#don’t judge me too harshly for my accent PLEASE

[buckdefencesquad]

Finally got around to doing my accent challenge for @kitjosten13 !!!!! Please don’t judge my awful way of speaking too harshly.

I’ve tagged a few mutuals but there’s no pressure to do one yourself! @kitjosten13 @thiamsxbitch @scullycockstrap @cowboycart3r @too-imp-to-simp @liabegins @watchyourbuck @captainragtag @ajajshdhdhdjfj @geekwarrior107 @doublecheekedkinard

[madame-lentil]

Make Me a Monster~

An Ygor x reader fic

-Major smut! Minors DNI!

-5.2k words

-originally posted in AO3

Notes:

Hello, you delightful freaks!🥀

I have not written any piece of fanfiction in over three years, so I hope this turned out okay! Ignore the fact that I switch between past to present tense for the first half of the work... The hyperfixation on Ygor is just too strong for me to resist... also this is literally so freaky aaah like plz don’t judge me toooo harshly for this!

The title of the piece is based on the song "Make Me a Monster" by World's First Cinema. It's very good, so I would definitely give it a listen!

Also, a small reminder: Do not harass any of the Ygor actors at the Universal parks. They are just people doing their jobs, so please don't be weird to them! Remember, roaming actors are a privilege, so don't take their presence for granted!

All that being said, I hope you enjoy!

I packed as quickly as I could when I received Victoria Frankenstein’s urgent letter. Scrawled in ink were words sealing her doom- Darkmoore’s doom. Frantic blotches marred the fair parchment, along with sinister burns on the edges. Something was amiss. I knew it. I clamored about my abode, snatching potions and liniments off shelves and heavy occult volumes from beneath layers of dust. I packed only the essentials: wooden stakes, holy water, and silver bullets for my aging pistol. Before I opened my door to the madness awaiting me, I grabbed my cloak, letting the threadbare fabric drape across my shoulders. With a swish, I was gone. Maybe I should have looked back once more, for I had no inkling of the world I was about to enter. All I knew was the messy writing that stated,

Dracula has escaped the manor.

It was true, Dracula (amongst many other fiendish creatures of the night) had broken free of their torment rings nestled within the basement of Frankenstein Manor. Victoria explained it quickly before she ushered me up a flight of creaky stairs to a drafty guest room. Apparently, her henchman would be attending to me shortly… Now, I sit in this dimly-lit hovel, swimming in anxiety about what in Darwin’s name I should do about this conundrum. I lift my hefty bag onto the simple wooden desk I’m sitting at. Within this bag are all of my tools- both intellectual and physical- for hunting monsters. I palm a small leather-bound journal and flip through its aged pages gingerly. Ah, my mentor’s field notes. He always knew the right things to do in an emergency, so maybe I should take a leaf from the pages of Van Helsing, right? Of course, I forgot to mention that my old teacher was in fact him- famed monster hunter of Europe, and the man that brought Dracula to his knees! But, as for me, I am only a humble ex-student of his, trying as I may to carry out his legacy, even if it is daunting. Soon, my eyes land upon a page entitled Vampires: Stakes, Sunlight, and Sorcery. What Not to Do When Encountering a Nosferatu. Before I could read on, an unseen fist pounded at my door. An electric shock rippled through my body.

“God, a little bit jumpy for a monster hunter, aren’t ya?” My inner monologue chastised me.

“Coming!” I hoarsely yelled.

I opened the heavy door to a strange little man, who was standing awkwardly a few mere inches away from the threshold. He was an odd but undeniably handsome-looking fellow. Large, circular goggles obscured his eyes from view, which would have been covered by his mop of raven hair anyway. A stained leather apron draped over his lanky frame and loose-fitting (and remarkably stained, I might add) shirt. Perhaps I was ogling for too long, as his thickly accented voice broke the silence harshly.

“You are the monster hunter, yes?”

I regained my bearings. “Oh! Yes! Of course! I am (y/n). And you are?”

“I am Ygor. I tend to Victoria’s every need around the manor, and I have been assigned to help you, too, yes?” He stood up straighter as he spoke, attempting to project an air of confidence.

“It’s… a pleasure to meet you, Ygor.” I tested out the syllables of his name on my tongue. “Now I was going to ask you… Well, someone, anyone really…” I stammered, “If I could perhaps get a tour of the manor if it isn’t too much trouble, of course. And perhaps a look around Darkmoore couldn’t hurt either?” I found myself running over my own words. So much for looking like a confident monster slayer in front of Victoria’s lackey.

“Ah! Ygor will show you! No trouble! No trouble at all! Come! We mustn’t have our resident creature-killer be all jumbly-mumbly around town, can we?” Ygor started bounding down the stairs with each word. I swiftly followed, snagging my cloak on the way out.

“So you knew Van Helsing, right?” The man inquired when I breathlessly caught up to him.

“Knew him? I studied under him. He taught me everything he knew! I just hope I can fix your little problem here on my own.” I replied.

“On your own? Nah, you have Ygor to help, of course!” He nudged my shoulder like an old friend. I was flattered by his offer of help, but I could tell he didn’t exactly know what he was getting into. Without wanting to burst his bubble, I veered the subject slightly.

“So why can’t Victoria recapture the beasts herself? She seemed pretty frantic in her letter, and even when I got here. Is she…”

Before I could finish, I was cut off by Ygor.

“She is tending to the broken torment rings. Darkmoore needs her for protection. She cannot put herself in the amount of danger that you or I find ourselves in.”

“So we’re just expendables to her, then?” I state, feeling slightly offended.

“No! We are just smaller parts of a bigger plan. Ah! Here we are!” Ygor unfurls his arms in front of the hulking behemoth of a front door. “Are you ready to see the village?”

I nod, and we descend onto the cobblestoned streets of the dilapidated town called Darkmoore.

The full moon casts a milky blue light on the rain-moistened roofs of the village. The manor stands hulking and intimidating behind us, providing a mysterious backdrop to our quick jaunt. The town is remarkably quiet and still; windows are shuttered, and doors are locked. The only sound is the click of our heels on the makeshift road beneath our feet. The misty moonlight plays off of Ygor’s strong features, highlighting the angles of his jaw and cheekbones. He notices my glances at him and steals a quick one at me, sporting a lopsided grin. In this light, I would say he even looks handsome.

God, what has come over me? I scarcely even know the guy, and now I’m fantasizing about him in the moonlight?

I choose to refocus my attention to the ear-splitting silence that pervades the place. It seems even the crickets have abandoned this godforsaken settlement. Before I can comment on the hush, a rip-roaring gush of merriment comes streaming out of a nearby building. A rugged, bearded man comes stumbling out the door with a mug of ale in hand, singing some ballad in a language that has scarcely touched my ears.

“That would be The Burning Blade. It got lit on fire, then poof! Everyone wants to go get drunkies at the place that didn’t burn down! Something with the villagers trying to ‘reclaim from the monsters…’ Ygor doesn’t know.” The raven-haired man gestured to the building. I noted that it has been converted from an old windmill. Strange. But I suppose if you live in a town like Darkmoore, you’ve got to use what you’re given.

“You know, Doctor Victoria saved it from burning down! But all the thanks she gets is all these stupid people blaming her for whenever someone gets disemboweled by a werewolf! Like hello! That was the lycanthrope’s fault, not her’s!” Ygor rambles. I’m starting to like the strange way in which he speaks.

“How did she stop it from burning down?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“I tell you later, yeah?” He dashes the conversation with a terse tone. Strange, it seems as though he is hiding something from me. I brush it off, however. Why worry about something so seemingly trivial?

“Well, it certainly seems like an… interesting place,” I remark.

“If it wasn’t crawling with hounds. Sad excuses for monster hunters. Not good ones, like you.”

Was that a compliment? I couldn’t exactly tell. Either way, it would be a small kindness that would not go unappreciated.

“Onward! I must show you the cemetery!” Ygor points his glove-adorned hand beyond a ring of mist hovering just before the forest tree line.

“Do you ever take those gloves off?” I playfully tug at the tips of one of his fingers. Okay. Don’t get too bold. You don’t want to get distracted. I thought to myself.

“Eh… right now is not so good. I got hurt a little,” Ygor replied sheepishly, bringing his gloved hand to his chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, I just-”

“Ygor messed up a little at his job, is all. And sometimes the doctor gets angry. It’s really only just a scratch! Not as bad as it usually is!” He cheerily cried, obviously trying to hide the fact that he was upset.

“Doctor Victoria …hurts you?” I gently took his gloved hand, careful not to disturb the marred flesh underneath it.

He shuddered, not accustomed to the gentle touch of another human being. “Only a little bit. Only when Ygor deserves it.”

“Ygor, listen to me. I don’t think anyone deserves to be hurt. And for the record, I think you’re doing a great job.” My words obviously affected him. His legs started shaking, and he threw his head back in frustration. “Now, can I remove your gloves and have a look?”

He reluctantly nodded. I gingerly slid each finger out until the rubber hit the soft ground with a whomp. His hands were indeed a mess. Not only were they covered in calluses from his toil, but his palms were mangled with red cuts that sprawled outwards in a lightning-bolt formation.

I traced his wounds gently until he hissed in discomfort.

“I’m sorry!” I recoiled my hands from his.

“No, it feels nice.” He uttered, gently brushing my fingers with his. “No one has ever been this kind to Ygor.”

I fished a spare liniment out of my satchel with my free hand.

“Here. This should help.” I rubbed a blob of it onto his palms, instantly eliciting a small groan from him.

“Th-thank you, (y/n).” He breathed.

“Don’t even mention it. Here, take this.” I pushed the salve into the front pocket of his apron. “For future use. You’ll need it more than I.”

“How can Ygor repay you?” He asked, looking like a lost puppy.

“You don’t have to repay me, silly. Now come, let’s go look at that graveyard.” I slowly reach for his hand and bring it up to my lips. Keeping eye contact with the man, I plant a small kiss on each of his knuckles. His body starts to tremble. Ygor shakily brings his hand up to cup my cheek, gaining confidence as he traces my lips with his thumb.

“(Y/n), you are so beautiful…” he breathes.

He leans in, almost connecting his lips to mine, until a harsh howl cuts through the underbrush. I stiffen. I hadn’t even grabbed a weapon before I left! I silently cursed myself for being so unprepared. I look at Ygor desperately.

“Run.”

The next moments were a blur of blackened sky and verdant greenery whizzing by as we ran for cover, only to find solace in the aforementioned cemetery. Ygor and I crouched beneath a sizable tombstone, barely letting our labored breaths escape our lips. I listened for the approach of the howling beast; however, the night was as still as can be. No crickets. No wind. No ruckus from the Burning Blade. All seemed serene and safe. But of course, I knew better. Van Helsing warned that werewolves are known to silently stalk their prey before attacking. If this creature caught a glimpse of us, we were most definitely its new meal. I glanced at Ygor beside me, his chest rising and falling erratically. He slowly turned his neck, his goggle-clad eyes landing on mine.

“Is he gone?” He half-whispers.

This was the wrong move. Suddenly, a rustle emanates from the opposite end of the graveyard.

“Nope.” I curtly reply. “Stay as still as possible.” I attempt to speak without moving my lips- Ygor gets the message. Our backs are flush against the chilly tombstone of some unlucky soul who probably died too soon or too slowly. Ygor’s trembling hand expertly finds mine in the dark. I feel a sliver of safety with his presence by my side, even if it is simply a placebo. The disturbance in the tall grass grows louder with every passing second. This beast was just moments away from tearing out both of our hearts with his cruel fangs. The full moon shone bright and blue above the stars until the hulking leviathan form of the werewolf ascended from the grass, greedily dominating my entire field of vision. With an ear-splitting howl, the monster reared on its haunches, preparing to deliver death to us both. I braced myself, silently cursing my eagerness to leave the safety of the manor. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the death blow… but it didn’t come. I squinted my eyes open to see none other than Ygor, lunging in front of me, putting his frail body in harm's way to protect me. The gigantic wolf took a swipe at him, which he clumsily parried with his arm. I moved to pull Ygor away from the wicked being, hooking my arms around his middle and yanking him backwards, just swift enough to avoid a claw to the mid-section. The werewolf hunkered down in the greenery, rearing to make its final pounce.

“Come away, foul vermin! We will hunt another night!” A booming, heavily accented voice echoed through the night.

The werewolf collected itself and ran off into the forest, leaving Ygor shivering in my arms, gushing blood from his arm.

“D-Dracula?” Ygor whimpered.

Ah. That’s who the voice belonged to.

“Dracula? What? He was just here?” I was flabbergasted. To be in such close proximity to two monsters that needed capturing… well, let’s just say I wasn’t doing very well at my job.

“Y-yeah. That’s the guy.” His voice trembled before he collapsed into me with a thunk.

I finally released him from my iron grasp just to gently nudge him to the side so I could catch my breath again. I noted a sizable amount of blood that had soiled my velvet dress, then I noticed what the culprit of the sanguine fluid was. Ygor’s arm had been viciously ripped open by the wolf and was losing blood at an alarming rate.

Ygor must have noticed my concerned expression when he weakly joked, “Hey, I’m used to it.” Brandishing a shaky thumbs-up.

“Let’s get you back to the manor, huh? It looks like you could use some stitches. A lot of stitches.” I pulled him up off the sacred ground, then offered my arm in assurance. He took it carefully, and we began our long stroll back to Frankenstein Manor.

Ygor spilled onto a metal gurney in the bowels of the manor. He had woozily led me down yet another set of treacherous stairs to an intimidating laboratory that housed everything one may need for an experiment. However, there would be no experiments tonight. All I had to do was fix Ygor up before he lost enough blood to be unfit for even Dracula to drain. The disheveled man was gushing blood onto the table, yet he remained incredibly collected.

“Where do you keep your thread? Do you have needles?” I frantically flitted around the room, almost pulling drawers off their hinges to find what I needed.

“Second drawer down next to that skeleton over there.” Ygor weakly directed.

I made a beeline to collect the suture-ware, along with a cloth and a bowl of clean water. I placed the goods onto a metal cart and tried to regain my composure as I wheeled it over to him- at least for Ygor’s sake. He sat stiffly upright, clutching the bloodstained fabric of his once white tunic.

“Relax. It’s okay.” I gently pushed my hand to his chest so that he reclined onto the harsh gurney. He slowly melted into my touch and obliged, “I’m going to fix you up, okay? There is really nothing to worry about…” I mused as I threaded the medical string into the eye of the needle. I gazed at his form until a realization dawned on me.

I am going to have to remove his shirt.

For medical purposes, of course.

“Ygor?” I tentatively asked.

“Yes?” He groaned.

“May I…” I gestured to his sleeve. “Remove this?”

“Oh, this? My shirt? My- yeah. Whatever you need to do, doctor.” He stammered. Maybe it was the loss of blood. Or maybe he was getting nervous.

The remaining blood that rushed in his veins rose to his cheeks, painting them a rosy red.

I cautiously grasped the front of his apron as I lifted it over his head. The shirt underneath was held together with a few mismatched buttons that had certainly been repurposed over time. I began undoing the very top one. My knuckles brushed his Adam's apple as a tremor racked his body. I move downwards carefully, expertly unraveling each piece that held the fabric together, the fabric that was shielding his visage from my gaze. I reached the lowermost buttons, although they were seemingly tucked into his trousers. I lifted my gaze to his, silently asking permission to unbuckle his pants so I could access the rest of his shirt. He gave a small nod. I worked quickly, not wanting to linger on this area for too long and make him uncomfortable. However, I felt an undeniable heat building in the pit of my stomach when I brushed the crotch of his pants. I was soon able to extract the shirt and fully unbutton it.

“Okay. I’m going to take this off for you. Let me know if anything hurts, alright?” I breathe, running my hands over his shoulders, grasping at the only threads of restraint I had left.

“You could never hurt Ygor, y/n,” he sighed, leaning closer in to nudge against my neck. “If you carved me up and beat me every day, I don’t think it would hurt. I would thank you for whatever you did to me.” His strong hand crept up my frame, finding purchase just underneath my breasts.

“Please, stitch me up so I can show you how much I care for you.” He pleaded with wide eyes (or what I can imagine was the case behind his nebulous goggles).

It didn’t take much more encouragement than that for me to begin my work. I slipped his garment off to reveal his toned chest, where the milky skin was punctuated with sprawling constellations of scars, reaching far and wide like rivers on a map.

“See? I told you I’m used to it,” Ygor joked with a half-smile. “I always get stitched back up!”

“Does it still… hurt?” I inquired as I wet the cloth and began to clean his ghastly injury.

“Of course it does. But Ygor doesn’t mind.” His tone turned dark.

I prepared the needle and thread and held it at the base of his forearm.

“Ready?” I pricked his skin as he emitted a delighted groan.

“Very much.”

Each suture seemed to elicit a pleasurable response from Ygor. The more blood that was being replenished in his body, the more electric he seemed to become. Jolts of energy coursed through him whenever the needle pierced his flesh. Just as I was about to tie my seventh or so suture, he yanked his arm away.

“Hey! I’m not finished with that!’ I griped.

“Ygor thinks you should maybe switch position. It doesn’t seem like you have the right… How would you say? Vantage point to correctly stitch me up.” Ygor mused, holding his arm just out of my reach.

“And what would you suggest would be the best ‘vantage point’ to do this?” I asked cockily.

“Just come up here.” He motioned to the gurney on which he lay astride.

“I don’t know if there’s room for us both on there.” I became bashful. Was he implying what I think he was implying?

“Just crawl onto Ygor’s lap, yes? Don’t be scared.” His tone was much huskier than what I was used to.

I obeyed, because what the hell? Who was I to refuse this monstrously handsome lab assistant who so vehemently wanted me?

I slowly slunk onto his frame, stopping at the unbuckled crotch of his pants. His breathing grew heavier as I sank down to perch atop him.

“That’s it, you delightful freak.” He praised. “Now, take your needle and thread and see how much better this is.”

“What medical book did you read this in?” I asked playfully as I resumed my stitching.

“Don’t worry about it, just focus on how Ygor feels beneath you, yes?”

Oh god, yes.

As I worked on his arm, his other hand slithered up my thigh, causing me to falter.

“Ygor…” I sighed.

“What is it, my lab rat?” He purred.

“Please, Ygor, I need you so badly.” My words tumbled out of my mouth before I could control them.

“Soon, my darling. But just focus for now.” His hand left my thigh and traveled upwards to cup my breast. My breath hitched as he started kneading the tender flesh between his lithe fingers.

I was almost done with the sutures. I just needed to hold on for a few small moments before I could give into him.

“Am I distracting you?” He breathed innocently as he located my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“N-no…” I trailed off.

“Well, then Ygor should do a better job, then, yeah?” He rose so his lips brushed my neck, planting gentle kisses on my sensitive flesh. I just had one more stitch to go. I could do this. Ygor held me still with the strength residing in one hand so he could access the perfect spot on my neck to defile. I sighed as I cut the final thread on his arm and pulled back.

“Finished,” I stated breathlessly.

“Good little lab rat. Now, please, let Ygor thank you for everything you’ve done for him.”

In a flash, he flipped me onto my back, my spine stinging from the cold material of the gurney. Ygor stood before me, flexing his freshly seamed arm.

“Good work.” He nodded.

He looked like Michelangelo’s David, except marred with stitches and scars galore. But his imperfections were glorious and gorgeous to me. I wanted to lap up every drop of blood that flooded the table beneath me just to taste all of him. I was yearning to consume him, both in flesh and sanguine substances. Ygor lifted his orb-like goggles from his eyes, squinting at the electric light of the lab. He sported two mismatched irises- one blue, the other green. Remarkable.

“Ygor doesn’t want these to get in the way…” He admitted, tossing the eyewear onto the stone floor.

“Ygor, please…” A small moan escaped my lips as I pressed myself into the gurney.

The man noticed my neediness and slunk onto the edge of the metal, anchoring his palms on my hips.

“Allow me?” He hooked his hands around the clasp of my belt.

“Just take it off. All of it.” God, I was so desperate.

Ygor made quick work of my belt, then allowed his fingers to roam across the crushed velvet of my bodice. He was trying to extend the moment for as long as he could handle; however, I could tell he was reaching his breaking point. He yanked the buttons of my blouse apart, causing them to bounce onto the floor in a giddy waltz.

“Ygor will replace those later.” He said hurriedly.

He then migrated down to my skirt, reverently sliding it down my thighs and leaving it in a massive pool at my ankles. I lay before him, only my brassiere and panties shielding my most intimate parts. Heat pooled at my core at the mere thought of him touching me again. Ygor palmed himself through his trousers, visibly aroused.

“You are gorgeous.” He groaned as his eyes roamed my form.

“You’re perfect,” I replied.

He shed his pants in a flash, revealing his hard cock, already leaking precum. He gave it a couple of hard strokes before allowing a strangled moan to fall from his lips.

“Do you- do you see what you do to Ygor? How hard I am for you?” He maneuvered himself to meet my lips, our noses brushing. “Let me please you. I’ll be so good for you- do whatever you want.” He rasped. So eager, so perfect.

“You’re gonna be good for me, Ygor?” I tug experimentally on the back of his raven-toned hair.

“Yes. Yes! Just tell me what to do!” He melted into my touch.

“Why don’t I show you?” A wave of boldness washed over me as I pushed him southwards so that he was hovering over my pussy.

“Why don’t you put that pretty little mouth to work?” I commanded.

He gazed up at me with those crystalline eyes, and I was done for. He ripped my undergarments off and plunged his tongue into me, working it as his nose bumped against my clit, sending me spiraling, unravelling at the hands (or tongue, I suppose) of Doctor Victoria’s strange assistant. I tangled my hands in his mop of hair, and his ministrations only intensified. I allowed a moan to rack my body, and I could feel Ygor grinning beneath me.

“G-good boy.” I could barely even form the words.

I could hear what sounded like words from Ygor, but they came out as incoherent babbles. I pushed him back just slightly, and the man was a mess. His pupils were dilated into shiny black discs, and his mouth was slick with my arousal.

“What was that? Use your words, pet.” I stroked his chin gently.

“C-can Ygor… touch himself?” He sheepishly inquired.

I marinated on this for a brief moment, until a newfound sense of dominance took hold.

“No. You cannot. Not until you make me cum. I don’t want you spent just yet.”

“Yes! Yes, of course! Thank you, ma’am.” He nuzzled against my thigh, planting a sloppy kiss on the skin. I could tell he was straining, his cock red and full. But I liked this side of Ygor, so ready to please.

He resumed his attention to my clit. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer at this rate. With a few more swipes of his tongue, I felt an orgasmic storm rain across my flesh. I clamped my thighs down on his poor head as his hands grasped at me desperately.

“F-Fuck Ygor, you make me feel so good!” I cried out.

Ygor emerged from between my legs, a dopey grin painting his slick features.

“Can I touch myself now, please?” He tentatively pleaded.

“Yes, you can. You’ve been so good for me.” I purred. He palmed himself and began to rub his fingertip over his swollen head.

“Wait!” I commanded. He immediately ceased, awaiting my next words.

Perhaps I would have a little fun with him tonight. I was on a total power trip, but that’s what he wanted, right?

“Remember when you said that you would thank me if I … cut you up and beat you?” I recalled our conversation from earlier in the night.

“Y-Yes. You could do anything to Ygor, and I would like it very much.” He replied, eager as ever.

“Then you can touch yourself, but only if I can… hurt you a little bit while you do it. Would you like that?”

“Yes. Yes, I would love that. Ygor likes it when things hurt.” He admitted, excitement seeping into his tone.

“What would you like me to use?” I scanned the lab, looking for something that could cause a little prick of pleasurable pain.

“Top cabinet on the right side. Victoria sometimes uses it on me.” Ygor muttered, a hint of shame edging into his words.

Within said cabinet was a sturdy leather riding crop. Oh. Oh.

“Ygor would never tell her that I kind of like it…”

“You want me to use this on you?” I confirmed.

“More than anything.” He gasped.

“Then be a good boy and touch yourself, then,” I commanded as I approached his trembling frame.

I slid the crop against his cheek, caressing him like a lover. He shivered into it, slowly stroking himself.

Crack!

I brought the crop down onto his back forcefully.

“Thank you!” He gulped as he increased his pace.

I dragged it down the front of his chest, tracing the lines of his scars.

“So pretty,” I praised. “So good, so eager to please me.”

“Y-yes, always. I’ll do whatever you say.” Ygor fumbled for his words as strangled moans gushed from his lips.

I cracked the riding crop against his thigh, which elicited a jolt from the man.

“Thank you!” So, he was going to thank me whenever I whipped him… interesting.

“So obedient.” I laughed as I hit him again.

He expressed his gratitude once more. His pretty dick was threatening to burst at this point, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he stroked himself into oblivion.

“Again, please. Ygor is so close…” He begged.

“You’re going to have to do a little better than that, okay?” I teased the tip of his cock with the crop.

“Puh-please Ygor needs to cum so bad! I will only cum for you. You make me feel so guh-good! Please, please, I’ll do anything!” He babbled.

That was certainly good enough. I cracked the flat side of the crop against his weeping manhood as he came with enough force to knock him to the ground. He lay squirming there for a few moments, his ejaculation painting his stomach a milky white color. I approached him and knelt down to his level, petting his hair.

“You did so well for me. Are you okay?” I cooed.

“Better than ever.” Ygor rasped.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I stated.

“Thank you.” He allowed his brilliant eyes to close and his tongue to loll out of his pretty lips.

I crawled so that I was facing his cum-stained stomach, and experimentally dragged my tongue across one of his more prominent scars, licking it clean. His eyes shot open in shock.

“You really don’t have to do that, if you don’t want to…” He added.

“I want to. I just want to taste you, Ygor. That’s all. I want to make you feel good.” I resumed cleaning him with my tongue.

“God, where have you been all my life?” He gibbered as his eyes fluttered closed once more.

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t truly have one. All I knew was that I was with him now, and that was all that mattered. The ridges of his sutures from injuries past were a unique texture on my taste buds, so I continued to clean him- to worship his flesh that had been so cruelly ripped apart time and again. I finished and licked my lips with a smack. I curled up next to him on the unforgiving floor of the laboratory. Hunting the monsters could wait, at least until tomorrow. I had all I needed here.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly,” I muttered as I carded my hand through his hair.

“Like I said, you could cut me all the way up, and I’d thank you for it.” Ygor sighed contentedly as he wrapped his lovingly sutured arm around me.

[doxkbdbsish]

One shot or ??

I'm just starting to write fanfics. English is not my first language. Please don’t judge too harshly—I’m still learning

You place another box on porch, wipe your forehaead with your palm, and axhale.

The day was hot, and you were already quite tired from unloading your things.

Because of the bulky boxes, you don’t immediately notice the figure on the neighboring porch.

But then—you feel a gaze.

You lift your head…

And lock eyes with the one watching you.

A tall, broad-shouldered man, casually leaning against the railing.

A light breeze plays with his light-brown hair, but even the slightly messy mohawk doesn’t hide the sharp, predatory precision in his gaze.

His blue eyes are slightly narrowed, his lips curled into a lazy but good-natured smile

He looks as if just a few minutes ago, he leaned back in a chair with a cup of tea and thought, "I wonder who we have here?"

"Oh, hey," his voice is deep, with a slight Scottish accent. "So, you’re the new neighbor?"

You smile, brushing dust off your hands.

"Yeah. Just moved in today."

He pushes off the railing and steps down from the porch, moving smoothly, confidently, but without a hint of aggression.

Just… very calmly.

"Johnny," he introduces himself, extending a hand.

You shake it—a firm grip, but not crushing

"Nice to meet you," you reply.

Johnny glances over the boxes, tilting his head.

"Let me help?"

You chuckle, waving him off instinctively

"Oh, I’ll manage."

But before you even finish speaking, he’s already bending down, effortlessly grabbing the heaviest box and swinging it onto his shoulder in one smooth motion.

You blink, a little taken aback by how fast he moved.

"I believe you," he smirks, "but that doesn’t mean I can’t play along."

You don’t know what to say.

You didn’t have time to refuse or even thank him, and he’s already climbing onto your porch and setting the box down by the door.

You blink.

"Uh… thanks?"

He turns back, chuckling.

"No problem. I’m always around if you need anything."

You don’t yet know that he really will always be around.

[heavenbarnes]

I’m a rude bitch, what are you made of?

Naomi Lapaglia (Wolf of Wall Street) x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: swearing, canon-typical arguing, unhealthy husband-wife relationship, cheating, top!naomi and bottom!reader, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, inappropriate relationship with employers, unsolicited flirting, flashing, implied exhibitionism

Word Count: 3,225

so what if you were the belfort’s house keeper? and what if you had this nasty crush on naomi? and what if she knew?

“Find what you’re looking for up her skirt, Jordan?” The sharp cut of that Brooklyn accent was quick to hit you.

It was quick to hit her husband too, judging by the deep sigh he let out from behind you. You straightened up, grabbing the remaining dishes from the table with one hand, the other tugging the hem of your dress down.

“Don’t fix yourself like it’s your fault, darling,” There was an almost melody to her voice. “Seems someone never learnt his fucking lesson.”

With that, it all kicked off. You walked towards the kitchen with your stack of dishes and cheeks burning hot, as your employers quite literally screamed at one another. Another morning in paradise.

Working for the Belfort’s, for the most part was a dream, you cleaned an exquisite house and looked after one very low maintenance baby. For that, they paid you generously and even took you on their family vacations. 

All you had to put up with was the incessant screaming and Mr. Belfort trying to sneak a look and a feel, all worth it for the luxury you got to be a part of.

You zoned back into the fight as you walked back over to wipe down the table, still without uttering a word during all the commotion. This was like a morning ritual, as normal as a coffee and codeine, they weren’t awake till they’d screamed bloody-murderer at one another.

“For the last time, my love! I wasn’t looking up her fucking skirt!” Jordan gestured towards you frantically, stepping around behind you.

He was about to make another point, and as he opened his mouth to do so, his hands also came to grip your upper arms. You saw something change within Mrs. Belfort’s eyes and you even braced for impact.

“You get your hands off of her or I swear to God, Jordan!” She slammed her coffee cup down, the dark liquid rising up the side of the cup like an impending tsunami.

Mr. Belfort was quick to drop his hands, stepping back from you and watching his wife round the table until she was in front of you both. You felt caught in the middle, figuratively and literally thanks to the way they’d sandwiched you between them.

“You better watch yourself, motherfucker,” Her accent seemed to thicken as her voiced dropped an octave. “Before I bend this one over the table and make you watch the things I can do to her.”

You felt your body run red hot, the image of her living up to her threat moving clear through your mind. Without being able to stop yourself, your knees buckled slightly, most certainly not going unnoticed by Naomi. Her gaze drifted to you, where you were staring straight ahead and doing your best to seem unaffected by her words.

She saw right through you.

In kindness on her part, she didn’t mention it. Rather she dismissed you to carry on with your other morning duties, but didn’t ignore the way you shuffled off with your legs nearly clamped together. You hurried from room to room, collecting the hampers of dirty laundry so you could hide in the wash-house and out of trouble.

Shutting the door and leaning your back against the tiles, you were thankful it was able to cool you down a bit. It was in that moment you realized just how fucked you were, like a Duchess should, she had you royally fucked.

From the moment you started working for them, you knew you were going to have the hardest time keeping your thoughts about Naomi contained. Just the way that she walked with that air of importance was enough to have your thighs tensing.

It was obvious she knew what she was doing to you, that smirk that would prick up at the corner of her mouth every time she saw your eyes widen or your head drop. She took great delight at watching you squirm for her.

You’d nearly lost at all one night at dinner when you felt the patent leather toe of a stiletto dragging up the inside of your leg. The grip around your fork got so tight, you had little marks along your fingers for hours.

Naomi, on the other hand, dropped her fork right up the table and shook her head in faux-annoyance.

“I’m such a klutz, would you mind being a good girl and grabbing that for me?”

You swallowed harshly but nodded your head nonetheless, pushing back your chair and climbing under the table to retrieve the fork. Finding it quickly, you lifted your head to come back up but were stopped in your tracks by a single sight.

Naomi slowly parted her thighs, revealing to you that she had forgone underwear for her evening meal, and was most certainly baring her most intimate parts to you.

You thought you’d choke on your tongue, scrambling back towards your seat as you came up for air. She had a knowing smirk painted across her face as you extended it towards her with a shaking hand.

“You alright?” Jordan asked, giving you a worried glance. “You’ve barely said a word and now you look like you’ve had a fright?”

Mrs. Belfort hummed in agreement with her husband, bringing her napkin up to dab at her mouth.

“Yeah, what’s the matter?” She cooed, eyes holding yours still. “Pussy got your tongue?”

Rifling through the washing baskets, you sorted them out for laundering, anything to take your mind away from what you knew you shouldn’t be doing. Not only was she your boss, she was married, and married to an incredibly powerful man at that. 

You knew in your heart that if you’d let him, he’d be just as unfaithful to her with you, as she would with roles reversed. But you just knew it’d create more trouble than good, even if that good was a long-legged blonde with a mouth on her that drove you doggone wild.

Just as the act of loading a washing machine was doing it’s trick, your fingers hooked around one garment that you really didn’t need to stumble across. You drew your hand back to find a red lacy pair of panties draped over the tip of your finger. It nearly had you light headed at the start.

Drawing them closer towards you, gingerly you looked over your shoulder just to confirm that you were alone in the laundry. Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest in fear of being caught, but this was just something you couldn’t stop.

Bringing the seat of her knickers to your face, you took in a deep breath and were immediately overwhelmed with the scent of her cunt. She smelt just as heavenly as you’d imagined she would, those nights after her husband drove you home and you’d raced inside to finger yourself to the thought of his wife.

It was all so bad, so wrong and so impure, nothing of what you were doing was close to being right. But when it came to Naomi, you were about ready to risk it all just for the sake of having one little chance with her. All it took was that one change, after that all bets were off. That change came in the form of her calling your name.

To say it startled you was an understatement, you were lucky you didn’t scream. Dropping the panties immediately back into the basket, you followed the sound right up the stairs and into Mr. and Mrs. Belfort’s bedroom, where Naomi sat waiting for you.

She was still in her robe, the one she wore to breakfast and the one you knew hid from your view the very skimpy lingerie she was wearing beneath it. Just knowing it was so close but still out of your reach had your mouth beginning to salavate.

Extended one finger towards you, she began to beckon you over. “Can you come here please?”

Never wanting to disappoint, you moved your feet towards her and subsequently towards her bed. Nothing sweet and right could come from being alone in her bedroom, with her wearing the bare minimum in front of you. You knew you had self control, but that much? That was asking for a miracle.

As you got closer, she stood up slowly, fingers moving to the tie on her robe. Suddenly it seemed as if time had slowed down for a moment, you could see her undoing the ribbon on her hip but there was nothing you could, or wanted, to do to stop her.

The silk of her robe slid off her shoulders and pooled on the carpet before you, leaving her in nothing more than a very thin set of bra and panties. You could see the way her nipples poked against the fabric, where the underwear had began to draw up on her hips. 

You wouldn’t be leaving this room with pride.

Reaching out, her fingers wrapped around your elbow and pulled you in until you were flush against her. The heat radiating off of her was intoxicating, you were enveloped in the very essence of her, it was soaking into your clothes and staying on the air.

“You need to tell me, baby,” Her voice wrapped you up, binding you to her. “Are you going to let me have my fun with you?”

Quick to please, your doe eyes rose to her gaze and silently apologized for something you’d never done.

“B-before with Mr. Belfort, I’m sorry but I assure you there is nothing there.”

Naomi cut off your stuttering attempts at explaining yourself with a curt laugh, free hand coming and stroking at the edge of your face. Soft skin and long fingers leaving shivers in their wake.

“Honey, forget about making my husband pay for before,” The soothing lilt to her voice was once again doing its best to weaken you at the knees. “This is just my own little treat.”

Your mouth dried up, tongue suddenly too big for the space and your lips dropped open in a pathetic whimper. As much as the embarrassment was hot on your heels, you could tell from her expression that this was doing nothing but pleasing Mrs. Belfort.

“Let me hear you say it.” She cooed, lips coming up to the shell of your ear.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you can fuck me, Mrs. Belfort.”

She released a theatrical gasp before closing her the edge of her teeth around your earlobe, pulling down gently. Her lips trailed down the length of your neck, the softest kisses being left behind in her wake.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth on you, girl,” She sighed into your skin. “We better put it to good use.”

Bringing her hands to the bottom of your dress, she was taking full control as she drew it up and over your head. Her fingers immediately went for your undergarments, stripping you down to you were completely exposed in front of her.

Stepping behind you, her hands ran across your body and left no inch of you untouched by her. You had an idea of what she was intending, it wasn’t an accident that this felt entirely like she was claiming you.

“You’re so beautiful, I don’t blame my husband for the way he looks at you.” 

Her nose nudged against the back of your neck, hands running up to roll your breasts around her palms. Fingers tweaking at your nipples, you relaxed back against her and allowed the feeling of pleasure to take over.

“If only he knew that he wasn’t the one you were ready to risk it all for, hmm?”

You choked back a moan that was so desperately clawing its way out of your throat, especially with the way her hands were running down your stomach and getting dangerously close to where you needed her. She hovered above your mound, so close but not quite yet.

“Tell me, who is it that you want to fuck you?”

Along with another moan, you swallowed down your pride, hand shooting back and gripping the soft skin of her thigh.

“You, Naomi, I want you to fuck me and not Jordan.”

A delicious giggle flew around your ears, searing itself into your brain for safe keeping. It didn’t matter what noise she was making, it was set to drive you fucking wild. This moment was no exception to the rule, it wrote the damn rule.

Her hand came down against your mound, fingers slipping between your thighs as she cupped your heat. The feeling of her palm pressed against your aching clit drew an unabashed moan from deep within your chest, only spurring her on to rub it in the smallest circles.

She drew back from you just as quick as she touched you. Too overwhelmed to move, you listened to the sounds of her stripping the rest of her clothes, coming to sit before you on the bed. Naomi shuffled back, hands out behind her to keep her propped up.

“Before I give you what you want, I think you need to earn it.” With her words, she slowly spread her thighs until her cunt was once again on display to you.

Instinctively you dropped to your knees, moving towards the edge of the bed until she was only moments from you. Her hand came out to gently rub across the top of your head, coming around the back and pulling you even further into the meeting of her thighs.

Naomi pressed your face right to her dripping heat, your tongue coming out to catch her clit as she did. She tasted like bliss, like she was laced with gold flakes, this would be a taste you never tired from.

A long groan left her lips, head tipping back as you moved your mouth deftly against her pussy. She held you there, reminding you of the control she had over you as her hips started to roll against your face.

You brought your hands to wrap around her thighs, getting as close as you could. The messy sounds and sight of you must’ve been incredible, the way you hungrily lapped at her cunt and buried your face even further into her.

A symphony of moans serenaded the room, her toes curling against the bed as your lips wrapped around your clit. Had she known her little house-keeper was going to be this fucking good with her mouth, she would’ve had you on these silk sheets months ago.

Naomi’s elbow buckled under the pressure of your mouth, combined with the quiet moans that were reverberating against her. She gripped tighter onto you, pulling you in close as she was essentially riding your face.

Letting her do whatever she wanted, you moved your tongue quicker and fell in love with the way she cried your name in pleasure. It’d never sound the same coming from her, not now you know the way it sounds when you’ve got her pussy on your mouth.

Gripping hard onto you, you felt the rush of wetness as Naomi unraveled on your tongue, one leg coming to wrap around your shoulder as she did so. You remained in that same place, destined to do as you were told whilst you took her through her high.

When the sensitivity became too much, she drew you back before pulling you up towards her. Laying against her, you felt her lips connect with yours as she kissed her taste from your mouth. Moaning against your lips, you snaked your hands around her waist in an attempt to cover any inch of her skin you could.

Feeling one of her hands moving against you, it became very clear to you that she was on a direct path to where you were quite literally dripping for her. Naomi ran her fingers along your slit, dipping in to rub against your clit before coming to rest at your entrance.

With her tongue finding purchase in your mouth, she slipped two fingers inside of you and quickly curled them up. You couldn’t help but squeal into her mouth, gripping onto her sides as her fingers began to move with you.

Clenching around her, it’d never felt nearly this good when all you could do was think of her. You never knew it was going to feel like heaven on earth once she finally got her hands on you. The incoherent cries and moans of her name were flooding the room, sure to drift under the doors and fill the house in short time.

“I’m sure this is better than touching your little pussy and thinking of me, huh?”

Your eyes shot open in fright, looking to her with the complete knowing of being caught, painted across your face. She just grinned at you, that kind of cruel grin that said “you’re in for it now.”

“You think I couldn’t hear you, moaning my name when you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom?”

All the times you’d quickly tried to get yourself off to make your work day more bearable, suddenly flashed past your mind. You would’ve recoiled in shame if Naomi’s fingers hand’t suddenly sped up, instead making your mouth drop open with a cry.

“Go on, show me how pretty you sound when you say my name.”

So you did, pretty whimpers of her first name drifted past your lips some more. She smiled into your neck but you could still tell there was something more she wanted.

“Hmm, try again, and make sure he can hear it.”

It had to be the affect she had on you, because suddenly you were crying out a long moan of Mrs. Belfort, and if her husband couldn’t hear it, he would’ve had to be on the other side of the world.

That hit the spot and sure enough her thumb was coming to rub against your clit in time with the thrust of her fingers. Falling apart in her hands, you felt your whole body tensing against her, stars beginning to rush past your eyes in bliss.

She knew every button to push and exactly what it did, she could tell by the fierce grip you had on her thigh that your high was right around the corner and it was approaching faster than you could manage.

Trailing her lips against your jaw, Naomi sucked the smallest marks into the soft skin there, happy to leaving her brand on you. When she reached your ear, the breathy whisper was the final piece to push you over the edge.

“Come for me, pretty girl.”

And eager to please, you did as you were told. Clamping down hard on her fingers, you felt yourself flood her hand as you cried out for her. Your back arched off the mattress, toes curling and muscles tensing against your will.

As you were coming back down, you knew you’d never come like that before. Looking at Mrs. Belfort’s face, you could tell by that grin that she was eager to see it as often as she could.

She brought her fingers up from between your legs, laying them against her tongue and sucking the wetness off with a filthy moan.

“I don’t think he heard that,” She sighed, shuffling down your body. “Think I’ll just have to give you another.”

[sohin-ace]

Jojo Drabble - Trish

※ A story where Trish and you have a make up session.

-----

You were sitting at the living room table with Trish. You two had a very sisterly bond and had been talking about make up and hair ever since you first met and today, you both finally had the occasion to have a quiet moment to make yourselves up.

With make up, tools and accessories laid all upon the dining table, you pampered your very cute pink-haired friend. Bruno was here as well, deciding to stay with your positive and calm company as he did some paper work.

"Are you sure we won't distract you, Capo?" You asked him with concern and he just smiled.

"No it's fine. I don't want to isolate myself while I work. And people doing their make up is somehow very satisfying to watch." He commented as he sorted his papers, more than ready to get it done and over with.

After a little while of doing each other's hair, you eventually got to your most favourite part of the makeover.

"Okay, done with primer, now... Foundation." You softly spoke and proceeded to apply the product on her face under Bruno's occasional glances.

"What I do usually is, when I'm done blending the foundation, I take a clean damp sponge," You took a sponge that you prepared before hand, acting upon your own instructions. "And I dab it gently on the zones where I get cakey the most."

Just as you said, you gently patted her small and attentive face with the sponge. "Around the mouth, sides of the nose, between the eyebrows, under the eyes, just like this..." you mumbled softly. "That way the sponge drinks up the excess and you won't get patchy throughout the day. I love this technique."

"It kinda feels good. Pat pat pat pat pat~." Trish commented sweetly as you carefully dabbed her face, gently holding her chin for easier work.

You giggled at her cuteness and Bruno bit back a grin at your interraction. He loved to see how you girls acted behind closed doors and how you two were like the family you deserved but didn't have.

Neither Bruno nor Trish would tell you this, but they loved to hear your soft tutoring voice in the silence and to be fair, Bruno would love to be pampered as well some day.

He might ask you later.

The room was silent aside from your occasionnal talking and the sounds of you picking up and putting down tools and brushes on the table. It was very relaxing to Bruno, especially when you girls talked down very softly, airy voices reaching him as he filled his reports, commenting and joking around adorably.

Sometimes he couldn't even understand what you were talking about, or didn't even listen, but just hearing you sweeties was enough to put him at ease. He might just start doing paperwork around you two from now on. It felt much more motivating.

"Okay, now. Don't move..."

Trish stood still as you held her face and carefully traced her eyeliner. Bruno had stopped working to look up at you in anticipation, suddenly intrigued.

He didn't know much about girls' secrets and intimacy since he never grew up around a lot of women, or frequented many, so seeing this was fascinating to him and he couldn't help himself but ponder.

That must be terribly difficult, he thought. You were so incredibly precise and delicate for this fine task, it was like seeing a surgeon at work.

You hovered above Trish, tilting her head back against the seat for stability and your strokes were akin to a painter's. You looked as beautiful when focused as Trish was when closed-eyed.

Were average girls this talented and meticulous? Or were you just that amazing? He was impressed, to say the least.

"Oohhh I did it! I usually suck with eyeliner, I'm so happy. Okay, okay! Now uh... for the lashes... Oh~ this mascara will be great, this one has sparkles in it."

"Wait, what mascara is this?" The rose-head gasped at the beautiful golden and sparkling tube you held.

"It's the..." You took the tube and stared at the reference, squinting at the name. "Volume Million De Cils from L'Oréal. It does wonders."

"Wow! Also, nice accent!" She giggled at you as you striked a pose in pride.

"Merci beaucoup~ Even though you speak the best French of all the gang."

"I beg to differ." Bruno interjected, his eyes not leaving his papers as you two chuckled.

"Oh," You raised one eyebrow at his subtle bragging, "Well, excuuuse me sir. Did Mr. Polnareff praise your skills?"

"Absolutely." He confirmed confidently.

Trish covered her mouth with small hands as she laughed, Bruno smirking and pretending he was too busy writing reports to hear you mocking him and his attitude.

"What are you brats doing? What a mess." Abbachio came up from the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand and sat down at the table, joining the three of you.

"Make up." Trish mumbled, trying not to move and mess up your handiwork.

He only grunted in response and took a sip, decising to observe you make up the teenager and judge your skills.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He suddenly barked, startling you and Trish as you were about to paint her lips, "That's not how you do it, you dumbass!"

"Huh?" Your eyes twitched, "And how should I do it then, Mr. Make up artist?" You bit back arrogantly at the male.

"Can you please not start?" Bruno huffed, rubbing his temples to prevent the headache he was sure to get if you all started screaming. You and Abbachio muttered a quick apology before continuing.

"You're supposed to use a lip liner you dumb fuck. Here, move it." Abbachio got up and carefully chose a lip liner from the stash before harshly grabbing Trish's chin.

"Ow!" Complained the small girl as she was unnecessarily manhandled by this brute.

"Here. Like this." He traced the outlines of her lips with surprising expertise, as if he had done this his entire life, which he probably did. "See? It's not that hard. And only THEN, can you blend the liner with the actual lipstick. It's literally common sense."

"And who are you?! That's MY make up, I do whatever I want!" You slapped his arm and tried to push him away from your stash, all in vain as he remained still as a pillar.

"Shut up. Be grateful I'm giving you lessons. Thank me when your lipstick finally stays for more than an hour and doesn't make you look like you've sucked five dicks in a row or whatever."

"BRUNO, TELL HIM TO LEAVE US ALONE!!" You whined, personnally attacked, and Bruno sighed, his headache rightfully appointed by now.

"Leone, just... Let the girls play..."

And so he did. Thankfully.

[snelbz]

Swipe Left {Rowaelin Fluff AU}

A/N: We’ve been writing some aaangsty shit lately, and we needed a break to get some fluff out. Enjoy!

As always, written along side the loml, @tacmc​.

Attention, all passengers. All flights departing from Adarlan have been delayed, due to inclement weather. Please see the nearest information screen for more details.

Aelin dropped her head in her hands and groaned. She knew she should have taken the direct flight from Wendlyn to Terrasen, rather than booking the one with a layover in Adarlan. She knew she should have, but instead she decided to save a few bucks, and booked the cheaper flight, with the longer travel time.

And now Adarlan was experiencing some of the worst weather she’d ever seen.

As she looked around for an information board at her gate, a brilliant flash of lightning raced across the sky. The accompanying rumble of thunder shook the airport and Aelin begrudgingly accepted that grounding the flights may have been the right thing to do.

She sighed and pulled her phone out, noticing a text from Lysandra. She opened it, finding a picture of her feet shoved in the sand and a drink in her hands, with a text that read, Got my beach, got my beer. All I’m missing is you, bitch. What time do you get in?

She sighed and replied, Flights out of Adarlan we’re just grounded. No clue.

Her best friend’s response was short, sweet, and to the point:

Fuuuuuuuuck

Aelin laughed to herself, but closed out of her messages and began to peruse her social media apps, eventually opening Tinder.

She made a face, looking around the airport and thinking about how stupid it would be to thumb through her possible matches while in a another country. Especially one she wasn’t staying in for very long.

And then decided, why the hell not.

A blonde man who looked far too much like her cousin was the first that popped up.

No, definitely not.

Then a young man with striking blue eyes, raven black hair and a mischievous grin graced her screen. Mmm, maybe…, she thought to herself, scrolling down to read through his bio. Loves dogs, an avid reader, and-.

Nope, to the left he goes. A doctor. 

Aelin wasn’t sure she could handle dating another doctor.

On and on she went, finding a flaw in nearly every profile she looked at.

Muscle head. Swipe.

Drinks too much. Swipe.

Doesn’t drink enough. Swipe.

Too old. Swipe.

Too young, she thought, swiping left at the photo of a teen in his high school basketball uniform. He’d definitely lied about his age to get on here.

And then she was pinned in place by the most striking pair of green eyes she’d ever seen.

And those cheek bones, by the wyrd, she was jealous.

She scrolled through his pictures, wondering if the silver hair was natural or if he had to dye it to keep it that shimmering hue.

Gods, he was gorgeous. She looked through his pictures again, every single one of them a candid, but couldn’t help but hear that little voice in the back of her head.

What’s the catch?

He’s definitely too good to be true.

Scrolling down, she decided to read through his bio.

Rowan, 28

11th grade history teacher by day.

Whiskey aficionado and trivia extraordinaire by night.

Aelin blinked at the short and sweet description the man had written for himself and after swiping through his pictures one more time, decided there was no way this guy was real.

She was sure that whoever this Rowan guy was, he may have been an eleventh grade history teacher, and he may have been kickass at trivia, but there was no way in hell he looked like that. No, she was sure that was just some poor, unsuspecting model, with the most kissable, gorgeous face she’d ever seen, who’d had pictures lifted from his personal Instagram. She even thought about trying to reverse image search the model to see if she could figure out who he was. If she did, it would only be fair of her to let him know.

But until then, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to be catfished...again.

She swiped left, sending him to the pile of men she’d rejected.

“Ouch, so that’s a hard no, then?”

The voice came from behind her and Aelin whirled, so fast that her blonde hair fanned out around her.

That hair. Those eyes. That damn bone structure.

Aelin blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The man - Rowan, she realized - chuckled. “Can’t say it wasn’t entertaining watching you swipe left on the entire male population of Adarlan.” He smirked. “But after spending so long on mine, I thought you’d at least swipe right.”

Aelin was still stunned. “Fuck, you’re not a catfish?”

A silver brow arched and he chuckled again as he said, “No, definitely not a cat or a fish. All male.”

“So you teach teenagers?” She asked, gesturing to him. “So that’s your real job, even with a face like that?”

He asked, “A face like what?”

“You’re gorgeous,” Aelin said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then she realized what she’d said. She covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks and the tips of her ears reddening.

But his grin only widened as his eyes narrowed, the most ridiculously handsome, smug look crossing over his face. “Do you judge everyone so harshly? What? I can’t be pretty and smart?”

Aelin’s hands slid off her face as she met his gaze, once again. “I never called you pretty.”

“But you called me gorgeous,” he countered, and at her scowl he breathed a laugh. “I’m Rowan.”

“I know,” she said, and held up her phone. “I cyber stalked you, remember?”

“Ah,” he said, leaning forward. “I can’t deny I did the same to you, Aelin.”

Oh, she liked the way her name sounded on his lips. His voice alone, that accent, had her toes curling.

“Did you swipe right?” She asked, slipping her phone in her back pocket.

Rowan smirked. “Guess you’ll never know, since you decided to swipe left.”

He adjusted the laptop case on his shoulder and winked, before walking over and sitting down at the closest plug, leaving Aelin staring.

————

How to unswipe left on tinder.

The question she typed in her browser mocked her and she sighed.

She picked at her unappetizing chicken - she thought it was chicken, at least - she’d picked up in the airport food court and looked around. The place was packed, travelers from everywhere stuck here until the storm passed. Almost every table was occupied, though she had gotten lucky and found one of the small ones by the wall. She was inclined to stay here until her flight finally departed, but she figured she could at least go to the bar until her flight and give someone else her table.

She was putting her trash on the tray, getting ready to get up when a head of silver hair sat down at the table across from her.

She blinked, watching his every movement as he plopped his tray down on the tabletop. He, unlike Aelin, went with burrito. After consuming her chicken...ish lunch, the burrito looked wonderful. She eyed it with envy.

“May I join you?” he asked, not bothering to wait for her to reply as he unwrapped the burrito from the foil and taking a bite.

Aelin opened her mouth to reply, but her lips snatched shut. She had already finished eating, was ready to go waste her time elsewhere. “I was headed to the bar.”

Rowan nodded, slowly, as he took another bite. He waited to swallow before asking, “So, first you swipe left, then you don’t want to eat with me? Apparently I need to take a hint. Then again...you did say I was gorgeous...so.” 

Aelin was caught somewhere between wanting to run and hide, and wanting to jump his bones. The latter was more appealing, but the former felt easier, all things considering. 

She pursed her lips. “Did you swipe, right?”

The gleam in his eye was wicked. “Have lunch with me.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Fine.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act so excited about it.”

Aelin closed her eyes and sighed. She was being a bitch.

Well, she was a bitch, but she was letting her bitch show.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You kind of...caught me on an off day.”

He looked around while he chewed,at their surroundings, at the people around them. “Yeah, I think we’re all having an off day.”

Aelin let Rowan eat, not asking him questions every few minutes, despite wanting to, though she did respond to his while he quietly ate.

He asked what she did for a living, she said she didn’t know because she was on the way home from graduating college. He asked what her degree was in, she said literature and English education.

He was balling up the aluminum foil and standing when he asked, “So you have a degree in education but you don’t know what you want to do for a living?”

They grabbed their various bags and carry-ons and she shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He said, obviously, “Have you thought about teaching?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I have, but I have more passion for literature and English than I do for standing up in front of a classroom full of kids only to be disrespected and unappreciated.” 

Rowan looked at her, thoughtfully. “I had the same fear when I began, once I got my degree. But, I fucking love history, and my kids, for the most part, are great. If you choose to become an educator...well, the vibe of your classroom is in your hands.”

Aelin’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t protest. “Come get a drink with me.”

Rowan arched a brow. “Is this a date?”

Aelin put a hand on her hip. “Did you swipe right?”

He tilted his head. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“You said you’d tell me if I had lunch with you,” she laughed.

“I didn’t, actually.” He was smirking and Aelin wanted to wipe it off his handsome face, in whatever way she could. “I just mentioned that you should eat with me after I asked and you chose to.”

Aelin opened her mouth to disagree but then snapped it closed. He was right. “You tricked me.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She stopped walking and he stopped and turned. She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Tell me if you swiped right and I’ll have a drink with you.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

She crossed her arms, waiting.

Rowan just arched a brow. “Come on. I’ll tell you after the first drink.”

Aelin’s mouth fell open, but Rowan was walking away, down the terminal. Aelin wanted so desperately to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he confessed, but she didn’t. Unable to control herself, she only walked after him, intrigued.

“What gate are you flying out of?” Rowan asked as she caught up to him. 

She knew exactly which gate it was, but she wanted to see if she could make him squirm. “C.”

She kept her head straight, didn’t glance over at him as he looked at her. She just asked, “You?”

That half smile returned and she knew that he knew she was trying to mess with him. “C, as well.”

They got to the bar and sat down, being waited in quickly, despite the larger than normal crowd. Aelin ordered a jack and coke and Rowan a 7&7.

The bartender gave them their ID’s back and said, “Thank you, and happy birthday, Miss Galathynius.”

She cringed as Rowan turned to look at her. “It’s your birthday?”

She lifted her hands and gave a half-assed attempt at spirit fingers. “Surprise.”

He stared at her for a moment before he said, “You should’ve said something.”

“What’s the point?” she muttered.

Rowan blinked, still watching her through his side-eye. “What do you mean?”

Aelin snorted as their drinks were slid in front of them. “I was supposed to be celebrating my birthday at home, with my best friend on the beach; but, instead, I’m here, stuck at the airport. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve had an interesting birthday.”

Rowan nodded. “If it makes you feel any better, I spent my last birthday in the hospital.”

“What?” Aelin asked, sipping her drink. “How?”

“Horrible food poisoning,” he laughed. “I’ve never been that sick in my life.”

Aelin shook her head. “Maybe we can celebrate our birthdays together.”

Rowan chuckled. “My birthday was five months ago.”

Aelin took another drink and set her glass down. “And?” She shrugged. “It’s someone’s birthday everyday. Why not make it yours?”

Rowan eyed her for a moment, his lips teasing the edge of his glass. Then, he said, “Alright. Fine. Today is both of our birthdays, what should we do?”

“Raise hell, obviously,” Aelin answered, shrugging, as she took a sip from her glass.

Rowan only grinned. “And what does raising hell look like to Aelin Galathynius?”

She smirked, but a thunder clap drew her attention to the windows they sat across from, to the storm raging outside. A crease formed between her brows. “Definitely doesn’t look like an extended layover in Adarlan.”

Rowan watched her, wanting to brush back the hair that slipped from behind her ear. He turned to the bartender and said, “Two shots of Gentleman’s.”

Aelin’s eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s one way to wake hell up.”

The small glasses were set in front of them and Rowan said, “To raising hell, Miss Galathynius.”

Aelin rolled her eyes and threw the shot back.

The bourbon warmed her entire body and she shook her head, blowing out a sharp breath. Rowan was watching her, a small smile on his face. He paid up their tab and they made their way over to the information board by the bar entrance.

“Has yours been updated?” Rowan asked, scanning the flights.

Aelin found hers instantly. “No, still just delayed.”

He nodded. “Mine too.”

“So,” she began. “What’s next on the birthday agenda?”

An easy smile spread across his face as he said, “Presents.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Presents?”

They walked over to one of the small convenience stores tucked in between the Starbucks and the restrooms. “Since today isn’t actually my birthday, I don’t get anything. But you do.”

She looked at the glorified gas station snacks lined up in the fancy shelving. “Oh goodie, a Snickers bar and the latest issue of Erilea Weekly.”

“Is that what you want?” He asked.

She laughed. “Not really. I don’t need anything though.”

“Everyone needs something on their birthday.” Aelin glanced up at him and he was looking down at her.

You could kiss me, she thought. That would be a pretty good gift.

Instead she said, “Okay, then surprise me.”

Rowan’s smile grew. “Gladly.”

Rowan took a step and Aelin followed, but then he froze, and blinked. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing?” Aelin asked, taking a step back, confused.

But Rowan only arched a brow and grinned. “If I’m going to surprise you, you can’t see what I pick out. Go away.”

Aelin snorted but sighed. “Fine. My gate is C-17. I’ll be there when you’re done.”

Rowan’s smile was triumphant. “See you there.”

Aelin headed back to the gate, sitting by the window and watching the storms swirl around them. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket. It was Lysandra, but no picture accompanied her text this time.

How goes the long, boring wait?

She sighed. Long and boring. I have company though.

The text immediately showed “Read” and the grey typing bubbles reappeared.

Company? How?

Where? The airport?

Is he hot?

How did you meet?

Aelin smirked and typed back. I swiped left on him.

The bubbles reappeared and left and reappeared. I’m not following.

He’s gorgeous, so after hardcore staring at this face, I decided I didn’t want to get catfished.

So I swiped left.

And then I turned around and found him standing there, looking just as pretty as his pictures.

She hit send and waited, anticipating Lysandra’s next question.

What’s his name??

She laughed, knowing that Lysandra was probably driving Aedion insane with her commentary.

She replied, Rowan. And no, I don’t have a last name, but I think he’s flying into Orynth and he’s a history teacher.

The message sent and Aelin waited for her reply. The message was read, but nothing came in.

Twenty minutes later, when Lysandra hadn’t texted back and Rowan hadn’t shown, Aelin began to chew on the inside of her cheek.

She suddenly felt ridiculous. Most likely, Rowan had used it as an excuse to get rid of her. They were strangers, and nothing more. He wanted to get her a gift? Bullshit. He probably thought it was pathetic that she was spending her birthday alone in an airport and was getting a laugh out of the whole scenario. 

Aelin rose to her feet with the intention of grabbing her bag and going to the ladies room just for something to do, but then she saw him coming toward her, a shopping bag in hand.

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She dropped her purse back into the seat she’d been occupying. “Just to the ladies room.” She smiled sweetly, hoping he didn’t realize she’d been about to bail.

Granted, she thought he’d bailed on her.

He nodded. “Well, then, I’ll be here.”

He sat down in the spot next to the one she vacated and smiled at her.

Aelin began to walk away, but she turned and looked back at him. “By the way, you’re not, like, a serial killer that’s going to sell my organs on the black market, right?”

Rowan laughed, the sound rich and full and reminded Aelin of a bonfire on a crisp Autumn evening. “No, I’m not a serial killer and no, I won’t sell your organs on the black market.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or the white market?”

He shook his head, chuckling, “How about this? I have no intention of causing you any bodily harm or removing your organs from where they already are.”

Aelin smiled and nodded, and continued into the bathroom. When she was washing her hands, her phone vibrated again and upon she pulling it from her pocket, she discovered why Lysandra had gone dark.

His name is Rowan Whitethorn. He’s twenty-eight, fit as fuck and looks like he could fuck you into a fit. He’s a teacher at Orynth Prep, where he’s also the coach of the varsity baseball team. His birthday is January seventh and he has a kitten named Snowball.

Aelin sighed and shook her head, laughing at her best friend.

You’re terrifying sometimes, you know that, right?

Her phone buzzed again.

Enjoy, bitch.

Then about twenty pictures flooded her inbox.

She had done a thorough job, Aelin had to admit. The few pictures she sent of Rowan shirtless certainly proved her “fit” comment. She didn’t feel the least bit shamed as she zoomed in on his washboard abs.

Aelin couldn’t help but stare, and gape, before she shoved her phone back into her pocket and went back out toward the gate, where Rowan was still sitting, scrolling through his phone. The second he sat her coming, his phone was put away.

“I was beginning to think you got lost,” he said, cocking his head to the side. 

Aelin cleared her throat. “I- yes, I did.”

His eyes flicked to the bathroom, which was a direct line to where he was sitting.

She sat and tucked the loose hairs behind her ears. “So what’s my present?”

She smiled and he couldn’t fight the tugging on the corners of his own lips. He handed her the shopping bag. “Happy birthday, Aelin.”

She opened it up, first pulling out a stuffed teddy bear, that was red and gold, the colors of Adarlan’s flag. In the center of its stomach was a big gold heart. She laughed. “Cute.”

He shrugged as if to say, I know.

She reached in and pulled out a t-shirt that read I’d rather be spending my birthday on the beach, but I’m stuck with a hot piece of ass at the airport.

Aelin threw her head back and laughed. “Where did you find this?”

He was chuckling himself. “You can convince people to make anything for the right price.”

She shook her head and pulled the last item out of the bag. It was a glass shot glass. Aelin didn’t even read the text printed, because Rowan said, “I was hoping you’d take a shot on me and let me take you to dinner.”

Aelin stared at him, blinked, then howled. Rowan watched her as she laughed, heartily, his slow grin spreading.

Once she calmed down, she wiped at her eyes and said, “Well, I can’t say no to that, can I?”

Rowan’s eyes were soft as he said, “I was hoping not.”

Aelin put her gifts back in the bag and said, “Thank you, really. This was sweet.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, softly. “Is that a yes to dinner, then?”

She smiled, and took his hand, resting on his lap. “It’s a date.”

[rusty-tetanus-nail]

[Gunshots] Through Your Heart

a The C*W Sniper x Reader fanfic

The story of how You finding your One True Love finally released the Jackles Tapes™.

Author’s Note: If you actually read this fic, I will judge you.

It's the first non-virtual con since the finale and you've paid half a month’s rent to see the monkeys on stage awkwardly talk their way out of giving the gays what they really want. You've long since lost hope of anyone so much as acknowledging Cas' confession, but as long as Jensen keeps his sexy silence intact you're at peace with that. 

The fandom knows what's up anyway, even if the C*W tries to silence everyone involved with the show. You chuckle, remembering that one time when you opened tumblr and everyone was talking in riddles about [gunshots]. It took you at least an hour to figure out where that particular meme came from, but that's just season 16 for you. The confusion is half the fun. Of course the fandom would come up with the most ridiculous explanations as to why the cast and crew aren't allowed to validate Hellers, instead of just facing the reality that they all don't get it and have wrong opinions about things.

You open yet another nondescript brownish looking door, trying to find your way back to the panel hall. Whoever thought colour coding every single signpost and door instead of just using letters and arrows to point the way deserves to be fired. 

You take a deep breath to calm down and look at your phone.

"Fuck!" You curse out loud. You're so late. The main panel has already started and you're still utterly lost with no one nearby to ask for directions.

...not that you would ask for directions. You shudder. Egh people. 

You hear a faint cheering coming from behind the dark wooden door at the end of the deserted corridor. Bingo!

You run across the hallway, so ready to see the convention madness for yourself and open the door with a grin.

Instantly, the cheering grows louder and then subsides, leaving room for someone to speak. You look around confused. You can hear the panel just fine, but you’re not in the main hall.

Cautiously, you take a step forward. No that's not quite right. You are in the right room, but in the wrong place. Instead of being on the ground floor looking up at the actors on the stage, you’re on a balcony of sorts, hidden away near the ceiling. From here you can see everything. The whole crowd of fans, the stage. It's not the first row seat that you paid the other half of this month’s rent for, but it’s a nice view nevertheless and feels far less claustrophobic than downstairs with all the people around you doing their best to give you a headache. Maybe you'll just stay here and enjoy the rest of the show. No point in missing more of it than you already have.

You lean against the railing and watch as a staff member gives the microphone to a nervous looking fan. You cross your fingers, silently cheering them on, hoping they'll get through this in one piece.

The fan starts to talk and from the corner of your eyes you see something move. Startled, you stumble forward over the railing and for a moment you're certain that this is how you die.

A hand grips you tight by your several layers of flannel and pulls you back onto the floor of the balcony saving you from certain death.

You look up in a daze and see the silhouette of your saviour illuminated by the ceiling lights standing over you holding a sniper rifle. Somewhere in the distance you hear the fan continue their question ignorant of your almost death.

Your saviour moves with practiced ease back to the railing and aims their weapon at the people below. 

Shit. This can’t be happening. You try to get up and stop them from whatever they're about to do, but when you reach the figure and grab their wrist it's already too late.

"So about the Cartwright Twi-" [gunshots]

The fan falls to their knees and is carried off as someone on stage lets out an uncomfortable laugh and makes a joke about fainting. You watch the proceedings in shock, still gripping the sniper's wrist.

"What did you do?" You bite out, more harshly than you intended. In the back of your mind you know you should probably run away instead of arguing with the assassin, but there’s just something about them that makes you feel safe and unthreatened.

"My job." A gruff voice replies and as they turn you finally catch a first proper glimpse at the sniper's face. You let go of them almost immediately.

Oh no. They're hot.

The sniper pulls their wrist close to their chest and strokes the parts of their skin that your hand previously occupied. And odd knot forms in your stomach. You take a step closer and they shift away unused to the presence of another person.

You try to reach out again, but think better of it. You don’t want to scare the beautiful person in front of you. Your hand falls down limply to your side and the sniper follows your movements with their eyes still refusing to look directly at you.

You open your mouth to ask who they are, but you get interrupted when Jensen starts speaking. Instantaneously the sniper is all business again, aims their rifle and-

“Actually I think Dean is b-” [gunshots]

Jensen bends over and starts coughing violently, his sentence hanging forever unsaid in the room.

The sniper lowers their gun and looks emotionlessly at the scene they just caused.

“You’re-” You start, but the sniper holds up their hand to stop you.

“Don’t. Just go and pretend you never saw anything or I’ll shoot you as well.”

You shake your head.

“No. I don’t think you will.” Taking a chance you close the distance between the both of you and take the sniper’s free hand, intertwining your fingers with theirs. Their breath hitches as you touch them and they lower their eyes, but don’t move away. You take it as a good sign.

“You’re the C*W Sniper, aren’t you?” You whisper astonished. “I can’t believe you’re real.”

A fan with a faintly Spanish sounding accent is given the microphone. With their free hand the sniper reaches down and pulls out a gun from their thigh holster and- [gunshots]

What was once an almost unnoticeable accent is now unrecognizable word salad. Everyone laughs and writes the incident off as the fan simply being nervous. You frown.

“This isn’t right.”

“They’ll be able to speak again in a couple of minutes.”

You tighten your fingers around the snipers hand and try to unsuccessfully catch their eyes.

“Still doesn’t make it right. You didn’t even know if they’d mention anything about-”

The sniper aims their gun at you.

“I have my orders.”

Your eyes finally meet for the first time and the previous argument is forgotten as the world around you bursts into vibrant colours. 

“What the f-”

This isn’t possible. You’ve always been severely colour blind. People don’t just randomly heal from that. You shouldn’t be seeing any of this.

The sniper's cold eyes grow warm and mirror your own in wonderment. They look around before settling their eyes back on you and a soft “oh” escapes their lips.

“You’re my soulmate.” Their rough voice takes on a heart wrenching tone and you shake your head disbelievingly.

“No. Soulmates aren’t real. They were made up for fanfics.”

“That’s what the CW wants you to think.” The sniper says with a sad smile and breaks eye contact again. “The CW’s reach and power is far greater than anything you could possibly imagine.”

You cup the sniper’s face with your free hand and softly stroke their cheek with your thumb, almost entranced at the new connection you made with the not quite stranger in front of you. The sniper closes their eyes and leans into your touch. Your heart starts pounding and you wish for the moment to never end.

“You should leave.”

“Not without you.” You reply not missing a beat, trying not to get distracted by the sniper’s full lips and delicate features contrasting their hard battleworn exterior.

“I’m not safe to be around. I’ve hurt people.” The sniper turns around and lets go of your hand, but you hold on tight, too scared they’ll disappear as suddenly as they entered your life. Clutching their hand tightly, you pull them close and swirl them around forcing them to face you.

“I don’t care.” You say resolutely. “Whatever hold the C*W has on you, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The sniper shakes their head and looks frantically over to the stage where Jensen is about to give his phone to a staff member.

“I- I can’t. I have to- I have nothing else but this.” They aim their gun at the stage, but you gently push their raised arm down. Your sniper doesn’t resist, but their hands are trembling. They’re scared, you realise. They’re scared and they need you.

“You have me. Please, I promise. Everything will be alright. Let me take care of you.”

The gun falls to the ground and the sniper lets themself be enveloped into your embrace. You hold them tightly as they fall apart in your arms and wait patiently until they stop shaking all the while whispering sweet reassurances into their ear.

“It won’t be easy.” They mumble against your shoulder and straighten up to look into your eyes. “The C*W will want to eliminate us. I’m not their only assassin.”

“Let them come. We’ll make them regret ever messing with us.” You say with a wicked grin and your sniper grins back with tears in their eyes.

You throw your arms over your snipers shoulders and lean your forehead against theirs.

“I’d really like to kiss you now.”

“Yes please.” The sniper says, almost breathlessly and you capture your soulmate’s lips for the first time. 

Fireworks explode in your soul and the crowd cheers as the Jackles Tapes are finally released and played on the big screen behind Jensen and Misha, who take the opportunity to ask every minor to leave the room as they’re about to reenact the secret good ending of Supernatural.

[xfandomwritingsx]

And The Devil Makes Three – Billy Butcher

-gif source-

Description: Years after Butcher abandoned you, he finds out he left you with more than the thought he did.

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Heartbreak. If you’re looking for a happily ever after, this ain’t it. Mentions of sex and pregnancy. Reader has a named son.  

Approx. Word Count: 2,500

A/N: First, I SUCK at accents and dialect so just… forgive me for Butcher not sounding like Butcher. Second, there is so much history between these two that doesn’t get explained and I’m sorry because it would be like a 10k long story if I did that and I just… can’t do it right now. Maybe another time. Third, I need more Billy Butcher. NEED.

You had been washing the dishes on a fucking Wednesday afternoon when your doorbell rang. It was mundane. It was ordinary. It was how you liked it now. But then you opened that damn door and the floor about came out beneath you as your stomach plummeted and your blood burned.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The rage in your voice is clear as a bell. Billy fucking Butcher turns around to face you instead of the rag tag team of men on your doorstep. The faded look on his face is replaced with a forced smile as your eyes meet.

“Hello, love.”  

You slam the door in his face. You hear muffled voices through the door and then a delicate, but very persistent knocking on the wood.

“Please,” Frenchie calls from the other side. “We won’t be long! Just let us in and talk to us for a few minutes! That’s it. Then we’ll leave you alone.” His knocking continues through his entire plea. A mixture of inconvenient curiosity and concern of what your neighbors will think cause you to throw the door open again.

“Five minutes,” you snap at them before walking away from the door, leaving them to shuffle in behind you and follow you to your living room. “The hell are you doing here?” Your bitterness is aimed at Butcher and judging by the way he doesn’t meet your eyes, he knows it.

“We just need some information,” M.M. Speaks first, softly. There’s something about his tone that doesn’t quite sit well with you, like he’s afraid to speak to you. Sure, you weren’t exactly welcoming to them on your doorstep, but your grudge wasn’t with all of them. Just the one. “I know you got out of the game and you don’t want anything to with us, but we could use your help.” You scoff loudly and cross your arms over your chest just to make sure you didn’t punch anyone, specifically the asshole in the leather jacket, currently wandering aimlessly around your living room while the others stayed politely near you.  

“Is that what you told them?” you ask coldly. “That I left?” M.M. And Frenchie exchange a confused look before looking back at Butcher. You haven’t felt like this in years. You hate it.

“I told them you were out of the game and moving on.” He says it so plainly, like it was the whole truth and you snap.

“You left! You fucked me one night and the next morning you were just gone. Ghosted me with a half-assed note about how it was better this way or some shit!” You turn your attention back to M.M. and Frenchie. “He ever tell you that?” The shell shocked looks on their faces clearly say he did no such thing. “He decided I was out of the game. He kicked me to the curb.”

“Yeah well, looks like it worked out pretty well for ya, didn’t it?” You turn sharply to glare at him and see he’s got one of the photos that was on your mantle in his hand, holding it up for you to see. A cold dread rushes down your spine and your anger subsides for a moment.

In his hand is a photo of you and a young boy with dark hair that looks a little too much like the man standing in front of you. Butcher’s eyes are hard and unreadable. You wait for him to say something, to do anything just so you can move past the cold fear that’s slowly making you shrink down.

“Everyone get the fuck out now.” Your tone, though it waivers in the tiniest way, leaves no room for argument and the two men next to you seem ready to hang their heads and leave. But the new guy who followed them in, the doe-eyed young fella filled with optimism so sweet it makes you sick, steps towards you, briefly touching your elbow to bring your attention to him. You flinch at his touch and he withdraws quickly.

“Please, Miss…” he struggles to try and find your last name in his memory. He senses your impatience and moves on without it. “All we need is a name.”  

“Kid, I don’t know who you are, but you’re hanging with the wrong crowd.” His eyes drop to the floor, defeat slowly coming over him too. “My advice? Leave before he abandons you like a sick dog too.”  

“Told you she wasn’t gonna help,” Butcher says, an air of confidence in his voice that brings your anger flooding back over the fear. He gently puts the picture back and ushers all his boys back towards the front door.  

You don’t move from your spot, don’t walk them out, don’t do anything except stand there squeezing your arms over your chest and willing them all to go away. When you hear Butcher say, “I’ll follow in a minute,” your heart sinks. You don’t want to do this. Not now, not ever.  

His face is a stone when he stalks back into your living room, his own rage and confusion masked behind a blank expression that pierces through you. It threatens to make you feel guilty. You refuse to let him have that control over you, not anymore. You stare right back at him, waiting for his first move.

“How old is he?” There’s no question who he’s asking about

“It doesn’t matter.” You don’t have the patience to play dumb, but you’ll be damned if you make this easy on him. Your defiance breaks a little of his façade.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me,” he growls. “How old?”

“He turned three last month.” Your nails dig into the skin on your arm through the thin fabric of your sweater.

“Fucking hell!” He runs a hand over his face, his mind doing the quick and easy math to arrive at the answer he already knew. You let a little bit of your anger bubble past the surface.

“You don’t get to be fucking angry,” you snap at him. “You made your choice to walk away from me and anything and everything that came with me.”  

“It’s not like I knew you’d end up fucking pregnant!” He takes a step towards you and even though he’s still across the room from you, it feels like he’s too close. You finally release your arms, letting them flail up in an agitated fury.

“What difference does it make it if I ended up with a kid or not?”  

“He’s fucking mine, innit he?”

“No!” you scream at him, something within you snapping. Years of anger and resentment flooding out. “He’s mine. He is mine and no one else’s.” Your screaming drops to a deadlier tone. “I went through the pregnancy alone. I went through labor and nearly dying when I gave birth alone. I did the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, my fucking recovery, his entire three years of life all alone. He is mine.” You point your finger into your chest even though the emphasis is unneeded. Your fingers on your other hand have curled into a fist, squeezing into a white knuckled grip around themselves.  

“He’s got my blood,” Butcher says slowly. You shake your head.

“That doesn’t make you his father.”

“Legally, sweetheart, it does.” He tilts his head and that sickly sweet, better-than-you voice he uses makes you bark out a bitter laugh.  

“What, Butch?” you ask, utterly amused. “Are you going to take me to court?” He flinches back just the slightest bit and it gives you a sick twist of pleasure. “Want to stand in front of a judge and explain why your lifestyle is so conducive to raising a child?”

“Yeah well maybe it coulda been had I fucking known.” His eyes are still hard and angry, but they falter and look away from you for just a moment.

“I saved you,” you tell him slowly. “I saved you the struggle and the guilt of saying you’re going to be there for us and then not following through because you can’t let go of your crusade. I saved him a lifetime of where’s daddy? and why isn’t daddy here?” You feel the sadness creeping back in and the tears you thought were over years ago start to well back up, your heart breaking all over again. “I saved him from looking out a window, watching you leave and wondering why he isn’t good enough for you.”  

There’s a short silence where his eyes soften and you know your words hurt him. Not because they’re mean, but because they’re true. His eyes keep flitting to the pictures in the room, looking at the boy he doesn’t know. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“You didn’t even give me the choice.” It sounds more pained than he meant it to, his anger melting away.  

“Kind of like how you didn’t give me a choice in leaving?” There’s still a little bite in your voice, but you try to subdue it. “What did you want me to do? Call the phone you’d already ditched? Go to the safe house you’d already burned? Did that.” You pause, considering if you should tell him the next bit. You feel yourself starting to tremble and without thinking about it, you find yourself walking towards him. “You think I should have tracked you down? I did.” Your voice is much softer now as you get closer. “I had your confirmed location in one hand and a pregnancy test in the other.” You put your hands out as if you’re still holding those items and the emotions of that day come flooding back. “And the moment that stick read positive, it was over. I threw out that piece of paper with your address on it and I never looked back.” You feel tears spill onto your cheeks and you try to not break down. Butcher won’t look at you, actively keeping his eyes anywhere else. “Tell me I made the wrong choice,” you whisper, not even sure what kind of reaction you’re hoping for.  

“What’s his name?” he asks instead, his own voice quiet. You roll your eyes and shrug your shoulders.

“Why?” You hate how defeated you sound. “What does it matter?” He clenches at your words and he rolls his neck in the smallest circle before looking back to you.

“C’mon, just…” he starts harshly, but falters when he sees you. His hand reaches up and his thumb strokes across the tear streak on your cheek. “Just give me that?” There’s a desperation in his voice that makes you ache.

“Ollie,” you finally tell him. “Short for Oliver.” His brow furrows and his lips tilt up in just the slightest way. When you involuntarily smile, you realize his hand is still hovering near your face. “I remembered you liked that name.” He sighs, giving in and letting his hand cradle your cheek gently. You want to push him away, but instead you find yourself melting into his touch.

“You’re such a bitch.” It’s said without malice and he stops trying to withhold his smile.

“So are you,” you say without missing a beat. He leans in to be closer to you and your hands find the edges of his leather coat, the zipper teeth biting into your hands.  

“I do miss that spitfire mouth of yours,” he admits.

You hate how much you miss him, how easily he can make you want to forget every awful thing he’s ever done. You told yourself for years that what you had was a one-night stand, that neither of you cared for the other. And then he shows up and unravels the delusion you held onto in order to keep yourself sane.  

“Why’d you do it, Billy?”  It’s the question that’s been burning at the back of your throat since he left. He grimaces and lowers his eyes to the floor.

“You needed out. You were ready to move on from all of it.” He leans down further, presses his forehead to yours and groans. “But you weren’t gonna leave me. And you… God dammit, you deserved more.” He pulls himself away from you and leaves the space in front of you cold. He starts pacing your living room again, footsteps heavy. “You wanted the white picket fence bullshit. And I wanted ya to have it.” He stops, facing away from you and brings his hand over his face. “I didn’t intend on fucking ya.” There’s an honesty there that you know he doesn’t like showing. “I was going to say goodnight and leave your room and just be gone. But then…”

But then you had grabbed his hand and asked if everything was alright and before you knew it, his lips were crashing down to yours and you were both tumbling back into your motel bed, years of bottled up passion and feelings pouring out. It had been the happiest you had felt in years. Until you woke up the next morning and it all came crashing down.

“Do you regret it?” you ask softly. “Any of it?” He pauses before answering, approaching your mantle once more.  

“Do you?” The bastard could never just answer a question. His fingers trace a frame that’s holding a picture of Ollie’s school picture.

“I don’t regret him.” It’s not a direct answer but it needs to be said. He nods firmly to himself before turning away and walking back towards your front door.

“They’re waiting on me,” he says gruffly, a flimsy excuse to make his exit. You follow him this time, not wanting him to leave yet.

“Butcher,” you stop him with his hand on the knob, but you can’t think of a single thing to say. There’s really nothing more left to discuss. It’s not like he’s going to stay and you sure as shit aren’t going to ask him to. So you sigh and ask instead, “What information did you guys need?” He puts his fake smile back on.

“Don’t worry about it, love.” He straightens out and his eyes clear, slipping back into business. “I told ‘em not to come here anyways. Was still trying to push them off your porch when you answered the door.”

“Look, if it’ll help you finish all of this then I’ll give you the information I have.” You shrug casually, but he sees right through it and catches that hopeful glint behind it. He shrinks again and his voice gets low, regretful.

“You know when this is finished… I probably won’t still be around.” You press your lips together and nod, the hope squashed right out of you. He was going to finish this plan even if it killed him. And it probably would. Watching the ground, you hear him open the front door. “Take care of the little bugger. I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you again.”

And just like that, he’s gone again, leaving you just as alone as he did last time.

[terrifictomholland]

I’ll be your good girl - Tom Holland x reader

A while ago I read @angelic-holland​s  EIGHTEEN and like...I got the inspiration from her, so really, you should thank her for this hahah

Word count: a whooping 5,1K

Warnings: SMUT! Piercings, and curse words, a single whore made it’s way into this story too, oops. 

Pairing: Tom Holland x female reader.

Without further ado, please do enjoy this smut fest!

                                                             -----

You were a good girl, had good grades, had lots of friends and made friends easily, you were somewhat of a teachers pet. But you were never boastful about it, you always helped out whenever you could with tutoring friends who needed a helping hand, or really anyone. Didn't have to be friends, you did it because you wanted to help people. You were that kind of a person, helping, kind, happy. One of your closest friends were Harrison Osterfield. Who in turn, his best friend was the one and only Tom Holland. 

The school's bad boy with arms well on their way of getting more and more tattoos scattered here and there. That chocolate brown hair and matching those eyes making girls fall at his feet. It infuriated you how good-looking he was with that slightly crooked nose of his, that British accent and his voice, not to mention his body. He looked like a goddamned masterpiece carved out of marble and the way he just oozed confidence. Over the years you'd been friends with Haz, you'd hung out with Tom too. Many people would assume that he was an absolute dick because of his looks and his reputation, but he wasn't like that. At least not when you were around to see, sure, he did some of those things. He liked to party and party hard, it wasn't uncommon for Haz and Tom to talk about some of the girls Tom had been with, so you knew that he liked to fool around with them. It wasn't that you were inexperienced, you'd had a boyfriend that lasted for a little over a year, but you'd broken up about 6 months ago because you just drifted apart and he was moving away, set to start at a new college. You had been absolutely devastated and heartbroken when he broke up with you, but deep down you knew that it was for the best.

You managed to get through that rough time with the help of Haz mostly, Tom had joined in too when he could and they were the best company to have while getting over a heartbreak. Their idea of getting over someone was getting drunk and for Haz and Tom, occasionally hooking up with a pretty girl, but that only made you even sadder and it wasn't your thing.  Of course you'd fooled around with a guy here and there, but you never slept with them. But you felt the need to do something. Something reckless and daring for once in your life, so who was better than Tom at that? "Tom!" you called one day as he came by your place to hang out, "What's up my love?" he asked as he placed his feet on the coffee table, fingers tapping away on his iPhone. "I wanna do something spontaneous," you said biting the inside of your cheek watching for his reaction, he halted his movements on the screen, looking up at you. "What'd you have in mind?" "I wanna get a piercing," you bite your lip as you say it, all he does is raise his eyebrow looking at you with those deep brown eyes. "Alright," he shrugs and you perk up, "Really?" "Hell yeah, I'm all for you doing something reckless," he smirked and you blush thinking back on how he often would call you his innocent girl, "Tom," you whine but he just got up and walked over to you, close enough so that you felt his breath on the back of your neck, "A little bit of corruption will do you good love,"  those words making your breath hitch ever so slightly. You shook yourself out of the moment, grabbing his hand, "Let's go!" you call heading for the door.   The two of you arrived at the tattoo parlour who did both tattoos and piercings, it wasn't Tom's first time there judging by the way he greeted the guy behind the counter, "Hey Mike!" he greeted cheerily giving him a bro hug. "Tom! It's been a while!" he said with a grin. He had tattoos all over him and piercings here and there. You were a bit intimidated, but you were here and this was something you'd wanted to do. "It has! Oh, this is my friend Y/N," Tom introduced you and Mike smiled holding his hand out, "Nice to meet you Y/N, I'm Mike," he said kindly as you took his hand, "Likewise," you said with a nervous smile. "So, what're we having done today?" he asked expectantly looking over at Tom who held his hands up, "Don't look at me, I'm here because this one wants a piercing," he chuckled and Mike grinned looking over at you, "Well, what are you thinking of having done?" he asked and you bit your lip, glancing at Tom. "I wanna get my nipples pierced," you spoke quickly and quietly but based on the way Tom choked on thin air, he definitely heard it. MIke's eyebrows raised too, glancing over at Tom but you didn't dare look at him, staring at Mike instead who recovered quickly. "Alright, I can do that," he said, "Do you want me to come with?" Tom asked once he regained himself, "If that's your way of wanting to see the goods, boy, you're shit out of luck," you smirked and as soon as you said that both Tom and Mike started cackling, "Damn," Tom smirked making you giggle as you followed Mike to the back room.  the piercing itself didn't take more than a couple of minutes but the pain it brought on stayed with you for a little longer, but it wasn't unbearable as you walked back out to Tom, seeing him sitting down on a chair flipping through some tattoo books. "You thinking 'bout getting inked?" you wondered startling him slightly and you giggled, "Already done?" he asked and you saw his gaze drop to your chest and you tutted, "My eyes are up here, and yes I am," you said proudly, he chuckled with pink cheeks lifting his gaze up to your eyes, "Can't blame a guy for wanting a peek," he shrugged and you rolled your eyes, "Are you getting anything done?" you changed the subject and he smirked, "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked saucily and you blushed. "Maybe," "Yeah, I'm gonna get my eyebrow done," he smiled at you when he saw you blush so prettily. "Are you?" you asked surprised and he nodded, "Can I watch?" you asked biting your lip. He chuckled and patted his lap and you blushed all the more now, going over there and sitting down in his lap. "Course you can, it's not like its my dick I'm piercing," he smirked and you swallowed harshly, well...that would be quite the sight wouldn't it? A hot one that's for sure. "I suppose not," you murmur with a blush as Mike walked over to Tom, "We doing the eyebrow today?" he asked already putting on the latex gloves as Tom nodded. He was completely relaxed with you in his lap, joking around with Mike. "How long have you wanted to do this?" you murmured tracing the outline of his tattoo that peeked out from the sleeve of his shirt, "A while now actually," he answered and you nodded, looking up at him feeling something you hadn't felt before. Or rather, you didn't let yourself feel until now. He was Haz's best friend and the bad boy of the school. You'd felt the gradual shift in the way he'd joke around with you, the tiny touches that were too long to be just casual, the looks. Minor things, but they were noticeable nonetheless. "Ready Tom?" Mike asked breaking you out of your thoughts, you gulped seeing the needle so close to his face and you reached over taking his hand. "You can squeeze my hand as hard as you want," you said though you were probably more nervous than he was. "I will, though I'd be more distracted if I could see the goods," he quipped and you laughed smacking his arm gently, "You're not gonna give up on that are you?" "Absolutely not! Do you know the kind of torment I'm in knowing your tits are pierced and I can't see?" "Well then you're gonna have to wait a long time," you grinned and he pouted, wincing slightly as the needle went through his brow. You immediately squeezed his hand tightly and he squeezed back just as hard. "You're gonna look even more like a bad boy now," you grinned and he looked over at you with a serene smile, "Yeah? You like it?" "The piercing or the bad boy?" you countered and he shrugged, "Both," "I do, the piercing makes you look all tough even though you're about as soft as they come," you giggle and he scoffed, "I could rock your world if only you knew how hard I could be," his bold words making you blush furiously and he noticed, of course he fucking did. He noticed everything. "Oh? Someone's into that," he taunted and you squeaked slapping his arm, "Thomas Stanley," you warned and he let out a loud laugh, "Are you denying it?" "Let's pay and head out of here, I want ice cream mr. Baddie," you changed the subject and he laughed heartily, following in your footsteps as you sorted out the payment and you left for ice cream. "Hey Tom?" you asked as you licked the hazelnut ice cream from the cone, feeling his gaze on you, "Yes honey?" "Thank you, for doing this with me," you said softly feeling your cheeks heat up, "Honestly it was really fun," he grinned easily making you feel lighter too, looking up at him and seeing the carefree look on his face, "Plus, it's hot as fuck knowing your nips are pierced and knowing I can't see it. The things you do to me," he said, his gaze turning darker as they dropped to your chest, making you shift slightly, your thighs rubbing together at the intensity of his gaze. "Tom," you breathed out, both hating and loving the effect he had on you. Still you knew, he hadn't even started. If he wanted to, he could have you be a complete mess within minutes. "Don't worry honey," he smirked, "You can always come to me when you want to be reckless again," he finished, pressing his lips to your cheek and you let out a shaky breath. "I might take you up on it," you said as he pulled back. Your faces were mere inches apart and oh how you wanted to close that distance and press your lips against his sinful ones. Full of devious promises to absolutely wreck and ruin you. "I'm hoping that you will," he said, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips, licking his own. His fingers coming up to rest on your pulse point, feeling it sky rocket. You'd never wanted anyone as much as you did right now, your whole body thrumming with need and want. "I will," you promised reaching up, pressing a kiss on his cheek, letting your lips linger there for a moment too long, but neither of you minded. You slowly pulled away from him, needing a second to collect yourself, seeing him subtly adjust himself and you wanted to whimper, but you swallowed it down. "Wanna head back?" he asked once you finished your ice cream, you nodded and he offered you his hand which you took, lacing your fingers together. You drove home, the two of you singing along to the music he was blaring through the speakers and laughing.  Suddenly, the familiar intro of You Shook Me All Night Long came on by AC/DC making you grin, hearing Tom burst into song, staring meaningfully at you as he sang, making you once again rub your thighs together subtly at the promise that he could very well shake you all night long if he so well pleased. You saw the smirk on his face from the corner of your eye. You let out a tiny whimper when you felt his hand on your thigh, rubbing it slowly, teasingly through your jeans. You tried to pretend it didn't bother you, but it very much so did. His fingers bravely brushing over your pussy and you shut your eyes, biting your lip as you felt your panties getting absolutely soaked. "I can't wait to shake you all night long," he said huskily, making you open your eyes staring back at his lust filled ones. "How are you so sure I'd let you?" you asked with false confidence and he eyed you up and down, his fingers rubbing you through your jeans causing your toes to curl. "Oh baby," he tutted with a smirk seeing how you were already falling apart. Just as you were about to move over and straddle him over the console, his phone started ringing, breaking you both out of your moment making you whine as he pulled his hand away. You knew the moment was sufficiently ruined, you hated it as he answered the phone, chatting casually with Haz making you roll your eyes. Only Haz would and could have such impeccable timing and ruin your first orgasm in a long time. Tom started driving again, taking you back to your place and you arrived there after just a few minutes. You waited til he hung up with Haz before leaning over, kissing his cheek. "Thank you," you whispered in his ear, feeling brave enough to bite down lightly on his earlobe, licking it before you pulled away with a grin. Two could play the game, "I meant it, anytime you wanna be reckless," he chuckled hoarsely and you giggled, throwing a wink over your shoulder as you got out of the car.                                                  ------ A couple of weeks had gone by since you had your reckless day with Tom, and he'd been stuck on your mind ever since. The two of you hadn't really had any time to see each other because you both had so much homework and revising to do, but it was calming down now, so you sat in your room, biting your lip as you called him. "Hello?" you heard him ask and you smiled to yourself, "Hi Tom, it's me," "Oh hey, what's up?" "Uhm, do you wanna do another reckless thing?" you found yourself asking, suddenly full of nervous butterflies in your stomach, "I knew you couldn't resist," you could practically hear through the phone the way he was gloating, "I could always ask Haz you know," you teased hearing him laugh, "No you won't," he stated confidently and you rubbed your thighs together, "So, are you coming over?" you asked biting the inside of your cheek, you hoped he would. "Yeah, I'll be there in 30," he said, after that you hung up feeling anticipation already surging through you. You knew where this would lead and you knew Tom did too. Now, you spent the next thirty minutes tidying up a bit, putting in a load of laundry, doing the dishes and whatnot, all to keep your mind off of Tom until he arrived. You could hear the knock on the door just as you finished wiping down the counter, so you walked over to the front door seeing Tom there with a smile, "Hi honey," he said giving you a hug that you melted in, "Hey," you said bashfully as he pulled away all too soon for your liking. "How are you?" he asked out of genuine curiosity making you smile as you led him into the kitchen, "I'm good, the revising has been killing me, you?" "Pretty much the same yeah," he chuckled seeing how nervous you were, so he walked over to you, trapping you by the counter. You swallowed glancing up at him as your bodies were flush against one another. "Are you okay honey?" he asked gently, touching your cheek with his hands and you closed your eyes, leaning into the touch, trying to give yourself a moment of privacy under his heated gaze. "I'm fine, I'm just...nervous," you admitted breathing out, "Why're you nervous? It's just me," he asked as he drew his eyebrows together, "Because uhm, the reason I wanted you to come here is because I, uh, I want you to..you know," you trailed off looking at him, trying to motion downward with your head. His lips tugged up in a smile at your innocence, "I know what?" he teased and you moaned in embarrassment hiding your face in the crook of his neck, "Don't make me say it Tom," "Oh but I really want you too love, I can't help you out if you don't tell me," the smugness just rolled off him now and you clenched your jaw, "I..I want you to y'know, go down on me," you said feeling your face burning, "What's that?" he grinned, "Tom please," you pleaded as he pulled your face away from his neck but you refused to look into his eyes, focusing intently on playing with the collar of his shirt. "No love, I wanna hear you say it," "I..I want you to eat me out, please," you huffed, shifting your weight and trying to get some relief by rubbing your thighs together. "You want me to eat that pretty pussy of yours?" you turned crimson hearing him say it so plainly but you nodded, "Now was that so hard to say?" he taunted.  You wound your arms around his neck bringing his face down to yours, smashing your lips together to get him to stop fucking gloating. He let out a surprised moan against your lips, but he put his hands on the back of your thighs lifting you up on the counter and you locked your legs around his waist tightly, opening your mouth when you felt his tongue push against the seam of your lips. You let out a sigh when they met and battled for dominance. "Has anyone ever eaten you out?" he asked breaking the kiss to remove his shirt and you shook your head, "Uhm no," you blushed, "But...your ex?" he trailed off and you swallowed, "He didn't really do that," you said lamely looking up at him, seeing the look of utter disbelief on his face. "What a fucking wanker, I bet you he didn't even make you cum properly," he scoffed and you blushed. He wasn't wrong you thought to yourself. "He didn't did he?" he concluded at your silence and you nodded, "Have you ever gotten yourself off?" he prodded looking intently at you, "Yeah, by myself," you shrugged and he kissed you deeply, "That's hot as hell," he murmured against your lips, running his hands up and down your thighs and you tried getting even closer to him. "Please Tom," you murmured sucking on his bottom lip, biting down on it lightly and he groaned, putting his hand on the back of your head kissing you hurriedly and you moaned against his lips, rocking your hips against his, feeling the way he was already straining against his jeans, rubbing against your pussy deliciously. "Want me to eat this pretty pussy right here? On the counter?" he murmured breaking away from the kiss only to move down to your neck, sucking and biting making you gasp. "N-no, I uhm...laundry machine? Because of the vibrations?" you trailed off shyly and he moved up looking at you with a devious grin, "You've given this some thought haven't you?" "Maybe, can't hurt to try it," you shrugged and he smirked wickedly, "C'mon honey, let's give you what you deserve," he said lifting you up with ease and carrying you over to the laundry machine, your clothes landing on the floor as you made your way over there. "I've waited so fucking long to see your tits now honey," he murmured, reaching behind easily unclasping your bra. Your breath hitching slightly at the cool air that hit your nipples, causing them to harden immediately. He groaned at the sight of the bars you had through them now. You bit your lip leaning into his touch when he cupped them, his thumb brushing over your nipple causing you to let out a sharp moan, "O-oh," you breathed letting your fingers tangle in his hair, "Does it hurt?" he wondered glancing at you, "In the beginning it did, not so much now," you breathed and he leaned forward taking your nipple in his mouth, rolling it around expertly and you gasped loudly arching up into his touch. His mouth on one, the other pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. "God that feels good," you moaned softly rocking your hips into his again wanting more. You were soaked and he could feel it. His hand coming down, brushing over your soaked panties, running a single finger along your folds causing you to buck your hips up. "Tom," you whimpered feeling so good already, "What's that honey?" he murmured switching boobs and you threw your head back as his thumb started rubbing your clit, making you choke on air. "P-please Tom, eat my pussy," you moaned, he pulled away from your nipple with a pop and he blew cold air on the hardened bud making you shiver. "Was that so hard to say?" he murmured placing open-mouthed kisses all over your stomach, biting and nipping on your hip bones making you moan. You lifted your hips when he tugged your panties down in a swift pull leaving you completely naked for him to bask in you. You whimpered when you saw him palm himself through his black boxers, that was one of the hottest things you'd ever seen. "You are so fucking beautiful honey," he said in a gravelly voice making you even wetter, "So're you," you smiled shyly, leaning up on your elbows when you saw him drop down on his knees. You sucked in a sharp breath feeling him run his finger along your folds again, easily slipping it inside of you. "You're soaking wet baby," he hummed in appreciation leaning forward and licking your pussy causing you to nearly pass out from how good it felt. "Holy shit," you gasped throwing your head back, putting your legs on his shoulders letting him go to town on you. The way that man could move his tongue had you seeing stars, along with the confident way he finger-fucked you into oblivion all while sucking on your clit, having your legs shaking and toes curling. He looked like a man obsessed and you loved it, your fingers pulling on his hair, never wanting this to end, but you felt your orgasm building rapidly, "O-oh god, I'm so close Tommy," you moaned loudly, just then the washing machine kicked into high gear, sending vibrations through you making you scream out as you came, Tom's fingers hitting your sweet-spot over and over, not relenting until you came down from your high. Your legs couldn't stop shaking once you came down from your high and you let out a whimper seeing Tom pull away from your pussy. His hair was a mess from the way you'd pulled on it and your juices were smeared all over his mouth and his lips were swollen. The image alone nearly sent you over the edge again. He wiped his mouth with a smirk, "How was that baby?" "Oh my god," you panted and he laughed. You bit your lip seeing the way his cock strained against his boxers, "Do you...I mean..Can I..help?" you stumbled over your words, your cheeks pink. "Course you can honey," he grinned and you got off the washing machine, biting your lip as you got on your knees, pulling his boxers down revealing his very pretty cock. You salivated slightly at the sight of him, you dared a glance at him before you leaned forward, licking the underside of his cock hearing him suck in a sharp breath, putting his hands on the washing machine to steady himself. That gave you a boost as you wrapped your lips around his cock, bobbing your head up and down, letting your tongue lick the slit and the pre-cum that had collected at the tip. His hand collected your hair for you, pushing it out of the way for you as you sucked, your hands on his hips. You could tell he wanted to thrust forward so you relaxed your mouth as much as you could, looking up at him with a shaky nod giving him the go ahead. He thrusted forward gently at first and you let out a moan feeling his cock hit the back of your throat, keeping your gaze on him as he fucked your mouth, "F-fuck look at you honey, taking my cock so good," he groaned and you moaned, slipping a hand down to your front, rubbing your clit and your eyes rolled back as he kept thrusting and you rubbed your clit the way you loved. "That's it baby, fuck yourself on your fingers honey," he grunted and you whined against his cock slipping two fingers inside of yourself easily, "That good honey?" he hummed, you nodded as tears spilled down your cheeks, sucking on the head of his cock, swirling your tongue. "S-so good," you moaned feeling that pressure of another orgasm build, "You know what's gonna be even better?" he grunted and you looked at him, "My cock pounding into that pretty pussy of yours," he all but growled and you cried out against his cock cumming a second time in matter of minutes. You could tell he wasn't far behind so you pulled off him with a pop and you pushed your tits together and he caught your drift, eyes blazing with lust as he started titty-fucking you until he came, ropes of cum painting your chest. "Who knew you could be such a naughty girl?" he panted looking so proud of you and you preened under the attention. "I want you to fuck me," you said boldly and he smirked, "Oh honey, I plan too, don't you worry," he said confidently making shivers run down your spine in both delight and anticipation. "Now," you said impatiently, pulling him close to you kissing him hotly, your hand wrapping around his cock teasingly jerking him off to get him hard again. You loved the way he moaned your name and his hands cupping your tits, pinching your already sensitive nipples. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, bringing him close and you both moaned when you ran his cock along your pussy. Your nails digging into his back and he hissed sliding into you, your heat engulfing his cock completely. "Oh fuck," you cursed throwing your head back as best you could as his mouth encircled your nipple, sucking. "Shit," you moaned raising your hips, meeting each thrust as he slid as deep inside of you as possible making you arch your back. "Such a tight pussy," he growled holding your hips, laying you down and he pulled out of you, only to slam back inside causing you to scream out in pleasure, your thighs shaking and burning, but oh how good it felt. He grunted as he rolled his hips, finding your sweet spot and you couldn't do anything more other than moan like a whore. "Look over there," he grunted out, motioning to the side and your breath got caught in your throat seeing the mirror there and you were transfixed, seeing the way he fucked into you, "That's so hot baby," you moaned glancing between the mirror and Tom, seeing the way his cock completely disappeared inside of you. "You are, god damn the way you take my cock so well huh?" he moaned and you did the same, leaning up kissing him hotly, just needing more of him as he fucked you senseless. His words were turning you on even more, pushing you closer to the edge. "Harder Tommy," you begged against his lips crying out against him when his fingers started rubbing your clit, a silent scream escaping you. "Mmh yes!" you moaned, feeling beads of sweat drip down from your temple. You broke the kiss seeing that Tom was in no better shape than you, his hair matted to his face, covered in a thin layer of sweat as his jaw clenched focused on fucking you the best he could. "Cum in me Tommy," you moaned, you could tell he was getting closer too, you felt it in the way he started shaking. You reached your hand down fondling his balls, biting your lip seeing the way he threw his had back and you wasted no time in sucking on his neck feeling your orgasm tear through you like a hurricane, leaving you breathless and taking Tom with you. With a final thrust you felt him still and cum inside of you, making you moan softly, squeezing his cock letting him give you all he had. "I bet you look so pretty full of my cum inside your pussy," he grunted and your eyes rolled back still feeling him inside of you. Part of you didn't want him to slip out of you, but you knew he had too and he did, "Try holding it in, I wanna see my cum inside of you," he demanded and you let out a pitiful moan nodding, trying to keep his cum inside of you when he pulled out. "Look at that," he breathed completely mesmerized. He gave you a wicked smirk, pushing two fingers inside of you easily fucking his cum deeper inside of you than before, his mouth circling your clit and you cried out weakly, you didn't know how much more you could take, but you loved it. You reached up pinching your nipples letting him rip another orgasm from you, his cum for sure seeping out of you. "Well look at you baby girl, you did so good," he praised and you hazily opened your eyes, panting heavily. "Thank you," you breathed and he smiled, lifting you up and he took you to the bathroom, setting you on the counter there as he got the bath running. "How was that?" he asked gently as the two of you got in the tub, his chest pressed against your back and you cuddled up against him. "Incredible," you said with a blush, you couldn't believe the side of you that came out to play when he fucked you like that. "Fuck yeah it was," he laughed running his fingers up and down your sides. "We should do that again, definitely," you concluded and he kissed your neck softly. "Oh we are, that's a promise honey,"

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Warning: This chapter contains themes of bullying, especially in regard to one’s appearance. 

Chapter 4: The Boy Who Couldn’t Give More

Lei’s POV 

When I turned twelve, I was officially cast as an S.M. trainee. For many reasons, I would rather not describe every trial and hardship. I don’t want to tell you every high and low, so I will just tell you about what stands out as the worst and (somehow) the best day of training. 

I’m sorry if you think this approach isn’t entirely honest. There are just some things that I would rather not remember. Plus, I worry that if I detail everything that ever troubled me, you won’t be able to understand that I was, in my own way, happy. I hope you understand me. I hope you believe that I am happy— that I have always been as happy as I can be.

I was probably naïve to believe that I would find a real friend in the training rooms full of people closer to my age. Environments like the one in which idols are trained aren’t exactly conducive to healthy relationships, if you know what I mean. Everything was a competition. Everybody wanted to be the best dancer, the best singer, the best rapper, the best visual. 

Everybody except Mark Lee, who was content with being his best. I would never tell him this because he would probably get the wrong idea, but I admired him first. It was never a crush. I just wanted to possess his passion, his optimism, his ability to smile through every challenge. 

Because of Super Junior’s influence, I didn’t struggle with dancing, singing, and rapping as much as some of the others. By no means was I perfect or anything. My pronunciations were always weird because of my accent and my braces. I could probably count on one hand how many times an instructor praised me. Talent-wise, I was average. I could have passed on to my debut under everyone’s radar if I didn’t look so different. 

Even though I was among the youngest trainees, I towered over the other girls. While they were petite, I was naturally muscular, and my dedication to taekwondo only added definition to those muscles. My hair, although long and dark like everyone else’s, fell in tangled curls over my shoulders. While my braces were closing the gap in my front teeth little by little, my teeth were still way too big for my face. At age twelve, the only beauty standards I met were credited to my cartoonish eyes and pale skin. 

Anyway, there was never a moment for as long that I can remember that I didn’t feel different because of my appearance. At twelve years old, I think the last thing anybody wants to do is stand out— especially for looking the wrong way. It was uncomfortable enough when I cursed myself for looking the way I did; it was worse when others noticed the differences and started to point them out. 

I guess I always knew that I wasn’t popular. Because most of the girls were older than me— and none of them were quite as inviting as Taeyeon or Amber— I didn’t quite know how to befriend them. Heeding Sehun’s advice, I didn’t talk to the boys under any circumstances. Everybody probably thought that I was mute or that I didn’t understand the language well enough to speak. 

Still, even though I didn’t have any delusions about my popularity, I wasn’t quite prepared to hear what they— the girls— thought of me. 

I looked like a chipmunk. I was a giant. My hair looked like a bush. My pale skin made me look like a vampire— and apparently not in a cool way. I was fat. 

That last one always bothered me because in all my years of self-criticizing, I never once thought I was fat. Yeah, my cheeks were full and I wasn’t crazy about looking like a super tall baby because of that, but my body— I wasn’t overweight. And even if I had been, why should that warrant commentary from people who never bothered to say a word to my face?

The most insulting part was that the girls would drop their voices just slightly into half-whispers. They would speak Korean quickly, obviously assuming that I didn’t know the language, assuming that I hadn’t lived in the same country as them for most of my life. 

Trying to follow Sehun’s advice, I reminded myself that some people wouldn’t like me. I told myself that was okay. I fixed my eyes on the shiny wooden floor and kept them there through every practice. Just keep your eyes down, I told myself, and they will stop staring. 

Even when they kept staring, I knew that I wouldn’t stand up to those girls. How could I have argued when I agreed that (visually, at least) I was as far from perfect as an idol could be? I think that if I could have disagreed with them, even internally, their voices wouldn’t have followed me. 

Mark didn’t want to argue with them either, but he must have heard them too. Every day that we had co-ed training, he would sit next to me and, between stretches, say, “You’re beautiful, Lei.” 

At first, I eyed him cautiously, unsure of what to do with the attention. Nobody who wasn’t Mom or Super Junior or any of those “safe” people had ever called me beautiful before Mark did. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Mark. There was always something endearing about the obvious fact that he couldn't have lied even if he wanted to. The issue was just— what did it matter if Mark thought I was beautiful if I couldn’t smile at my reflection? What good were Mark’s compliments when his voice didn’t follow me into the dark? 

Sehun told me that it doesn’t matter if people dislike me. During trainee days, I learned that it didn’t matter if people liked me either. Maybe that’s toxic. Maybe it’s untrue. But it’s what I believed for years. 

The mean girls’ voices followed me because they spoke my insecurities. If I could have learned to admire myself, then Mark’s voice would have followed me. Even then, at twelve years old, it was clear that Mark’s admiration was no substitute for self-love, so — please don’t judge me too harshly for this— I didn’t want him to look at me with little hearts in his eyes. His feelings served no purpose, and, to my absolute horror, everybody noticed how Mark looked at me. 

Everybody noticed that we spoke exclusively in English. Everybody who couldn’t understand us misinterpreted our very casual friendship as a young budding romance— even our dance instructor, who warned us once when we were partnered together, “Be mindful never to meet each other’s eyes while performing for an audience. Be mindful!” 

Mark and I flinched as we heard for the first time, “You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted because she was distracted by romance!”

No, I decided then as the instructor looked solely at me, I didn’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted. 

Squirming under scrutiny whenever I stood too close to Mark, I understood why Sehun warned me to stay away from boys. It doesn’t matter what your intentions are; people see only what they want to see or whatever will justify their hatred. That’s another lesson I learned as a trainee. 

Anyhow, I think I was doing a pretty good job of hiding the fact that I was absolutely miserable behind a carefully crafted blank stare until the day I overheard one of the girls saying, “You know, she’s only becoming an idol because her mom is a manager!”

That was true enough that, even if I had the nerve to bicker back, I couldn’t have truthfully argued. I lowered my head so I wouldn’t catch my blush in the mirrored wall. 

I hadn’t even lowered my backpack before another girl said, “Yeah. I bet she’ll get to debut before all of us because—” She glanced over to see if I was paying attention. Satisfied when I broke our eye contact to stare down at my sneakers, she continued, “her Mom has been sleeping with Heechul for years. Who knows how many executives rely on her for favors?”

When I looked up from my feet, I saw red. Before I even processed the words, I had grabbed the girl around her shoulder, fingers digging small bruises into her bare skin exposed under her tank top, and growled, “Who are you talking about?” as if I didn’t know.

Even if she hadn’t been trembling like a leaf as she stared up at me, too terrified to speak, I wouldn’t have let her answer. “Just go back to calling me chipmunk cheeks or bush head or vampire or fatty or Mark lover or whatever makes you feel clever and better than me.” My entire body flushed, and I hoped that I was burning her with my fingertips. “Don’t say another word about my mom ever again, or I’ll—”

I didn’t even get to threaten to knock her crooked teeth down her throat. Johnny, who was my senior by about four years, carefully pried me off of the girl, tutting, “Ladies, ladies, isn’t training challenging enough without all this fighting?”

It was.

“Can’t we all be friends?”

No. I never could have been friends with those girls, and I said so plainly, snatching my hands out of Johnny’s gentle grasp to cross my arms over my chest. You’ll find that I can hold a grudge like no other. I’m not saying that’s a good thing; it’s just a fact.

“We don’t want to be your friend either,” the girl spat at me. “We don’t want anything to do with the daughter of a glorified hooker! Just look at you.” Her glare trailed from my head down to my toes. “You’re wild. I don’t wonder where you got it from, but at least your Mom knows how to hide—”

Had Johnny not been standing there as an insurmountable barrier, I would have punched that girl, and I probably would have been kicked out of the agency, and my behavior would have reflected poorly on Mom. Fortunately, while I was too furious to think clearly, Johnny was there to wrap me in an almost suffocating hug, trusting that I wouldn’t strike him in my rage.

“Just take the day off,” he urged quietly. “I’ll tell the trainers you got sick, and—”

I started to shake my head and insist on peacefully standing my ground before a sharp pang of nauseated hunger pierced through my stomach. Owing to my lack of appetite those days, I hadn’t eaten much for dinner the night before, and I had woken up too late to eat breakfast that morning.

Johnny promised, “I’ll take care of these girls. Just go and take some time to yourself, please.”

When he wiped my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, I realized that I was crying. I ran out of the room purely to escape the embarrassment of having been reduced to scalding tears by something so stupid in front of so many other trainees. It was a failed attempt; embarrassment followed me into the hallway.

Eager to try again to make me feel better, Mark chased after me, calling my name. “Are you okay?”

As I slumped down at the table by the vending machine, I thought the answer was obvious. Still, I took the chance to lie. “Yes.” When I brought a hand up to touch my cheek, I was relieved to find that I wasn’t crying anymore.

I had an epiphany: even if I’m not strong, I can pretend to be. Clenching my jaw, forcing my hands into fists under the table, I said, “You should go to practice, Mark, and you should stay away from me.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because,” I forced myself to look away from his pained expression, “you don’t want people like those girls to talk about you. They’ll bully you if you keep being nice to me.”

“I don’t care.” Mark stood across from me, but he wouldn’t take a seat. He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

I said, “Well I care.” I really did. I didn’t want to put the target on Mark’s back. “I don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted,” I swore without knowing her whole story.

Mark scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I just know that I like you, and I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t to please anybody.”

Too annoyed by Mark’s stubborn resolve to like me without knowing me to feel flattered, I kind of rolled my eyes.

“Does that mean you don’t like me that way too?” Mark wheezed, and I understood that he had a crush on me. On some level, I guess I had always known, but I tried to ignore it because I didn’t want to hurt him.

No, I didn’t like Mark like that, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him— not when he looked so sad. Thinking of Sehun (as usual), I mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to like anyone like that.”

Slowly, Mark nodded, and I think he understood that I would never return his feelings. “Well, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just keep liking you anyway.” Without waiting for me to reply that I didn’t think feelings worked that way— I didn’t have to give him permission to like me— he bowed and ran back to practice, carrying most of the burden of his unrequited feelings.

I was sitting there, feeling small because I had given in to my temper, feeling cruel and cold because I rejected Mark’s pure infatuation, when Sehun sat across from me. I didn’t meet his eyes as he laid his head down on the table.

He asked, “What’s up with your face?”

For some reason, that question set my eyes watering again. I tried to wipe the tears before he could notice, but nothing got past Sehun. His eyebrows twitched. “What’s wrong, Lei?”

My chin dimpled as I lied, “I’m just hungry.” Well, it wasn’t quite a lie. My stomach growled loudly enough for him and everyone in the building to hear.

Perhaps eager to believe that I wasn’t troubled by anything too serious, Sehun nodded. “That’s nothing to cry about.”

I watched him spring from his seat and pound a fist against the side of the vending machine. A pack of chocolates fell out without payment. “Here you go.” He tossed the candy before me. When I only stared at it, he said, “If that’s not enough, and if you’re not busy, I was about to go to McDonald’s. You can come if you want.”

That must have been the first time that I didn’t burn to be in Sehun’s company. I didn’t exactly want him to rush to leave, but I also didn’t want him to stand there looking at me that way— like I was falling apart. It’s impossible to please me when I’m upset. I frown if you try to talk to me about my feelings, and I frown more if you try to act like everything is okay.

More than anything, I wanted to be alone in my room where nobody could see my flaws. I couldn’t even console myself with the thought that these feelings would pass within a few years by the time I debuted because it was starting to sink into my mind: the realization that every day for the rest of my life, people would try to tear me apart with their eyes. They would try to weigh me down and drown me with their expectations. There wasn’t any way to eradicate that overwhelming sense of dread because it was rooted too deeply in reality.

I would just have to try to silence it— the dawning knowledge that I would always be more human (a wounded one, at that) than idol— until Mom found me at the table by the vending machine as she always did at the end of long days. Then, I would be too afraid to say anything on the ride home. And then, not too long after we walked through the door, she would probably fall asleep on the couch again, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell her about the unnamed monster tearing me apart even if I miraculously found the courage to string words together. I would just turn the television off, drop the remote on the coffee table, run upstairs to my room, and tuck my radio into bed so I could fall into restless sleep while listening to SHINee because they were real idols. I would comfort myself by imagining that my voice could become for others what Onew’s, Jonghyun’s, Key’s, Minho’s, and Taemin’s— especially Taemin’s— were for me: inspiration and healing.

I wouldn’t have wanted to repeat those girls’ insults to Mom anyway. Imagining her disappointment if I confessed to almost punching someone, I sank. It was best to just keep biting my tongue. I would get used to the taste of blood, and soon the pain would scar and numb.

Looking back, I can see that I kept too much to myself. I went through too many trials alone because I was determined to become strong and self-sufficient even if that meant being forged by fire. In some ways, now I think that strength is a little overrated. Maybe I could have been happier— maybe my shoulders wouldn't have felt so heavy had I talked to Mom or Heechul or Yesung or Donghae or anyone. But I couldn’t. I just couldn't.

Once upon a time, I prided myself on my honesty, but it’s easy to be honest when your feelings are simple. It’s easy to be honest when you feel the right things— happy when you’re supposed to be happy, excited when you’re supposed to be excited, sad only when you’re supposed to be sad. It was too hard to shake the fear of being a burden. I never wanted to be a burden.

Despite deciding to carry my own weight, I wasn’t strong enough. That's why I dropped pieces of myself left and right to become something like the blank canvas my instructors wanted.

Sehun broke through my spiraling thoughts with the promise, “I won’t make you talk about it. I just—” he gnawed on his bottom lip— “I’ll feel like trash if I leave you here alone when you’re hurt.”

Sehun rarely talked about feelings first. His shoulders were tense; the muscles along his jaw were protruding. Obviously, he was making himself uncomfortable in an attempt to console me. Half numb with shock, moved by his concern, I nodded and (after grabbing the candy) followed him outside where we boarded the bus.

This is a little embarrassing to admit following my promise to work through my feelings alone: our bus wasn’t even five minutes down the road before I blurted, “I almost punched somebody today.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but he tried to hide his surprise and/or disapproval behind his natural stoic expression. Taking the candy from my hand, he opened the box, popped a colored chocolate into his mouth, and asked, “Why?”

“A girl called my mom a hooker.” I tried to replicate Sehun’s calm, even tone.

Sehun choked, and I felt somewhat vindicated in my rage when his pale face flushed crimson.

“I tried to be good. I tried to be a proper lady,” I promised. “I tried to be strong like you said. Remember my tenth birthday, when you explained that some people are just gonna dislike me, and I can’t shed tears for everyone?”

“Yeah.” Sehun nodded once he noticed that I was looking to him for a response. He returned the candy to me. “I remember.”

“So I tried not to shed tears when they made fun of my hair, my teeth, my skin, and my weight. I told myself that even if they’re right—”

Sehun interrupted to say, “They’re not,” in a tone so stern and authoritative that I never could have argued back.

I nodded, cheeks burning pink. “Well, even if they were, and I’m not saying that I believe them,” I added when Sehun cut his dark eyes at me— “I told myself that being pretty isn’t that important anyway.”

“It’s not,” Sehun agreed instantly. “Being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all.”

Without thinking, I grumbled, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the most handsome person on the planet.” I didn’t care that he gave me that warning glare. I was telling the truth, not flirting. Heart pounding, I maintained, “It’s easy to say that beauty doesn’t matter when you’re beautiful.”

Sehun frowned at me. “I didn’t say that beauty doesn’t matter. I said that being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all, and I’m right. Superficial beauty is overrated, and nothing as subjective as the words ‘pretty’ and ‘handsome’ can ever define a person.” Turning his gaze out the window, he concluded, “Or, at least, they shouldn't. Those words are too small.”

It occurred to me that Sehun was right. I was in danger of becoming the kind of person who couldn’t look past my reflection long enough to find anything worthwhile inside. Shame washed over me, and hot tears spilled onto my hands, which formed fists around the candy box.

“Please don’t be disappointed in me, Sehun. I promise that I’ll work harder to believe what you say.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I swear that I never would have tried to fight about anybody’s opinions about my appearance. I’m not that shallow. It’s just— they talked about my mom, and she—” my voice wavered— “she’s everything to me. If my whole world was just one person, it would be her. She— you know, there aren’t many people who only deserve compliments, but she’s one of them.”

It didn’t matter that those girls were probably too cowardly to ever talk about Mom where she, Super Junior, or any of the many idols who loved her could hear. They had no right to insult Mom when she worked to the point of exhaustion, when she greeted everybody with her sparkling smile, when she treated everybody with kindness, when she was the most beautiful person in the world— inside and out. They had no right to ridicule her when they wanted to hurt me.

“I know,” Sehun said softly.

When I looked up at him, he was looking down at me, eyebrows knit together in anger or concern, and for half a second, I thought he was mad at me. My stomach sank until he swore, “I’m not disappointed in you, Lei. I told you not to care what people say, and I also told you not to be a pushover. I’m—” He wrestled with his words before deciding, “I’m proud of you. Not just for following my advice, but for working so hard to become an idol. I know it’s not easy.”

He raised his hand, and I held my breath because I thought he was going to hug me, but his hand stopped short and landed atop my head. He patted my hair twice. “Maybe just— um— try to avoid fist fights. It won’t be good for anybody if I have to get involved.”

At first, when Sehun retracted his hand, his protective anger was real and frightening. It lit a fire in his eyes. But then he made a spectacle of popping his knuckles, and we broke into a fit of laughter that lasted so long that we missed our stop.

It wasn’t often that I heard Sehun’s laugh. It sounded more youthful and golden than you can probably imagine. Still, as happy as I felt even with our mistake, I apologized as I finally stuffed a piece of chocolate into my mouth. “I’m sorry we missed the stop.”

“Don’t sweat small stuff like that,” Sehun instructed, shrugging. Moments later, he said, “I’m sorry too.”

I cocked my head to the side and wondered aloud, “For what?” but Sehun didn’t respond with words. He gave me this look that I had never seen before— one that held about a thousand foreign words that I wanted desperately to understand, but my conscience whispered that it was wrong to ask for a translation.

It seemed that Sehun was sorry for a lot, but I couldn’t understand why. From the day we met, he had been an unlikely sort of friend— a protector— and all crushes aside, I truly loved who he was in my life. Beyond the childish infatuation that made my heart race and painted my pale cheeks pink, there was a warm love that shaped every memory of him— a love that shaped aspects of my own character.

It didn’t matter that he would never look at me the way I looked at him; maybe no two people ever look at each other in the same light anyway. He didn’t have to love me or stay by my side as an almost imaginary Prince Charming. I was just grateful that we crossed paths, even if the way we met determined that he would always see me as a gap-toothed nine-year-old. I was beyond happy to sit beside him for a moment where I could admire him up close. I was content, knowing that I would always remember my first crush as a good person.

Of course, I didn’t tell Sehun anything like that. He didn’t appreciate that sort of sentiment. While talking to Mark, I decided that I would never date because I couldn't stand the whispers or the stares. Looking at Sehun, though, I knew that I would forget that decision in an instant if ever we woke up one day (when I was older, of course) and Sehun wanted to love me.

If that day should come, I wouldn’t notice any stare because I would be too busy admiring his every feature. I wouldn’t hear any whisper because I would be too busy listening to his every word.

For that moment, however, I was fulfilled just by smiling at him because I believed that feelings don’t have to be expressed with words to be real. Feelings don’t have to be reciprocated to be real. Sehun didn’t have to give me permission to love him; I always had, and I always would, and nothing could change that.

“I’m about to say something very mushy,” Sehun grimaced, “and I have a feeling that you’re really gonna like it, so write it down or record it in your memory because I won’t repeat myself no matter how many times you beg.”

Holding my nose up in the air, I asserted, “I never beg.” Sehun laughed, and my heart swelled, and I prayed with all of my soul that someday somebody with a warm, gentle touch and a kind, bright smile would make his heart swell too.

“You’re like your mom,” he said, meeting my eyes. He didn’t say it as an insult like those girls did. He said it with a faint hint of a smile— the smile that imprinted forever on my heart. “You’re one of the people who only deserve compliments.” Then, as if he couldn’t tell from my unrestrained smile that he had given me the greatest praise imaginable, Sehun turned his gaze back out the window and mumbled, “I’m really sorry that I can’t give you more.”

[skepticalcatfrog]

Aurora High School (Introduction Part Two)

Introduction Part One Introduction Part Two Masterpost

Summary: After starting their junior year in high school, the Jones twins find themselves meeting new people, setting them on a track towards new friendships, new romances, new heartbreaks, and many new adventures.

Pairings: (Eventual) Scarlett Jones x Finian de Seel, Tyler Jones x Saedii Gilwraeth, and Aurora O'Malley x Kaliis Gilwraeth

Word count: 2,964

Author's Notes: Part two! This is going to be the last pre-set plot point for a bit, because requests are officially open! I'm going to elaborate on it in a later post, so look out for that!

Important Author's Notes: This story contains a character who uses a wheelchair. I did do some research, but since I don't experience it, it's virtually impossible for me to be an expert on this topic. If you are more knowledgeable about this than I might be, and you notice an inaccuracy, please let me know what it is and I'll try to fix it!

Scarlett and Tyler walked down the street towards the park, looking around at familiar houses and talking as they did.

"So, who did you invite?" Scarlett asked.

"Well, Cat, as always." Tyler told her. "Plus Aurora, and Kal. His sister's coming too, I said it would be fine if she did."

"When did you have time to get Aurora's number?" Scar kicked a pebble that was resting on the sidewalk.

"Turns out, we have the same gym class. I asked her for it there, because I realized that I forgot to when we did that tour." Tyler quickly explained. He looked at the clock on his phone. It was only three o'clock, meaning that they had at least four or five hours until the sun went down. "Did you invite anyone?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have let you pick the entire guest list." Scarlett shook her head. "I'd think that you'd know me better than that by now, it's been 17 years."

"Well then who did you text?"

"Zila and Finian." Scarlett said matter-of-factly. "Oh, and Cat. In case you forgot to."

"Finian is the kid from the principal's office, right?" Tyler's brows drew together.

"That's the one." Scarlett nodded.

"Are you sure he's not…" Tyler trailed off. Scarlett finished the thought for him.

"Am I sure he's not what? Bad news? A troublemaker?" She raised an eyebrow. "You were in the principal's office too, you know. And I don't hear anyone calling you bad news."

Tyler was quiet after that. He knew she was right. That, and he didn't feel like arguing about it right now. Scar was smart, she would be able to deal with things herself. And hey, maybe he shouldn't judge this guy so quickly. He probably hadn't even done anything too bad.

Ten minutes later, they got to the park. It was a wide open space with paved paths crossing through it, all leading to a wooden gazebo in the center. There was a parking lot on the opposite side with a few cars in it. Trees were scattered along the border of the park, as well as a few within the grassy area. It was a little windy, so the warm colored leaves were bristling in the trees, and the fallen ones were tumbling across the ground.

Tyler and Scarlett walked to the gazebo, where Cat was already sitting on a bench waiting for them. She smiled as she saw them approach.

"Told you I'd get here first, Ty." She teased.

"You're on the track team, it's not my fault you're faster than me." Tyler shot back as he and his sister sat across from her.

"That's no excuse, you're on the football team. Running is a big part of that too." She pointed out. "But anyway, moving on from the topic of who's faster even though it's totally me. What are we going to do today?"

"Well first things first, we're going to wait for the rest of the people we invited to get here." Scarlett gestured to the mostly empty table.

"So it's not just us this time?" Cat's smile faltered for a moment before returning.

"Nope, not just us." Tyler shook his head.

Just as he finished speaking, a car pulled into the parking lot. It was sleek, painted black with white accents. It had a certain look, like it was capable of going insanely fast but it was never really used for that. Kal stepped out of the passenger's seat. From the driver's side door came a girl who was very clearly his sister. They had the same dark hair and eyes, and the same tall and elegant stature. The sister's eyes were lined heavily, and she had black lipstick and nail polish on. The pair strolled over to the gazebo, and while Kal sat down, his sister stood by the edge.

"Tyler, Scarlett." Kal greeted them. "This is my sister, Saedii."

"Great to meet you." Tyler smiled at her.

Saedii held up her hand as a way to tell him to shut up. "Save your breath. I'm only here because my brother needed someone to bring him."

Tyler's smile disappeared completely. It wasn't often that he met someone who seemed that firmly set on not liking him. Scarlett could tell by the look in his eyes that he was definitely going to make it his mission to try and become friends with Kal's sister. But it wouldn't be easy.

"So… what do you guys do for fun?" Scarlett asked, trying to spark a conversation.

"My sister and I both take fencing classes." Kal answered.

"Yes, and I am much more skilled with a sword than he is." Saedii said in a way that sounded both like she was bragging and like she was plotting a murder. "I'm on the wrestling team as well."

"Oh, yeah, I think I might've known that already." Cat smiled, surprised to find an interest that she shared with one of these people she'd just met. "I go to the matches sometimes, just for fun."

"Oh." Saedii seemed equally surprised. "And you… you're on the track team, correct?"

"Damn right I am!" Cat nodded proudly. "I'm the fastest one on the team, too."

"I play a sport too, actually. I'm on the football team." Tyler piped up.

"Very proud of yourself, I see. Are you often praised for what you do?" Saedii raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, I-"

"Then perhaps you should stop letting the compliments get into your head. There's barely any room for the rest of us in this gazebo alongside you and your ego." Saedii deadpanned.

Tyler frowned. He hadn't even done anything wrong, he'd just mentioned that he was on the football team. Kal had mentioned that his sister didn't like football players, but apparently Tyler had underestimated just how much she hated them. "Well you're one to talk."

The conversation died down and became awkward, slightly hostile silence.

Soon enough, Zila arrived on foot. She was carrying her backpack with her, and how she'd managed to walk all the way to the park with a bunch of heavy school books was a mystery. She stopped in her tracks when she saw how many people were there.

"I was unaware of how big this gathering would be." She muttered.

"Hey, Z." Scarlett waved to her. "You can sit down, if you want."

"I think I will be alright standing." Zila assured her. "I do appreciate the sentiment, though."

Scarlett shrugged. "Okay, if you insist. But there's a spot for you if you change your mind."

A few more awkward minutes of no talking went by. Very few of the people in the gazebo actually knew each other. Maybe it had been a mistake to invite a bunch of complete strangers to hang out with each other, but there wasn't really any time to go back. 

After the long stretch of silence, Aurora got there on her bike. It was colorfully decorated, with hand-painted designs covering the entire frame. She chained it to the bike rack and walked over to where everyone else was sitting. She offered everyone a smile and wave, then sat down next to Tyler.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Aurora, but everyone calls me Auri." She said.

The moment he saw her, Kal was smitten. Aurora was beautiful, seemed very sweet, and was probably very creative based on the designs on her bike. Her eyes were unique, unlike anyone's he'd ever seen before. He was very clearly staring, but somehow, she hadn't noticed. Cat did though.

"Hey." Cat whispered harshly. "Loverboy. Might want to pick your jaw up off the ground, or else you might have to ask her out."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Kal's posture straightened and he scowled, glancing at Cat.

"Hm. Guess that's just how your face looks then." Cat shrugged. She didn't know him well enough to debate about this. Plus she didn't really care that much. But she'd make sure to keep an eye out.

And finally, the last car arrived. Well, it was actually a van. It was one of those big ones that could fit an entire family in it at once. It went a little bit past 'van' and bordered on 'bus'. Out of the driver's seat stepped a blonde woman, presumably Finian's mother because her features looked nearly exactly like his. Even from far away you would be able to tell that they were related. She went to the back of the car to get Fin's wheelchair, then brought it back around to the passenger's side door and helped him into it. She asked him something, and he replied quickly, but the people in the gazebo couldn't quite hear what they were saying.

Fin said goodbye to his mother and made his way to where the group was sitting. He smiled when he saw how many people were there. "Wow, if I knew I was coming to a party then I would've brought a punch bowl and something to spike it with. Hope I'm not the last one here." He circled around to the other side of the gazebo to use the ramp, then positioned himself at the end of the table and turned on the brakes of his wheelchair.

"Welcome to our little gathering, Finian." Scarlett waved. "This is Cat, Zila, Auri, Kal, and Saedii. Everyone, this is Fin."

"Your hair is so light! It would probably be really easy to dye, have you ever done it before?" Auri asked.

Fin shrugged. "I dyed it black once in 7th grade. Like, fully black, no colors or anything. That was my emo phase."

"Sounds like it could've worked." Cat leaned forward and rested her arms on the table.

"You know, you'd think that it would because my eyes are so dark, but it didn't. I just looked like a vampire. And not even in the hot-and-mysterious way." Fin shook his head. "My cousin dyes his hair black, and it doesn't look very good on him either, but I'd never say that to his face."

"I let these two dye my hair one time." Tyler gestured to Cat and Scarlett. "I had blue streaks in my hair for about a month, but they turned green after a few washes. It took forever to get all the dye out."

"Shampoos that contain sulfates cause hair color to fade." Zila muttered. "That is why color preserving shampoos work, because they don't contain sulfates."

"Huh. I didn't know that." Tyler's brows drew together in thought. "Interesting."

"What, are you planning on dyeing your hair again, Goldenboy?" Fin smirked.

"Never. I'm good." Tyler smiled and held up his hands.

Scarlett bumped shoulders with her brother. "I think that one of us dyeing our hair regularly is enough."

"I don't dye my hair. I have heard that it can be very damaging." Kal offered his input.

"It can be." Zila nodded, speaking louder this time, though her voice was still monotonous. "Because the dye is meant to break down your original hair color, the chemicals in it will dry out the strands."

"Which is another reason why I don't dye my hair anymore." Fin clapped his hands once.

The conversation faded away. For a little while, they'd forgotten that they didn't know each other, and had just been talking like friends. But it had hit like a brick wall that they had been complete strangers up until about 15 minutes ago. Aurora was the first to speak up.

"Anyone want to play a game?" She suggested.

Cat considered the idea for a moment. "I'm down. What were you thinking?"

"We could play truth or dare, except minus the dare part. Basically just asking each other questions, and we have to answer honestly. I'll ask the first question, if that's okay with everyone?" Aurora asked. No one protested, so she continued. "Hm… Fin. What's your favorite animal, and why?"

"I've gotta say that I don't have one. I haven't really thought about it much. But I'll tell you what my least favorite is." Fin made a wide gesture to the whole group. "Fish. My cousin, he's going to college to be a marine biologist. And he doesn't shut up about fish any chance he gets. Knows every single thing there is to know about fish. He could probably list off every single subcategory of fish like they were the damn periodic table song if you asked him to."

"Is this also the cousin who dyes his hair black?" Auri laughed.

"The very same!" Fin grinned. "But, we're officially off topic. Back to the questions. Goldenboy. If you could choose any superpower, what would it be?"

"Super strength." Tyler said as if he'd thought about it before. "It probably wouldn't be allowed in sports, but it would make a lot of other things easier."

"Plus then you wouldn't need to get up at 3 in the morning to do an entire workout routine before school." Scarlett teased.

"No, I'd still do that." Tyler smiled. "Now for a question… Zila?"

Zila looked up from whatever she'd been doing on her phone. "Hm?"

"How long do you think you'd last in a zombie apocalypse?"

"I think that I would die of natural causes in a zombie apocalypse. There is no way of knowing for sure, of course, because my survival would depend on variables such as the running speed of the zombies or how strong they were." Zila explained her thought process. "But in a scenario where they are slow, weak, and unintelligent, I would easily outsmart them."

"Slow, weak, and unintelligent… are we talking about zombies, or the people in my math class?" Cat smirked. That earned a laugh from the group.

The game lasted for a few more hours. They learned things about each other that they might not have thought about before. For example, they learned that Kal and Saedii had been to 63 countries, and after finding that out, Fin encouraged them to go to 6 more so the number would be perfect. They learned that Zila's favorite color was green. That Tyler had broken 10 bones in his lifetime. That Aurora was planning on joining the art club and the track team. That Scarlett had once accidentally downloaded a virus onto Ty's phone, causing him to need a new one. That Fin lived with both of his parents, 6 siblings, 2 aunts, 1 uncle, and 5 cousins, as well as next door to all of his grandparents, 4 uncles, 5 aunts, and 13 cousins. That Cat was already working on a few college applications. All in all, it had been a very interesting game, and before they knew it the sky was turning pink.

"I should probably get going." Fin squinted up at the sky. "My mom doesn't want me to be out past dark, and if I don't text her soon, she's going to come here on her own."

"That's a good idea. Scar and I should head home too." Tyler agreed. "Early to bed, early to rise, as they say."

"Well, if you two are leaving, the rest of us might as well disband too." Cat shrugged.

"How about we exchange numbers?" Aurora suggested, taking her phone out of her pocket. "I'd like to stay in touch with all of you."

Everyone else took out their own phones, and each took turns reading off their numbers. Tyler noticed that Kal's sister hadn't said anything.

"Saedii? Are you going to join the conversation?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No need." Saedii responded coldly, shaking her head. "Why would I need the numbers of my brother's friends?"

"Fine then. If that's really how you're going to think." Tyler waved his hand dismissively.

Aurora made a group chat with all of them in it and sent a quick 'hi', just so it would show up on the others' phones. After that, everyone went their separate ways. Cat and Zila started walking out of the park. Auri went to her bike, Kal and Saedii to their car. Finian texted his mom, then turned off the wheelchair brakes and went back to the parking lot. Scarlett and Tyler began the walk home.

"That went surprisingly well!" Scar said once they were out of earshot. "Usually it isn't the best idea to invite a bunch of people to hang out when they don't know each other, but they seemed to get along great for complete strangers."

"I don't really know if they can be considered strangers anymore, Scar." Tyler pointed out. "I'd even go as far as to say that we've made ourselves some new friends."

"I hope so. It gets so boring not having anyone to wave to in the halls." Scarlett stretched out the 'o' in 'boring'. And as dramatic as she was, Tyler had to admit that she was right.

"Yeah… I'm glad we met these guys."

The sun had set by the time they arrived back home. Adams greeted them when they came through the door, but there wasn't any small talk. Their days had been awfully draining. They figured it would be better to get to bed early, despite the fact that it was officially the weekend. Tyler went to bed early most days anyway, but this was especially rare for Scarlett.

They thought back on how crazy that day had been. First a new kid showed up, then Tyler got into a fight and went to the principal's office, then they'd made friends with a bunch of people they'd never met before. It was only the beginning of the school year. And as Tyler and Scarlett settled into bed in their own respective rooms, they both had the same thought on their minds.

This was going to be an interesting year, for better or for worse.

Taglist: @taco-taco-belle (Ask to be on the taglist!)

[sorrowful-sage]

Letter to my sister’s future boyfriend

Brenda Kent

———-

Listen here kid, I know what you’re thinking.

“Man, I lucked out. The girl whose father does not own a rifle, the household dog seems pretty tame, and no overprotective brothers on the horizon.”

Well, I am much worse. Evidence number one should be the fact that I am writing you this threat — I mean letter —Years in advance before you so much as lay eyes upon my sister. Evidence number two I suppose would be a list of 15 interview questions I put together long before I lay eyes on you. I’ll have you know, there most certainly are right and wrong answers to this interrogation. Be advised, I am a picky marker, not one to settle easily. I will be scribbling a red pen over everything you say and actually mentally take off points for grammatical errors. Do not slouch in my presence! I grew up a ballerina, I know how to correct a bad posture with pain. And all in all a deprived actress, I’ve been waiting for a while now to use the line, “Get out of my house!”

So try not to fuck up.

I am unfortunate enough to have already bumped into the guy who does not believe in feminism, the poor boy sadly unknowledgeable in the realm of opening doors, and that asshole who thinks he was the first one to think up that sandwich joke, and the one about PMS.

All I’m saying is, I’ll be watching you.

So punk— And while I don’t frequently believe in giving out test redos where it matters, I do believe in prepping up my students— So punk, when I ask for your name, I won’t be listening to count the syllables, nor will it matter Which accents the letters fall upon, but it better be a name I never hear my little sister sob upon my shoulder.

When I ask you which God you believe in, any name will do and none is fine, for this question is a hidden invitation for you to be cocky with your morals, flaunt the way you greet my parents, and boast as you get my sister home on time. Relish this attention.

As a last heads up, I don’t give a damn about the institutional level of your education, but I will judge, quite harshly, your eagerness to learn to spread out your constellations, discover some new planets, and take my little sister along for the ride. Just make sure she wears a seatbelt.

Ask her why she doodles the way she does and laugh along when you witness her talking to her self. This happens a lot. Keep her company as she dances around the city, and don’t let her take her romantic comedies too seriously. But do prove to her how magic exists.

I’m not asking you to bring my sister the moon, nor am I asking you to show up at midnight with a serenade and a rose. In fact, please don’t, my backyard is full of raccoons.

All I’m saying is, make her smile a little wider. Keep her body a little warmer. Her days, a little better.

As for me… Stick around. Fight for my trust. It’ll be a battle but I assure you, I may just let you win.

Just bake me cookies.

And once your accomplice, I am full of ingenious date ideas.

But if I EVER hear you promise my little sister you’ll treat her like a princess,

You better build

That fucking castle.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Crowley ~ Pour Some Sugar on Me

800 Followers Challenge!

Requested by @sheppardaddicts

Based on  Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard

Words: 1,555

Warnings: Typical violence, bit of blood, sexual tension.  18+ only for safety.

The shotgun blast was loud, making Crowley ears ring and both Sam and Dean flinch, but it was accurate, sending the demon flying across the room, the three men looking around to see who had fired the shot.

“Heads up.”  You said casually, nodding as the demon was getting back to his feet.

Sam and Dean quickly took it down, but Crowley’s gaze never left you as you rested the shotgun on your shoulder, the barrel smoking.  It certainly was an impressive sight against the black jeans and leather jacket, hair pulled away from your face, a casual grace about you that you knew what you were doing.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked, wiping sweat from his brow, sending a distrustful glare your way.

“Well, certainly not from Hell, but pretty close to it these days.”  Your English accent made the three of them share a quick look, even as you waved your other hand.  “No need to worry about that lads, we’re on the same side.”

“Uh huh,” Dean keeps a firm grip on his gun.  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you sweetheart.”

The smirk you wore instantly proved to Crowley that you didn’t care what Sam and Dean thought in the slightest.  “The name’s Y/N, Dean Winchester, and I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, I’m a hunter just like you and your brother, and by the looks of it, you need my help.”

“I didn’t think there were any British Hunters?”  Sam asked, frowning at you.  “I thought the Men of Letters didn’t allow for them.”

You chuckled.  “Oh, they try, trust me, but there’s a few of us, we don’t enjoy being told what to do see, and so when they sent their best agent here,” You shrug.  “It was natural that one of us followed.  Can’t have them trying to wipe us all out now, can we?”

It was clear Sam and Dean weren’t going to trust you easily, even less so when you started getting along well with Crowley.

“If you know what he is,” Dean asked, perhaps a little harshly as the four of you sat sharing a drink, waiting for Castiel.  “Why are you treating him so normally?”

“Come on Dean,” You said, smiling at him, completely unfazed by the distrust.  “All of us here know that things aren’t black and white in hunting. By the looks of it you guys have been working together for a while now, so who’s really treating who normally?”

Crowley chuckles at Dean’s sour look, earning the furious glare of the hunter.  “She has a point squirrel.”

“Demon’s are usually the good ones anyway,” You said, smirking over the top you glass as you take a sip.  “Angels are just…boring.”

Sam spat his own drink back into his cup, Dean just looking at you with what looked like a very painfully blank expression.

Crowley hides his own smirk behind his glass, catching your eye for but a moment, but it was more than enough to convey a message.

Things quietened down when Castiel got there and talk turned to more serious discussions.  As it turned out, you were well aware of what was happening with Lucifer and the British Men of Letters.  How you knew, you wouldn’t elaborate on, but you were confident in your abilities to help them without getting anyone else involved.

So, a little reluctantly, you joined in the small crew, offering a surprising amount of knowledge to the situation and insight to the British Men of Letters.

But only Crowley ever dared asked where that knowledge came from.

“I used to be one,” You said with a shrug, as if it was no big deal.  “But when they treat you like fodder and don't like someone that performs above their pay grade, in amongst all the stuffy systems, I didn't see that there was much choice.” You pulled the collar of your shirt down.  “Let's just say that faking your death isn't much fun either, but it's the only effective way of getting out without actually being dead.”

“Well, you could have made a deal.” Crowley said lightly, making you laugh.

“Yes, because there's so many demons around in England.” You shake your head.  “Even if there was, any demon worth it's salt would've known that that was a death sentence too.”

It frustrated the Winchester's and Castiel that you and Crowley got along so well, it certainly didn't help with the trust side of things, but they knew that there was little they could do about it, you were your own hunter, in and out of the bunker as you pleased, taking cases and hunting down further information that was needed to further a potential plan.

The timing of the plan ended up not working in your favour, all of you finding yourselves a little worse for wear afterwards and you storming off, not wanting to face the blame that was being thrown your way.

Crowley was the only one to come after you.

“You know, if it was anyone else, they’d be at the end of my gun right now,”  You growled as you stepped out of the bathroom in naught but a towel, finding Crowley seated at the small table in the motel, a drink in hand. “You’re lucky I like you.”

He gives a slightly amused snort, seemingly unconcerned about his own injuries.  “Well, someone had to make sure that your injuries weren’t too bad.”

Shaking your head, you walk over and take the drink from his hand, taking a sip.  “Trust me, even against an archangel, I’m harder than that to kill.”

“So I’m seeing,” Crowley said, amused as you handed him the drink back.  “You really are a wonder love.”

There was no missing the smirk on your lips as you stepped away, heading back to the bathroom for a moment.  “You going soft on me Crowley?”

“I’d hope not.”

You chuckle, reappearing with a washcloth in hand.  “I’m surprised you didn’t at least clean up before you came and saw me, snap your fingers and all that.”

Crowley takes a drink, his eyes not leaving you.  “Why? It’s much more entertaining having someone do it for me.”

“Really?”  You asked, standing before him, the cloth in hand, eyebrow raised.  “And what exactly gave you that impression Crowley?”

He snorts.  “Are you really going to try and dance around this love? After all we’ve been through?”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Aww, do you need some stress relief?”

“Says the one who’s been walking around in a towel.”  He offers his drink to you, watching as you drain the rest of the glass.  “And who’s not complaining against a drink.”

Chuckling, you lean over him to place the glass on the table before straddling his waist, his hands resting on your hips as he shares your smile.  “I’m a Hunter, I enjoy a drink or two, as for the towel, I just enjoy some freedom for a while, this is actually me being modest, normally I’m bare.”

His fingers trail under the edge of the towel, slowly brushing along your skin.  “Well, that can easily be arranged.”

Smiling, you carefully begin to clean the blood from his face.  “Funny, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in humans too much.”

Crowley’s look was slightly indignant, his tone laced with sarcasm.  “I’ve never seen a human this close before.  Whatever shall I do?”

You laugh, shaking your head.  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The cloth flew from your hand and Crowley’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you down to him, his lips hungrily claiming yours and you quickly sank into him with a small moan, letting him dominate the kiss.

Slowly, the kiss turned lazy, exploring, any urgency fading as you both silently came to the conclusion that this shouldn’t be rushed.  Yours hands ran over his chest, slipping under his jacket and pushing it off, letting the towel slip off in the process, Crowley humming in appreciation.

You sighed as he hands began to explore and a soft laugh leaves you as you break away from the kiss for a moment, nuzzling into his neck.  “Never took you as a patient man.”

He growled as you nipped his throat and then you found yourself landing hard on the bed, giggling as Crowley pinned your hands above your head, his lips hovering just above yours. “I thought you’d know not to tease a demon.”

“Why?”  You asked innocently.  “Teasing gets me exactly what I want.”

There was a dark flash through his eyes, and you had no time before his mouth was back on yours, hot, hard and dominating, the smirk that had been on your lips quickly being lost to a heady moan, Crowley growling in response, his hand freeing yours and starting to explore.

You tried to move your hands but found them still pinned the bed, feeling Crowley smirk against your lips, sending a thrill of heat through you, your heart rate soaring and anticipation pounding through your blood.

This was what you wanted.

You were Crowley’s tonight, no consequences, no thoughts of a new plan, just the result of insinuations and teasing since you’d met and perhaps a silent promise of it being more than a one night thing.

[samcedesvegas]

Morning in Vegas || Samcedes

Who: Sam Evans and Mercedes Jones

What: Sam and Mercedes go out on the town for some much needed fun

Where: Las Vegas, NV

Mercedes was having the strangest dream, she and Sam went out, got married, got drunk and had wild sex all night, when she heard a knocking on the door. Her eyes fluttered open as the knocking continued and she groaned not wanting to get up but knowing it wouldn't stop. She sighed sitting up feeling extremely hung over. She threw her robe on, not registering that she was naked under it and went to the door. "I'm coming...what?" She opened the door to see Nate standing there with a dozen roses.

"Merce please. Take me back, we are perfect for each other. I just needed time to find out who I am and I realize I am nothing without you."

The room was spinning in circles. Sam woke up with his blonde hair all over his head, a pounding headache, and pretty much no recollections of what he did last night. But by the stench of whiskey on his breath he knew it was fun.  He rolled over, only to find Mercedes Jones, his co-star, completely naked next to him. “Holy shit.” He cursed under his breath before silently congratulating himself. It was a guy thing. Not knowing how she might feel about everything, his plan was to quickly shower and leave her to rest. Walking back into the bedroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, his eyes widened at Nate standing in the doorway with a bouquet of roses. “I-I umm, I’m just gonna’ grab my clothes and go.” He stuttered awkwardly.

Mercedes felt her eyes widen as Sam walked into the room from the bathroom, and Nate saw red. He pushed past Mercedes looking at Sam. "What the fuck?!"

Mercedes closed her eyes trying to figure out what was going on herself. "Nate I need you to go "

"Me?! You made me wait a damn year before we even went past second base and here you are with him?"

"Nate please...right now I need you to turn the volume down and go. I don't know what happened between me and Sam but whatever it was, it stopped being your business a long time ago ."

Nate was about to run at Sam but Mercedes stopped in his path. "NATE! JUST GO!"

Once Nate finally agreed to leave Sam was relieved when Mercedes closed the door. He knew karate and Kung fu but he wasn’t sure how far that would take him with a dude twice his size and build. He breathed a sigh of relief as he went to gather his clothes. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to screw that up.” His country accent is a bit thicker than normal because of his nerves. Taking a seat on the bed he hid his face in his hands. Mostly trying to remember last night but also to soothe the headache that was pounding in his head. “What the hell did we do last night?”

Mercedes tightened her Robe and shook her head. "Nate shouldn't have come here. We are over, he needs to realize that." She ran her hands through her hair shaking her head. "I don't know...I remember the club and bits and pieces..." She was about to sit on her bed when her phone rang.

"Tina let me call you back."

"Sure thing I just have one question. WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!"

Sam could hear the shouting through the phone. He tried his best to remember everything that went on. He was sure of one thing though, they definitely had sex. Only reason to explain them both naked laying in bed together. He remembered the fountain but pretty much everything after that was a blur. He quickly dressed himself as he waited for Mercedes to finish her call.

"Please stop yelling! It's been a crazy morning already." She sighed. 

Tina continued. "Mercedes I took you on as a client because you were the responsible one. But this..."

"What are you talking about?"

"How about the fact that you and Sam got MARRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"We did what now?"

Whoever this Tina was, she was a very loud person. Loud enough for Sam to hear. "My mother is gonna' kill me" he whispered more so to himself. He went to grab the remote and turn on the tv and there they were on TMZ. A picture of them kissing at the chapel and even a scanned copy of the marriage license. Sam ran his hands though his messy blonde hair before giving Mercedes a what the fuck look.

Tina cleared her throat. "Get home immediately, do not answer any questions, do not say anything."

Mercedes closed her eyes trying to remember the night. Then her eyes open wide. "Tina I swear it was a Joke. We went there as Brooke and Ryder. I have the copy right here." She ran to the side table looking for the license and quickly grabbed it and saw it on the floor. She sat back on the bed staring at it as the phone fell to the ground. "Oh my God."

Tina could still be heard from Mercedes phone on the ground as she stood there looking at what Sam assumed was the same marriage license he'd just seen on the tv. He stepped over to Mercedes. tightening his towel  around his waist so it didn't slip. They definitely needed to talk about all of this.

Mercedes didn't say a word she just stared at the paper in front of her. She could have sworn she wrote out Brooklyn not Mercedes. Her eyes scanned to the groom's name seeing if Sam wrote Ryder but he didn't. "What the hell did we do..."

" Apparently we got married." he tucked his lips in before letting them go with a pop. Before he could say anything else he had an incoming call from the back pocket of his jeans. He retrieved his phone and answered it. "SAMUEL DWIGHT EVANS! I can not believe you did something like this! You're 25 with a budding career and lot's of young female fans. What possessed you to do such a thing? Oh my Barbara...how am I supposed to spin this huh?" Sam sighed out of frustration. "Rachel...relax. Look I'll come straight to you when I get back in town." she was still talking but he hung up on her mid sentence.

Mercedes shook her head. "I'm sorry I blacked out what?" She looked at Sam. "Tell me that this is a dream."

Sam was going to every blog site that he knew of and they were front page on almost all of them. She turned his phone around to face Mercedes. "I don't think so." he shook his head. "Looks like we really...got married."

"Oh Go- I am gonna be sick." She held her stomach fearing the worst. "Wait it's okay, we just...we just get it annulled. Yeah we were drunk and clearly out of our minds. Yeah we just get it annulled and it's like nothing ever happened. " she said talking to herself.

Sam nodded. "Wait what the heck is an annulment?" he genuinely asked as he went to retrieve his clothes from the bedside, returning to the bathroom to quickly get fully dressed.

Mercedes glanced up at Sam realizing that he was talking to her.  "Oh um it's kinda like a divorce but this was more of it being like it never happened. I am sure they can spin it as a prank we just have to get back home." She sighed. "I am sorry this happened Sam, I should have never let my guard down...."

"Ahhh I get it." he nodded now understanding the concept. There was no way they could stay married. They barely even knew each other and Mercedes was only kind of cool with him in the first place. "You have nothing to be sorry about, it was both of us letting loose. LA little too loose I guess." He closed his eyes taking a deep breath  and suddenly last night's activities began to flood his head. It was still blurry but clearly they'd consummated the marriage...a few times last night.

Mercedes sighed standing up and sitting right back down, her body finally feeling the effects of last night. Flashes of her and Sam, on the bed, the wall, in the shower. Her eyes opened wider as she glanced at Sam. "Oh my Lord did we have sex too?"

Sam nodded. "My back was pretty scratched up so I'm going with yes." Sam took a seat next to Mercedes and grabbed her hand in his. "Look we can forget about it if you want to. We'll go back home and get this thing annulled or whatever and go back to normal."

She looked at him, eyes blinking but not really retaining what he was saying. She sighed as he took her hand in his and nodded. The sooner they got rid of this problem the sooner. 

After packing and having help to sneak out of the hotel. They found themselves on the short plane ride home. Within an hour of leaving the hotel they were in the conference room of her Label. Waiting to hear from her management and his.  Waiting to hear how angry they were.

Sam was sort of going through the motions with all of this. He had about a hundred text messages...ninety-nine being from his mother. He didn't bother opening them though. He knew it was full of chastising texts asking how she was supposed to explain this to all of her friends. He sat nervously on the opposite end of his wife. It was weird to think they were actually legally married. He wanted to talk to her and get an idea of how she was feeling. Earlier she was mostly in shock and disbelief. Before he could part his lips Rachel came walking in in her best business attire.

Mercedes glanced up as Sam's manager walked in followed by Tina. Tina took a seat next to Mercedes and sighed. "So I know we both can agree that this was not what we all expected when you left for Vegas. And while we both feel this should have been avoided...still can't believe you of all people did that Merce, but I digress, the Label and Production Company has come up with a way to resolve this."

Sam was all ears because he himself had no idea of how to fix all of this. It had already hit every major blog site and news broadcast. If they admitted it was a drunk mistake they'd look incompetent but if they went along with it, they'd be judged just as harshly. "I'm not used to taking a backseat by any means but I'll let Tina explain everything we came up with." Rachel held out her hands giving Tina the floor

"Thank you." Tina said standing. She knew Mercedes would have some issues with their plan so she wanted space from her. "So the problem is that you two got married while drunk in Vegas."

"It was a joke! We were supposed to be in character." Mercedes argued.

"Maybe so. But if we annul it, you two may seem unreliable and flaky, you may even cost the movie some much needed good press. So we are a team that thinks the only way to save face is for you to remain married."

"Wait what?" Sam turned to Rachel with a confused look on his face. So they were going to force them to stay married for the sake of the movie? Sam was clear this wasn't what Mercedes wanted and he definitely was not ready to be anyone's husband. As Rachel chimed in Sam sort of zoned out watching Mercedes the entire time. He was doing his best to read her mind. "...we've already arranged a little press tour to solidify all of this. Ellen, Jimmy Fallon, and The View." Sam caught the tail end of Rachel's sentence.

Mercedes shook her head as she listened to what they had to say. "No. No it's not happening. I am sorry but you can not expect us to stay married." 

Tina sighed. "It's the mess you got yourself into. Mercedes you have worked your ass off for your career and do you really want one mistake to ruin it? This is the best choice and then after a year you guys can divorce."

"No...no. There has to be another way." Mercedes said softly.(edited)

Sam's ears perked up and he finally mustered up enough confidence to respond to Mercedes. "Maybe it won't be that bad...the movie will be out by then right?" he directed toward Tina and she nodded. "We can have one of those short lived Hollywood romances then eventually everyone will forget about it." Mercedes was clearly adamant and sticking to her guns and Sam couldn't blame her. But maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Am I living in the damn upside down!?!?!?!?!?!" She said standing and running her hands through her hair. "I don't have a choice do I?" She said looking around.

Rachel stood placing a calming hand on Mercedes' shoulder. "I am afraid not. But we will do our best to make this a comfort for you and Sam. You'll honestly thank us in the end. Both of your careers are going to skyrocket because of this. Trust me."(edited)

"My career? DO you think I give a damn about that? I  am more concerned with my family! If my dad doesn't kill Sam, my brother will." She placed her hands on her head. "It's why I haven't even turned my phone back on."

Sam's head shot up at the mention of him being killed. He hadn't even thought about her family. He gulped nervously, running his hands through thick blonde strands of hair. "...killed? Rachel...I didn't sign up to be killed." He'd already had a taste of Mercedes' ex boyfriend this morning. He wasn't sure he could take too much more of the other men in her life.

Tina laughed. "She doesn't really mean to kill. They will just scare you." 

Mercedes sighed looking at Tina. "Is this really the only choice we have?"

Tina nodded and Mercedes looked at Sam and sighed.

"I'm not that bad, I promise." Sam always tried to make jokes that lightened the mood. Even if no one else was in the joking mood. He still wanted to get Mercedes alone so they could talk about this together. After all, they would be the ones who would have to put up this facade. And if they were going to this they both needed to be as comfortable as possible...if that was even possible.

Mercedes sat back shaking her head. This was ridiculous. 

"Tina looked at her. "So now that we are on the same page, what are you all thinking." 

Mercedes didn't say a word, she just sat there thinking about her family and her future.

Sam knew his family would have their opinions...he was too young, his career was just not taking off, blah blah blah. But he didn't care. He stopped caring about what they thought a long time ago. "Well on top of the press run, we'll have you guys go on a series of date nights, something the media can eat up. Then a People Magazine shoot, because people love newlyweds." Rachel was salivating with excitement.

Mercedes listens but has nothing to say. This was all too much. She heard Tina ask if she was listening and she nodded. "Huh? Uh yeah of course. If this is what you think is best then lets do it."

[ilovemygaydad]

title: the stranger

pairings: platonic/pre-romantic analogical

summary: logan’s approached by a cute boy in a library

warnings: none? is that a first? maybe a bit of anxiety but that’s it????

a/n: this has no plot and also i wrote it in 20 minutes last night before going to bed so please don’t judge this too harshly

check my bio for commission info

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buy me a coffee

-

“Um, excuse me,” a quiet, deep voice said, causing Logan to look up from his book. The owner of the voice was short with deep brown skin and wild curls sticking out of a purple beanie. Their body was shrouded in an oversized lavender hoodie that was covered in purple plaid patches and stylized stitching. Logan could feel the gay in him begging to escape, but he decided that the school library was not a good place to do so.

“May I help you?”

“I, um... All of the other tables are taken, and you seemed the least intimidating, so... can I sit here?”

Logan suppressed the urge to laugh at that and simply nodded, gesturing to the empty chair pushed into the other side of the table. He was probably the most intimidating person in the entire student body. There were two eyebrow piercings, a septum piercing and a regular nose ring, and a lip ring in his face; not to mention the dozen or so earrings he had in, the tongue piercing, and the tattoo choker around his neck. His dark eyeshadow and black lipstick didn’t help either, and his wardrobe of all dark blue and black certainly wasn’t screaming, “I’m friendly and nice! Please talk to me.” 

“You have a nice accent,” the stranger whispered so quietly that Logan wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to hear it.

“Oh,” he said in return. “Thank you.”

The person quirked a half-smile. “Where’re you from?”

“I was born in Brazil, but my family immigrated here when I was ten.”

“I’m from Nigeria.”

Logan perked up at that. African culture was one of his favorite things to read about, and now he had a native African to talk with. “That’s amazing! Africa is such an amazing and diverse continent. All of the different types of architecture are incredible.”

A soft, bubbling laugh escaped the stranger as they said, “I wouldn’t really know; my head was always too deep in a book to pay attention to the buildings.”

“I can’t blame you for that. I’d probably have to say the same thing if someone commented on how beautiful Brazil was.”

“Fair.” They ducked their head slightly in what Logan believed was shame. “I apologize for interrupting your reading.”

Logan shook his head and set the book down fully. “Trust me; Albert Camus is the most boring author alive, and reading ‘The Stranger’ is slowly killing me. I’d take anything over having to listen to the narrator contemplate existence for another eighty pages.”

“Ah, well, I’m happy to be of help, um...”

“Logan. He/him.”

The stranger smiled brightly. “Virgil. He/him.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Virgil.”

[fic-for-fic-sake]

Singing Valentine’s

A/N: I know it isn’t Valentine’s Day but I was watching the Valentine’s episode of Glee and got inspired. Also don’t judge too harshly, I wrote this in like ten minutes

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Senior year of college was everything you thought it would be, well...almost everything. You had hoped love would find you some way or another during college but it seemed that the cards weren’t in your favor, so to speak. That was, until you met Professor Barnes. 

You had come back from the winter holiday a few days early to hang out with friends before the madness of your final semester started. You decided to trudge your way through the snow to go to a cafe downtown. When you stepped inside the inviting warmth of the coffee shop you noticed that every seat was taken. Dejected, you almost gave up when someone motioned for you to join them. 

“Thanks.” You replied, putting your coat behind your seat before sitting opposite the kind stranger. 

“Don’t mention it doll, not like I was usin’ it anyway.” He replied, you noticed his Brooklyn accent and quirked an eyebrow. What was someone from New York doing here in your small college town? Interesting. You managed to flag down a waitress and asked her for a latte. 

You and the stranger got to talking and he told you his name was Bucky and he had just moved here and was teaching a few classes this semester, though he forgot which ones. You and he had a lovely conversation that even veered towards flirty at times. You griped about having to walk in the increasing snow back to your apartment and he offered to give you a ride there. 

When he dropped you off at your door he had asked if he could see you again. You told him your number before he drove off and you went inside feeling better than you had this morning. 

On the first day of classes you noticed that you had Romanian 100 last. Normally, you wouldn’t take the language as your minor was Spanish but the class was one credit and it was offered to people whose major or minor was a romance language. The idea was that you had already learned one romance language so a second one would come more naturally to you. As you walked into the small classroom you noticed that there were only five other people there, making you the sixth. 

You were just about to double check the roster to make sure you were in the right place when you heard the door close and a pair of footsteps make their way over to the blackboard to write on it. 

“Hi everyone, my name is Professor Barnes, welcome to Romanian 100.” an all too familiar voice said. You snapped your head up to meet the familiar icy blue eyes that belonged to Bucky. His expression changed to shock for a fraction of a second before he smarted himself and looked elsewhere. 

That was a month ago and you were in despair. Obviously Bucky hadn’t reached out to you because that would be inappropriate, he was your professor after all. But that didn’t stop the two of you from exchanging flirty glances each others way when the others were doing their work. 

Your friends were hearing you gripe about it for what had to be the millionth time when you headed to choir practice that evening. You were in one of the many choral groups on campus. Some people said your group was the most elite but all you saw was a group of people who through the years became your friends. 

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?” Christian asked. You rolled your eyes, Christian was many things, a hopeless romantic was one of them. 

“Yeah, he’s my professor so I don’t think that’ll work.” You retorted, taking you seat in the alto section. The director was making sure everyone was accounted for before he began. 

“Now, I know everyone is excited about Valentine’s Day and I am too. Which is why I’m bringing back a tradition that this group hasn’t done in a while.” The director announced. Excited murmurs filled the room as you all guessed about what tradition was coming back. 

“Is it spray painting the statue?” Christian guessed, raising a hand. 

“I’m pretty sure we would get expelled for that.” You replied. 

“It’s singing Valentine’s! You’ll be in groups of six and go around campus spreading the cheer.” Your director explained. “People will pay to have a Valentine sung to someone special. I’ve already put flyers up around campus and have lists for everyone.” 

The next two hours were spent in a flurry of excitement. Your group was yourself, Emily, Marissa, Christian, Ryan, and Aiden. The six of you would be singing “L-O-V-E” by Nat King Cole. After you all felt like you had a good handle on the song you agreed to meet at the campus library tomorrow at 9am to start singing. 

So now here you were, 10am and done your singing list for the day. If you were being honest with yourself, your throat hurt from singing and your feet hurt from walking. You were about to release everyone from their task before Christian whispered something in your ear. 

“You should have us sing to Professor Barnes.” 

“What?” You shot back, “Why?” 

“Tell him how you feel, in song, no time like the present. Plus, none of us have class for another two hours.” Christian answered. He had a point, well several. You straightened your back as you told your group you had one final stop to make. You led them down the winding path that led to Bucky’s office. 

You could feel your cheeks heat up as you walked past several other professors and administrators before you knocked on Bucky’s door. Being the only Romanian professor at the university he had an office to himself. 

“Come in.” You heard his husky voice call from inside. You took a final breath before you opened the door and walked in, followed by the rest of your group. 

“Y/N, what a pleasant surprise, what can I do for you?” He asked, blue eyes surveying everyone before landing on you again. It was unnerving. 

“Well Professor, it’s close to Valentine’s Day and my choir and I are tasked with singing around campus to people. Mind if we give you a sample?” You asked, like it was the most normal request in the world. 

“Sure doll, sing away.” He responded, voice cool as he gestured for you all to begin. You took a deep breath before you gave the starting note and everyone began to sing. You had the solo so you smiled before you started on the melody. 

L is for the way you look at me, O is for the only one I see. You sang as Christian grabbed your hand and playfully twirled you around. You smiled at him before turning your attention back to Bucky, who incidentally was eyeing Christian like he wanted to kill him. 

V is very very, extraordinary, E is even more than anyone that you adore. You walked in front of Bucky’s desk and placed your palms down on it as you leaned over to get closer to him, hoping he would get the message. 

Love is all that I can give to you, love is more than just a game for two. You circled around to his side of the desk and even though you knew it was risky you sat on it and crossed your legs. Bucky kept his eyes glued to yours, seemingly captivated by the beautiful melody coming out of your mouth. 

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don’t break it. Love was made for me and you. You hopped off of his desk, gave him a wink, and then trailed back to the rest of your group. 

Love was made for me and you. You sang the final words as you looked right into the icy blue eyes that you dreamed about night after night. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day professor.” You whispered, before you and your group promptly turned around and left the office. You were just about to head out the door when your phone buzzed with a message. It was Bucky. 

Come back up to my office, I need to see you.