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this-is-my-canon · 4 years

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HELLO! I told you I would be here! So let's see.... if you do Hashirama/Obito can I combine these two prompts? (“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”) (Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing)

Sorry I’m late, but now that rare pair week is here, I couldn’t resist filling this prompt for the Free Day! Enjoy 😊

Displayed on Obito’s phone screen is a deceiving visual grid that makes him scratch his head. So those are pictures of dogs. But with their short-haired glossy coats, and with their limbs disappearing within their tightly curled bodies, he’d sworn at first glance he was looking at an array of bagels.

Obito holds his finger over the image and copies it as he walks beneath the moving shadows of leafy trees and prepares to send it with a short message. He knows exactly who will love this. And after Kakashi’s shenanigans yesterday granting Obito that opportune moment to catch a flattering photo of his crush riding his bike, Obito figures he owes him one. One picture to ogle is decent payment in exchange for another. But Kakashi probably won’t be saving his as his lockscreen.

“Obito!”

Obito’s eyes go wide at the sound of Hashirama’s jovial voice close and over his shoulder. Hashirama’s footsteps are quick behind him. Obito tenses, gritting his teeth at the thought of Hashirama seeing his text to Kakashi, where in so few words he blabs about his intense crush on the guy. Obito bears his finger down on the side button, turning his screen black and breathing a sigh of intermingled relief and admiration at the sound of Hashirama’s laughter in his ear.

“You,” Hashirama says, and maybe Obito’s imagining it, but he almost sounds flirtatious, “were late again.”

Obito slows his walk so Hashirama’s steps can fall in stride with him. It’s not like he has to worry about being late for his next lecture...like he was for this one. He’s shocked Hashirama noticed - not his late appearance today, because he’d been anything but stealthy with the big doors slamming behind him and interrupting the professor as they echoed through the lecture hall, which was immediately followed by Obito stumbling over other students to claim a seat. No, that isn’t what’s shocked Obito. What shocks him is that his crush notices him enough to know he’s been late before. Obito doesn’t know whether he should be flattered to be worthy of such attention or insulted by the fact that tardiness is what Hashirama Senju knows him by.

Obito ruffles his hair, kicking a pebble as he looks away from the radiant grin on Hashirama’s stunning face. “Ah, yeah. You know, I’m not always late.”

“But you might be going for the university’s record,” Hashirama says easily.

Obito looks at him, opening his mouth to speak but hesitating when everything he wants to say rings lame in his mind. They probably don’t have much time to talk. Hashirama’s on a full time schedule. If he doesn’t have another class now, he’ll have one soon. Or need to head to lunch between his classes. Even if Obito could think of something to say, he can’t think much at all while distracted by Hashirama’s smooth skin and sleek face-framing long hair. His big brown eyes seem so open, so honest. And those lips. Obito just wants to kiss them. He could spend an hour studying Hashirama’s face. He has. Whenever lectures get boring and Hashirama’s sitting there with that studious look on his face, laughing off the snide remarks his buddy Madara makes behind the professor’s back, he’s all Obito can look at.

“Ah.”

Obito’s startled from his reverie by Hashirama’s grunt, and realizes Hashirama’s brows are furrowed as he looks down at something. Obito follows his gaze and yelps. He clenches his hand around his damn, traitorous phone and thinks about throwing it.

He pockets it instead.

Hashirama couldn’t have seen his phone locked on Hashirama’s photo. He didn’t. Obito heaves a breath, stubbornly avoiding Hashirama’s gaze, willing him to have not seen that picture.

“Am I your lockscreen?” Hashirama says.

Obito blows all the air from his lungs in one sharp retort. “No!”

“Are you sure?” Hashirama says with a mild smile and a raised brow. “Because that looked like-“

With a growl, Obito pulls his phone back out and begins furiously typing. He’s going to finish his text to Kakashi and make Hashirama forget there was ever anything bizarre happening here, like finding his own dazzling image saved on his classmate’s phone. Obito shrugs away from Hashirama, feeling him lurking. Heat rises to Obito’s cheeks as he clenches his teeth and stoops over his phone, bringing it so close to his face that Hashirama can’t possibly see what he’s typing. He doesn’t know why Hashirama’s even still walking with him after what he potentially saw, but those footsteps at his side haven’t quit. If Obito was Hashirama, he’d have escaped the moment Obito, the psycho stalker, looked away from him. He certainly wouldn’t stay while Obito so blatantly and rudely ignores him. Obito sends Kakashi a death threat in short form text, because this is all his-

A breath whisking past him is Obito’s only warning before the soft caress of moist lips presses against his cheek. Obito gasps and turns into the sensation, nearly whipping his head against Hashirama’s nose while Hashirama pulls away with a sweet, sweet smile on his face.

Obito smacks his palm over the tingling sensation on his cheek. “Wh-what?”

He can’t process. He’s pretty sure Hashirama just kissed him. He did kiss him, right? But that doesn’t make any sense. Who kisses the weird guy taking their photo without permission and displaying it on their lockscreen? Obito groans, trying not to melt as his knees go weak before his meltdown is disrupted by the toes of his sneaker catching on a crack in the sidewalk.

Hashirama catches his fall with a steadying hand on Obito’s arm, that warm touch making Obito’s breath hitch, and then shrugs easily. “It’s a good picture. It’s flattering, really. Madara’s going to laugh you out of class when he hears about this, you know.”

I-I don’t-“

Obito chokes off, his mind a whirlwind between thoughts of Hashirama’s motivations for kissing him and why Madara should know anything about the photo. But the photo - the photo is something he can fixate on before he can address any of that.

Obito opens his mouth again and against his will, a strained, undignified sound passes through his lips. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I know,” Hashirama says, grinning far too widely. “But I’m glad I did.”

Obito raises a brow at the softness transforming Hashirama’s teasing grin into a soft smile. It’s almost like Hashirama likes him. Obito snorts a laugh, but when Hashirama raises his brows, insisting Obito believe this is real and not some crazy fantasy, Obito can’t say another word.

Hashirama tilts his head. “Would you like to grab lunch together? I’ve got class in thirty minutes, but-“

“Yes!” Obito tries not to laugh out his enthusiasm, but there’s no hiding it. It’s far too large and too new to hide. “I mean yeah, let’s have lunch,” he adds, taking it down a notch.

Hashirama laughs softly before slipping his palm into Obito’s. Obito’s eyes move from one hand to the other. As they walk and enjoy each other’s innocent touch, he catches sight of his phone still cradled in his hand. He lifts it to his eyes. He swipes it on. He sees his unsent message to Kakashi - and deletes it.

So maybe he won’t kill his best friend for this one.

This...turned out pretty well.

#asks #kisses prompts #Naruto #HashiObi #Naruto fanfiction #malakia215

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adleryoung · 5 years

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"Excellent," I chuckled. "And did you spread the word that Jerry was there at the behest of a Vulpitanian SALV?"

"There was no need, Sire," the Ixie replied. "Everyone already knoweth about the beautiful snow-fox. It seems Jerry hath been blabbing the story all over town."

"Which side has captured him for questioning?" I asked eagerly.

"Neither yet. Lady Hawk hath sequestered him and none are certain how to breach the Shoe."

"The Shoe?" I asked in perplexity.

"Lady Hawk hath built a sort of fortified villa -" the Ixie began.

"Shaped like a giant shoe," Ethel finished with a sigh. "It's every bit as ridiculous as it sounds. Those two were really meant for each other. I just wish he had stayed with her permanently, and never come back to Tulgeyside."

"Okay .. you say the town is surrounded by a hostile forest?" I asked the Ixie. "That means the Shrub army travels faster than I expected, and they must have recruited a lot more allies to form a forest."

"Aye, Sire. Their troops are large, leafy, and menacing. They have formed ranks of almost impenetrable verdure on three sides of the city."

"That's good," I giggled. "The Duchess will be getting nervous now."

"Consider carefully how thou wouldst have this play out, Sire," the Ixie warned. "The Duchess still believeth thee to be sealed away and incapacitated by her magicks. If she prevaileth, she will be content to ignore thee, and bring the fight to the Vulpitanians. The Shrubs, however, still honor their sap-oath. Thy destruction is their top priority."

"Wait a minute," Ethel interrupted angrily. "Do you mean there really is a shrub army? That has got to be the most idiotic thing I've ever heard! How can a shrub fight? What kind of threat could they possibly be on a battlefield? The Chanson never mentioned this, and I can see why! It taxes credibility to the limit."

"Nevertheless, it is true," the Ixie declared.

"I've got to see this for myself," Ethel snorted.

"No, my sweet!" I squawked. "It is far too dangerous!"

"Sire, I also came across a detachment of the Duchess's troops," Typantronn continued. "They were discussing recent renovations to her manor, and one of them was handing out plans."

She pulled a surprisingly large scroll out of what I assumed was her Ixie version of Elfintory (Ixintory?) and handed it to me.

"How did you get this?" I asked.

"Believe it or not, the officer gave me one as he was handing them out to his squad. I never thought I'd say it, but thou truly hast the advantage over them in terms of brains and cunning, Sire."

"This information would be invaluable to launch a covert counter-attack," I mused. "If the Duchess has the upper hand against the Shrubs, then I could .. hmm .. can you get this information to the Vulpitanians?"

"We are prevented by Gaps from establishing contact with the Republic," Typantronn replied. "We are not even sure how they fare."

"Perhaps I can reach them by scrying," I mused.

"Honestly Sire, if I may be so bold, I would advise that thou refrainest from doing so. Contacting the Duchess was a mistake, and it would not do to alert more potential enemies to thy presence at this time."

"Hmm, good point," I concurred. "Still, I think the Duchess is the most likely winner, since she is armed with weapons that make use of this lowfolk exploding powder. Isn't that correct, Ethel my dear?"

"Huh? Oh yes, firearms are one of the many things made by O'Daisies Enterprises."

"With the power of fire on their side, the Shrubs will be no match for them. But even if I'm wrong, and the Shrubs prevail - I have been practicing my fire cantrip all day, and I feel ready to face any menace as flammable as a Shrub army! Just to be sure, I want you and your sisters to procure and steam for me several bags of the exploding powder."

"Er, steam them, Sire?" the Ixie asked uncertainly.

"Yes, to purify and compress them to the smallest possible size for easy portability."

"Steaming will remove its fiery virtue, Sire," she informed me.

"Huh?" I countered.

"She's right, you can't steam it," Ethel interjected. "You have to keep your powder completely dry."

"Oh," I acknowledged sagely.

"Ah, this remindeth me," Typantronn declared. "Didst thou set thyself aflame again while I was gone? Please say yes. It meaneth a pile of aphids for me if thou didst."

"I do not approve of you making bets concerning -" I began, sternly.

"He did," Ethel interrupted. "Thrice."

"PAY UP, GIRLS!" Typantronn yelled at the group atop the menhir. "Don't make me get all Irenaeus on thee!"

#furry #elf #insect #fairy #story #plot #adventure #cartoon #tboay

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jurassicwinchesters · 6 years

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Moonlight and Magic

Word Count: 3,794

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: violence, witchcraft

The moon casts a bright, silver light over the garden as I carefully pick a handful of leaves from the leafy plant. After plucking several of the soft leaves, I take one last glance around the garden to make sure there’s no other herbs I’ll need. The garden is one of my proudest accomplishments. It’s in the small backyard of my even smaller house. My peeling white fence encloses the small space filled with various herbs and plants. Fairy lights decorate the edges of the fence, and doorway above my backdoor. My neighbor’s large dogwood tree intrudes my backyard, hanging over the far end of my garden, brimming with white flowers that spill all over my sweet, little garden. Surrounding the border of the fence and concrete patio are many, many pots filled with different herbs for my practice. From flowering hawthorn to lush basil to delicate caraway, each plant is equally important in protection against the supernatural.

I take one last appreciative glance at my compact garden, and head back inside, with a fistful of hawthorn for my client.

“Almost ready?”

“Yes Ms. Bandel, I’m just finishing the mix, then you can be on your way,” I reply to the sweet, but impatient old lady. Many of my clients around this area are old ladies looking for protection against the stories they’ve heard about the things that go bump in the night. Down here in Georgia, folktales and legends are commonly passed down through generations, so the people that are smart enough to believe the stories come to me for protection. Ever since her heroic militant husband passed, Ms. Bandel became one of my best customers, she says since Roger isn’t around to protect her anymore, she needs some way to look out for herself.

I bring the fistful of hawthorn I just plucked to my grinding bowl. I toss the leaves in the bowl along with the beady aspen seeds, plump blackthorn berries, and prickly holly. I grab my stone pestle and mash up the mixture, carefully but efficiently, all while listening to Ms. Bendel blab on about what her knitting group is working on. When the herbs have been grinded into a sticky paste, I transfer it into a small condiment container for Ms. Bendel.

“Here ya go ma’am. Just apply this paste as three small dots above your right eyebrow before you go to bed, it’ll be sure to protect you against the vampires you heard about,” I gently explain to my elderly client.

“Yes, yes, thank you sweetie. You really are so gifted, just like your auntie was.”

I flinch at the mention of my recently deceased aunt, feeling a surge of emotions rise up. I push it to the back of my mind as I lead Ms. Bendel through my very cluttered house, and out my creaky door.

As I walk back toward my kitchen to clean up, my thoughts keep going to my aunt. She died about three months ago, and I’ve taken over her practice as an herbal witch since then. My dad was never in my life, and my mom died a quick, painful death of lung cancer when I was only two. My aunt raised me, against my mom’s dying wishes. My mom was pretty uptight, living a more “lavish and expensive” lifestyle than my aunt ever did. Basically my mom was a rich, entitled woman who spent her summers at the country club and winters skiing in Aspen whereas my aunt lived in the small house I currently live in, growing herbs and practicing witchcraft. It’s safe to say their lifestyle rift caused a minor disliking between the two sisters. Somehow after my mom passed, I still got sent to live with my aunt Marley. Since a very young age I was homeschooled and taught the ins and outs of herbal witchcraft. Most kids grow up learning about the mitosis and the civil war and how to solve algebraic equations. I grew up learning which herbs protect against which creatures, and how to keep plants alive and growing in the cool Georgia winters. It was more of an untraditional upbringing, but I’m happy with it nonetheless.

After my aunt’s passing, things haven’t been the same. I’ve been lonely and sad and every day I’m constantly aching for her to come back. I feel like the other half of me was lost, and I can’t stop looking, and waiting for it to come back. Every night I wake up sweaty and confused as I try to drag myself from the horrible nightmares forcing me to relive Marley’s death. I’ve dealt with them every night since she died, an endless, vicious cycle of struggling to fall asleep, suffering through the terrible dream, then waking up horribly scared and unaware of my surroundings. After three months, I’m still waiting for them to get better.

Once I finish up cleaning and putting away the tools I used for my clients of the day, I head to my bedroom. I slip out of my sundress, and into pajamas, and head to the bathroom. After washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I finally slip into bed. I sink into my mattress, and pull my covers all the way up to my chin, trying to settle into a more comfortable position. I start the painstakingly long process of falling asleep, thinking about my clients from the day. As I’m reviewing all the serums, powders, and herbal pastes I made today, I start to slip into a light, uneasy sleep.

I hear the familiar chanting of the incantation start, faintly at first, but I know it will get only get louder and louder. Then I hear the first scream. I’m sitting at our small table, tucked into the nook of the kitchen, sipping on tea with a book in my hands.

“Marley? What’s wrong?” I yell out, concerned for my aunt. I stand up from the table and start to cautiously look for her. I already know what’s going to happen next, but my body keeps taking me through the motions.

I creep down our narrow hallway, the old wood floors creaking beneath my feet. The chanting from outside has become louder now, filling my head with the foreign language, temporarily distracting me from what I’m about to see. I hear my aunts ragged breathing and gasping breath from her bedroom. I burst into her room and see the familiar scene unfolding before me. Marley lying on the ground in the corner of the bedroom, breathing heavy, clutching her bleeding stomach. Ruby red blood spilling from her abdomen, then all over my hands as I shakily try to help her.

“Marley! No!” I scream through my terror.

“Get out! You have to go Y/n! They’ll come for you too!” Marley rasps out, trying with all her dying might. The incantation is now being shouted, the strange words making the setting even more eerie.

“I c-can’t leave you. I love you, please don’t leave me,” I breathe out, barely more than a whisper as I see the light quickly leaving my aunt’s eyes. She reaches up to cup my face, giving me one last look of admiration, before the last of the brightness leeches out of her emerald eyes. Suddenly the chanting stops, and before my sobbing starts I’m pulled from the nightmare.

I sit up with a gasp, blinking my surroundings into existence. I immediately feel a surge of my dinner rising up, I run to the bathroom before I can even remember where I am. I sink onto the cool tile flooring, barely making it to the toilet before I empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl. Over and over again, my stomach heaving and heaving. There are tears streaming down my face, and I feel my anxiety quickly rising. Once my stomach has been emptied I sink back against the wall, focusing on the coolness of the floor. My mind is still groggy, but I can start to identify where I am. This is how it goes every night: fall into a light sleep, being forced to relive my aunt’s death, then being ripped out of the dream to find myself throwing up in the bathroom.

After giving myself a little more time to recover, I decide I won’t be able to fall back asleep. I get up and shower, and start my day at the lovely hour of five in the morning. After getting dressed, I wander over to my kitchen to make breakfast. I whip up some toast with eggs and a big cup of ginger tea.

As I’m sitting and enjoying my tea and a book about the benefits of basil I hear hands pounding at my door. I glance at the clock skeptically, it’s six-thirty. I quickly grab a small kitchen knife for protection, and pad lightly to the door and glance through the tiny hole in the door to see who my visitor may be.

Two men stand on my concrete doorstep. One unnaturally tall with long locks, the other shorter, but more traditionally handsome with emerald eyes and soft, pink lips. I immediately get a queasy, butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach as I see him. Deciding they look trustworthy enough, I unlock my many locks, and peer around the white door.

“Uh, how can I help you boys?” I ask cautiously, nervously.

“Are you Y/n?” The tall one asks uneasily. “I’m sorry we’re here this early, I hope we didn’t wake you, but we need your help.”

“Oh, uh sure, come on in,” I say, opening the door to let the strangers in. I apologize for the clutter of plants and books, and lead them to my kitchen nook.

“Have a seat,” I explain, gesturing to the table, “Can I get you boys anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“No thanks,” the handsome one says with a smirk. I feel heat start to creep up my neck into my cheeks, so I quickly turn away and busy myself.

“So, uh, what brings you guys here?” I ask, finally sliding into a chair across from the two of them.

“Well, we need your help with a case we’re working on, we’re hunters,” the big one explains. I immediately tense up at the mention of hunters. Technically as a witch I’m supernatural, or at least involved in supernatural practice, so hunters should be hunting me.

“I’m not so sure I can help you, I don’t typically work for your type,” I explain anxiously.

“No, no you can,” the cute one explains, “Look, Y/n, we know you’re a witch, and we know you have a small practice. We also know you’re one of the good ones, and we really need your help.”

“Ok well maybe, just tell me what you need help with first. And names, what are your names?”

“I’m Dean, and this is my brother Sam,” Dean explains, and I instantly jump out of my chair. These are the Winchesters, and that realization sends a chill down to my bones.

“You need to leave. Now,” I say sternly, ushering the boys out of their chairs.

“Wait, wait, what’s happening?”

“I can’t be seen helping you two. Hunters are bad enough, but the Winchesters, if I helped you two that would practically be a death wish!” I exclaim, as I steer the boys out of my kitchen and to the front door.

“Why? Y/n we can help you! We can protect you from whatever is making you so jumpy! We’re hunters, just let us help,” Dean says, giving me a look that nearly makes me melt into the floor. I consider it, the risk of helping the Winchesters. I already have a huge target on my back because of my practice. A supernatural being helping protect humans against other supernatural beings, especially witches. There are many covens, high covens, hunting me for what I do. If these covens ever heard even a rumor of me helping the Winchesters, I’d be dead in no time. But at the same time they may be able to help me. The Winchesters may be able to protect me as they said, and they could help me avenge my aunt.

“Fine. I’ll help you guys, but there are some conditions. First, I can’t meet with you guys here, there’s too many watchful eyes around this area, plus I’ll have to take some precautions before I meet with you again. Second, you need to uphold your part of the bargain by protecting me, and I need your help with something,” I finally say after my careful consideration. I watch excitement spark in Dean’s eyes, and relief in Sam’s.

“Thank you, thank you so much Y/n. This means so much to us,” Sam gratefully says.

“So I need to know what exactly I can do for you boys, so I can do it and then bring it to you in another location,” I explain.

“Well, we’re on a case involving a small coven of witches, only about two or three we think. We just need help locating them, we’ve been tracking them for weeks and we know they’re around this area, but we can’t pinpoint their location. Do you have anything that could help us?”

“Well locating people is actually kind of tricky. I don’t have much experience in the spell side of witchcraft, but I’ll look through the books and see if there’s something I can do. But there is a bigger risk for me working on a case of witches…” I say quietly. Partly because I’m embarrassed about my lack of skill when it comes to spells, and partly because I’m concerned for the case. As an herbal witch I typically just work with herbs and plants, and I can take small amounts of natural energy from the plants to do minor spells. Going against a coven is dangerous because I’m not nearly as powerful as dark magic witches, I don’t mess with the devil and demons, too creepy for me. “I’ll give you guys a call if I figure something out, then we can meet somewhere where I’ll be able to help you.”

After getting their numbers, and walking them out the door I finally let out a big sigh and take a seat in my favorite reading chair. I searched through my stacks of books and finally found an ancient looking spell book that should be able to help me.

It’s been about two weeks since I started working with the Winchesters. Since then, not much has happened. I’ve meet with the boys only a couple times, taking the necessary measures before doing so. Marley taught me at a very young age to mask myself, a simple blend of herbs and a short incantation that will keep me hidden from any witches or magic within a ten mile radius. Every time I went to meet the Winchesters, I used the spell, just in case.

In the last two weeks I’ve also learned a location spell. I started by reading up for hours and hours on one particular spell involving a map. Then I started to practice, first locating myself, then the Winchesters, until I knew it was perfect. Now today is finally time to locate the coven, hopefully.

The boys and I will meet at a predetermined location, our towns botanical garden. We chose this place because surrounded by plants puts me at my most powerful. Once we’re there, I’ll perform the spell, hopefully locating the coven. From there, Sam and Dean will proceed to that location, and kill the coven. Then from there we’ll work on avenging my aunt’s death.

In a small backpack I pack a small amount of herbs that will help give me strength and power, my spellbook, a map of the county, and a knife just in case. Then I throw on some grey jeans, a white shirt, a green army jacket, and boots. I throw my long hair in a braid to keep it out of the way. I grab my keys and double check I have everything I need in my backpack, then head out.

When I get to the garden Sam and Dean are already waiting. We decided to meet in the rose garden because they are linked to strength and protection.

“Hey boys, ready?” I say with a confident smile. Dean throws back a smirk that makes me blush, and Sam just nods his head. “Let’s get started then.”

I grab my herbs and place the leaves of hydrilla, maral root, and bay in a wide circle around an empty patch of dirt in the garden. I then apply a swipe of balm of gilead above both my eyebrows and down my neck for extra strength. The boys stare at me wide eyed whilst I do all this, but I ignore them and focus on what I’m about to do.

“Ok, it’s time now,” I say more to myself than the boys. I take one reassuring breath, and enter the circle of leaves. Then I kneel down and spread the map before me. I close my eyes and place my hands on the map and start my incantation. “Salva me locate, locate adiuva me, suscipe me in locis ubicumque habitant. Sequuntur versus me et eripe me de Coven.”

As I continue the incantation, the wind around us starts to blow, rustling the flowers surrounding me, but my circle of leaves stays put, grounding me. I dig deep inside of me, down to the well of power and I tug at the power, urging it to be released. I feel the power travel up through myself, until it travels down my arms, down to my hands on the map. A faint flow spreads beneath my hands as the map starts to heat up, shrinking around the edges, narrowing down the location. Right before I feel my energy deplete the fire suddenly stops, leaving a circle containing the location of the coven.

“Woah,” Dean breathes out under his breath. “Did it work?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I say shakily, feeling weak from the spell. I grab the small section of the map left, and let out a gasp. “I know this neighborhood, it’s only a few blocks from here.”

“Great, all the easier for us then,” Dean chuckles. He then walks over to me, offering me a hand to help me up. I hesitate for a moment, looking into his sparkling, forest green eyes. I snap out of the trance he always seems to put on me, and take his hand. A shiver goes through my body as our hands meet, and I look away as I feel the heat creep into my face.

“Oh, well uh I better get going then. Um good luck with the witches,” I mumble as I snatch my belongings, and speed off to my car.

As I drive home I can’t help but think about how much of an embarrassment I am. Why can’t I just act normal around Dean? Why does he cast such a spell on me? It’s so frustrating, I’m usually so confident with guys, but there’s just something about Dean that makes me so shy and nervous. I’m still thinking about Dean as I pull into my driveway and stroll into my house. I wander over to the kitchen and fill my watering can with water and sea urchin powder, the secret to keeping plants growing in the brisk winter months. As I’m in my garden, watering my plants, my mind drifts back to Dean’s chestnut hair and plump lips. These silly thoughts keep me from noticing the woman holding the knife until it’s at my neck.

“You silly child, you silly, ignorant child. Didn’t your dear old aunt teach you better. Well too late now, since we killed her,” the woman says sharply from behind me, keeping the cool blade pressed against my neck.

My heart sinks with the realizations coming to me. First, I’m about to die. Second, the coven Sam and Dean was hunting wasn’t a small little coven, but one of the most powerful covens in history. The coven that killed my aunt, and that’s about to kill me. And the coven leader, Circe, is the one holding a blade to my throat.

“H-how did you find me, I- the spell, I used the invisibility spell,” I stammer, still in shock. The coven leader now shoves me through my back door and into my house, pressing the dagger harder into my neck with each step. As we enter the house, a scene I was not expecting unfolds before me.

Sam and Dean stand in my doorway, guns held high pointing toward the two other witches standing in my kitchen.

“Y/n! You bitch, let her go,” Dean shouts, whipping his gun toward the woman behind me.

“Dean no! Stop, she’s too powerful, you can’t do anything,” I explain defeatedly. Sam and Dean look at me confused, and I just silently shake my head.

“Finally, the first smart thing that’s ever come out of your mouth,” Circe says with a scoff. “There are two ways this can go down; Y/n comes willingly with us, and we kill Sam and Dean quickly, or the three of you attempt to put up a fight, and we kill you slowly, then take Y/n.”

“The second way!” Dean yells. My heart sinks at the thought of losing Sam or Dean, and panic starts to creep in.

“No! Listen Circe, I’ll go with you, just please don’t hurt them, I’m begging you,” I plead, tears starting to fall.

“Do you think I’m a fool you impish child? Let these hunters go just so they can track my coven down and kill us, though they sure did have trouble finding us the first time,” Circe says triumphantly.

Before I can respond, the first shot is fired, hitting one of the lesser witches, Jadis, in the thigh. She lets out a scream and while Circe is temporarily distracted, I whirl out of her hold on me, knocking the silver dagger out of her hand. Sam and Dean take this opportunity to fire again, but before they can hit anyone they’re thrown against my living room wall by an invisible force. Circe then pins them against the wall, keeping them in place. I try to run at Circe with the knife, but with a simple flick of the wrist the dagger shoots out of my grip.

“What a sad, sad attempt at saving Y/n. I expected more, especially from the Winchesters. Well too bad I can’t stay for the fun, but Y/n and I have places to be,” Circe articulates, every word making my heart sink further and further into my chest.

“Stop, stop! We’ll do anything, just let her go!” Sam shouts furiously, normally I would be touched by the attempt to save me, but all I can think about is Dean’s slow death at the hands of this coven. I start bawling, distracting me from the words Circe is now chanting. Then the pain sets in. I let out a scream of agony as every nerve in my head starts on fire. I can faintly hear Sam and Dean yelling in the background as I fall to the ground in pain, my head slamming against my wood floor. My whole head is white-hot with a searing pain. The edges of my vision start to go black, but none of that matters. The pain is all I can feel, consuming my entire body. I pray and pray for death, hoping something will stop this torture.

“STOP! STOP! SOMEONE HELP ME!” I scream through the searing pain, “SAM, DEAN HEL-” My sentence is cut short as I slip away into a sweet, sweet darkness.

#dean winchester #Sam Winchester #spn fanfic #spn imagine #fanfic #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine

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ruined-by-destiel · 6 years

Text

Making Memories (part 8)

Summary: You still struggle to find Misha the perfect gift. Meanwhile, you come home from work to an interesting sight.

Words: 705

Misha x Reader

Warnings: none

Notes: written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @like-a-bag-of-potatoes 12 Days of Christmas Challenge

Day 8: Mistletoe

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“Mish?” You rushed into the kitchen, hurriedly pulling your hair up in a loose pony. “Have you seen my-”

Misha handed you your name tag. “On top of the fridge.”

“How the hell?” You took it and pinned it to your shirt. “Thank you.”

“You sure you’re not hungry?” Misha turned off the stove, scraping eggs onto a plate.

You sighed. “Thanks, but I’m already late as is.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek and grabbed your keys. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have a good day, baby.”

“You too,” you shot back, already halfway out the door.

You were aimlessly walking through Target, growing more and more frustrated as you passed through each isle. Your sister’s constant blabbing in your ear didn’t help, either.

“So anyways, that’s me. What’s going on with you? Found the perfect gift for your man yet?”

“Actually,” you sighed as you turned down another aisle, “I’m looking for one right now.”

“You still haven’t found one? Dude, Christmas is in like, four days.”

“I know! It’s just, he’s so hard to shop for.” You picked up a mug, half-heartedly glancing at it before putting it back. “What do you get a guy who already has pretty much everything?”

“Why are you asking me? You know him better than anyone.” A car horn honked on the other end of the line. “I’ve gotta run, but text me later, ‘kay?”

“Yeah. Talk to you later, Izzy.”

“Bye.”

You shoved your phone back in your pocket, still aimlessly wandering around the store. You’d made your way to the front for the second time since you’d been there and decided that was it, and headed out towards the parking lot.

Before you had even walked through the front door, you could hear the Christmas music blaring from inside the house. You locked the door behind you and hung your bag on the wall, trying to find out where the source of the music was coming from.

There was a dull thud from the living room, followed by a frustrated “shit!”

“What is he doing,” you mumbled as you shrugged off your coat and walked towards the living room.

Misha was standing on the top of a step ladder, brow furrowed as he concentrated on hanging something up on the ceiling.

“Misha, what are you doing?”

He must not have noticed you entering the room, because Misha startled and dropped whatever he was holding, grabbing the ladder by both sides to keep himself from falling.

“God dammit Y/N, a little warning next time?”

You laughed as you walked over to him and picked up the leafy bundle he’d dropped on the ground. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you saw what he’d been so focused on. “Mistletoe? Really?”

Misha shrugged, reaching down to take it from you. “It’s a Christmas tradition, I thought it would be cute.”

“Right, more like you want more excuses to kiss me at all times of the day.” You stood right under him, watching him fumble with the string. “You need help?”

“No, I got it. I just…” he trailed off as he began to tie again, right before it slipped from his fingers and landed in your waiting hands.

He sighed. “Have at it.”

Once he’d gotten down, you climbed the ladder and nimbly tied up the mistletoe to the hook he’d hung up. “There.”

Misha shook his head as you climbed back down, hopping off the last step with a smile.

“Easy peasy.” You poked Misha in the side. “I’m gonna go change out of my work clothes, then if you want we can watch a movie?”

“Sure. But first,” he grabbed your arm, pulling closer. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He pointed up at the mistletoe and you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Such a romantic.”

“I aim to please,” he responded as he pulled you in for a kiss. Your heartbeat quickened as his tongue softly traced your lips before slipping inside your mouth, while pulling your waist flush against his.

You pulled away after a moment and took a deep breath, cheeks burning as he stared back at you with a smile.

“I think the movie can wait.”

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Misha/Pond Tags: @snowysamw @castieltrash1 @they-are-not-just-stories @gill-ons@angelina-mariex @smoothdogsgirl @serena0121 @abtmnt @youre-my-grxvity@manawhaat @notnaturalanahi @deathtonormalcy56 @scorpiongirl1 @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @curliesallovertheplace @quiddy-writes@babypieandwhiskey@sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @born-to-be-his-baby88@plaidstiel-wormstache @writingbeautifulmen @drarina1737 @chelsea-winchester@evilskank-inthemegacoven @maraisabellegrey @faith-in-dean @clueless-gold@4401lnc @teamfreewill92 @just-another-winchester

if your blog looks like this i couldn’t tag you

#kari and ida's 12 days of christmas challenge #misha x reader #misha x you #spn rpf #misha collins #12 days of christmas #mistletoe #making memories #suzana writes

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