provided for you. Then Bucky sat next to his bed and waited for you to wake up.

You woke up after a couple hours. You looked around the unfamiliar room, trying to gather your surroundings. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you tried to figure out where you are.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Bucky says softly.

You turned your head and seen Bucky sitting in a chair next to the bed.

“Who are you and where am I?” You asked.

“I’m Bucky, your fiancée. You’re in the Avengers Compound.” Bucky answers.

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t have a fiancée.” You threw the blankets off of you and got out of bed. “You’re the Winter Soldier and you drugged me and brought me to whatever this place is.” You say, looking around the room.

“What- no.” He stood up from the chair. “I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.” He tells you. “I didn’t drug you. I just sedated you so I can get you out of there.” He explains softly.

Bucky slowly approached you so he didn’t scare you. You walked backwards till your back hit the wall behind you.

“Doll, I’m not going to hurt you.” He assures softly.

“Don’t come any closer!” Your eyes glowed purple. “Get away from me!” You shouted.

“Ok, ok.” He puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ll give you some space.” He says.

Bucky left his room to give you the space you needed. He sighed loudly as he entered the lounge room where all of the Avengers are.

“Does she remember you?” Steve asks Bucky.

“No.” Bucky sat down on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s like I never existed to her.” He says.

Steve put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Who is that girl?” Natasha asks.

“My fiancée.” Bucky answers.

Everyone in the room had surprised looks on their faces, except Steve. He already knew about you since you two are friends and grew up in the same time period as him and Bucky.

Bucky spent the day trying to figure out how to get you to remember him. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, but he wants you to know that he’s your fiancée. He was in the conference room and was supposed to be filling out paperwork from the mission he saved you from, but he was too lost in his thoughts. He didn’t even hear Steve and Natasha walk in the room.

“Bucky…” Steve says, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up at him and Natasha.

“Me and Steve were doing some research on your fiancée and found something you might want to see.” Natasha says, handing Bucky the tablet she had in her hands.

Bucky took the tablet from her and read the information on you they had found on you. WINTER SOLDIER 2.0 EXPERIMENT was in bold, black, italic, capital letters.

“They were trying to make her a Winter Soldier.” Bucky says out loud, looking at Steve and Natasha.

“Keep reading.” Steve tells him.

Bucky kept reading and came across a note.

1945- Subject was found in her home in Brooklyn, New York. She will be the next experiment to be tested be a Winter Soldier.

Something about that note set Bucky off. He dropped the tablet on the table with and ran his fingers through his hair with teary eyes.

“No, no, no.” Bucky whispers to himself as a couple tears rolled down his cheeks. “This can’t be true.” He says, not wanting to believe it.

Bucky stood up from his seat and went to find you. He didn’t have to look long and hard. You were in the same room you were in when he brought you to the compound, his bedroom.

You jumped at the sound of the door opening and closing. Your eyes glowed purple and a purple ball of light glowed in your hand to defend yourself if it’s danger.

“Hey, hey.” Bucky coos softly. “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you.” He assures. “I just want to talk if that’s ok with you.” He says.

You stared at him for a few silent seconds before agreeing to talk to him. Bucky sat on his bed and patted the spot next to him. You hesitated before sitting down.

“I’m going to tell you something, but I don’t want you to freak out, ok?” He says.

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m Bucky, your fiancée. Your name is Y/N.” He starts. “We were in a relationship in the 1940s, but our time together got cut short because of something that happened to me when I was in the Army in 1945.” He explains.

You sat there, listening to him, but everything he’s saying doesn’t ring a bell to you.

“Does any of that sound familiar?” He asks.

“No.” You answered.

“Try thinking about it. It’ll come to you.” He says.

Bucky put his right hand on top of one of your hands. You jerked it away and moved further up the bed as a force of habit.

“Sorry.” You mumbled. “I do that when people touch me.” You say.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I get it.” He says understandingly.

You two sat in silence with at least a foot of distance in between the two of you for a few minutes.

“Why are you trying to get me to remember things I don’t remember?” You asked.

“We have history together.” He says.

“But I don’t know you.” You say.

You saying that felt like someone ripped Bucky’s heart out of his chest and crushed it in their bare hands. Bucky let out a shaky breath before standing up and left his room, giving you time to yourself.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky does everything he can to get you to remember him. He showed you pictures of you and him together, but nothing still doesn’t ring a bell to you. It’s breaking Bucky’s heart even more. He gets so upset that he takes it out on the punching bags in the gym.

Meanwhile, you were wandering around the compound, but you kept getting lost. You were still trying to adjust to being there. You heard panting and grunting noises coming from the gym. You walked in the gym to see Bucky working out. Bucky seen you from the corner of his eye and looked over at you, stopping what he was doing.

“You ok?” Bucky asks as he approaches you.

“Yea. I was walking around and heard noises in here.” You say.

“I was just working out.” He tells you.

“Oh ok.” You say.

Bucky walked past you to go to his bedroom to take a shower. You were about to leave the gym, but you caught a glimpse of something shiny on the floor. You walked over to it and picked it up. It was a necklace. Not just any kind of necklace. It was Bucky’s Army dog tags.

When Bucky was getting dressed after his shower, he noticed something off. As he was looking in the mirror, he quickly noticed that his dog tags weren’t around his neck. The only time he takes them off is when he takes showers.

“No…” Bucky says to himself.

Bucky looked on the sink counter in the bathroom, in and on his dresser and nightstand, his bed, the pants he wore, his jacket pockets, but he couldn’t find them. Meanwhile, you were still looking at Bucky’s dog tags. You weren’t sure what it was, but something them was familiar. That’s when a familiar voice echoed in your head.

“The 107th, Sergeant James Barnes.” The voice says.

That’s when you recognized the name on the dog tags. Your memories started flowing back in your mind like a broken dam. Then you ran through the compound, looking for Bucky. You looked everywhere, but couldn’t find him. Finally, you went to the floor where his room is. You knocked on his bedroom door rapidly till he opened it.

“Now’s not really-” Bucky got interrupted.

“I found your dog tags.” You gave them to him. “I remember.” You tell him.

“You remember? Oh my god, doll! That’s amazing!” He exclaims happily.

Bucky stepped aside, allowing you to walk in his room. You took a seat on the edge of his bed. He sat down next to you.

“I want you to know that I never forgot about you.” He tells you. “You’ve been on my mind everyday. I never stopped loving you.” He says.

He lifted his right hand to gently caress your cheek and rubbed his thumb against your skin. You leaned into his touch and looked deep in his blue eyes.

“Bucky…” You almost whisper.

“What is it, doll?” He asks, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I still want to get married.” You tell him. “I want to marry you.” You say.

A smile grew on Bucky’s face. He leaned in and kissed you passionately. You melted against his lips. The last time you and Bucky kissed was when he left for the Army. It felt so good to have his lips on yours again. He pulled away, still looking deep in your eyes.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say those words.” Bucky says.

He kissed you again. This time, he gently laid you back on his bed and got on top of you, hovering over you. Your hands grasped onto his t-shirt, pulling him closer to you.

“I missed you.” You say against his lips.

“I missed you more.” He says softly.

Your hands found their way to the bottom of his t-shirt and tugged on it, indicating that you wanted him to take it off. Bucky quickly understood and sat up on his knees. He took his shirt off and threw it somewhere in the room.

For a moment, Bucky was worried that you were going to say something about his vibranium arm and his scars, but you didn’t. You seen both, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing it up.

Bucky’s hands found their way to the bottom of your shirt. He looked up at you for permission before going any further. You nodded your head yes, giving him the ok. He took your shirt off and preceded to do the same thing with your pants, but paused and waited for permission again. You gave him permission by lifting your hips. He slid your pants does your legs and dropped them on the floor.

You placed a hand on Bucky’s abdomen, gently pushing him back a little so you could sit up. You unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped the zipper of his jeans while maintaining eye contact and biting your bottom lip. Bucky noticed that same innocent look you always have in your eyes when you two are about to have sex. He loves that look.

Bucky got off the bed to take his jeans off and then got on then bed, hovering over you. He leaned his head down to place soft kisses along your shoulders. His right hand found its way to your back. You arched your back so he could unclasp your bra, exposing your breasts to him.

“You’re still gorgeous as the day I met you.” Bucky says softly.

You couldn’t help but blush. His compliments always made you blush.

Bucky’s hands made their way to the waistband of your panties. He hooked his fingers on the waistband and pulled them down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to him. He was still in his boxers. Your hands roamed his perfectly sculpted body, stopping just above the waistband of his boxers. You hooked your fingers in the waistband and tugged on them. Bucky chuckled softly at your eagerness before taking them off.

You couldn’t help but look at his cock, gasping softly when you seen how big he is. You didn’t know he was that big. Partly due to the Super Soldier serum that enhanced his appearance and features.

Bucky gave you a soft kiss on your lips before lining his cock at your entrance. He slowly slid it in your pussy, halting his movements when he heard you gasp.

“Are you ok, babydoll?” Bucky asks softly.

“Mhmm, yea.” You hummed, nodding your head.

Bucky continues to slowly slide his cock inside of you. When he was fully inside of you, he gave you a moment to adjust to his size since it’s been a long time since you two have had sex.

“You can move.” You gave him permission. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.” You say.

Bucky gave you a soft smile and a kiss before he started thrusting. His thrusts were slow and loving. Even though you said not to hold back, he still wanted to take it easy on you. You two used to have a fun sex life before he left for the Army. This time is different. All Bucky wanted to do is make love to you.

You spread your legs wider to give Bucky more access. One of Bucky’s hands found its way to your thigh, giving it a rub before lifting your leg and placing it on his hip.

“James…” You moaned softly.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head to the side. Bucky softly kissed along your neck. His teeth lightly grazed your skin, making you gasp softly. He bit down hard enough for a hickey. He did t once more before going back to focusing on your pleasure.

Bucky always took your pleasure seriously. He always wants you to feel good. To make it more loving and romantic, his hands found their way to yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. You looked up at him with a loving look on your face. Bucky had the same look on his face.

Bucky leaned his forehead against your shoulder, nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck. The stubble of his beard poked and scratched your skin. You can’t remember the last time Bucky had a beard or stubble, but you sure as hell know that you love it.

“I love you, babydoll.” Bucky breathes. “So fucking much.” He says.

“I love you too, James.” You moaned.

Your pussy fluttered around his cock when his cock hit your sweet spot. A loud moan of his name left your lips. Your moans encouraged him to thrust a little faster. Bucky loves it when you call him by his first name.

You turned your head just enough to kiss along his neck. Your teeth nipped on his skin hard enough for a hickey. Bucky moans at the feeling. He used to love it when you give him hickeys. He still loves it. It’s been so long that he almost forgot what it felt like.

Bucky’s right hand left your hand to rub your clit. Your hips bucked against his hand at the feeling. Your mouth fell open, breathy moans left your lips. You didn’t know how long you’re going to last with the way he’s rubbing your clit and the way he’s making love to you.

“James, I’m-” A moan left your lips before you could finish your sentence.

“Cum for me, doll. I’m close too.” Bucky says panting.

His name fell from your lips as you came. Bucky came not too long after you. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He gave you a passionate kiss before pulling out and laying down next to you. He pulled you close to him with his arms wrapped around you protectively and covered the two of you up with a blanket. You laid your head on his chest and played with his dog tags.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky whispers after a few minutes.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You say, smiling up at him.

“Just know, I’m going to give the wedding you’ve been dreaming about.” He says.

“You’re the best.” You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips sweetly.

“I know I am.” He says, smiling against your lips.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[kat651]

touch starved (Bucky x reader)

warnings: none, pure fluff.

word count: 1473

Everyone lives au

Bucky had been dating you for almost a year now and he hasn't given you much physical contact except for the occasional holding of hands. Even his kisses, though sweet, were always short but passionate. You hadn't pushed it, figuring he just wasn't big on physical touch. Which was hard for you since touch was something you loved. You got your hugs and snuggles elsewhere though. Thor, and Steve didn't mind prolonged hugs. Thor was huge on touch, and always knew when you needed a hug. And Nat was your go to for cuddles. You'd cuddle Thor if both you and him were single but you weren't and it would be weird for you to do so, also it wouldn't be the most appropriate thing either. And Morgan! Morgan saw you as a big sister, she loved to watch movies with you while snuggling up in your lap. 

At first Tony would tell Morgan to leave you be, but you immediately told Tony that you didn't mind at all. Morgan was a little snuggle bug, which you needed. 

Bucky sat on the couch, watching tv, well he had it on but he didn't really care for the film he was just wondering how on earth to tell you that he was craving touch. He had been since he got his mind back, but why would anyone want to snuggle up to an x assassin/ murderer?

“Something bothering you Buck?” Steve asked, sitting down on the couch.

Bucky sighed, “i- i just… i don't know how to tell y/n that i…” bucky looked away. “Nevermind it's dumb.”

“Bucky what is it?” 

Bucky sighed. “I… I feel empty…”

“Empty?” Dr. Strange asked, sitting. “Empty how?”

Bucky sighed, he knew that Strange was the one person he couldn't argue with. “I…it's rather personal…”

Dr. Strange used his magic to make his lips zip closed. Bucky sighed but knew he'd have to speak eventually… “I don't know, I guess I just feel almost… cold inside… like a warmth is missing…" Bucky paused. “I don't know why i feel this way, y/n has never made me feel like she doesnt care i just…” 

Bucky paused as you walked in with Morgan on your shoulders. “Have you guys seen Tony?” you asked. 

“He’s in the lab with Bruce.” Steve said. 

“Ok. thanks Steve.” you said turning and walking back out.

“I want that…” bucky said, pointing to where you had been moments earlier. 

“You want to ride around on y/n’s shoulders? Buck no offense but I think you'd break her back, you're too big." Steve said.

Bucky growled. “No, I want her to.. To…” bucky mumbled the rest of his sentence under his breath. 

“What?”

Bucky sighed. “I want her touch… you know, her to curl up against my side like Morgan does with y/n… i… i don't know why, i don't-”

“It sounds like your touch starved…” Strange said. “When's the last time you've hugged someone for longer than ten seconds? 

“1945.” Bucky said without even having to think. “I haven't danced since then either…”

Strange frowned. “Yeah, if you want that empty and cold feeling to go away you're gonna need to let her hold you.” he said before standing and walking off. “Wong's calling. I have to take this…”

Bucky frowned. “What so I'm just supposed to go up to her and say ‘hold me’ like I'm some baby. No thanks…”

“What are we talking about?” nat asked, plopping down on the couch. 

“Buck's too scared to tell y/n he needs a hug.” Steve teased.

Bucky punched Steve, “I will kill you.”

Nat chuckled. “Then don't tell her, just randomly come up behind her and hug her. Don't tell anyone but that's what Bruce does every morning. If he doesn't randomly hug me I know he's angry about something…”

Bucky thought about this as Nat and Steve got a call for a mission. 

“Tonight’s movie night, you can snuggle up to her for over an hour!” Steve shouted as he ran out of the room behind nat. 

Bucky smiled and stood before heading to Bruce’s lab. He decided he was going to try the surprise hug from behind thing on you.

When he arrived in the lab you were braiding Morgan's hair as she sat in a chair. Bucky smiled, Pepper had asked you to watch her one time during the blip and now wherever you went Morgan was almost always following you. If she wasnt that was probably because she was with her ‘big brother’ peter. Bucky also knew that Morgan was a little shy around him. Which didn’t surprise him, Bucky was tall, quiet, and muscular and his arm was made completely of metal. 

Bucky waited for Morgan to go over to Tony before wrapping you in a surprise hug. 

You shook your head. “Thor, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that?’ you turned and a smile spread across your face. “Oh hey bucky…” you pressed a kiss on Bucky's cheek. “Hi…” you whispered, leaning back so you were even closer to him. “What did you do?”

“What?” 

“Bucky you only hug me after you've done something you regret. What did you do?”

Bucky turned you around so you were facing him. “I honestly just wanted a hug this time…ok?”

You let your head fall on Bucky's shoulder. “Ok…”

Morgan ran back over and paused, she wasn't sure what to do. She would never tell anyone but Bucky Barnes scared her. 

Bucky gave Morgan a smile before pressing another kiss on your temple. “Love you…” he whispered before walking off. 

.-.-.

When movie night rolled around, Bucky grabbed his sweater and threw it on before heading into the main room where everyone sat together for the movie. Bucky then realized that everyone had their ‘spot’ ; this was the first time that Bucky had decided to join the movie night; he normally just used this time to have the training room all to himself. Heck, even Fury was there. 

Bucky then realized there was only one empty spot, the one right next to you. He smiled and went to sit when Morgan ran up and jumped into the empty spot. Bucky frowned. So there wasn't an empty spot for him after all.

“Bucky, come on, sit!” He looked over and saw that there was another empty spot, next to Sharon. 

“Actually, Bucky is going to sit with his girlfriend,” Nat said, getting up from her spot on Morgan's other side and going over to the empty space next to sharon. 

Sharon scowled as nat sat down next to her. “Really?” 

“What? y/n is Bucky's girlfriend.” nat said, settling down and getting comfortable. Sharon left and didn't return. Bruce pointed to Sharon's empty spot and whispered something to Steve and Sam before walking over and sitting next to Nat. 

You scooted over so he could sit. Bucky sat and slipped an arm around you while Morgan curled up with a blanket. You were surprised by Bucky's sudden hunger for touch but you weren't complaining you wanted this. You nuzzled closer and Bucky pulled you into his lap before motioning for Morgan to get in your lap. 

Tony and Pepper walked in and raised a brow. “Morgan, why don't you sit with Peter tonight?” Tony offered. 

Morgan looked up at you and you nodded. “Go on…”

“Wait, I got an idea.” Peter walked over and sat in the now empty spot on the couch and Morgan sat on his lap. “Mj isn't here tonight…”

Morgan smiled, she was a very happy five year old girl. 

Tony shook his head and sat down, opening his arms so Pepper could snuggle into his embrace. 

Once the movie started, Bucky began to feel a warm feeling in his chest as you nuzzled closer to him. “I love you, bucky…” you whispered in his ear. Bucky smiled and put his other arm around you, this was exactly what he needed, your embrace and love to fill his tired and slightly shattered heart.  

By the time the movie was half way through, Bucky had fallen asleep within his head on top of yours, making you smile. Who were you to wake him? When the movie ended, you did end up waking a very groggy bucky and pulling him to his room. You covered him with his blanket and turned to leave when Bucky grabbed your hand and held open the blanket, beckoning you to sleep in his arms.

A smile spread across your face and you slipped into the bed. “Bucky?”

“Hmmm?” he hummed, already half asleep. 

“I like this new cuddly version of you…”

Bucky smiled. “Me too…” he mumbled, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before drifting off as he held you close.

[lxkeee]

Helloo, I was wondering if it was alright for u to write a lucifer x male reader where the reader is also a powerful demon and goes with lucifer to visit Charlie in the dad beat dad episode, and Charlie is just like OMG i have two dads now, this is awesome

if u don't write for male reader, then feel free to change or ignore this lol

MY GAYDAR IS NEVER WRONG!

—Lucifer Morningstar x m! Reader

warnings: mentions of s*icide.

When Charlie called Lucifer, he was excited that his daughter wanted to invite him to see the hotel. He thought he would be able to handle it.

In fact, he did not.

The poor man had a complete mental breakdown as he over thought what would happen, how would he act around his daughter, what should he say, and etc.

So, he decided to ask for help and he just knows the right person for that.

His beloved boyfriend of one year, [y/n].

Backstory time,

Lucifer has been seeing and secretly dating the man for a year already, it took a while but he got charmed okay? [Y/n] is literally so charming, very handsome, very chivalrous.... And very tall...

And is a pianist.

Lucifer met [y/n] in a famous restaurant, that only elites or the rich can enter. [Y/n] so happens to own that restaurant.

The only reason he was there at that time was because the other seven deadly sins wanted to have a get together.

As the dinner with the other seven deadly sins progressed, Lucifer was enamored the whole night, his eyes staring at the tall and graceful man sitting in the middle of the restaurant as he played the piano for the guests so beautifully.

Asmodeus even teased him, making the king of hell blush.

That's where his frequent visit to the restaurant started.

Lucifer claims that he just wanted to listen to the man play and nothing else.

Of course, [y/n] noticed his frequent visits and decided to approach the smaller man.

Of course, Lucifer was cautious.

Lucifer was suspicious why the man looked more humane than others, aside from his sharp teeth.

Eventually, the two slowly got along and then slowly developed romantic feelings for each other.

They started telling each other their stories too.

Lucifer found out [y/n] was a pianist when he was still alive, he was born in the 1920's and died in 1945.

[Y/n] died as passionless artist, who lost his inspiration and will to live.

But despite all that, [y/n] managed to find his passion for music again in hell and despite the era he was born in, he managed to go with the flow of time.

Yes, he knows gen z slang 😭

He's got serious problems when it comes to saying "lmao" "purr" and "slay"

Anyways, after finding out and realizing why [y/n] is here is because the sin he committed is that he didn't appreciate the life was given to him and decided to take it away by his own hands.

Lucifer's caution around the man was gone and maybe, not all sinners are bad.

[y/n] confessed first and Lucifer reciprocated by giving the taller man a kiss (he had to pull down [y/n]'s tie okay?)

And Lucifer didn't regret it, [y/n] is a passionate lover. A green flag of all green flags.

“Why are you here? You're so nice, you shouldn't be here.”

“If I was up there, then I wouldn't have the pleasure of meeting you and calling you mine.” [y/n] said with a confused tone.

Unaware rizz.

This man, doesn't know how much his words affect Lucifer.

And the fact he can carry Lucifer bridal style and calls him his muse is the cherry on top.

Anyways, back to the scenario. I'm done with the backstory lmao

Lucifer decided to text [y/n] telling him about the situation, wanting emotional support as he's nervous going to an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.

He thought [y/n] wouldn't be able to come as the man got work but he was wrong as not 15 minutes later, [y/n] bursts through the door looking absolutely disheveled.

[y/n] ran like his life depended on it.

“My muse, I am hereeee...” the poor tall man wheezed out, hunched on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Lucifer had to help the man out by using his wings to dry him up.

“Better?”

“Better, thanks my love.”

Lucifer had to explain the situation to him on the way to the hotel and [y/n] giving him peptalk after.

After arriving at the hotel, [y/n] stayed at the side while he watched Lucifer interact with the others.

He swore he heard the pink arachnid say, “Is anyone's gaydar going off right now?”

“It's just you, Angel.” the gray haired girl says with a deadpan.

After Charlie introduced the rest, she noticed the taller male companion who came with her dad. The male was just admiring the interior of the hotel.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

“So... Dad, how about you introduce me to your friend that you brought over?” Charlie asked, making the two males flinch in surprise.

[y/n] giggling as he watched the flustered look on Lucifer's face.

The two males just looked at each other, having a silent conversation.

“Do you want to tell her?” is what [y/n]'s facial expression says based on the raised eyebrow.

“I guess it's time to tell her.” Lucifer says through his facial expression, as a sigh left his lips.

The others just stared in silence as the two males looked at each other in silent conversation.

“Charlie, this is [y/n]... My... Significant other.”

After Lucifer introduced the unknown man, Charlie's jaw dropped.

So did the other's.

The only thing Charlie can think is “Holy shit, I'll have two dads.”

“SEE?! I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT MY GAYDAR IS POPPING OFF SINCE THEY ARRIVED”

It was a wild night. From the dad off, some loan sharks deciding to cause a mess. (Charlie has three dads now)

Do you guys want this as a series? I'm thinking of actually writing this concept because aihsjans it's so cutee and interesting 😭🤭

Also, I absolutely write for male readers as I myself is a man 🤭 aosjsi maybe I should write more Lucifer x male! Reader?

[panic-in-the-multiverse]

B-u-c-k-y? Bucky

Pairings: father!Bucky Barnes x child!reader, featuring Steve Rogers x child!reader and Tony Stark x child!reader (all platonic)

Imagine: The beginning of your relationship with your father and a glimpse at the progress

Warnings: angst, fluff, mention of Hydra, mention of child mistreatment, mention of experiments, reader describes as tiny to clarify more that hydra treated them bad, mention of medical equipment such as syringes, not proofread, if you find anything else please tell me

A/N so don’t know where this came from but I haven’t been able to write something in months so I’m just happy to be able to write again hopefully, don’t know if I like it or not but here we go anyway enjoy

Kinda short, dunno about 2000 words or so

might make more parts to this

Sparks lit up the dark corridor as Bucky and Steve walked down the stairs to be met with red lights flashing above each door as the alarms blasted their annoyingly high pitched sound that made your ears ring afterwards. One look at each other, they gave a nod and split up as they took one side each of the corridor.

The first room Bucky opened was filled with cabinets made of plastic and in each was different kinds of test tubes with what looked like some kind of poisonous liquid. Syringes were spread out over the desks neatly. Bucky felt chills run down his spine as he saw the hospital bed (or more like a table with white a quilt?) in the middle of the room. Handcuffs made to restrain a person laid neatly on the bed. Blood covering the sides of the bed and his mind went back to 1945, when Arnim Zola experimented on him. Which had coincidentally also been at a hydra base. His gun raised as he searched the room for any kind of lifeforms, when he found none he went on to the next door.

This continued for at least five more doors, some of them being lab rooms and some what looked like prison cells fortified with extra protection, meaning whoever had once been inside couldn’t have fled on their own.

When he opened the sixth door, Bucky scanned the room and had it not been for the red lights flashing once in a while and the lamp that flickered out a dull light he would've missed the tiny child in the room. Knees pressed to their chest. Hospital gown clinging to their skin from blood and cold sweat. The room had cold chills and even for Bucky who tolerated the cold more than others he could feel the freezing temperature in the room. He lowered his gun and put on the softest expression he could muster during these circumstances. Bucky glanced out the door and yelled out with a soft voice (to not startle the child) once for Steve, Bucky’s gaze not soon after fell back to the quivering child, that was you, who stared at him with wide scared eyes.

Bucky took a careful step towards you as he kneeled down slightly to put his gun onto the floor. He gave you what was supposed to look like a kind smile but looked more like a grimace as he thought about what you must have been through. As soon as you saw Bucky coming closer he watched as dark blue smoke covered your tiny frame and not a second after you were gone. Bucky stopped in his tracks and looked around the room for you. His eyes fell on the coroner farthest away from him. You had covered your ears with your hands and your eyes were shut. Your body was tense and knees still pressed to your chest as you quivered further into the corner. Bucky stayed in place not knowing entirely what to do. At that moment he saw Steve walk through the door sparing a glance towards you before back at Bucky his shield raised as they both heard people run their way. With a sigh from Bucky they both left you for the time being as Hydra soldiers started to fill the end of the corridor.

As soon as you heard the sound of shots (your hands not able to muffle out the sounds that came right outside of the room you resided in) die down you opened your eyes. You watched with curious eyes as Bucky (not that you knew his name) walked into the room once more. Like before he put his gun down and gave you a kind smile, this time his hand slowly reached out for you. He watched as you pressed yourself girder into the corner as you stared at his hand.

“hey, hey, okay, it’s okay” Bucky raised both his hands into the air to show he meant no harm as he cautiously took another step closer. “I won’t hurt you” Steve watched from the door opening as Bucky interacted with you. His gaze shifted to the metal objects (or what looked like toys for children) in the room that had started to slightly hover over the ground, including Bucky’s gun.

Bucky’s eyes glanced towards the hovering objects and was a tiny bit glad that you hadn’t done anything to his left arm. “What's your name?” he let out a sigh as you didn't answer knowing you probably wouldn't answer anything he asked you, hell he didn’t even know if you could understand him. His head tilted slightly as he took slow steps forward until he knelt in front of you. The metal objects (except his arm) are rising higher into the air.

“are you alright, you hurt?” He said clearly as he watched you start to pick at the side of your arm where blood was running down onto your hospital gown. He watched as you picked at multiple wounds, some of them he could clearly see were from syringes and his eyes saddened. Both Bucky and Steve watched as you pressed yourself deeper into the corner, as you tried to hide the many bruises that littered your body.

“can I-we help you, can you let us help you out of here?” Bucky gestured with his hand to him and Steve as he said the word us. Once more he didn’t get a verbal answer but instead he got you to move out of the corner slightly. Bucky held his hand out to you once more and watched as you carefully placed your tiny hand in his much bigger one. He couldn’t help but to give a soft smile once more towards you.

"Can you walk?” And yet again there was no answer. Bucky looked at you with an uncertain expression as you stood up. Your body swaying from side to side. He carefully and slowly to make sure you could stop him if you wanted to, took you into his arms. Making sure you wouldn’t fall he stood up straight and started to walk towards Steve who smiled slightly at Bucky as he watched you shut your eyes and bury your head into his chest. The metal objects all crashed to the ground with a loud clatter of noise in various directions.

This had all been four months ago and Bucky had finally started to get you to trust him enough for you to let him teach you how to talk, write and read. By now you also trusted the rest of the avengers enough so that you wouldn’t try to hide from all of them except Steve (excluding Bucky). Tony would most days let you sit beside him as he made new iron man suits and at some time along the way he’d let you help him by using your powers to bend a metal the way he wanted it to be. This would in the end result in you running up to Bucky proud of your accomplishments and for Bucky to ruffle your hair and tell you how proud he was. These interactions with Tony also led to you having more control over your powers at least one of them. You still tended to teleport yourself unintentionally to the other side of the room if you were scared.

Today it just so happened that Bucky held another lesson with you to help you speak. So far you were able to say yes and no and some other basic things such as “hungry” and “tired”. However even though you were starting to learn you still most of the time stuck to being nonverbal and only shook your head yes or no or shrugged your shoulders when you didn’t know.

At this moment Bucky had tried to teach you to say his name and so far your tries had been good but as he knew you were a slow learner which he realized the first time he started to teach you, he knew you wouldn't be getting his name right in a while. For Bucky however this was just a minor setback as he felt he had to teach you everything after all as it so happened he was your father.

As soon as you had gotten to the Avengers base they tried to find out if you had any family that had filed a missing child’s report and to know what your name was as you refused to speak (them not knowing you didn’t know how to). Bucky had to promise you that he would be there for every test they did to you to make sure you were as healthy as you could be at that moment for you to let them be near you with any medical devices. As it turned out Hydra had somehow created you from Bucky’s DNA meaning he was listed as the father in the old Htdra records they found at the Hydra base they had attacked. They had also found out that you were around 8-9 years old. There wasn’t a specific date listed anywhere on when your birthday was, only what year you were born. This had shocked all of the heroes as they by the way you looked were way younger. All the more information they gained only made Bucky feel more guilty. Even if he didn’t know about your existence he still felt guilty over the things you had suffered with Hydra. The fact that you looked so much younger made him feel more guilty as it showed how poorly they had taken care of you. If he just looked at you he would assume you were around 5-6 years old and maybe your powers helped your appearance look younger but it still made him feel guilty.

Bucky had to shake himself out of his thoughts as he watched and heard you try to pronounce his name correctly.

“B-b-a-b-a-ck-y” You fumbled over the words as you hugged the Iron Man plushie Tony had given you a few days prior after he saw you holding a Captain America plushie. Ever since you hadn’t let go of the new plushie, much to Bucky’s demise and Tony’s ego.

Your father couldn’t help but to smile at you, it had been a long time since he smiled as much as when you came into his life and he hoped that maybe you could heal the part in himself that he found to be broken.

“not A” he pointed to the letter a in the book you held in front of you “sweetheart, it’s b-u-cky” Bucky pointed at each letter as he said them. He had originally wanted to teach you to call him dad first but as you had no idea what that word meant yet and only ever heard people call him bucky that's what he went with to for now to not make you confused.

“ba-cku?

Bucky chuckled slightly and remade his actions as before. He pointed to each letter as he said them. “b-u-c-k-y, bucky”

“B-u-c-k-y?”

“That's right sweetie, B-u-c-k-y” Steve spoke from beside you as he took the other seat next to you as he brought you a plate with different types of sliced fruit as they were still trying to see what you liked to eat.

You took fruit from the plate and tasted it. Munching on it you smiled slightly up at Bucky. “Bu-cky, Bucky? Bucky”

Both super soldiers let out encouraging smiles as you repeated Bucky’s name as if it was a chant. Bucky’s smile held more pride than the others who had heard you as he ruffled your hair. He smiled more brightly as he watched you stand up and ruffle his own hair mimicking his actions. With that he let out a small laugh and kissed the top of your head as you sat down once more, ready for Bucky to teach you other words.

[bwallure]

SPELLBOUND (1945) dir. Alfred Hitchcock

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Provenance | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y

Word Count: 6703

A/N: Taglist will be closing at the start of season 2! if you aren't currently tagged, and you'd like to join, please please let me know within the next two posts!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You gripped your beer tightly watching Dean getting a girl’s number across the bar from you. 

“(Y/N), if you hold that thing any tighter, you’re gonna break it,” Sam snorted. “What’s your deal?”

You looked back at Sam but were unable to pull your eyes from Dean and his new “friend” for longer than a few seconds. “Nothing.” You took a swig of your drink.

“Are you sure you don’t know how you feel about Dean?” the brunet taunted. 

You shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He snickered in response and returned to looking over the papers in front of him.

You waved Dean over, who held a hand up behind the woman’s back to get you to wait. You gestured again and his smile dropped. He said something to her quickly before making his way back over to you. 

“I think we got something,” Sam told his brother. 

Dean grinned over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave; just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one.”

You rolled your eyes. “So, what are we today, Dean? Rock stars, army rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts,” he grinned at you, ignoring the bite in your voice. “Looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right?”

“If by ‘not far off’ you mean ‘completely off the mark,’ then you’re spot on,” you deadpanned.

Dean shot you a look while he turned to his brother. “By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam responded to his question.

“Yeah, you can, but you don't.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all—” He trailed off as his brother looked back at the women at the bar. 

“Dean!” you snapped your fingers at him.

He turned back. “Huh, what?”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside,” Sam continued.

“Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department,” Dean answered.

“No. Dad says different.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s interest was piqued at the mention of his dad.

You pointed at the map. “John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second, right here in 1945, and the third in 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside; the whole nine. Now, so much time passed that nobody checked the pattern. Except for your dad. It’s frustrating how much better he is at this than me sometimes,” you muttered at the end of your sentence.

“Alright, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up ‘til first thing though right?” Dean asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Before you could stop him, Dean was off to the two women again.

You were fuming; staring daggers at him and downing the rest of your drink.

Sam snickered at you. “Let’s get you out of here before you end up killing one of those girls.”

“Nah, I’d kill your brother. They didn’t do anything wrong,” you responded, helping Sam pick up the papers scattered about the table. “How ‘bout the Telescas’ house?” you asked.

***

You and Sam headed back to the motel you were staying in to research the history of the Telescas’ home. You sprawled out across Dean’s bed with your laptop, and Sam sat on his bed with his laptop.

“Finding anything?” you asked him.

“Nope. You?”

You shook your head. “Nada.”

He shut his laptop. “So? You wanna talk about it?”

You shut yours, too. “About what?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, hell no,” you snorted.

“You two are made for each other,” he deadpanned at your boxed-up emotions.

“Fuck off, Sam,” you retorted. “What about you? Still not ready to jump back into the dating pool?” You snuggled into the blankets on Dean’s bed, reveling in his scent emanating off them.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was she like?” you asked after a moment.

“Who?”

“Jessica. You never told me much about her.”

He sighed. “She was just… the best, man. You two would’ve gotten along great, honestly. She was—” he grinned sadly at the thought of her, “—so smart. So beautiful. Quick, witty, and…” he shook his head. “I was looking for wedding rings. Few weeks before she...”

You smiled sadly at him. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was,” he responded. A quiet settled over the room.

“Don’t you think she would’ve wanted you to be… I don’t know, happy? Do you think she’d want you to move on? It’s been almost a year,” you said. “Jesus, I’ve known you guys for almost a year now," you realized.

He chuckled before going quiet again momentarily. “I think she would. But Jess… I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully over her. She was my best friend, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get it. I’m glad you had that with her, though. Sounds like you really loved each other.”

“We did.”

You and Sam went silent once more, and you succumbed to the tiredness of your limbs and mind. You were so comforted by the scent of worn leather, Dean’s cologne, and whiskey, that you slept better than you had in years.

***

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was standing over you, shaking you gently. You popped up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and putting a hand to his throat. “Hey, hey,” he tried to calm you down, “Dean’s back.” 

You released him immediately. “Sorry, dude. Uh… reflexes,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It’s okay. Dean does that, too.”

The man in question stumbled into the room tiredly. “Move your asses. Let’s go.”

***

You and Sam had just swept the Telescas’ house for EMF while Dean slept in the car trying to get over his hangover. When you returned to the car, you beeped the horn. Dean shot up a foot in the air and groaned. 

“Man, that is so not cool.” He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the car door. You and Sam climbed into your seats and began to explain what you had been up to.

“We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were, well, out—” Sam trailed off.

Dean’s smirk made your stomach drop. “Good times.”

“—we checked the history of the house.”

“Nothing strange about the Telescas, either,” you said, swallowing your feelings.

“Alright,” Dean’s gravelly voice came, “so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.”

“The house is clean,” you said.

“Yeah I know, you said that.”

“No, no, it’s empty. No furniture, nothing,” you explained.

Dean turned back to you. “Where's all their stuff?”

***

You felt so out of place in the swanky auction house the Telescas’ belongings had been brought to. Even the Impala looked like an outcast in the parking lot full of McLarens and Corvettes. 

You and the brothers wandered around the auction house, and you wrapped your jacket tightly around yourself.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean commented. He took some food from a tray table as a man came up behind you.

“Can I help you?” the man questioned. 

You wheeled around to face him.

“I'd like some champagne please,” Dean said in a mock posh voice.

You could’ve killed him. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, and you held out your hand to the man. “I’m (Y/N) Dewitt. This is Sam and Dean Connors. We’re with Connors Limited. We’re art dealers.”

The man didn’t give you the courtesy of a handshake. You fought the urge to make an inappropriate comment.

“You. Are… art dealers,” the man said, clearly having difficulty grasping that concept. “I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean, of course, talked through a mouth full of food.

You shot a sharp look at Dean as he took a glass of champagne off the tray. He turned and walked off, and you followed him.

“Can you chill out?” you asked him.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful of champagne.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t like this crowd either, but relax.” You noticed a painting just beyond where you and Dean were talking. It was of a family in an American Gothic style; presumably from the early 1900s. The family contained three young girls in frilly dresses, a man with a gaunt and creepy face, and a woman you assumed was the mother seated in a chair.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” a woman’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to the place the voice came from to find an extremely good looking woman in a sleek black dress with glossed lips descending the staircase. You noticed Dean beginning to ogle her as Sam answered her. “Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.”

The woman smiled as she approached you. “Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.”

“I’m Sam,” he said. “This is my… brother, Dean.” Dean was still stuffing his face with food from passing trays. “And our friend, (Y/N).”

“Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah questioned.

You snorted. You liked her.

“I'm good, thanks,” he smiled through a full mouth.

“So, can I help you with something?” she asked Sam. You knew she liked him; she was giving him the same look you often gave Dean.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” Sam asked her.

She grimaced. “The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

The man from earlier came up behind you. “I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your polite disposition. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Apparently, I do,” he said.

“C’mon, Dean,” you said, dragging his arm out.

***

You and the brothers found a decently priced motel and approached the rooms you had been assigned.

“Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean scoffed at his brother.

“Art history course. It's good for meeting girls,” Sam replied simply.

Dean unlocked the door to his room and chuckled. “It's like I don't even know you.”

You walked a little further down to the room next to theirs and unlocked it only to find a gaudily outfitted room full of obnoxious disco decor. The "do not disturb" hanger was even of John Travolta’s silhouette from Saturday Night Fever.

“Huh.” You dropped your bag off and headed back to the boys’ room.

“What was… providence?” Dean was asking as you entered the room.

“Provenance,” you corrected. “It’s like a biography for a painting. You use ‘em to check the history of the pieces; in this case, to see if they have a freaky past.”

“Alright, professor,” Dean taunted you. “Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” he smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam smirked back.

“Not me,” Dean laughed.

You shot a look at Sam, too.

He seemed only mildly horrified. “No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn't my butt she was checking out,” Dean snorted.

You giggled despite yourself.

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” Sam deadpanned.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her,” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but took out his phone. You weren’t sure when he had gotten her number, but he left about an hour later to take her out to dinner.

You and Dean sat in awkward silence for a bit.

“So…”

“So…”

You went silent again. 

“What’s goin’ on with us, (Y/N)? You’ve barely spoken a word to me this whole trip.”

You huffed. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s not nothing.” Dean held your challenging stare.

“Seriously, drop it, please,” you said.

“Fine. You wanna go get some food?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know I do.”

You and Dean found a crappy diner with deliciously greasy burgers to stuff your faces with. 

“So, how ‘bout you, sweetheart? Why don’t you ever go out?” Dean asked.

“On dates, you mean?”

He nodded.

You nibbled on a fry. “I’m just not one for hookups. I can’t take ‘em,” you admitted. “You, though, are king of the unattached drifters.”

He chuckled. “What’s wrong with hookups? 

“I get too attached, which kind of defeats the whole purpose,” you replied. “The idea of being intimate with somebody I don’t even know makes me want to throw up.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous. Anybody would kill to get with you," he said casually.

You ignored the way your heart swelled in your chest. “It’s not that, it’s just…” you sighed. “I’m, like, allergic to vulnerability.”

“I get it,” Dean chuckled. “You know by now I’m not exactly the best with it, either.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worse than me,” you quipped. “You look like you’re gonna throw up any time you have to tell me you’re sorry or something like that.”

“Maybe it’s just your face,” he retorted.

“Hey!” you giggled. “You can’t call me gorgeous one minute then tell me looking at me makes you sick the next.”

He chuckled. “I just did, so…”

“Whatever, Winchester. What is it about hookups you enjoy so much, anyway?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “Sex is just fun, I guess. Always helps me blow off steam.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

“I’m serious! Helps me take a break from… all this.” He gestured around him. 

“That’s why you have hobbies, Dean. Sex is not a hobby.”

“It can be! You draw, Sam reads, I fuck."

“Well, get a better one,” you scoffed.

“What would you suggest I do? Knitting?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, just… something a little more wholesome, maybe. You said it yourself, it doesn’t always make you feel great.”

“Never should’ve told you that,” he responded.

“Well, ya did, so.”

He snorted at you. “It’s frustrating how well you know me sometimes.”

“Oh, look at that, another crumb of vulnerability from Mr. Closed Book.”

“That’s the best diss you could come up with?”

“Hey, it’s not easy being effortlessly funny all the time,” you retorted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

***

When you and Dean returned to the motel room, you pulled out your whetstone to sharpen your knives.

“Who you plannin’ on carvin’ up, sweetheart?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you answered.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he remarked.

“You do literally all the time,” you quipped. “You’re lucky you’re still in one piece. If you give me yours, I’ll sharpen ‘em, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. He handed his knives over to you. 

Sam burst through the door at that moment holding a stack of papers. “Got ‘em.”

“So she just handed the providences over to you?” Dean questioned.

“Provenances,” you corrected.

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers—”

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing. That's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or do any… special favors or anything like that?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” the younger brother scoffed.

“You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that.”

Sam ignored his brother. “Hey, I think I've got something here.”

You headed over to Sam’s seated position at the desk and looked over his shoulder at the papers. “ ‘Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910’,” you read off.

“Now, compare the names of the owners with my dad's journal,” Sam said.

Dean pulled it out. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam continued.

“So what do you think? It's haunted? Or cursed?” you asked.

“Either way, it's toast,” said Dean, getting up from his bed.

***

Under the cover of night, you and the brothers broke into the auction house. You were consistently impressed with and sexually frustrated by how easy scaling tall fences and gates were for Dean. 

“Come on!” Dean urged you. 

You disarmed the security alarm, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. “Go ahead,” you whispered. 

Dean picked the lock at your cue. You shone your flashlight ahead of you searching for the painting. When you found it, you and the boys were in and out within minutes. You and the boys had clearly been breaking and entering for years. You found it comical almost how good you were. You brought the painting out to a field behind the arthouse and set it alight.

Dean dusted off his hands. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor.”

***

Dean banged on your door the next morning. “We got a problem. I can't find my wallet.”

You opened it. “How the hell do you lose your wallet?”

“I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

“Fuck, dude, that’s bad.” You started pulling on your boots as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, I know. It's got my prints, my ID— well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on.”

You and the brothers hurried around the auction house searching for the wallet. Sam was clearly frustrated with his brother until he caught sight of Sarah.

“Hey guys!” she smiled.

You wheeled around at the sound of her voice and attempted to act cool.

“Sarah! Hey,” Sam breathed. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Ahh, we.... we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye,” Sam responded.

“What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two,” Dean grinned as he strolled up to the two. He took his wallet out of his pocket and shot a look at Sam. “By the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you.” He turned to Sarah. “I always forget, you know.” Dean chuckled and you grinned as he held out the cash to his brother. Sam took it and glared at him. “Well, we’ll leave you two crazy kids alone, I gotta go do something… somewhere.”

“Smooth, Dean,” you told him as you walked away from Sarah and Sam. The two of you headed back out to the Impala and sat in it waiting for Sam. When he returned, he was frantically saying the painting was back in the auction house.

“I don't understand. We burned the damn thing,” Sam rushed out.

“Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean remarked. 

“Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?” you chimed in.

“Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em,” Sam began.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?” 

“Merchant,” you answered. “I say we find us a bookstore.”

***

And so, that was where you headed. You found a proprietor whose personality was interesting, to say the least. You found his quirk had a bit of charm to it.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?” he asked you.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam said.

You and Dean were flicking through a book with pictures of guns in it. The proprietor laid a book of newspaper clippings on the table in front of you. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you folks crime buffs?”

“Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?” you responded.

He held up the newspaper article before him. It talked about the sinking of the Titanic, and just next to it, read “Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.”

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean replied.

“The whole family was killed?” You tilted your head.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” the proprietor explained.

“Why'd he do it?” Sam questioned.

“Let's look. Ahh... ‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…’ “ he skimmed on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… ‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave.” He drew his hand across his throat and made a noise to go along with it. You and Dean joined in laughing with the proprietor.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” asked Dean.

The proprietor shook his head. “Just that they were all cremated.”

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here. Somewhere. Right— here it is.”

It was a picture of the painting, but something seemed off to you. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asked the man. 

He nodded, and returned a few minutes later with it.

***

You and the boys sat at a table in the motel room and looked over the copy of the picture. 

“I’m telling you,” you started, “The picture at the auction house, Dad’s looking down. Here, dad’s looking out. The painting changed.”

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean questioned.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?” Sam asked.

“Maybe other things changed in the painting, too. Maybe it could give us some clues,” you answered.

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Dean looked down at you, confused. “I’m lost. Still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He walked over to his bed and laid back, crossing his arms. “Which is a good thing ‘cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Sam huffed. “Dude, enough already.”

“What?” he responded.

��What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?” he said defensively.

“Sam, relax,” you told him.

“Well, you like her don't you?” Dean pushed.

Sam threw his arms up and looked to the ceiling.

“Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off with a smile.

“What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave,” came Sam’s frustrated response.

“Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam snarled angrily. “You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?”

“ ‘Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time,” Dean answered calmly.

Sam stared at him and huffed before looking away.

“Look, I’m not crazy about hookups either, but maybe it would be helpful,” you suggested.

“And this isn't about just hooking up, okay?” Dean continued. “I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears as his brother continued to talk. “God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?”

“Yeah, I know she would,” Sam responded softly. “Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He wouldn’t answer you.

“Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…” Dean trailed off.

Sam picked up his phone and cleared his throat. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling back on his bed. 

“Sarah, hey, it's Sam… Hey, hi… Good. Good, yeah. Umm. What about you?... Yeah good, good, really good.”

Dean opened one eye and looked at his brother. “Smooth.”

You suppressed a laugh. 

“So, ah, so listen,” Sam continued. “Me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I- I think maybe we are interested in buying it… What?!” 

At Sam’s tone, you and Dean snapped to attention. 

“Who'd you sell it to?” Sam stood up. 

Dean rose and came to stand next to you.

“Sarah, I need an address right now,” Sam urged her.

Once she’d given it to you, you and the boys sped away in the Impala to an upscale neighborhood. You and the boys were surprised to see another car parked right outside the building: Sarah’s. 

“Sam, what's happening?” she asked as you and the boys ran up the front steps of the house.

“I told you, you shouldn't have come,” he responded.

“Hello, anyone home?” Dean banged on the heavy front door.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger; what sort of danger?” Sarah asked Sam frantically.

“I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it.” Dean crouched down in front of you and you moved over to the windows, banging on them with all your might.

“What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah yelped.

“I wish it was that simple. Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good,” Sam told her.

Dean got the door open and you followed him inside quickly. 

“The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend,” she said, trailing behind you and the boys. “Evelyn?” She moved over to the elderly woman sitting half-turned away from you. Something was wrong and you knew it; the woman’s gaze seemed completely empty. “Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you alright?” She touched her shoulder gently. 

“Sarah, don't. Sarah!” Sam told her. 

Evelyn’s head tipped back, exposing her slashed throat.

Sarah jumped back in horror and screamed. Sam put his arm around her and led her out of the room. You and Dean stared up at the painting before following the younger brother out of the house.

***

Back in the motel room, you and Dean clacked away at the keys on your laptops while Sam paced in front of you. A knock on the door stirred all of you from your thoughts. Sarah stormed into the room and brushed past Sam.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked her.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's— alone— and found her like that,” she answered, wheeling around.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded. 

“Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?”

Sam looked back at you and Dean, and you shrugged.

“What,” he told her.

“What?”

“It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people,” he explained.

Sarah was still looking at Sam like he was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move,” he sighed.

The woman began to pace. “No, no. I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Dean grinned.

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted.”

Sarah laughed humorlessly but had tears in her eyes. “You’re joking.” She looked between you and the Winchesters. “You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth,” the brunet told her.

“Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

“Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either.” Sarah strutted over to the door. “So are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean said. “Marry that girl.”

***

You and the boys returned to Evelyn’s house to scope out the crime scene a little further. Sam picked the lock to let you, his brother, and Sarah inside.

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah protested.

Dean smirked. “You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?”

Once inside, you and Sam got the painting down from off the wall to examine it. 

“Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?” Sarah asked.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're alright in the daylight.”

You took the copy of the painting out of your pocket. “Sam, check it out. The razor: it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one.”

“What are you guys looking for?” she asked.

“Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason,” Dean explained.

“And look, the painting in the painting,” you pointed out. “Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something.” 

Dean grabbed a thick glass ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass. You ignored how your body came alight as he wound his arm around you to reach the painting. “Merchant,” he read out.

***

Your next stop was a graveyard. Several, in fact. You stepped over gravestones carefully to avoid disrespecting the dead even further.

“What, are you superstitious?” Dean asked.

“A little, actually. I think I’m in such deep shit with the spirits already; I don’t wanna make it worse,” you laughed.

“You are somethin’ else, woman,” he smirked. “This is the third boneyard we've checked,” Dean addressed your group. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

Sam and Sarah talked amongst themselves behind you and you and Dean walked a bit ahead.

“Over there,” you said, pointing to a mausoleum. The group followed you into the mausoleum where you found four urns in front of little glass-fronted boxes on one wall. On the opposite, there were five brass nameplates. 

Sarah looked at one of the boxes containing a little porcelain doll with brown hair. “Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“It was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam told her. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case; put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Wind blew in the mausoleum, sending a chill down your spine.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked.

“Ah, where do I start?” remarked Sarah.

Sam snickered. 

“No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns,” said Dean.

“Yeah. There’s only four. Where’s the dad?” you questioned.

***

You and Dean discovered that Isaiah’s body had been buried in that same cemetery away from the rest of his family. You returned there that night with Sarah in tow. 

You stood watch with Sarah while the boys dug the hole down to Isaiah’s corpse. 

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she said.

Sam climbed out of the hole laboriously. “Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?”

You giggled when Dean’s shovel tapped something hard. “Think I've got something.” He cracked the coffin open to reveal Isaiah’s rotten bones. You helped him out of the ground and began pouring salt and kerosene over the body. 

“You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance.” Dean tossed the match he’d struck down on top of the body. 

“God, I will never get used to that smell,” you commented.

“What? Burning flesh?” the older Winchester turned his head to you.

You made a face and scrunched up your nose to which Dean just smirked at you and chuckled.

***

You returned to Evelyn’s house soon after to make sure the job was complete and bury the painting. You and Dean remained outside and told Sam to go in with Sarah. You and Dean smiled at each other before turning the radio up. A love ballad played loudly through the speakers, and Sam turned to the two of you. You both snickered at the “what the fuck” gesture he was giving you. Sam motioned for the two of you to cut the music. You sighed and turned it off.

Before you and Dean could say a word to each other, the door slammed shut behind Sam and Sarah. You and Dean jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, trying your best to unlock it. 

“Guys! Hey! Is that you?” Sam called from inside.

“Sammy, you alright?” the older brother asked. Moments later, you got a call from Sam.

“Tell me you slammed the front door,” you said after you answered.

“Nope, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl,” he told you.

“The little girl? What girl?”

“What’s he saying?” Dean interjected, leaning close to your ear and the phone.

“Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might've been her all along,” Sam said.

You snorted humorlessly. “The dad was trying to warn us all along. He was looking down at her the whole time.”

“Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later all right? Just get us out of here," the younger brother rushed out.

“Well, Dean’s trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well, knock it down!”

“Okay, smartass, just let me get my battering ram,” you remarked.

“(Y/N), the damn thing is coming!”

“I know, I know, just hold it off til we figure something out. Get some salt or iron or something,” you responded. “Stay on the phone with me!”

Moments later, you heard Sam say to himself, “What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.” Another minute or so went by before he spoke back into the phone. “Uh, (Y/N), give me a sec, don't go anywhere.”

You and Dean began to walk around the outside looking for an alternative entrance. A bit of yelling and crashing was heard on the other end of the phone. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, for now,” he responded.

“How’re we gonna waste her?” you asked.

“I don't know, she was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn.”

Dean got close to the phone again. 

“Then how's she still around?” you challenged.

“There must be something else!” Sam went silent on the other end, but you could faintly hear Sarah’s voice.

“(Y/N), Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains; same as bones.”

“The mausoleum,” you and Dean said in unison. 

“Hang tight, Sam,” you said, snapping your phone shut. You and Dean sprinted back to the car, and Dean drove as fast and as wildly as he possibly could.

“One of these days, your driving’s gonna fucking kill us all,” you said, gripping the leather of the seat next to you and the door. 

“Not now, (Y/N),” he responded evenly, driving even faster. He plowed straight through the fence of the cemetery and drove right up to the mausoleum. You and Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the building.

Dean pounded the door of the glass box containing the doll with the butt of his gun, and then went to walk out of the mausoleum. “Come on, Dean,” he grimaced. “Cover your eyes!” He told you. He shot at the box, and you shielded your face as he did so. You leapt back into action and knocked away more of the glass with your hands, cutting them as you did so. You ignored the burning in your palms and took the doll out of its case. 

You held the doll’s hair over the lighter, which Dean was having trouble lighting. “Come on, come on!” he said. Thankfully, the lighter caught the hairs of the doll and sent it up in flames. You dropped it on the floor between you and Dean and watched the rest of the doll burn.

Dean pulled out his phone moments later to call his brother. “Sam, you good?” He breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

You looked down at your bloodied hands. Dean followed your gaze. “(Y/N), you maniac, what were you doin’ pawin' at that glass with your bare hands, huh?”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He guided you back to the car. He held your wrists and sat you down in the front seat of his car. He went to his trunk and returned a few moments later. He sat next to you and gingerly began wiping down your hands. You hissed and grabbed his hand at the pain. He looked back up to you and paused momentarily.

“Sorry,” you said.

“All good,” he responded and went back to work. He gently cleaned your wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag and began to wrap up your left hand. You watched as he worked, heart swelling at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you said. 

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered.

“I would,” you affirmed, smiling. 

He picked a piece of glass out of your right hand. You hissed again. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “This one’s probably gonna need stitches.” He handed you his flask. “Drink this.”

You did as told and took a sip, swallowing sharply as you felt the first prick of the needle in your palm. “I’m not trying to be a little bitch. I’m really not when it comes to pain,” you said. “I can finish stitchin’ me up on my own if you wanna get back to Sam—”

“No. Let me,” he responded authoritatively. He looked up through his eyelashes at you before returning his attention to your fingers. He ran his along yours and gingerly cleaned the cuts, giving special attention to the deeper ones before bandaging the exterior of your hands. You flexed them painfully.

“Thank you. Seriously,” you said softly.

“Any time,” he responded.

***

“This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds," Dean explained to you. “Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Huh,” you said. “Psycho bitch.”

He scoffed. “You know you’re talking about a kid, right?”

“Yeah. Psycho bitch all the same.”

You and Dean were waiting outside of the auction house for Sam to finish talking to Sarah. You and he leaned against the car, watching Sarah and Sam talking at the door. Sam turned away from her before turning back moments later. He grabbed Sarah’s waist and pulled him to her, kissing her deeply. 

“That's my boy,” Dean smiled.

“Alright, perv,” you remarked. You shoved him down into the car.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h

quite a few tags are broken; so sorry, my loves!! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss a chapter, and please let me know if ive misspelled your blog name!

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Epilogue - Peace Ever After

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: None… the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. Also, our pair have some news for the world.

Word Count: 0.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl . Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the neat little bow I wanted to wrap this fic up with. I hope you have enjoyed this story; it's been a pleasure to write. Thank you for reading, and many thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, 8th May 1945

Benedict’s arm is curled securely around your back as you dance together, Vera Lynn warbling from the wireless in the corner of your living room.

There'll be bluebirds over, The white cliffs of Dover, Tomorrow, just you wait and see…

His breath is warm on your hairline as you sway gently. A spontaneous, uplifting and tender moment to celebrate the end of the war. A lightness in your heart that this dreadful era is finally over and the overwhelming gratitude that all your loved ones have survived. This dance is also a peaceful, romantic interlude from the whirlwind your lives have become in the last few weeks. 

There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow…

The shrill ring of the telephone echoing from the hallway of your cottage interrupts your reverie.

“Ignore it,” Benedict whispers in your ear.

“But we just had it installed! It’s only our third call. How exciting!” You lean back and shoot him your best pleading face, and he sighs and, with an affectionate eye roll, gestures for you to go answer it.

You rush over and pick up the heavy bakelite receiver, a crackle on the line that is an operator.

“Overseas call for the Bridgertons from Madam DuLac,” the operator announces primly.

“Oh wonderful, yes, please put her through!” you enthuse.

“Salut y/n!” comes that familiar voice from the past after a short delay.

“Solene! It’s so wonderful to hear from you! How are you? How’s Paris?”

Benedict walks over at the mention of her name, hovering nearby to partially eavesdrop.

“I am wonderful. Paris is finally free and as beautiful as ever. On this monumental day, I wanted to check on the lovebirds who didn’t invite me to their wedding,” she jibes good-naturedly.

You can’t help but giggle. “We are very well, and yet again, sorry.” 

“Tu connais, there is one way you can remedy this,” she singsongs.

“Name it.”

“Your daughter shall be Solene oui? At least a middle name.”

You laugh heartily, then shoot Benedict a sultry look that makes his brow crease, intrigued.

“Why don’t you nag my husband about that?” you challenge lightly as he draws nearer.

He crowds into your back and takes the receiver from your hand, tilting it between you so you can both hear.

“What is my darling wife roping me into now?” he inquires dryly.

“Giving her a daughter that must be named Solene…” your ex-landlady chimes cheekily.

“Is she now?” his voice drops to a throatier register that immediately has you flustered. “And what is wrong with the son I just gave her?” he queries casually as he raises a flirtatious eyebrow at you.

“Vous avez un bebe?!?” Solene gasps. “Felicitations!!” 

“Oui!” You grin happily as Benedict's lips ghost over your temple lovingly. “We were about to send out telegrams with the news. Louis Jerome Bridgerton,” you pronounce proudly. “He is three weeks old, and he is our whole world…” your sigh so contented as you lean into your husband's attention.

“You named him after my brother-in-law?” Solene protests with mock indignance. “Then I definitely get the middle name for the girl!” 

“It was after the man who married us,” Benedict points out laconically before conceding, “who, yes, coincidentally is also your brother in law…” 

“And I shall expect a visit when petit Louis is a little older to see the wonders of Paris,” she hints unsubtly.

“Of course! His first trip will be to the Louvre,” your husband pronounces. “It was the very first place his parents went on a date, after all,” he adds, shooting you that trademark lopsided grin.

You elbow him mildly. “That was not a date!”

“It was for me, mon amour….” he side-eyes you heatedly. It makes you want to drag him upstairs and start on those daughter plans immediately.

“I should go and make my next call… to your sister and Phillip indeed; I just wanted to wish you a very happy Victory Day!” Solene interrupts your amorous moment.

“Et toi aussi,” you both answer in unison.

“Vive la France! Vive L’Angleterre! We won mes amis! Le monde est libre!”

You and Benedict’s eyes meet, a poignant moment, as the call disconnects.

“The world is free indeed,” he echoes softly, putting down the phone and sweeping you into his arms for a stirring kiss.

FIN

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[hottpinkpenguin]

Easy Company HC's: Letters Home

A/n: I'm really rolling with these BofB headcanons! hope you enjoy :)

Characters included: Dick Winters, Lewis Nixon, Ronald Speirs, Carwood Lipton, Buck Compton, David Webster, Joe Liebgott

Dick Winters

Writes frequent, short letters

Meticulously dates his letters and includes a blurb about the weather. January 12th, 1945. It’s snowing outside, dark and cold. 

Starts each letter with My dear y/n 

Always asks how you are, even though he’s the one fighting a damn war

Follows up on every little question or story you include in your letters. How was the bake sale? Did you ever hear how Louise Graham’s brother is doing after taking that shrapnel to the shoulder? Hope you were able to get someone out to look at the washing machine.

Ends his letters with classic but sentimental sign-offs, like Affectionately yours and All my love

Makes sure not to include anything in his letters that would worry you. Doesn’t necessarily lie or fake being happy, but just gently side steps that. 

Although every once in a while you get a longer letter where Dick’s handwriting is a little messier. You know it’s from writing fast, you can almost feel the pressure behind the penmarks. He opens up more in those letters, talks about losing too many good men and sometimes will say things that just absolutely break your heart, like sometimes I wonder how all of this is really going to end for the men who are over here fighting. 

Even in these letters, Dick never says “I” or “Me”, always writes about the men and the boys. You know - and so does he - that he’s including himself in those boys.

His next letter he always makes sure to reassure you. And it’s genuine, you can tell. He’ll say something like I have to put some of these heavier thoughts somewhere, and there’s nowhere I trust more than with you. 

When he comes home, you find a stack of letters you wrote to him tied up in a neat bundle and stashed in an inside pocket of his Ike jacket that he sewed in especially for that purpose. You could tell by the flimsy, near-ripped creases and dirty paper that he’d read each one about a hundred times over. Buried in the middle of the stack was the picture you’d given him before he’d left for training. On the back, he’d written simply your name, the date the photo was taken, and a short instruction: in event of my death, please send all personal effects to with your home address. It made you sob but you never told him you found it.

GIF by mads-weasley

Lewis Nixon

Rarely writes. Actually drives you crazy with worry most of the time.

When he finally does, you can tell that he’s initially annoyed at having to put his thoughts down on paper. Letters start off with short, sarcastic sentences like nothing new here. Still fighting the war, in case you hadn’t heard. Enjoying German hospitality. 

But as the letters go on he relaxes into it and stops being so grouchy. 

Because he’s always grumpy at having to write (you should probably thank Dick for cajoling Lew into actually sitting down to write to you), he usually doesn’t write any sort of introduction or sweet address, just dives right into it.

His letters usually don’t say much, he just kind of rambles about how much he hates being away from you and how he can’t wait for the whole damn thing to be over. 

Sometimes he’ll write something so incredibly romantic it takes your breath away, like I’d fight a whole division of Panzers myself if I could just get one more sniff of your perfume. 

Those are the letters you save and reread to yourself over and over again when you’re waiting weeks for the next one.

Always signs off with something kind of sassy but also sweet?, like You know I love you or Keep our bed warm for me. 

Sometimes you feel like you can smell whiskey on the paper, which both worries you but also reminds you of Lew

When he finally gets home and you ask him about what he did with your letters, he kind of looks at you like you’ve gone crazy and says I read them of course, what else was I supposed to do with them? 

This hurts your feelings at first which of course he doesn’t understand, but after a few weeks you start to realize that he actually did read them and not only that he memorized their contents. Like he refers to your mother as “the Wicked Witch of Wichita” (something you called here after you wrote him a long rambling letter about how angry she made you at your sister’s bridal shower) and buys you a bouquet of daffodils because you wrote him a letter with a daffodil doodle in the margins of the page talking about the spring gardens. 

You realize that Lew shows his love in the little details, and it makes you appreciate him all the more.

GIF by beautifulguycollector

Ronald Speirs

Ron’s letters read like military bulletins. 

Doing well despite the cold. 1st sgt sick with pneumonia. Think of you often.

Writes predictably once per week. Never misses a letter. Ever. 

You always write him long, lengthy, romantic letters. Sometimes even a little raunchy, if you’ve had some wine. After one particularly *ahem* suggestive letter, you feel ridiculous and say so the next time you write.

In typical Ron fashion, you get a short, to-the-point reply, but it still puts a smile on your face and a blush on your cheeks: Loved your letter. Keep writing. 

Towards the end of the war, Ron starts a countdown to when he expects to be coming home. Two months now, maybe less. Home for the Fourth of July. 

Also signs off with R.S. Which makes you laugh, as if you could forget who was writing to you.

Whenever your girlfriends find a letter from Ron (you keep them all in a shoebox in your closet), they tease you and ask how you can possibly be in love with someone so stiff and formal. To which you can only chuckle to yourself, because you know it’s just that they don’t understand that Ron doesn’t tell you he loves you, he shows you. Writing a letter every single week. Updating you on everything going on, even short updates, because he wants you to know how he’s doing. That’s Ronald Speirs’ love language.

Maybe three weeks before Ron comes home, you start getting boxes of (stolen?) German silver at your door. At first it freaks you out and makes you feel slimy for having lavish riches from an enemy country, so you don’t unpack the boxes and you just stack them up in the back bedroom. When Ron gets home and sees the boxes unopened and shut away, he immediately asks you what’s wrong. You stammer out an explanation and without blinking an eye, Ron loads them into his truck and takes them to the dump. 

(Later you convince him that a better use of those would be to donate them to the local orphanage, so off he goes in his truck to get the boxes back out of the dump and bring them to shelter.)

One night when you’re lying awake, head on Ron’s chest, talking idly about things that don’t matter, he interrupts you to ask Can you guess which letter I kept? 

You instantly blush, thinking of that risque letter you wrote him when you were halfway through your second bottle of white wine. He shakes his head and pulls a letter out of his nightstand and hands it to you. You don’t recognize it immediately, although you do see that it’s too short to be one of the naughtier correspondences. 

It’s too dark to read, so you ask him which letter. He says it’s the one you wrote to me for my birthday. 

You don’t remember that one and you tell him as much, so you ask him why he kept that one instead of some of the others. He looks down at you with a serious look in his eyes, a little surprised that you can’t figure it out. Then he tells you: it’s the first time you wrote that you loved me. 

The next day, you sneak a peek at the letter and realize he’s right. You signed it, I love you Ron. 

From then on, you make sure to tell him that every night before he falls asleep.

Carwood Lipton

Formal, sweet letters. This man is a king of romancing by words.

Writes as often as he can, but you know that Lip needs peace and quiet for an entire evening to get one of those letters done (he probably definitely writes a draft or two before he gets it right). And let’s face it, Easy Company doesn’t have the luxury of many quiet evenings. 

Always, always, always starts his letters off with Dear (future) Mrs. Lipton, which you honestly think is hopelessly corny but it’s way too adorable to tell him so. And besides, you secretly love it.

He always reminisces about home in his letters. Tells you how much he misses the smell of your baking, the squeak of the front porch swing that you two would sit on and watch the sunset. 

He worries a lot about you and his family. He always asks you to look in on his mother if it’s not too much trouble. 

Lip doesn’t talk much about the war, in fact he hardly acknowledges it at all. And he never uses the term ‘war’ or ‘battle’. Instead, he says things like The boys over here are still committed to doing the job or Easy presses on.  

Lip’s letters get a little shorter and less soft after Bastogne. He starts including the names of the casualties in his company in the P.S. Even though you don’t know these men except by name - and some of them, not even that - you feel honored that he trusts you with their memories. 

Lip has saved your letters and all the pictures you sent to him - he loves pictures, and asks for an updated one of you almost every month - tucked in his foot locker and safely between the pages of his Bible so they don’t get creased or dirty. 

You also find that he’s kept stacks of letters from some of his men that died in the field. When you ask him what he plans to do with the letters, he gets a heartbreaking, far-off look in his eyes and says I reckon I’ll try to get them back to their families. 

You take on the burden of doing that, and you write to some of the families introducing yourself and introducing Lip and offering to forward them the letters.

All the replies you get back mention that their soldier talked about how good a leader and friend Lip was. Their replies bring tears to your eyes. For some reason, you don’t show the letters to Lip, although you do tell him about them. He never asks to read the letters, he just kisses you on your forehead and tells you that he’s never loved you more. 

Even after he’s home, he’ll still write you a letter from time to time, usually at Christmastime or for your birthday in the summer. His letters are always talking about his favorite memories with you, and there’s always a paragraph at the end where he talks about how in love with you he is. It’s borderline poetry and it makes you cry every single time.

GIF by balladofthe101st

Buck Compton

Basically just writes a list of questions for you to answer in every letter.

Wants to know everything about what’s going on at home. Especially sports teams.

Doesn’t write frequently, so sometimes it’s hard to feel like there’s a conversation happening. 

But he always includes sweet little notes about how much he’s thinking of you and how he’s counting down the days until he can hold you again, so you’re not complaining. 

Not the most poetic writer. Always says what he thinks and feels though. Completely honest and open. 

Does not tell you anything about the war. Basically ignores the entire thing. 

Sometimes you think about asking him about that, but you figure that he’s not talking about it for a reason, so you follow suit.

Calls you baby in his letters. 

Doesn’t actually say ‘I love you’ in his letters, although says everything else. Miss you baby. Dream about you all the time. When I get home, I’m putting a ring on your finger. 

One time he writes that he woke up last night out of a dream and swore I could taste you and it makes your toes curl.

You save that letter, tuck it in your underwear drawer. 

Signs his letters very simply: Buck. Sometimes he’ll put something in like until next time or I’ll write soon. But usually nothing super romantic or sentimental.

Doesn’t save your letters, but that really doesn’t bother you too much because all you wrote in them was basically just rambling details that Buck requested about your boring day-to-day. 

Buck’s always better in person than in writing - he’s a quality time and physical touch kind of guy - but you know that your letters were his only lifeline to normal during the war, and you’re just happy to have him back at all. 

He does surprise you one night when it’s really quiet in the house and you’re sitting on the couch together, each reading a book. He suddenly turns to you and says You know baby girl, your letters saved my sanity over there. It’s the most he’s really ever said about the war, but it’s enough, and you kiss him so he knows that you get it.  

GIF by balladofthe101st

David Webster

Unsurprisingly, Web is probably the best letter writer in all of Easy Company. 

He helps a lot of the other guys write letters home, especially if they’re trying to say something important. Web just has a knack for words unlike any other. 

He writes a lot of letters home, not just to you, but to the rest of his family, his siblings, some of his friends, and definitely his professors. 

So because you’re close with Web’s family, you do get to read a lot of his writing. 

His letters to you are different though. They’re darker and a little less polished. Sometimes, they frighten you a little bit. Web talks about things you’re not you really understand - like how pointless death is, how empty it makes him feel to see his friends get KIA, how he carries around guilt about surviving this long like an anchor. 

Refers to you exclusively in his letters by your first name, his writing is always serious and somber and drenched with heavy emotions, so pet names just really don’t fit the vibe.

He quotes poetry and literature quite a bit when he writes. It all feels a bit Gothic, but you’ve always known that Web has found clarity in the world through books, so you don’t begrudge him a little poetic license.

Signs his letters Yours in perpetuity, David K. Webster. 

Asks you to send books. Sometimes he asks for something specific, but other times he’s happy to get whatever you pick out for him. Your tastes are different from his; you prefer to choose shorter, gentle pieces about life in the British countryside or Western adventure novels. Web would prefer Wadsworth or Hemingway, but he figures it’s probably in his best interests to read things that don’t tackle dark themes. You always tuck a letter for him into the first few pages. 

He doesn’t save your letters, per se, although he does save every single book you send to him. When he gets home, he puts them all up on the bookshelf in his office. Even though they’re beat up and stained and not at all fitting with the rest of his collection, they’re front and center. 

Sometimes he takes a stab at sketching in his letters. He’s not bad, either. You try to encourage him to take lessons when he gets home, which he never does. He secretly loves how much you love his drawings though.

GIF by yourspeirs

Joe Liebgott

KING OF DIRTY LETTERS

You definitely like to re-read his letters… again and again…

Not every letter is a dirty one. But most are. Or at least have a dirty section in them. 

You don’t know how this man makes you feel wanted from halfway around the world, but somehow he does. Lord knows you love a lot about your Joey, but you didn’t realize how good he was with words until you found yourself practically stalking the mailman, hoping for another delivery from Joe.

Uses a lot of pet names in his letters. Baby girl, Doll, Princess are some of his favorites. Literally never calls you by your name.

Always signs off with Your Joey. 

Even when Joe is clearly in a dark place, his letters are saturated with how much he needs you and how he can’t stop thinking about all the ways he’s going to have you when he gets home. 

When your mother finds one of Joey’s letters to you, she throws an absolute shit fit and freaks out that you’re sleeping with someone before you’re married. It takes a long time for you to convince her that you haven’t slept with Joey yet, you’re just… really into dirty talking.

She kinda chills after that but still looks at you suspiciously every time you get a letter from him.

She never tells your dad though, which makes you think maybe she’s more supportive of your relationship with him than you realized.

After working up the courage, you write Joe a letter that is so sinful you actually doubt whether you should send it in the mail, it just feels so wrong.

When I say this man goes crazy for that letter, it is an understatement. He is out of his mind and immediately writes you a reply telling you so. Basically begs you for more.

Even though your letters back and forth with Joe are pretty raunchy, there’s also a sweetness to them. He’s always sure to mention that This ain’t just all talk, Doll. When you’re Mrs. Liebgott, you’re gonna see exactly what I’ve been writing about. Which you know is still pretty dirty, but hey, he’s basically proposing to you, right?

You are not the least bit surprised to know that he kept your naughtiest letters when he finally gets home.

But, Joseph Liebgott is a man of his word, and even though he is clearly dying to and you’re practically begging him to, he doesn’t make good on all those dirty promises until after you’re wearing his ring.

Much to your delight, you find that he is just as good with actions as he is with words.

[random-brushstrokes]

Ignacio Zuloaga y Zabaleta (Spanish, 1870–1945) - Lolita reclining in a blue shawl

[clairifys]

Prolonged love - Joseph Liebgott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sometimes the best things in life take a long time, and sometimes life throws you for a loop. It sure threw (Y/n) for a loop when grabbing German POWs in Hagenau turns into her having to babysit a young Dutch girl.

Tw: Swearing, death, reader being trilingual, mentions of war, mentions of concentration camps, mentions of abuse, killing, slightly dirty? not full on smut, reader is female, slight misogyny due to the time period, she/her pronouns

Word count: 6.5k

I do not own Band of Brothers, nor do I own any of the characters. I am not intending to be disrespectful towards any of the people on this show

The Dutch name is pronounced like (Tina-ka) Tineke, and the nickname Tine is pronounced as (Teeny)

I was born in Chicago. My mother was born in Groningen, Netherlands, and my father in Antwerp, Belgium. I was the oldest child, and after me, my parents had five others. Despite having six kids, we were all taught Dutch and German from a young age. The sole reason I was accepted into the military was because of me being trilingual, I’ll forever be grateful to my parents for teaching me their languages. 

February 9, 1945 

Easy Company was on its way to France. We were stationed in Haguenau, which had been taken by the Allies in December. Honestly speaking, I didn’t really know what to expect when we got there. I was sitting in the back of a truck, squished between Babe and Liebgott. Joe had become a close friend way back in Toccoa when he’d fallen running up Currahee, and I stopped and helped him up. We both had our 48-hour weekend passes revoked, but we made the most of it that weekend together. After that, we’d spend our weekend passes together and hang out.

I was leaning against Joe as I’d been almost the whole ride, his arm slung around my shoulders as I read a book that I had found when we invaded Foy. It seemed the Krauts enjoyed good literature as I was reading For Whom the Bell Tolls in German. I was a translator for Easy Company, being able to speak English, German and Dutch, I was a heavy asset to the team. It was a beautifully told story about the Civil War that had some romance aspects while also being brutal. I finished the book twice, and now I was reading it a third time.

“Jesus doll, I think I’ve seen you read that damn book about forty times now. How good can it be?” Joe said when he noticed my attention had strayed.

“Oh it’s a beautifully told story, Joe. Although, I don’t think you could read anything that didn’t have pictures.” I replied jokingly to him, looking up at him from where I was leaning against him. I could hear Babe and Malarkey laughing, and a young soldier, Jackson watching intently. 

“How can you read that, (L/n)?” A quiet voice asked in front of me. It’d been from Jackson. He lied on his documents so that made him 20 right now while I, at 23, was considered young. 

“I can speak and read German. Although my mother is a Dutch immigrant, my father was a Belgium immigrant.” I spoke honestly. Picking up languages was a bit of a gift for me. I’d always been good at remembering and learning languages, probably since I was taught three languages at once from a young age.

“(Y/n)! I’ve read that book! It’s so beautifully written.” A new voice spoke from the opening in the back of the truck, I quickly jolted from Joe’s shoulder, as he groaned from lack of contact, to see who the familiar voice belonged to.

“David Webster? Where the hell have you been?” I interrogated, while simultaneously giving him a toothy smile. He blushed slightly while asking Jackson for a hand to get up on the truck and suddenly Joe spoke up sharply, 

“The hospital. Must’ve liked that hospital Webster, cause uh, we left Holland four months ago.” After saying that he gave Web a dismissive look while tightening his hold on my shoulders. Suddenly, I felt very awkward, and slightly bad for Web - the war was tough and it was understandable to be afraid, it just wasn’t fair that some men snuck out only to get killed or injured more severely than the first time. They started going back and forth, jabbing at Webster passively, although it didn’t seem to be because they didn’t like him, they were just tired and upset. I gave Web a smile before getting off the truck, following Joe close behind.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to be so mean to Web.” I said calmly, making sure to not seem mad at Joe as to not have him get defensive.

“I guess, but it’s bullshit that we had men come back just to get killed.” He said quickly. When he said that, I saw Lieutenant Lipton sluggishly walking towards a building. The poor man had a bad case of Pneumonia, so I ran over and put his arm under my shoulders to help him. As I did that, explosions rang over our head and fell a little farther than we were. He gave me a smile and I helped him into the building he was walking towards. It was pretty on the inside, Luz and Captain Speirs were in the room along with Webster walking in. 

“Hey look who it is. Nice digs, huh, Lip? (Y/n)?” Luz said to me and Lipton as I helped Lipton situate himself on the couch.

“Yeah.” Lipton called back, unenthusiastically and coughed slightly after.

George came over with a blanket and put it on Lipton. He had a lit cigarette in his mouth, so I took it out and took a long drag from it.

“Hey what gives (Y/n). Just ‘cause you’re a pretty dame with a nice rack doesn’t mean you can steal my cigs.” He said while laughing, only partly joking. I gave him a look and replied,

“You’re just mad, this is all you get to see of my ‘nice’ rack.” 

He laughed and replied with a ‘you bet’. As he said that, a new voice spoke up, mock confident.

“Ahem. Is this the company CP for Easy?” He asked, looking at me and Luz weirdly before I went to get Lip a cup of hot coffee. 

From the kitchen, I could vaguely hear that he called himself Lieutenant Jones and that he was asking for Captain Speirs. I came out with a coffee for Lipton as Speirs was drilling him about going to the back to sack out and rest. I noticed Jones had stood up when Speirs walked in.

“Christ Captain, give him a break. He’s got Pneumonia!” I told Speirs as I handed Lipton his coffee and gave him a squeeze on his shoulder. Lipton thanked me with a small smile as the new guy looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.

“Hello to you Ms. (L/n). If he doesn’t rest up though, that Pneumonia won’t go away.” He said pointedly at Lipton.

“I’m sorry, are you a field nurse? I didn’t think they let field nurses come this close to action.” Jones asked me, even though he wasn’t asking with any malicious intent, and it was all curiosity, I still got upset.

“Why d’ya think I’m a field nurse? I’m literally in uniform.” I deadpanned at him while giving him a little attitude for automatically assuming I’d be a field nurse just because I was a woman.

“Oh. I’m sorry, truly I was just curious. I didn't mean any offense, I just didn’t know they let women become paratroopers.” He said quickly, face turning slightly red.

“They don’t. (Y/n) here has some insane stamina, and she’s a helluva shot!” Webster spoke up for me, and I threw him a smile.

“Oh gee, Shifty’s got a better shot than I’d ever dream of having.” I replied, giving credit to Shifty, as he did have a better shot and he was just the sweetest man alive. At that, Winters walked in and told us he’d need fifteen of us on a patrol tonight to capture prisoners. When he said he’d need a translator, I instantly knew it’d be me or Joe as we were the only two in Second Platoon who could speak German. Webster could as well, but we didn’t know which Platoon he’d be in. 

After Nixon and Winters left, Speirs began talking to Lipton about who should lead, and who he could take for the patrol. During this, Jones asked to be on the patrol, which Speirs answered quickly and easily with a no, that he hadn’t any experience. 

“Lipton, how many prisoners do you think there’ll be?” Speirs asked the man in question.

“Honestly, sir, I’m not quite sure, anywhere between three to forty it seems.” He said in reply.

“(L/n).” Speirs called for me as I was sitting in a chair reading.

“Ya want me to be a translator, that it?” I asked, knowing that’s what he was about to ask me.

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Alright.”

When Webster and Lieutenant Jones left for OP two, I decided to get going as well. I knew Liebgott would be there so that was a good enough reason for me.

“Web, I’m comin’ with. Joe’s probably there right now.” I said to David, although slightly talking to Jones as well, to let him know I’d be going to.

“Yeah, no problem. Say when you’re finished with that book, d’ya mind if I reread it?” He asked me as all three of us walked down the street.

“Awh hell Web, I’ve read this thing three times now, you can go ahead and read it now.” I said while throwing him the book, silently noting how quiet Lieutenant Jones was behind us. The two men were running around crouching behind a little garden wall as I stood up, not seeing why they were doing that. When I heard the door open, Sergeant Kiehn came out, greeting me and Web and telling us where OP two was at. Before anymore words could get exchanged, bombs and mortars started raining down on us and we started running and ducking to take cover. We sat against the wall of a building before a man shouted out that it was all clear. After that, we quickly got to the building where OP two was located. Once inside, I immediately went upstairs and sat down on Joe’s bunk and plopped my stuff down.

“Hey doll, where’d you run off to?” Joe asked while wrapping his arms around me as a way to annoy me.

“Went to help Lip, where’d you go?” I asked while laughing at him.

“Came here.” He replied while digging his face into my stomach and faking sleep. Web and Lieutenant Jones came up not too long after I had, and when Jones saw me and Liebgott he immediately stiffened and gave me and Joe a weird look.

“This spot taken?” Webster asked.

“Nah it’s all yours.” Joe said to him while turning his face away from my stomach, my hands went down to card through his hair and he took notice of Jones’ look.

“Fuck are you staring at?” Joe asked him while sitting up and giving him his own glare.

“I’m sorry?” The Lieutenant asked, offended.

“You got a starin’ problem? Why you lookin’ at me and (Y/n) like that?” He challenged him.

“Alright, alright. Quit fighting, we’ve got news.” Webster said, breaking up the fight.

“Dummer, zimperlicher Junge, der dich so ansieht. (Stupid, prissy boy, lookin at you like that)” Joe mumbled to me in German, only loud enough for only me to hear.

“Er ist einfach sauer, weil du mich berührst und nicht er. (He's just mad because you're touching me and not him)” I said back laughing.

Me and Joe got up to go talk to a bunch of men in the corner laughing and smoking, while Webster and Jones went to talk to Malark. When Joe heard them talk about the patrol he pulled Web aside and I went and sat next to Babe to listen to what he was going to say.

“What do you know about this patrol thing?” Joe asked Web quietly.

“Uh, nothing.” Web said while nodding his head.

“Oh, come on, Web. You gotta know something.” Ramirez interrogated.

“I don’t” He replied adamantly 

` “Bullshit.” 

Web and everyone went back and forth and soon more people sat down to listen. I knew Web wouldn’t give anything up, so I decided to. My head was starting to hurt and I wanted to lay down before the patrol knowing I’d be on it at 0100.

“Speirs is picking fifteen men, Jonesy boy wants to be one of ‘em.” I said while yawning. Joe looked down at me and said,

“I say let the kid go, he could use the experience.” He smiled then Ramirez perked up,

“And I bet they could find fourteen other replacements to help him out.” while smirking.

“Nope.” I said, popping the p. “Babe, McClung, Ramirez and I are going out there.” I said dismissively.

“(Y/n)!” Web hissed at me.

“What?” I asked, confused. Then proceeded with,

“Pssh, I’ll just say it was you who said it, Joe and Babe’ll back me up, won’t you boys.” I asked, smiling up at Joe then at Babe.

“Course we will, doll.” Joe replied and Babe grunted. Webster deadpanned me and sat down when Malarkey started telling us about the patrol. 

When the phone rang, and the PX supplies came in, I was ecstatic. New shoes and a shower? Felt like late Christmas. On our way out, the Krauts started to bomb us. We ran down the stairs and I threw myself under a table with Joe. When we had made it outside, we heard there was a casualty, Bill Kiehn. He was a Toccoa man. It was upsetting and it was unfair that he’d gotten through Bastogne only to die like this. I hadn’t known him too well, but the fact that I’d been talking to him 30 minutes prior made me feel like throwing up. Instead of staying to watch, me and the rest of the second platoon went over to the showers to pick up our new ODs. 

Arriving at the showers, we went to go pick up our new ODs, and anything else they’d dropped for us. Nixon was standing by the depot and was holding a box with my name on it. Being the only woman paratrooper here meant I’d need a different size uniform and boots. I thanked Nixon and grabbed the box, opening it. Inside there was a uniform my size, boots, and women’s sanitary needs, a new bra set, and a few new pairs of panties.

“Well ain’t you a lucky gal, getting new undergarments while we’re stuck with the same briefs.” A voice came from behind me. Getting ready to yell at whoever was looking over my shoulder, I turned and realized it was Joe.

“Aww, poor baby has to wear the same briefs.” I replied, feigning upset and then laughing when I saw his disgruntled expression.

 Before I could run off to take a much needed shower, Malarkey called for us to let us know who’d be going on the patrol.

Heffron, McClung, Ramirez, me, Liebgott, Grant, Wynn, Jackson, Shifty and Webster. When we heard how many second platoon men were going, you could practically feel the rage flowing from us. 

We’d all been pissed, wanting to complain but knowing it’d do us no good. Malarkey went off towards the showers and told us to as well. There were men standing at the entrance, undressing and some coming out wet. I didn’t want to undress, even if it was only down to my bra and panties. I’d been behind Joe when I took my first few layers of my tops off. Down to my black bra and army-issued pants was when Webster came up to talk to Joe, effectively, scaring the shit out of me.

“Jesus, Web, you came outta nowhere.” I said, holding my hand to my chest to calm down.

“Oops, sorry (Y/n).” He said while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. I’d noticed his face had turned a bright shade of red, but I thought it was because he was embarrassed that he’d scared me. A hand shot out to grab my arm and turn me around when I noticed it was Joe. 

“What’s the matter?” I asked curiously.

“Do you not see everyone lookin’ at you like they’re starving men looking at their last meal?” He asked bewildered. Suddenly, I became hyper aware of most of the men's eyes on me, waiting for me to finish undressing. Before I could respond Joe spoke up again.

“Nevermind that, just finish and we can go in together.” Quickly I went to undo my belt, and I realized Joe was already down to his briefs, waiting on me. I felt bad to make him wait, but he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to. I took this time to really look at Joe. Sure he was cute, and I’d definitely thought about him like this before, but would he really want me? I tried not to let my hopes get up, and as I slipped my pants down my legs, I forced myself to look away from his bare chest.

Having a hot shower was probably the best thing I’d had in a long time. Quickly scrubbing my body and hair down and then rinsing off, I stepped outside in a towel and grabbed my new uniform, and new undergarments.

Joe had finished showering, so I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a random building to change, and do my hair. When we got in, there was nobody there, probably all in the showers, so I took Joe to the first mirror I found in a bedroom and made him sit down. He had no obligations and I told him I’d be back after changing. Once I finished, I brought out my old undergarments and towel and hung them out to dry.

There was a vanity on the opposite side of a bed, with a little cushion seat, and some old, dusty hair products. I quickly got to work using them and braiding up my hair.

“Why’d you pull me away doll? Want me that bad huh?” He questioned while smirking at me and drawing a cigarette from his front pocket.

“Yeah, you wish. I wanted someone to talk to.” I joked back before replying honestly and looking at him through the mirror. I finished doing my last braid as Joe was telling me about one of his comics he found that he enjoyed. Standing up, I walked over to stand in front of him, looking down on him as he was sitting on the bed. He stopped talking and we made eye contact. He looked as handsome as ever sitting in his new ODs, with a fresh shower.

“Well don’t you look handsome in your new uniform with your hair combed.” I said to him in a sweet voice running my hands through his wet hair. His eyes darkened as his hands went to hold onto my hips.

“Jesus, (Y/n). We’ve been through hell and back and you’re still the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.” He said confidently. I could feel my face getting hot, he’d said things like this before, but this time, it felt different. Stronger almost. 

“Oh, Joe. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.” I whispered to him, and he looked up at my lips, silently asking me. I slowly closed my eyes and let my hands fall from his hair down to his face, I slowly leaned down as he looked up and closed my eyes. As our lips were less than a centimeter apart, someone awkwardly coughed.

We sprung away from each other, embarrassed that we got caught. Looking at who it was, some random replacement apologized and said he left something in here and it was his room.

When he left, I started laughing and grabbed Joe by the arm to pull him up.

“Come on, I bet everyone is wondering where we went.”

“Goddammit Johnny, you’re breaking my heart.” Luz said.

“Come on, George, just give me, I don’t know, ten, fifteen bars?” Martin pressured him

“Juicy fruit, happy?”

Johnny and Cobb had been pestering George to give them Hershey bars. I knew there wasn’t enough, and that it wasn’t fair so I just stayed quiet the whole time. Cobb began badgering George again and when George went to defend himself, a whole group of men walked in.

“Whoa, Hershey bars!” Joe exclaimed, coming up behind me to rest his hands on my shoulders from where I was sitting in front of the table of candy and treats.

“Jesus Christ.” Poor George just couldn’t catch a break.

“Wait your turn, Liebgott.” Cobb said, pissing me off. I never really liked Cobb and he didn’t like me.

“Yeah, who they for?” Liebgott asked George.

“Not you, Lieb.”

“Oh come on George, one bar!” Joe pestered, wanting to get that bar.

“Y’know who they’re for? People who don’t interrogate me. Here, (Y/n), have a bar!” George replied while looking Joe in the eye.

“Oh George! Thank you!” I exclaimed excitedly. I hadn’t known the last time I’d gotten chocolate.

“Christ, you’re only giving it to her because she’s a woman and you wanna get on her good side in case the opportunity arises to fuck her!” Cobb said angrily as I turned around, glaring, ready to hit him.

“That sounds more like something you’d do, knowing you couldn’t get a woman to sleep with you willingly if your life depended on it!” I yelled back at him which caused him to call me a slur of colorful words. After that, Joe yelled at him and I ignored him.

“Hey big mouth! Give Lieb a Hershey bar, huh?” Perconte asked.

When I heard his voice, I jumped up, running up to him to give him a hug.

“Perco! Your back!” I exclaimed as he hugged me back.

“You gotta be shittin’ me! Look who it is!” George laughed and said.

“How ya feeling?” Joe then asked him, smiling.

“As long as you keep your hands off my ass, I’ll be fine.” Perconte replied, laughing.

“Have a Hershey’s!” Luz threw one at Perconte.

“Hey he gets a fuckin Hershey bar?” Joe asked, offended as I came to sit down next to him, opening up my Hershey’s.

“Ask ya girlfriend to french ya when she’s done eating it.” George joked as I took a bite into my bar and broke it in half.

“I’ll do you one better, Joe.” I said after I swallowed and handed him the half I didn’t bite into. He took it with thanks.

“That’s not one better, he’d rather you kiss him (L/n)!” Luz said while laughing right after. Joe pushed him backwards while also laughing

At 1700, there was a briefing about the house we’d be going into. I was next to Shifty, talking with him. Every now and again me and Joe would make eye contact, until the other looked away. Winters, and Martin walked in which caused Joe to look away first. Winters explained Johnny would be going in Malarkey's place, and that made everyone slightly more comfortable. I was on Johnny’s team, along with Webster. I walked out and Liebgott was waiting for me, he left with me and as we passed Speirs, he told Joe he didn’t have to go on the patrol.

We’d been all stationed in the basement for now before the patrol. Having to eat slop and we couldn’t have our helmets. I sat with Shifty as I ate.

“Youse gonna be out there with a gun?” Shifty asked me in a sweet voice, I knew what he was talking about. He was asking if I’d be helping shoot.

“Nah, well obviously I’ll have a gun, but I’m mainly a translator.” I smiled at him and he smiled back.

“I don’ understand why they never let you shoot with me. You’re a helluva sniper.” Shifty told me, making me giggle at him.

“Oh Shift, you know how to make a woman feel good about herself.” I replied, happy that I got to talk to him before the patrol. He always knew how to make someone happy, even during nerve-wracking times.

At 0100, we were getting into those rubber boats, and setting sail on a short trip across the river. Before the fourth boat could even get far, it flipped and we were down three men. I wasn’t too nervous, knowing that I’d been through worse. When we got to the other side, Martin had someone cut the fence and me and Web, being translators, meant that we had to be up front in case we found any Germans. 

So far, we’d gotten up to the steps of the house we’d need to get prisoners from. Johnny had shot into the window, and Jackson went up to throw his grenade, except, instead of waiting for it to finish detonating, Jackson didn’t stop and immediately went into the house, getting hit straight in the face with his grenade. As we ran in, me and Web were yelling at the men in German. We started to split the three men up when I heard a small cry in the corner of the room. I stopped to turn to go towards the sound.

“(L/n)! What are you doing?” Johnny yelled at me.

“Sir! There’s a child!” I shouted, confused. When I got down eye level with the little girl, I noticed she was only in a thin, white nightgown, with no shoes. She looked malnourished, hurt and mostly scared. 

“Alsjeblieft! Alsjeblieft! (Please! Please!)” The little girl cried in Dutch, shrinking away from me when I went to get her.

“Het is goed schat! Rustig maar, ik ben hier om te helpen! (Its okay dear! Relax, I'm here to help!)” I replied to her in Dutch. What had a little Dutch girl been doing here? I didn’t have time to continue to calm the little girl before Johnny started yelling about getting on the boats and leaving.

“Klein meisje, ik ga je ophalen. (Little girl, I'm going to pick you up.)” I warned her before grabbing her bridal style and running with her out of the house and covering her eyes to make sure she didn’t see what was happening around her with Jackson. Pushing everyone into the boats, the girl I was holding onto kept crying and crying. The poor little girl couldn’t have been more than four years old. 

“Het is goed schat. Het is goed schat. (It’s alright baby. It’s alright baby.)” I kept repeating to the small frightened girl. When Webster jumped into the boat behind me, we started going back to our side. He had his head ducked, as the Krauts kept shooting at the back boat. He had his arms around me when he realized I was shielding a child.

“(Y/n)! What the hell? Why do you have a child?” He yelled out over the gun fire.

“I don’t know! She was in the corner, she’s Dutch!” I replied, still confused as to how she got here and why she wasn’t in the Netherlands. We all ran downstairs, I was still holding onto the little girl, she had come from the Germans territory so I had to stay with her by the other prisoners. Nobody had come up to me about the girl yet so I took this as a time to try to get information so she wasn’t bombarded when adrenaline wore off.

“Wat is je naam? (What’s your name?)” I asked her calmly. She looked up at me with teary dark blue eyes. “Tineke.” She responded in a quiet voice. I was sitting on the floor and I held her so she was only facing me. I could feel someone watching me, but for now I didn’t care.

“Mooie naam! De mijne is (Y/n)! (Beautiful name! Mine is (Y/n)!)” I replied while smiling at her and gently carding my hand through her dark brown strands. Her skin was deathly pale and it was obvious she hadn’t drank or eaten anything in a long time. I gave her my canteen and she took it wearily. She wouldn’t drink it because she was scared of what could be in it. I took it back and took a small sip and gave it back. When she noticed I was okay, she started drinking out of it rapidly. 

When she finished drinking, I asked her more questions. 

“Spreek je Engels? (Can you speak English?)” I asked her. “Little bit.” She replied hesitantly.

“Very good, mijn liefje! (My love!)” She seemed to smile a little at the name I’d given her.

“Where is your mommy?” I asked slowly. She started to get upset at the mention of her mother but she replied anyway.

“She die. The Duits kill her. I am Joods. They take her and kill my mammie in de camps for Jodens. Then they keep me. (The Germans kill her. I am Jewish. My mommy. Camps for Jews.)” She told me in a somber tone. When she couldn’t think of the right word, she’d just say it in Dutch. I thought about bringing her to Joe later knowing he was Jewish, she might feel comfortable with him. 

“You’re safe now, liefje.” I told her while bringing her close to my chest. She ended up falling asleep not even ten minutes later. It gave me time to think about what she had said. She never mentioned a last name which made me believe she didn’t know it. The camp she was talking about was also weird. What did she mean by a camp for Jewish people?

Jackson had died. That boy who’d just turned twenty, had died. He had his whole life ahead and he died in a stupid war. I hadn’t even known him too well, but he just died in front of me, in front of everyone. I was thankful Tineke was asleep as she’d already seen enough. 

A day had passed since the patrol. The Germans were taken away and Tineke wouldn’t talk to anyone except me, and occasionally Joe. When Winters had found out about her, he had to ask her questions. I had come with because she couldn’t speak English very well and she refused to go anywhere if I wasn’t with her. The poor girl had been traumatized and it seemed like she’d been like that for a while.

While asking her questions, we found out her family was Jewish, and when the Germans found out, they took her and her family out of their homes to be sent to a camp. She didn’t know much, just that her mother and her got away and when they were found by the two Germans, her mother tried to fight against them resulting in her getting shot. Tineke was then taken as a hostage. 

Doc Roe came in to see how she was and it turned out she had been malnourished, and if I hadn’t found her when I did she would’ve been dead. Later that day I took her to the building where the second platoon was located to introduce her. 

I walked in and held onto Tine and went upstairs.

“Guys, this is Tineke. She was found in the house with the other POWs and she’s Dutch. She can speak some English, but don’t bombard her.” I spoke when I went upstairs and saw everyone. They all looked at us, and one by one I walked around with her and had her say hi to everyone. When I got to the last person, Joe, I sat down on the bunk with him and had her greet him.

“Tine, why don’t you tell Joe what you are.” I reminded her. I had told her to tell him she was Jewish before we went upstairs.

“Jewish.” Was all she said, nervous and not knowing too much English, she turned her face away into my chest. I rubbed my hand down her knotted, dirty hair realizing she needed a bath.

“Ain’t that cool! I’m Jewish too!” Joe responded in a sweet voice, smiling down at her when she slightly turned her head towards him. Before any more words could get exchanged, Webster came in to break the news that we were to go on another patrol that night and there would be another meeting at 1800. It was currently 1530 so I decided to bring Tineke down to the kitchen sink where I could give her a makeshift bath. I remembered how my mom would do that for me and my siblings when we were little and there were no baths in any of the houses.

I grabbed some soap and put it in her hair while I’d tell her stories to pass the time. 

“A long time ago, there were two moons. It was said one of them, named houden got too close to the sun, and out came thousands of dragons.” I told her a story my mother used to tell me all the time.

“Houden? To hold?” She asked as I began rinsing out her hair.

“That’s right. That’s how dragons were born.” I told her. As I finished saying that, another voice piped up from behind me.

“I didn’t know dragons were born from the moon.” Joe came up behind me and waved at Tineke, who brought her hand up slightly.

“That’s because I never told you that.” I said while smiling up at him. He moved to have his arms around my waist and laid his head on my shoulder. I finished rinsing Tine off then I grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it. Nixon had got clothes small enough to fit her from one of his sources. It was a small, black dress with a dark brown fluffy shawl. She also had stockings and tiny boots. When I finished dressing her, I braided up her hair and put on a hat.

At 1800 we all went down to the basement to await Winter’s meeting he called.

“Whatcha lookin’ at Webster.” A drunk Cobb said. I put one of my hands on Web’s shoulder, holding Tineke to my chest as she slept on me, and he turned to give me a smile.

“That’s what I thought, college boy.” Cobb said while swaying lightly on his feet. I gave Cobb a glare and squeezed the hand I had on Web’s shoulder.

“Are you drunk, trooper?” Lieutenant Jones asked him, angrily.

“Leave me alone.” Cobb replied, looking away.

“Answer the question.” Jones said firmly.

“Yes, sir, I am drunk, sir.” Cobb said sassily before adding, “Drunk, and sick and tired of fucking patrols. Taking orders-”

“Hey Cobb, shut up. It’s boring, okay.” Martin cut him off before he could finish what he was saying.

“Taking his side, Johnny?” “Yeah, I am.”

After that shit show I went and sat by Joe, wanting to make sure I wouldn’t be in Cobb’s line of fire in case he decided to throw something.

Winters came in to not only tell us that we didn’t have to go on that patrol, but that we’d also be off the line tomorrow. After he left, everyone started talking, which woke up Tine, who had no idea what was going on, but was happy because everyone else was. 

When I went upstairs, Winters was waiting for me.

“Hey, (Y/n).” He said, a bittersweet tone to his voice.

“Hello, sir. Anything I can help you with?” I asked, slightly nervous that he had waited for me.

“It turns out, we found one of Tineke’s family members. Her aunt and uncle. They’re set to come tonight.” He said quietly.

“Oh. Well that’s great!” I smiled slightly, feeling my heart get heavy at the fact that the young girl would be leaving.

“Tine, you hear that? Your aunt and uncle are coming to pick you up.” I told her, looking down at her. She perked up, looking between me and Winters and then she smiled. She smiled bigger than I’d ever seen her smile.

When her aunt and uncle arrived at 2100, Tineke ran up to them and they picked her up. They repeatedly thanked me and Winters and before they left, I gave Tineke a hug and kiss and turned around to walk away. As I did that, I noticed Joe was standing there waiting for me, smiling sweetly at me. We walked away, arm in arm to go back to the house together. The next day, we’d all been sent to the trucks to move to our new location. I was sitting next to Joe, my head on his shoulder as I slept. 

We had made it to Germany. The Krauts surrendered and Hitler shot himself. We were finally able to stay in an actual house, with actual baths and actual beds. To us, life couldn’t get any better. 

Me and Joe had been sharing a house with Perco and Luz. Frank and George went out to get eggs from a farmhouse a few blocks down so right now it was just me and Joe.

“You excited, doll?” He asked me from the table. I put down one of the wet dishes I was washing, and replied,

“For what Lieb?” “We got through the hard part!” Oh. I hadn’t really thought about that yet.

“Well, yeah, I guess. I’m just scared that I’ll have to go to the Pacific if this war finishes soon.” I replied genuinely.

“Oh don’t worry about that right now.” He said while standing up and coming behind me. I put down the last dish and pulled off the wet, yellow gloves I had on to wash the dishes in.

“Y’know, Perco and Luz just left.” 

“I know Liebgott, I’ve got eyes.” I replied, smiling up at him while turning around to face him. He put his hands on the sink behind me and smiled down on me.

“Well if your eyes are any good, then you’ll be able to see how much of a hold ya got on me.” He spoke before closing the distance between us and closing the gap.

I immediately closed my eyes and kissed him back. We slowly pulled apart, and without another word he slammed his mouth into mine. This time, he was much more passionate. His hands wandered down to my waist, and mine went up to his neck and hair. I gasped as he bit my bottom lip, and he snuck his tongue into my mouth. I kissed him back with as much fervor as I could, slightly pulling on his hair without realizing. He moaned into my mouth and the vibrations caused heat to pool in my stomach.

His hands started to roam down my body, causing me to moan as well. He pulled me flush against him and then pulled me up the stairs into one of the rooms I was occupying. I gently sat down on the bed and his fingers went to my uniform top, unbuttoning my shirt. 

Perconte and Luz were walking down the trail to the house they were sharing with (Y/n) and Joe, they had eggs to cook up for everyone. When they got inside, they expected to see (Y/n) and Joe downstairs, waiting for them like they had been before.

“Hey, where’d they go-”

“D’you hear that?” George cut Frank off when he heard what sounded like muffled banging from upstairs. The two men immediately smirked at each other, and Luz ran upstairs.

They stopped outside of the door getting ready to knock, when they heard moaning from the other side.

Before Frank could hold George back, he knocked on the door yelling, 

“You two better hurry up before me and Perco eat all the eggs!” It was quiet for a moment before Joe shouted out towards the two men,

“Go ahead! I’m eating something way better!”

IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG! If I missed any TWs lmk and I'll add them!