#and it was a guy he’d be condescending n shit but he was so patient n checked on her constantly n explained everything thoroughly

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

look at how my sister’s tat turned out, I think it looks great!! like it’s simple ofc but I really like the dude’s style, like the strokes and the details

[writethelifeyouwant]

Aversion Therapy

Summary: Y/N has been institutionalised for sex addiction at an experimental facility, run by Dr. Sam Winchester.

Pairing: Doctor!Sam x Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: Sex addiction, addiction therapies, abuse of therapist/patient relationship, noncon roleplay Tags: hair pulling, crotchless panties, degradation (like, a lot), blow job, spitting, pussy spanking, sex on a desk, body writing, p in v, pulling out Word Count: 4.5 k Created for: @samwinchesterbingo - Doctor!Sam | @spnkinkbingo - Crotchless Panties | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Hair Pulling | @j3bingo - Diary

A/N: So I this may or may not be one of the dirtiest things I've ever written. It's definitely up there in the list 😅I hope you enjoy, fellow sinners!

October 24th

Last night was awesome. He took me out to dinner and everything, real gentleman, even though we both knew that’s not what the night was about. It was sunset when we got up to the lookout, all romantic. I felt silly that he was making such a big deal about it. Losing your virginity shouldn’t be so much pressure. Now it’s over I don’t feel any different except that I want more. We went twice last night but that still wasn’t enough. I touched myself this morning and it was almost like I could still feel him inside of me. I think tonight I’m gonna let him do it without the condom, so he will still be inside me tomorrow morning.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shout, outraged. It wasn’t enough that your parents had locked you in this place, humiliating you, betraying you, handing you over to Doctor Judgy, but they’d handed over your diaries too. Fucking great. Dr. Winchester ignores you and keeps reading, skipping ahead a few weeks.

November 15th

Fuck I love sex. Even with guys that aren’t great at it it’s still worth it just to have a cock inside me. I wish I could stay the night somewhere without my parents freaking out. I want to fall asleep with a cock inside me the whole time, wake up to it fucking me, keeping me open. College is gonna be the best. Then I can finally do what I want, fuck who I want. Can finally order a freaking vibrator without mom asking what’s in the package. Ugh, I can’t wait.

Sam’s voice sounds unnatural reading out your words. He’s not putting the right emotion or inflection in them. It’s like he’s taunting you with them. There’s a trace of humour underlying everything he says.

“Why are you doing this?” you shout again, and Sam looks up at you from your diary, a smug smile on his lips.

“Because you’re sick, Y/N,” he states it like an obvious fact, shutting the diary with a loud clunk and waving it back and forth. “These are the words of an addict.”

“I’m not an addict,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. Sam raises his eyebrows at you and flicks open your diary again, thumbing through to a page he has marked with a turned down corner.

February 3rd

That’s it, I’m addicted to cock. I need it more than coffee or air or food. I just want to be on my knees all day and let men use me. I want them in my mouth, in my pussy, even in my ass, I don’t care. I just want them. One day I’ll figure out how to make that happen.

Sam gives you an accusatory look as he closes the diary again, and you do have the good sense to look a little sheepish. Having your thirsty words read back to you is embarrassing. Especially considering the man reading them out is extremely attractive. If you’d met him when you were out you would have been on him in a heartbeat.

You can’t help it, your eyes drop to his crotch, which is just below your eye level where he’s leaning against the front edge of his desk. Dr. Winchester notices your gaze and smirks down at you knowingly. The expression makes him even hotter – domineering and sexy.

“You really are a little slut. Get carted off to rehab and the first thing you do is eye up your therapist,” he clicks his tongue disappointedly, and you blush for a moment before you decide that you don’t want to take this shit from him.

“So what,” you shrug, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. Dr. Winchester raises a brow again, surprised by your boldness.

“You don’t think it’s inappropriate to think about your therapist in a sexual manner?” He pushes himself off his desk and settles his hands in his pockets, considering you carefully.

“I like cock, so what?” you say again defiantly. The doctor keeps his expression neutral, walking around his desk and sitting down, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down a few things. You watch him suspiciously, wanting to know what he was writing down. “I’m not crazy, I just really like sex.” Dr. Winchester nods and keeps writing, not looking up at you.

“Come on, are you saying you don’t like sex?” you try to rile him up, and you see a small laugh bleed through his careful exterior, but not the kind of reaction you were hoping for. “What, your manhood not measure up or something?” That gets the doctor’s attention. He shoots you a glare over his desk and puts aside his pen, folding his hands in front of him and staring you down. His eyes drag across you from top to bottom, lingering on your lips, your neck, your cleavage, your legs. You like him looking at you like this, it sends a thrill through your chest, settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I can see that your attitude is going to make traditional therapies somewhat difficult.” You roll your eyes, but let him keep talking. “Have you heard of aversion therapy?” You shake your head shortly. “Aversion therapy is a psychological treatment in which the patient,” Dr. Winchester gestures to you, “is exposed to a stimulus while simultaneously being subjected to some form of discomfort, in an attempt to discourage said behaviour.”

“Um, English, please?” you stare at the doctor blankly, not putting together how this is going to apply to you.

“Well,” Dr. Winchester leans back in his chair, and swings his legs up onto his desk and brings his hands to fold in his lap. It makes him look surprisingly casual - not at all the image you had of doctors and therapists in your mind. “In this case, the stimulus is an unwanted behaviour, your over zealous sexual cravings and actions. We need to introduce an element of discomfort or unpleasantness into your experience of that behaviour, to discourage future indulgences,” he explains.

“What are you gonna do, Doctor?” you sneer at his title. “Put me in an electroshock chair and make me watch porn? Newsflash - that sounds amazing,” you scoff. Honestly, if that’s going to be your therapy, you’ll drop the attitude and sign the fuck up right now.

Dr. Winchester shakes his head, a small smirk on his lips. He stands, removing his jacket and tossing it on the back of the chair, then proceeds to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves and roll them back, one at a time. You watch him suspiciously. The moment his jacket came off your head went straight to one conclusion, but that couldn’t be right. You find your eyes lingering on his forearms, the veins in them pulsing visibly just below the surface of his skin. You want to lick them.

“No you’re right, you’d enjoy that far too much.” The doctor’s voice brings you back to yourself and you look up, watching him slowly approaching your chair. “We won’t be associating a physical discomfort with the addiction, what we want is to alter your mental associations towards the behaviour. We’ll use a series of mantras, and repetition and after a period of good, focused work, we can start to transition you back to a home environment.” His hand comes up to grip the back of your wooden chair, right beside your ear, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body against your skin despite the several inches still separating you.

Between your legs, you can feel how much Dr. Winchester’s proximity is beginning to affect you. For some reason the way he’s speaking to you, so formal and condescending, is really turning you on. You bet if he knew, he’d just say it was another sign of your “addiction”. You can feel your panties starting to get a little slippery when you shift in your seat to look up at him, and you don’t manage to stifle your small intake of breath when the open crotch of the underwear accidentally catches on one of your pussy lips, sending a delicious tug of pain into your core.

Dr. Winchester smirks down at you, entirely unsubtle, probably assuming that gasp was your reaction to him being so near.

Finally, after far too long staring at him, you manage to take a breath and ask- “what exactly is my therapy going to be, then?” Your voice comes out much higher than you’d anticipated, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Dr. Winchester’s hand drags along the top of the chair and lands on the back of your neck. You shiver when his skin touches yours, despite its warmth. His fingers wind themselves into your hair a second later and yank hard, pulling your head over the back of the chair so you’re forced to look straight up at him.

“Ow! What the hell?!” You reach behind you to try to break his grip but he just pulls again. The pain sends a new tendril of desire twisting down your spine to between your legs, and you feel your panties getting even wetter. You whimper, your arousal clearly evident to the doctor, who laughs.

“Yeah, I knew you’d be too into pain for that kind of thing to work,” he chuckles darkly. He bends down, face so close to yours you can feel his breath ghost against your cheek. “So here’s what we’re going to do instead. I’m gonna fuck you, but you’re going to make sure you don’t enjoy it. You’re going to cry and yell and beg me to stop.” He practically growls, nose brushing against yours, lips hovering just out of reach.

Your pussy clenches at his words, aroused beyond belief at the disdain he’s treating you with. You struggle against his grip deliberately, relishing in the renewed sting as his hand pulls your hair even tighter to keep you still.

“You really don’t get it, do you Dr. Winchester,” you try to laugh but your throat is taut and your air isn’t quite flowing easily enough to let you. “I like cock. I wanted you to fuck me the second I saw you. There’s nothing you could say or do that would make me want you to stop.”

“I think we can drop the formalities now,” he releases you, standing up and reaching for his belt. “It’s Sam, not ‘Doctor Winchester’.”

Your eyes drop to his hands immediately, watching his fingers deftly push his button through its hole and pull down his zip. He’s already hard, you can tell by the tent in his boxers, but you’re astonished to see when he pulls himself out that he’s actually only semi hard – his cock is just huge. You feel your mouth and your pussy water in equal measure.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he starts to stroke himself, eyes tracing up and down your body hungrily as he does so.

“You want this cock, Y/N?” he asks pointedly, and you nod mutely. “Use your words then.”

“Yes,” you breathe instantly, dropping to your knees on the hard, grey carpet in front of him.

“Then you don’t get it,” Sam smirked, contradictorily walking himself closer to you as he speaks, hand still pumping his cock.

“Please?” you beg, hoping that’s the game he’s trying to play. Maybe he thinks he can humiliate you enough that you won’t want to repeat the experience – he’s going to be wrong.

“Nope.” Sam pops the ‘p’ on the word teasingly. “Your mantra for today is ‘no’.”

“What?” you look up to him, confused.

“Anytime I ask you if this is what you want – if you want my cock in your mouth, in your pussy, anywhere I want to put it – anytime I ask you if you want it, you have to say ‘no’,” he smiles down at you like some kind of evil genius, and you’re getting annoyed now that you find this so fucking hot.

“You want me to pretend you’re raping me? Sounds like you need therapy.” Sam laughs, not at all offended by your jab.

“We’re trying to condition a new response, Y/N,” he explains lightly, still jacking himself off maddeningly close to your lips. It takes every ounce of self control you have not to lean forward and suck him down on the spot. “If you want my cock inside you, then you have to tell me you don’t. And hopefully, with time, you’ll start to believe what you’re saying out loud. You’ll believe that you don’t need this, don’t want this.” He taps his cock against your lips and your tongue chases him immediately, reaching for a taste of the liquid you felt pooling on his tip.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he pulls himself away, tutting. “What do you say, Y/N?”

You swallow your pride and give him what he’s asking, though begrudgingly.

“No, please, don’t.” Your voice is monotone, lifeless – like how you used to read out loud in English class when the teacher called on you.

“C’mon, you know that’s not good enough. How are you going to believe yourself if I don’t believe you?” Sam walks closer again and sets his cock against your mouth lightly. “You wanna suck my cock, baby?”

“No,” you manage to choke out, and your hesitance to say the word must sound like hesitance to give him a blow job because Sam buys it, and the next moment he’s pushing the shiny, pink head past your lips, against your tongue; not stopping until he hits the top of your throat. He pulls back again, taking himself completely out of your mouth.

“You want it?” he asks again, grinning down at you.

“No,” you whimper, while inside every fibre of your body is screaming – yes!

“Good girl,” he groans as he pushes himself back inside, and you moan along with him. This time he doesn’t stop himself, fucking all the way into your throat until your nose is pressed against the skin of his stomach. “Fuck, you really are a cockslut,” Sam grunts above you, pulling back a little and starting to fuck your mouth in earnest. “You haven’t gagged once. Not many girls manage that with me.”

You believe him. Your jaw is already aching from the stretch of your lips around his girth but you savour the hurt. You love this; being on your knees for some guy you barely know with his cock shoved as far in as he can fit it. This is what you were made for, you know it, no matter how hard Sam’s going to try to talk you out of it.

He fucks your throat for a few more minutes, lulling you into a false sense of security. You’ve relaxed into it now, and you aren’t thinking about the therapy or the role play or any of it, you’re only thinking about his cock against your tongue, heavy and velvety and perfect. You cry out when he pulls away, taking in a shocked breath at the sudden emptiness.

“You want it back baby girl?” Sam asks breathlessly, and you allow yourself a moment to feel smug at how clearly affected he is by your ministrations.

“Please,” you beg, crawling towards him, forgetting your lines. Sam pulls away, disappointment evident on his face.

“Wrong answer, Y/N.”

“No!” you shout hoarsely, trying to correct yourself. “I mean no, please, no.”

“No,” Sam sucks in a breath, reaching to pull up his trousers like he’s going to put himself away. “No, I don’t think I believe you.”

“No, Sam, please!” you beg, reaching out for him. “I can do this,” you whisper, and Sam lets you take his cock in your hand, wrapping his fingers over yours and guiding your strokes. “Ask me again?”

“Do you want my cock, Y/N?” Sam raises an eyebrow.

“No,” you say firmly. “No, don’t make me do this.”

“Good girl,” he says again, his hand tightening over yours and using you to jerk himself off. “Do you want my cock, Y/N?”

“No,” you whine, trying to play into it even though your fingers start trying to jack him off faster of their own accord, your hands slipping together over the saliva you’d left behind.

“Do you want my cock in your pussy?” Sam growls, reaching his free hand out to snag your hair and pulling hard, causing you to shout out in delicious pain.

“No!” you squeal, trying to pull out of his hold, hoping you can act your way through this convincingly enough to get what you really want.

“No, whore?” Sam spits on you harshly, the wet striking you on the cheek and dripping down your chin.

“No,” you scream again as he pulls you off of the ground by your hair, throwing you forwards over his desk. Books and pads of paper go crashing to the ground. Pens scatter around you when your elbow hits the mug that was holding dozens of them.

“No?” you hear Sam scoff as he flips up the hem of your patient-issued uniform skirt, spotting the pair of crotchless panties you’re wearing beneath. “You’re telling me a slut like you, who gets put in an insititution for sex addiction, and decides to pack crotchless fucking panties, doesn’t want my cock stuffing her cunt full?”

“No, I don’t want it,” you moan, his words positively setting you on fire. Fuck, you want everything he’s saying and more.

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Sam spits between your legs, adding to the slick that must be visibly gathered there by now.

“No!” you cry out when he delivers a stinging blow to your pussy, palm landing right over the open slit of your panties. “No,” you sob out again as he continues to spank you, each hit making a sickly wet echo and sending a jolt of heat through your clit every time his fingers happen to catch it. “No, no, no,” you’re begging, even as you spread your legs wider and push your hips back into his hand, trying to angle yourself so he hits your small bundle of nerves more frequently.

“You’re fucking loving this aren’t you,” Sam is seething behind you. “I can feel how wet you are, you fucking whore. You want my cock now, huh? Want me to put all this slick to good use?” He dips his fingers into the crotch of your panties and comes away with his fingers drenched in your juices, which you see a moment later when he shoves them in your face, yanking you back by your hair again.

“See this slut? See how I can tell you’re lying to me? What’s all this for if it’s not to get you ready for my cock?”

“N–” you try to protest, needing him to believe you if you want to actually feel his cock inside you, but your words are cut off as he shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you lick yourself off his hand.

“That’s right, taste what a fucking embarrassment you are.” Sam lets go of your hair and from the corner of your eye you see his fingers reaching for one of the pens that you knocked onto the desk earlier. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he uncaps the pen and crouches down behind you, putting your pussy at eye level for him.

“I think we should let the world know just how much of a slut you really are.” You wonder what he means, feeling him draw a single line down your right buttock, then switching to your left and writing some words. “Now anyone who fucks you is gonna see my instructions, and know they have to leave a tally mark right here.” He slaps your ass hard where he had just drawn his own. “And every time you come back to me for a session with more tallies than you left with the last time I saw you, that’s just one more time you’re gonna have to go through this with me. To make sure we really break you out of this habit.”

You silently wonder how many guys there are in this hospital that you might want to fuck. He spanks you again and you clench, pussy convulsing at the threat and the thought of men keeping count of the cocks you’ve taken by literally writing it on your body. You feel a trickle of slick start to make its way down your thigh, and you know Sam must have noticed because he laughs darkly.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you? Are you already planning how to rack up your score as soon as I let you out of this office?” he sneers vehemently.

“No,” you shake your head, even though it’s entirely true. “No, I don’t want that, I promise, I don’t.”

“But you still want my cock?” Sam questions, and you feel the tip of his dick start to drag against you, up and down the slit of your panties.

“No, I don’t want it,” you insist, trying to keep yourself from pushing back onto him.

“Good girl, Y/N,” Sam pets at your lower back and braces himself as he starts to sink in. You both moan when he enters you, but to your chagrin he stops when he only has an inch or so inside. “You want me to keep going?” he pants, and you’re pleased to hear that he’s not as composed now that he’s got the head of his cock wedged between your legs.

“No,” you shake your head quickly, silently praying for him to continue.

“Very good,” he groans, and begins to thrust into you again; tiny, sharp motions to ease himself into you bit by bit.

“No, stop,” you whine without prompting, hoping to encourage him to go faster. He does. “No, no, no,” you chant until he’s sheathed himself completely inside you, his hips pressed firmly into yours, his hands squeezing around your waist possessively.

“No?” Sam asks teasingly, pulling out a little.

“No!” you cry again, and this time you do mean ‘no’ – you don’t want him to leave you. At your cry Sam pushes back in harshly, snapping his hips back against yours and moaning, the sound bubbling up deep from his chest. “No,” you try repeating the phrase, testing your theory, and you’re rewarded by Sam withdrawing and fucking back into you piercingly.

“Please stop, please,” you whimper, not able to stop yourself from rocking back into his thrusts as Sam starts a punishing pace.

“You fucking liar, you love this you little cockslut,” Sam grunts pointedly, taunting you.

“No,” you insist, still meeting him thrust for thrust. “No I don’t want this, I don’t want you!”

“You’re always going to want cock, always gonna beg for it.”

“No!”

“You want me to stuff you full everyday don’t you? Maybe more than that. I bet you’d sit under my desk all day with my cock in your mouth if I told you to,” he laughs, his harsh pace becoming even quicker. He’s not fucking you deeply now but that means that every time he pushes in the head of his cock punches hard against the sweet spot on the front of your pussy, making you clench around him.

“No,” you shudder, feeling yourself close to the brink of your release, and you wonder what he’ll do when you cum – a clear demonstration that you’re fucking loving this, despite what you’re saying out loud.

“Say it louder, bitch,” he grunts, reaching down and spanking hard against your clit.

“No, no, stop!” you shout, desperately trying to fuck yourself on his cock, your orgasm just out of reach.

“You want to cum on my cock?” Sam slaps you again but then starts to rub tiny circles just where you need them.

“N–no,” you stutter, unable to hold back your moan.

“You don’t want to cum baby, you sure?” he teases, angling his hips so he’s fucking your sweet spot with each drive into you.

“No,” you whine, voice pitching higher as you feel yourself right there.

“No?” You can hear from Sam’s voice that he’s pouting at you, mocking you. “You don’t want to cum baby? Not gonna cum on my big, fat cock fucking you so good?” You clench around him, your toes curling, straining… “Come on you little slut, fucking cum already. Thought whores like you were supposed to be easy? Huh? Want you to cum for me, Y/N.”

“No, no, no, no, no–” you lose track of what you’re saying as you cum, screaming into your arm so you don’t accidentally say something to make Sam stop fucking you. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your orgasm and your come down, hips snapping more and more erratically as you bury your face in his desk and try to catch your breath.

Suddenly, the weight of his body is gone, and then there’s a warm jolt between your legs, and you know he’s cumming – aiming his load at the top of your panties and letting it drip down through the open crotch. You moan high in your throat at the feeling of his release soaking into your underwear, mixing with your own juices, which are already leaking out of you and dripping onto his desk.

“That was a really good session, Y/N,” Sam says, and you’re surprised to hear how composed he sounds, though a little breathless. “I think this is going to be a good strategy for you.” He walks around to the other side of his desk and starts to pick up the books and papers you’d knocked down earlier.

Slowly, you peel yourself up off his desktop, your skin sticking to the surface with sweat that’s already started to dry.

“Go clean yourself up, Y/N,” Sam instructs, not looking at you as he continues to tidy his desk. You turn to go, still in your post-orgasmic daze, but you spin back around when Sam calls your name again. “Oh, and Y/N?” you look at him curiously, and a smirk curls slowly across his lips as you watch. “You better keep the tally marks, or there’ll be consequences next session.”

“Yes, Dr. Winchester,” you agree quietly and slip out of his office into the hallway, walking back to your room behind an orderly, with Sam’s cum still dripping down your thighs. You think about the tally he’d left on your body, and you look up at the orderly, who’s now stopped at the door to your room and holding it open for you.

As you pass him, you keep your eyes trained at the ground, and glance sideways to surreptitiously inspect the man next to you. The hospital scrubs do nothing to hide his endowment. You smile brightly, bringing your eyes up the rest of his body, taking in the muscles in his arms and the name tag on his chest, before landing on his face.

“Thanks, Dean.” You walk into your room, eyes flicking back to see Dean still standing there, watching you walk towards your bed. You bend over to grab something off the bottom shelf of your nightstand, not caring what you grab, just knowing that you’re now giving Dean a full display of your ass – Sam’s writing and Sam’s cum decorating your skin.

The door behind you shuts quietly.

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[obscureoperations]

Idk if this is what you meant by weird stuff but here this is: I am currently in the dead of shark week and I feel like shit. Could you write a small drabble about Martin taking care of/comforting a trans male s/o while he's on his period? Maybe Martin like idk 👉👈 calls him handsome or smth 🥺 (And keep it sfw plz?) Thank you!!

Sorry for the late responce. I had a long day and actually wanted to type out a "dialogue"

That is the worst! Sorry man, it'll all soon pass. It's just a physical responce, has nothing to do with who you actually are.

~

At times Martin couldn’t believe he had met someone like you… he would talk, and you actually listen. You were one of the first people in his life who actually made him feel like he was important. You entered his life in a breeze, he could still remember the moment you walked into Cuda’s shop. His eyes were all on you as you skimmed through the various aisles. Something about you made it almost impossible to look away, you browsed the shelves as if you had all the time in the world.

Much to his embarrassment, Cuda was already off on one, urging him to pick his jaw up from the ground. He shoved a broom into his hand, urging him to either sweep or go home. You were always the first person to defend him, that day in the shop was the first of many. He stood at the counter, shaking like a leaf with barely enough courage to look you in the face. Cuda stood behind him, watching his every move, apologizing to you for his employee’s lack of manners.

“I think he’s doin just fine sir… If anything, you need to give this guy a raise.”

His eyes snapped to your face immediately, time enough for you to shoot him a playful wink. He was smitten.

You came into the shop all the time, the two of you seemed to click right off the bat. He found himself looking forward to the moment you stepped in, he had actually finally made a friend.

He thought about you … alot. And the word was mostly an understatement. As he’d sit at home, perched at the windowsill after dinner… he often wondered what you were doing. He wanted to see you. The two of you had become fast friends, you kept him company during his lunch break. You took him around town, to some of the local cafes… despite living there longer, he had no idea those places even existed. The two of you would bum around the park whenever he got off work, and you actually had a day off.

A crush. He actually had a crush on you… the idea didn’t hit as hard as he expected. Despite the fact of being raised in a staunchly Catholic home, everything about being with you felt so natural. He told you things, you told him things… the extent of his confessions were mostly about his sickness. Yours were about how you moved to Braddock to start over. Here you could actually be yourself.

Martin never really picked or pried, you told him things over time. From what he understood, you had a condition… one that required you to take these shots. Once the two of you actually entered a relationship, he had no problem administering them himself. He was really careful with needles.

He loved how happy you seemed to be the days following, every day you seemed to become more and more comfortable in your skin. He was elated, as much joy as you brought him every day, at times, you’d seem to get extremely down.

It was only for a few days out of the month, but during that time, he was always at a loss. He wanted to help you as you’ve always helped him… but didn’t want to mess up and do the wrong thing.

He made frequent trips to the library and by now, he seemed to have a bit of a better idea what was going on. You never liked to talk about it. You apparently had a curse of your own to deal with. That was something that he could completely understand. All he could do during those times was sit back and listen for whatever you needed him to do.

Oftentimes there was nothing, you never liked to be a bother. You never liked to draw any more attention to what was happening to your body. Still, Martin would wait patiently along your side, prepared to do whatever it is that might make you more comfortable. As of now, you were curled up on the couch watching “spook-a-thon” on channel 6.

Martin stood poised over the counter, absentmindedly chewing at his thumbnail. . He was supposed to be making lunch, you were really hungry and needed something in your stomach. He had placed two tablets of aspirin in your hand before tossing you a coke from the fridge. He didn’t want to risk you getting nauseous now. He settled on whipping up a couple of sandwiches.

He could hear your groan of aggravation over the commercials, and began to pick up the pace. He offered to grab the heating pad from upstairs, but apparently “you were fine…” He hated drawing attention to it, he always felt as though might think he was being condescending. He only wanted to help, but didn;t want to hover… the least he could do was feed you.

He turns on the faucet, briefly washing his hands once again. He reaches for the cupboard, pulling out the value sized bag of salt and vinegar chips. It was your favorite,he always made sure to have some on hand for whenever you might be feeling a bit down.

The plates were set, but he almost forgot the pickles, with a sigh he grabbed the jar from the fridge. As he placed it onto the counter suddenly he had an idea. He picks up the jar lightly taping it against the tiles. He sighs, almost audibly, before tapping it again.

“Babe!” he calls

Silence. Surely you couldn’t have fallen asleep. From the way it sounded, if you didn’t eat something soon, you seriously considered biting his head off.

“Y/n!” He calls again, just as you casually pad into the kitchen. You sleepily begin to rub at your eyes. You wore one of his somewhat over sized pajama tops. You looked adorable. According to you, his t-shirts always feel a bit more comfortable. Who was he to argue?

“What is it babe… the movie’s about to start up soon..”

Martin sighs dejectedly as he picks up the jar, prying at the top. “I can’t- I cant get the top off… I’ve tried…” He was practically yanking at the jar with his bare hands. He was about to slam it onto the tiles before you speak up...

“W-woah.. Easy now.. Don’t drop it!” You laugh.

“But-- I it’s-- not..” He was about to hit the jar along the side of the counter again before you step in.

“Hey come here, let me try..”

With a sigh, he reluctantly hands over the jar but not before mumbling “It’s just really tight…”

“M-hmm.. Okay sure.” You smirk…

“It might be expired.. Thats why its so airtight--”

<pop>

You stood there for a moment as though you were waiting for an award, as Martin’s jaw continues to gape.

“No way…” He shakes his head.

“Did you even turn it?!” You laugh stepping over to the counter, surveying the freshly made plates. They looked awesome, he even made sure to layer your sandwich with extra pieces of Swiss.

“I did!.. I almost shattered the lid!!”

“Sure okay…” you shrug, placing the now open jar onto the counter.

“Lunch looks real good, are you gonna finally sit down to join me?”

With a sigh, he reaches for the jar placing a few of them onto his plate, shaking off his fingers. “I guess… "

"Good! Martin, stop sulking...you loosened it up!"

"You have to say that..." He whispers as the two of you walk over to the couch.

"I do...you could jus--"

Your words are inturrupted as he lightly pecks you on the cheek.

"Thanks handsome.”

[rpd-rookie]

I’ll Make An Agent Out Of You - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: From cute rookie to badass agent who can supplex the s*** out of you, there's sometimes only one step, or one woman. But what a woman.

Author’s Notes: This is  the first chapter from my new fanfic. It is about Post RE2 Leon and the beginning of his training in the US.STRAT.COM because we clearly don't know enough about it. Expect SMUT at some point (probably in the last chapter) and deep sexual tension. Hope you will like it. Again don't forget to reblog, like and give me your opinion. PS: if you end up singing ‘I'll make a man out of you’ after reading the title, it's not my fault.

Warning: For now, just language because the first chapter is merely an “introduction” 

Also available on AO3

Leon had been left with no choice. Alone and locked in an interrogation room, the man who had introduced himself as Adam Benford had made sure that he would face down the ultimatum with no possibility of refusal or negotiation and he had made the terms very simple. Sherry’s safety against years serving the US government in the fight against Umbrella. A blackmail more than an offer, in Leon’s opinion.

And so here he was, a couple of weeks later or so, barely recovered from a gunshot wound and from the trauma he had experienced in Raccoon City, waiting in a meeting room of US.STRAT.COM headquarters, surrounded by a variety of highly qualified military men who were giving him the undeniable impression he didn’t belong here. After all, just a few days ago, he was still a rookie ready to start his first day in the force while now … well, he wasn’t sure who he was. Was he still a cop? Nothing at all? Or just some regular guy who had luckily survived a zombie apocalypse?  

“So, you’re the rookie from Raccoon.” Leon looked at the man sitting in the row in front of his who had just called him out. He was older that him, with a stern square face and scrutinizing narrow brown eyes, and judging by his uniform and the way he was proudly displaying the insignias on his chest, a seasoned Marine. “Is it true what the rumors say? You’ve seen those things?” You could tell there was a permanent condescendence in his deep husky voice that fitted his Alpha male persona. Leon didn’t like it at all. He had spent enough time at the academy being bossed around by that kind of asshole. But out of respect, and because he was a very patient and wise man despite his young age, he chose to remain polite. “That depends on what the rumor say, I guess”     The man unsurprisingly scoffed and looked up and down at Leon, clearly not impressed. “If a rookie like you survived, they must not be that terrible then.” He added before turning his back on Leon whose teeth were so clenched right now he could have broken them. “Asshole” He soundlessly mumbled.

“Are you lost, angel? Because heaven is a long way from here.” Leon looked up at Marine guy again; eyes furrowed and already tired of his presence. Then he looked at the victim of his terrible pickup line. And it was you, the only woman that had been invited to this meeting.         You had been searching for the seat that had been assigned to you at the entrance of the meeting room when Marine guy had called you out. And ignorance not being you thing, you had stopped to stare at him with a hypocrite smile.       “No, I think I’m at the right place. Thank you very much. However, I do believe the ‘Flirting for Dummies’ course is at the end of the corridor. You should hurry.” Marine Guy’s square jaw dropped in astonishment and he found himself unable to retort. Guess, he wasn’t used to sarcasm or rejection, especially from a woman.         “Damn, man. She burned you.” Another man - who certainly knew Marine Guy – mocked him, a hearty laugh coming out of his wide opened mouth. And that was certainly a bit too much to handle for Marine guy since he gritted his teeth and glared at you as you sat at your place.

Still like a marble statue, you decided to patiently wait for the meeting to start, trying to ignore Marine guy’s brown eyes looking daggers at you. But they weren’t the only eyes on you right now, as you could also feel Leon’s impressed sparkling blue eyes gazing at you. You chose not to glimpse at him, however. After all, you were here for work, not to socialize. Too bad, because Leon would have loved to congratulate you on your sharp sarcasm and thank you for shutting Marine guy up.

Suddenly, Adam Benford entered the room. Everyone stood up to salute him as he took place behind his reading desk with a grave look on his lined face, still looking incredibly charismatic nevertheless.   He waved everyone in the assembly to sit down and waited for an absolute silence to speak.

“I know what most of you must think right now. Why are you here? Why gathering members from so many military corps and agencies? What does an Air Force pilot have in common with an FBI agent? What does a Police Rookie have in common with a CIA officer?” Benford glanced at both Leon and you, one after the other. And that’s how your eyes met for the first time. But it surprised Leon because he had expected you to give him the same condescending look everyone had been giving him since he had entered this building, not a respectful admiring little smile and nod. But you were not like everyone else in room. You knew things. You had heard of him in ways others hadn’t.           “Why gathering the best men America ever trained in a same room? Well, here’s why.”

A video started playing on the screen of the meeting, showing images recorded during the Raccoon City incident, images from the CCTVs, tapes Leon had brought back from his nightmarish ordeal, tapes about Umbrella, about the Nest, about the Birkins. And he could not watch this footage anymore. He couldn’t watch it without feeling a knot in his stomach or the irrepressible will to puke and scream of rage. He couldn’t even hear it, the mere zombie growl reviving memories from the RPD station crowded with undead policemen and citizens, giving him the oppressive impression he was still in there with them, smelling their rotting flesh and skin flooding in the ambient air with an atrocious reek and seeing their skulls crack and burst with a thick splash of boiling blood after each gunshot. A traumatic bloodbath he knew he would never be able to forget and that would haunt him for the rest of his life.    

When the screen went white again, a heavy silence took possession of the room. No one dared to speak. No one dared to look at each other. Except you who were watching at the young man sitting few chairs away from you, still like a marble statue, haunted blue eyes looking down at his shoes. Poor Leon.

“Once you leave this room, whatever your decision may be, you’ll carry the secret behind the Raccoon City incident on your shoulder. No one can know about what truly happened there. No one. Not even your family. And I want you to think about your family. Will you allow them to live in a world like this, threatened by deadly viruses and bio-organic weapons? Or will you join us and fight the responsible behind this so that your loved ones may live a happy safe life?”        

You slowly yet assuredly raised your hands and all eyes set on you, Leon’s included. Adam Benford nodded to allow you to ask your question. “Where shall we sign?”  The old man smiled at you, far from being surprised by your bravery and your devotion. After all, he was the one who had trained you, few years ago.             “Sign?” Marine Guy harrumphed. “Sign for what? Umbrella is doomed to be bygone, right? And if that kid survived,” He pointed at Leon who immediately furrowed his brows. “then I’m sure anyone can.” You shook your head, glaring at him exasperated by his behaviour until Leon chose to stand up.       “Umbrella is still there, standing and operating in facilities all around the world as we speak. And they won’t disappear soon. Who knows how many samples of the t-virus or worse can be found in their lab, each of them having the potential to wipe out entire populations. We can’t let what happened in Raccoon City happen again. That’s why we need to sign. Because the fight has just begun and it is our duty to stop it, whatever it takes.”

He had made an impression. You could tell by the way everyone even Benford was looking at him right now. And with good reasons. He had charisma, determination and a thirst for justice who hadn’t seen much in your years of service. He had potential. Maybe Leon Scott Kennedy was merely a rookie but you were sure as hell he’d become one hell of an agent, one day.

That’s why you were not surprised when, at the end of the meeting, some men went to shake his hand and congratulate him on his words. “They’re right you know. You’ve got a thing with words.” You declared as you extended your hand. “I’m Y/N Y/LN.”       “ Leon S. Kennedy.” He said as he shook your hand. “I know. I guess we’ll see each other again pretty soon then, as well as other people.” You nodded towards Marine Guy who was talking with Adam Benford. Of course that piece of shit would join the team, not out of conviction but more out of pride and selfish ambition. “Well, I guess the STRATCOM needs to hire a certain percentage of men like him.”         “ You can say the word ‘asshole’. We’re not in the academy anymore and I won’t tell.” He chuckled and scratched his head as if he was a bit embarrassed. “I’m serious, Kennedy. You’re playing in the big league now with people that are way above your punches. You need to stop acting like a rookie and establish yourself as one of them. Be bold. Show them you’re not just a lucky survivor or they will always treat you like that, despite the few handshakes they give you at the end of the day.”           “But I was lucky.” Leon corrected you, not really knowing what to say to your advice. “There’s no such thing as luck. You survived because you had skills. And do you know what you have that Marine Guy doesn’t despite the stripes on his shoulders?”       “Modesty?” He joked and you smiled, finding him rather cute and sweet. “Experience.” You said. “You’re the only one who faced those BOWs here. Use that at your advantage.” “You seem to know what you’re talking about.”   “ I’m a woman in man’s world, doomed to be forever treated like a rookie if I don’t show my strength. So yeah, I know what I’m talking about.” Leon stared at you in silence, definitely impressed and bewitched by your attitude. You had spunk, audacity, confidence and you seemed to know what you wanted. And Leon couldn’t deny he was finding this extremely attractive in a woman. Gosh, it certainly was one of the reason Ada had got to him so easily. “ Anyway, see you soon… Kennedy”

The way you pronounced his name left him rooted to the spot and unable to speak. And so, he watched you leave with a self-assured gait, smirking like an idiot. “Women.”

[irrelevantwriter]

Spellbound

Pairing: Chief Jim Hopper x Witch!Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, dick Hopper (bc I don’t want him any other way)

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: You’re the new resident in Hawkins. But Chief Jim Hopper senses something isn’t quite right with you and he’s dead set on figuring out what that is.

A/N: In honor of spooky season, I wrote this completely necessary Jim Hopper x Witch piece. It was intended to be something completely different, but I can’t hide my true self so it turned out smutty and slightly twisted. I hope you guys enjoy and share with your friends!

P.S.

I know I have some requests to fulfill and I am actively working on them! I was in a bit of a rut, but hopefully this will end that. Thanks for being so patient.

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

Your deep purple nails clung to the black sheet beneath you, your body contorting in ways that should be impossible. Fire rushed through your veins while sweat dampened your skin. Your cries echoed off the walls and while it might appear that you were in the most debilitating pain of your life, you were actually experiencing pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.

A man was ravaging your neck while his heavy body pinned you to the bed. His bearded face burned your skin, but you yearned for more. His meaty hands gripped your body in animalistic hunger, a thin string of control barely present. His deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he growled and cursed in desire and exertion.

Your eyes were screwed shut against the deep, penetrating thrusts of his hips up into yours. His movements were erratic, touching you with both gentle passion and wild abandon. You craved more.

You were sure your deep red lipstick was smeared against your cheek, the residue already showing itself in his facial hair. His hair was tousled, his own flesh reddened and glistening from your activities.

The man was a special one. He wasn’t just any townie. He was the Chief of Police. And he was under your spell. Literally.

Jim Hopper hadn’t liked you from the moment he spotted you. You were new in Hawkins and had just purchased a storefront right off Main Street. You sold homemade lotions, oils, and candles. Products that were advertised as harmlessly holistic. But somehow Chief Hopper knew better.

He’d come snooping around your shop, eyeing your products with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. He’d asked you questions about your life, prodding like the law man he was. You’d obliged him. Being overtly accommodating and sweet to throw him off.

It hadn’t worked.

He was suspicious and you had to keep just as much of a close eye on Chief Hopper as he did on you.

Which is exactly what led to him fucking your brains out on Halloween night.

You’d known he’d come sniffing around your place tonight. He was probably going off the stereotypical ideas he had of witches. A chilly Halloween night complete with cat sacrifices and bubbling cauldrons. He was somewhat right.

Because of your unique senses, you’d been anticipating his knock at the door. You’d answered, no longer playing the innocent card. You didn’t bother to tighten the sash of your black robe, instead choosing to let it fall open slightly. The hint of cleavage would add to your favor.

He’d walked in adorned in fill uniform, all hulking frame and thick limbs, studying your home with careful interest. He made an excuse about wanting to check in on a single woman living alone.

It was bullshit.

The man was nosey. And attracted to you. You’d picked that up from the start. And it wasn’t one sided.

Part of your appeal as a witch was your mystical aura and blatant attractiveness. It’s what kept the men coming. Town after town. Always a lost man who found you irresistible and the answer to all his problems. And Chief Hopper was no different.

You’d made him a cup of coffee. Laced with your own herbal blend of course. And you waited.

It didn’t take long.

He was shoving you against the wall and devouring his mouth with yours before you could ask if he wanted another cup.

He’d tasted like cigarettes and caffeine. He smelled like faded cologne and the autumn air. It was hypnotic.

Clothes were shed quickly, the urgency and clear need apparent. You were wrapped up into his arms, his lips tasting your bare breasts as you directed him to your bed of satin and velvet.

He’d thrown you down and barely gave you a chance to breathe before he was burying is tongue deep inside you, pulling your nectar straight from you as if you were the juiciest peach. Your fingers pulled at his roots, urging him to take you to that point but begging for mercy.

You found that Chief Hopper wasn’t a merciful man.

He punished you with his mouth, adding his fingers as an extra device of torture. He forced your first orgasm from you, his manic eyes taking in all your convulsions and shivers with pride.

You’d felt him climb on top of you, not giving you a choice in the matter. He split your legs open and took you for his own pleasure.

Your teeth bit down on his shoulder as he thrust hard and deep. His brow was furrowed, almost as if he was angry. You liked it. You liked it far more than you cared to admit.

“Fucking hell,” He cursed as you moved beneath him, squeezing his thick cock with your walls. Every thrust made him scrape deliciously against you, the friction exactly what you needed to crest again.

“Again. Do it again.” He commanded against your neck. You obliged, eager to feel him release inside of you.

Feeling the cum of a man under a spell was an other-worldly experience. The sensation of him filling your insides was an alternate universe of orgasmic pleasure. It was euphoric. Addictive. It was your drug of choice.

“Son of a bitch.” He rasped as he slammed against you one last time, his whole body tensing.

You used his body to rub against your clit, letting his vibrations aid you. You came with a gasp, nails digging into his back as you both took from the other.

The Chief collapsed next you, his absence making your body feel unnaturally empty. You could feel him leaking from your swollen lips, your thighs sliding together obnoxiously.

You felt his stare on you, but you were waiting for the inevitable heavy slumber that came with your concoction. Most of the men passed out and slept off the remainder of the spell. That was usually when you stole from them. A little here and there so they never noticed.

But Chief Hopper kept staring at you, a self-satisfied smirk adorning his lips. You turned to face him, enjoying the way his male gaze faltered and landed on your breasts.

“Something to say?” You asked, voice a lot more hoarse than you expected.

“You make a great cup of coffee, you know that.”

His statement was odd and it made you pause. His smirk stayed plastered to his face. It was almost eerie.

“So I’ve been told.” You replied, playing along.

He shifted up so that he was leaned against your headboard, his chest firm yet soft. You found yourself wanting to lay your head there, listen to his heartbeat.

“There’s a little something different about it though. I can’t put my finger on it.”

He snapped his fingers suddenly and you jolted, caught off guard by his jovial mood. The man was nothing if not a grump.

“It’s the blend right? A spice?”

“Why the sudden interest in my coffee making skills, Chief?” You shifted so that you mirrored his position, your sheet pulled up to protect you from the sudden chill in the air.

“I just like to know what’s in my coffee when people drug it. Call me old-fashioned.” He quipped, rubbing at his graying scruff. His demeanor was strangely calm for a man who just claimed he was drugged.

“And why would you think I did such a thing?”

He laughed, though there was no humor behind it. “I’m a cop, sweetheart. I don’t just accept shit from people I don’t trust.”

You nodded, appearing to agree with his statement.

“Valid point. But I didn’t.”

He startled you when he pounced and pinned you to your back, the sheet ripped from your body. His hands gripped yours above your head, a twisted grin on his face.

“You did. I saw you.” He ducked into your neck, breathing in your scent as he spoke. “And I switched our cups.”

Your eyes widened at his admission, struggling against his hands. You met his eyes and could tell he spoke the truth. Smug bastard.

“I’m guessing my hunch was right by your reaction then.” He leaned into your body, pressing his now hard cock against your thigh. “You use your magic wand and put a spell on it, sweetheart?” He provoked, his tone condescending.

“Prick.” You cursed, your body betraying you and responding to his movements.

You felt your eyelids start to get heavy, the endorphins and adrenaline now washing away to reveal the true nature of your spell. You weren’t worried per say, but you also weren’t sure what his exact motives were.

You moaned as a calloused finger danced around a pebbled nipple, his greedy mouth reaching down to suck harshly at the appendage. You writhed beneath him, trying to stay alert but feeling your mind starting to slip into unconsciousness.

You felt like you were floating and the last image you saw was Jim Hopper’s face as he spoke to you.

“You get some beauty sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up, sweetheart. We’ve got some more business to tend to.” He caressed your face softly, but you could tell even in your drowsy state that he was not going to be gentle once you woke.

You couldn’t wait.

[sleepyverstappens]

Your soul and mine

Title: Your soul and mine

Pairing: Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris

Rating: Gen/PG (bar a few curses)

Word Count: 2138

Tags: Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Alternate universe - Soulmate, Soulmate Identifying Marks

A/N:  Me writing a fic without Max *gasp!* apparently miracles do happen, because Max is only mentioned once in this one.J prompted me a Charles/Lando meet cute fic on whatsapp and my brain totally skipped over the meet cute part and instead this happened. I guess it's still quite cute though?Anyways hope you enjoy this one :D

Summary: Most people were very private about their marks, if they could hide it they would do so. So unless you were one of the unfortunate souls with a mark stretching over your face the mark would be hidden away from sight until you found your match. People would wear scarves and gloves all year to keep that little piece of them hidden if they needed to. Only openly showing their marks ones they had started moving, once they had met the other half of their soul.

Read on AO3

No, he thought, no it couldn't be, it was supposed to be Carlos. Carlos who's mark he'd seen just a flash of. A glimpse of it caught when he'd walked in on him unannounced as Carlos changed into his fireproofs. The intricate swirl of a tail peeking out on his shoulder before he could cover himself. Carlos’ eyes worried as they met his own, but Lando had somehow managed to play it off as if he hadn’t seen anything, joking about as if nothing had happened. 

Most people were very private about their marks, if they could hide it they would do so. So unless you were one of the unfortunate souls with a mark stretching over your face the mark would be hidden away from sight until you found your match. People would wear scarves and gloves all year to keep that little piece of them hidden if they needed to. Only openly showing their marks ones they had started moving, once they had met the other half of their soul. 

He'd only seen a glimpse of Carlos' mark, but that tail had looked so familiar, like the tail on his right foot. The tail connected to the little monkey that had been there since he was 15. The same monkey that was staring back at him on Twitter now, the intricate details just like his own standing out against the pale skin of Charles Leclerc's stomach.

Charles Leclerc who he had maybe spoken five words with all throughout last season, the Ferrari prodigy not interested in hanging out with the new rookies even though he'd been one himself only a season before. Happy enough to stick to Pierre or Seb’s side whenever they had some free time during the busy weekends. 

“Fuck,” he cursed softly. He knows the universe wouldn't just put him with Charles randomly, but then why did he hate the idea of being his soulmate so much? His mind had been so set on it being his teammate, the teammate who he got along with so well. Who would laugh at his dumb jokes, whose touches he would still feel long after his long fingers had left his body. Yet none of his touches had made his monkey start moving, not even a smidge. He’d held out hope, hope that maybe Carlos’ touches weren’t right, did they ever actually touch skin? His brain was coming with plenty of excuses of how it could still be Carlos, until he’d seen that picture, that undeniable picture. 

It had to be photoshopped right? People did that all the time and it wasn't like Sun of all tabloids was a trustworthy one. But then how could they have gotten it just like his one? This wasn't a random leaf or puzzle piece that anyone could think up, no it actually had the monkey missing one of its toes like his one. Unless the person that wrote the article was his soulmate there was no way someone had faked that soulmark. 

“Fuck,” he cursed once more, a little louder, some curious looks thrown his way from the other people in the hospitality cafeteria. What did people do when they found out who their soulmate was? Movies always made it so romantic, eyes meeting across a crowded room, the soft touch they’d share, eyes widening as their marks started moving, the rest of the world going quiet as they only had eyes for the one that made their soul complete. Yet here was Lando, sat all alone in the middle of a crowded canteen, cutlery clinking loudly through the noise of people chatting. He needed to get away from all the noise, get some fresh air, sort his head out.

The paddock was bustling with people, but the noise felt less crowding than it had done inside. It’s only the second week of testing and people seem a lot more chill than during the race weekends, waiting somewhat patiently for their favourite drivers as they go for their lunch break. He hasn’t driven yet today, Carlos racking up more miles in the morning before he would jump in in an hour or so. 

Charles has though and Lando wonders whether he’s seen the pictures yet. How the scums from the Sun had managed to catch the exact moment Charles’ shirt had lifted he doesn’t know. The picture showed the young man standing on the balcony of his Monaco apartment, hair a mess and eyes squinted closed as he stretched his arms above his head. People would say it was his own fault for not making sure the mark was covered, but he was at home, a space that was supposed to be safe. And he’d clearly only just woken up, his brain not firing on all cylinders yet and somehow the camera had snapped at that exact moment. 

He hadn’t realised how far along the paddock he’d walked, his feet stopping abruptly as his eyes caught the bright red Ferrari hospitality building. A lone figure sat outside on the terrace attached to it, the hood of his jacket up against the cold as he gripped his phone tightly. Lando could see the forlorn expression on Charles’ face, clearly he’d seen the picture, how they had zoomed in on his stomach, broadcasting his mark to the world. Seeing Charles like this made his heart ache, his head and his heart at war on whether or not he should go to Charles and tell him. Tell him that whilst it sucked what they had done it had made Lando find him, find his soulmate. 

He’s about to step forward, let his heart lead the way, when Charles glances up, their eyes meeting and Lando freezes. He can’t do it, he’s not ready, not ready to give up the possibility of someone else. Of brown eyes and a Spanish accent, instead of brown eyes and a French accent. He manages to make a small smile stretch on his lips before he rushes back to the McLaren hospitality, to the safety of his home away from home.   

---

The next two days of testing fly by quickly, they get through their scheduled programming without much trouble and he gets to set the fourth fastest time, just behind Lewis, Max and Sergio, Ferrari still struggling to find the pace even during the second week in Barcelona. He had tried to avoid the team of the prancing horse as much as possible, only catching a glimpse of Charles as he had walked into the paddock on Thursday morning, other than seeing his bright red car out on track.

So it’s a surprise to find himself sat across from Charles in the first class lounge at the airport. He’d been there first, lazily scrolling through the messages on various social media when Charles had let himself fall into the chair across from him. There’s only two other people in the lounge and yet he’d sat there, right across from Lando, the Brit’s eyes widening a little as he’d found Charles staring at him. 

They drag their eyes away from each other in sync, Charles’ eyes now also focussed on the phone in his hand. Lando can’t help but sneak a few glances up at the Monegasque, seeing a deep frown wrinkling up his forehead as he reads whatever is on the phone. Then Charles huffs loudly, his phone clattering onto the table loudly as he pushes it away from him. 

“What’s up?”

And now that frown is directed at Lando, brown eyes piercing into him before he lifts a condescending eyebrow. “Really? Like you don’t know, like the whole fucking world doesn’t know already.”

“Sorry,” Lando murmured, feeling embarrassed for even asking. He’d just wanted to be nice to the guy, maybe get him to open up about how he’s feeling with all the shit that’s going on and then maybe hint at the fact that Lando is his soulmate. But instead he’d already fucked it up, the angry scowl on Charles’ face really making him question the universe right now. Did he have it all wrong? It couldn’t be, he’d stared at that picture for so long, zooming in on every tiny detail to compare it to his own mark and he’d found nothing different. Fuck, how would he tell Charles and actually make him believe Lando. Show him his own mark before Charles could angrily run out of the lounge, thinking Lando was only taking the piss out off him.  

“I need to tell you something,” he murmured just as the tannoy was announcing that the flight to Nice was now boarding, Charles’ flight. 

“That’s me,” Charles shrugged apologetically, rushing to grab his carry on, wrapping his headphones around his neck and starting to leave. And in a moment of panic Lando reached out for him, halfway out of his chair, fingers wrapping around the Monegasque’s wrist. Skin touching skin. And it’s a fucking cliché, it’s a goddamn fucking cliché but at that moment everything seems to go in slow motion. Charles’s wide eyes finding his own as everything but Charles’s face becomes blurry around them.    

He can’t stop the gasp from escaping his lips, mouth falling open as the rushing of his blood becomes deafening to his ears. This was really happening. Charles really was his soulmate, the other half of his soul. Their body and mind connecting from that single touch. His fingers start to tingle where they are still wrapped around Charles’s wrist and he could feel his right foot starting to itch.

“It’s really you,” he finally managed to get out, the words somehow managing to break Charles out of his stupor as well. 

“What?” Charles said voice hoarse, unable to believe what was happening right now, his eyes flicking over Lando’s face to look for the answer to a question he didn’t even know yet. “What the fuck is happening?”

“We’re soulmates. I… I’m your soulmate. I didn’t want to believe it at first, when I saw the picture, but it’s really you,” Lando said overwhelmed. 

“But, wha… how?”

“The fucking universe thinks were meant for each other apparently,” Lando said with a shrug. Now that there was no denying it anymore, that it really was Charles that was his soulmate and not Carlos his brain gave in easily, not fighting this inexplicable force that had brought them together, that connected them. 

His foot really was starting to itch a lot now though, he stomped his left foot on top of the right one trying to stop it from itching, but it didn’t work. His movement had managed to direct Charles’s gaze towards where he was fidgeting though, his eyes focussing in on his right foot. “Is it there? Your mark?”

“Yeah, it’s itching like a bitch dude, how are you not scratching your stomach off right now?” Lando whined, finally giving up on trying to scratch his foot through his shoe and tugging the laces free. 

“Wait, wait Lando you can’t, not right here!”

“There’s no one here Charles, everyone’s gone to their flights.” He let himself fall back into his seat and tugged his shoe free from his foot, sock falling to the floor as well and then he gasped once more. Because where his mark had been stagnant before, the monkey on his foot was now moving its head to stare up at him, tail flicking as it scratched its cheek, before looping back around. The same movements would repeat themself on his skin now permanently, repeating themself until Charles would die breaking their bond. 

“Can I? Can I see yours?” He asked tentatively, fingers itching to reach out for Charles’s white t-shirt, to move it away and see the same pattern on Charles’s skin.   

With one last glance around the empty first class lounge Charles slowly lifted his shirt, gasping softly as he saw his own mark moving on his skin. The monkey moving its head to the side, flicking its tail, before scratching its cheek and on and on again. He gasped again, a little louder as Lando’s fingers touched his skin, tracing around the shape of the mark, following the lines of the delicate tail.

“Shit, sorry!” Lando cursed, drawing his hand back as if it had been burned. 

“It’s okay. Feels nice,” Charles murmured, sounding so in awe of everything that was happening right now. A bright smile was starting to appear on his face though, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Come here,” he beckoned, drawing Lando up from his seat again and pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Last call for Mister Charles Leclerc,” the lady on the tannoy announced loudly, but Charles just tightened his grip around him, not moving away from the hug, perfectly content in the little bubble they were in.    

“C'est vraiment toi.” 

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

Star-Spangled Douchebag--  Part 3

CarryOnCap Masterlist

Series Masterlist

WC: 1,695

Warnings: some language and implied unwanted advances from a stranger? Adorable Steve as usual.

A/N: This takes place immediately after Part 2, still leading up to Part 1. Google told me that the Avengers Tower would basically be where the Metlife Building is, so that’s what I’m rolling with. For the sake of this story, assume the ground level of the Tower has offices for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who filter calls and take care of things that Tony doesn’t feel like dealing with. They don’t have clearance to higher floors where the Avengers are actually at. I’ve never been to NYC, so I pieced the “logistics” stuff together through lots of random searches, just in case some things don’t quite match up.

[edits made 8/4/2020]

After some input from Lieutenant Hunt and some searching online, Sam found a decently affordable hotel in the Lower East side near Chinatown. It was about a 20 minute drive to the Avengers Tower or about a half hour commute by subway. It wasn’t ideal, but you were only 10-15 minutes from the 5th Precinct of the NYPD where Lieutenant Hunt was based and he’d seemed more than willing to work with the three of you. When he called early the next morning to let Sam know they’d found the body of the S.H.I.E.L.D. woman from the bank robbery, you knew you needed to kick the investigation into gear.

“So we’ve got a bunch of robberies, a dead cop, and two dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Obviously we’re dealing with a shifter here and he ain’t afraid of getting caught. Sam, I say you go check out the body and see if it’s the real agent. I’ll head over to the Tower and see what I can find out from her coworkers and, Y/N, you do some digging here and see if you can make any connections the cops and the papers might have missed,” Dean said as he strode around the room and began gathering his gear.

“Uh, no.” He turned to give you a stern look, but you continued. “Look, Dean, just think about this. You guys have gotten screwed by shifters how many times now? We can’t take the chance of someone recognizing you two and there’s no telling what kind of fancy tech or face recognition stuff Tony Stark might have in the Tower. They may have wiped you guys from whatever criminal databases, but I bet his system is a little more thorough. I get that I’m not as experienced as you guys and you’re trying to protect me or whatever by leaving me here, but I can blend easier. I really am under the radar. If I have to talk to a girl, I can sympathize or ‘gossip’. If I have to grill a guy, I can flirt or hold my own. Sam already has some rapport with the lieutenant, so he should definitely go check out the body, but Dean...sometimes you have trouble keeping your patience in check and I don’t think that’ll fly on this one.”

Dean set his jaw and kept his eyes fixed on you, while Sam let out a muffled snort. “You always said you loved that she’s not afraid to speak her mind, Dean. Besides, you never made a big deal out of it before-- if we had to split up once in a while to investigate. Not until you two started dating...”

“Okay, alright. Just-- shut up, Sam.” Dean huffed in frustration and dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t like it.”

You crossed the room, a smile playing on your lips, and wrapped your arms around his waist. “But you know I’m right.”

“Yeah, well...I don’t like that you’re right. I still think I should at least come with you.”

“I know you do. But if this shifter has already moved on to someone else in the Tower, it’ll draw less attention if I go in alone rather than having two of us asking questions. Go with Sam, okay?”

He kissed your forehead before slowly pulling back to look you over. “Alright...but keep your phone on you. And call the second things get hairy.”

“Deal.”

You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then sidestepped around him to grab your purse. Normally you didn’t bother carrying one because it wasn’t practical for hunts. But, considering the fact that you had to wear your Fed suit instead of your usual Hunter attire that made it easy to carry your gear, it had seemed like a logical and inconspicuous alternative.

“Got your silver bullets?” Dean asked.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do I look like, a rookie? I’ve got silver bullets, a knife, and cuffs.”

“That’s my girl. And Y/N?” You were already halfway out the door when you turned back toward Dean. “Be sure to record it if you end up having to flirt. Me and Sammy could always use a good laugh.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Stay out of trouble boys,” you called over your shoulder as you shut the door.

***

“Look. I get that you’ve got your protocol shit to follow, but I’d like to speak to someone higher ranking than you, Agent.”

Fortunately you hadn’t had to flirt, but you were one more pickup line away from knocking Agent Toolbag flat on his ass. You were seething and this macho moron was really testing your patience with his cocky attitude and condescending remarks. The lower level of the Tower was bustling with agents, but this particular douche wouldn’t let you passed the front desk-- and he made no move to call someone else for you to speak with.

“Sorry, gorgeous. As you can see, we’ve got a lot going on and not a lot of time to answer questions from a fresh-faced Fed right out of school. Besides, we’re conducting our own internal investigation. But I’d be happy to answer any other questions you might have. How ‘bout we sort it out over some lunch and then you can thank me with dessert.” 

When he actually had the nerve to wink at you, you scoffed and leaned on the counter.

“You’ve got to be shitting me. Listen up and listen good you smug son of a--”

“Whoa, language.”

Grinding your teeth together, you whirled around, ready to give another smooth talking hot shot a piece of your mind. You paused when your eyes were met with a gray t-shirt hugging a broad, muscular chest.

“Captain,” the agent behind you said in greeting.

After reluctantly tearing your attention away from the gray clad torso, you found the bright blue eyes of Captain America staring back at you. He wore a friendly, crooked smile and every chiseled aspect of him seemed to resemble a statue of some Greek god. Finding yourself at a sudden loss for words, you were relieved when he spoke first.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“No problem at all, sir. I was just helping this FBI agent with some questions she had about an investigation. I informed her that, unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to speak directly with someone in charge because we’ve got certain protocols to follow. I told her I’d be happy to assist with any questions she has regarding--”

“Yeah, because you hitting on me and hoping to get lucky has been extremely helpful to my investigation,” you retorted.

The agent’s “paraphrasing” of your conversation had irritated you enough to speak up again. When you turned to glare at him, you had to stifle a smirk at his flushed expression. Apparently he hadn’t thought you’d have the guts to call him out in front of Captain America.

“I’ll take it from here, Agent Ward.”

You watched with satisfaction as the agent nodded and excused himself. When he was finally out of sight, you exhaled sharply and turned back to the Avenger.

“Boy, he was a peach.”

“Sorry about that.” He leaned toward you and lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I’ve never been the biggest fan of him.”

“Well, between you and me, I was about two seconds away from grabbing him by the tie and slamming his face into the counter.”

He laughed. “I'm sure he was asking for it, but I’m glad it didn’t come to that. So, uh, is there anything I can help you with, Agent…”

“Collins.” You extended a hand to introduce yourself.

“Agent Collins. Steve Rogers, pleasure to meet you.”

“I, uh, know who you are.” You laughed nervously and snatched your hand away when you realized you were shaking his hand a little longer than needed. “Um-- Some of my associates and I are in town investigating a number of robberies and there’s been some ties to a couple of...newly deceased S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. I just had some questions regarding the individuals we’ve connected to the incidents so far.”

“Of course. I’ve actually got some time between meetings. I was just heading up to my office-- you’re welcome to walk with me and I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”

“Oh, uh, sure, if you’re not too busy. That would be great, Mr. Rogers--er, Captain Rogers?”

“Steve is fine,” he smiled again. “And it’s no trouble at all. If there’s something I can’t answer, I can at least direct you to someone who might be able to help.”

“Perfect.”

You started to follow him toward the elevators, but you stopped short when you noticed you’d have to go through metal detectors. What if they made you leave your purse behind? Or what if they escorted you out as soon as they discovered your gun and knife?

You mentally kicked yourself for dropping your guard so easily, but there was just something about Steve that you were drawn to. He seemed legit enough, but you couldn’t afford to take any chances. Who was to say the shifter you were after hadn’t already worked its way up the ranks?

“Everything alright, Agent Collins?” Steve had a look of genuine concern on his face as he backtracked to stand beside you.

“Of course.” You began digging in your purse. “I was just thinking I should have my notebook ready in case I need to jot anything down before we get to your office-- can you hold these for a sec?”

You dug out your silver handcuffs and handed them to Steve. He raised an eyebrow in amusement but, ever the gentleman, nodded politely and took the cuffs from you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you carefully watched for a flinch or any sign discomfort, but he simply stood patiently as you continued digging in your purse. Satisfied with your test, you withdrew a small notebook and smiled as you took the cuffs and returned them to your bag.

“Thank you. Shall we?”

  CarryOnCap Crew (Forevers):

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@vandread1989  @itsstillnotwhatyouthink  @time-travel-bouqet  @bobasheebaby  @tfw-dungeonparty  @drakelover78  @ilovetaquitosmmmm  @hdthdthdt  @the-salty-asian  @sammedrano  @cosicas-cuquis  @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog  @our-jensen-ackles-love  @pufferfishlullabies  @sssshhresearching  @mythrealfan  @kornerstone234  @disneymarina  @kesnoz  @palaiasaurus64  @prettybubblesintheair  @stunudo  @angelkurenai  @shadowsndaisies  @redsalv20  @10-inch-snackles  @shynara51  @dizwinchester  @thecurlyhairedwinchester  @cheekygeek05  @klanceiscannon14  @encounterthepast  @fangirling-instead-of-working

[thekidultlife]

White Gardenias | Seungkwan Bestfriend AU

Words: 4160

Genre: Fluff (w/ slight angst)

(A/N: Ok. I’m really nervous about this. We’re not sure if this might offend anyone so tell us if it does.)

If you had been listening closely—to your friends, your classmates, your family—you will know.

Know what, you ask? Ah, seems like someone isn’t listening.

If you had been listening closely, then you will know.

You will know about the tea house at 3rd street.

“Doesn’t that guy look hot?”

It was a cool spring afternoon.

The first few weeks of classes were over and the student population had increased the activities (and the profits) inside a certain tea house. Its dark wood interior had once again been flocked by teenagers—mostly girls—who were seated cross-legged and comfortable on the cushioned platforms where small rectangular tables were aligned neatly. Most of them were gossiping about boys, school and problems high school teens usually have and that does not exclude your table.

“One Earl Grey Tea, my lady?” the waiter Seungcheol, which was referred by your friends as ‘hot’ was asking an old lady on the other table yet it did not stop your friends from giggling and talking about him.

“He’s just Seungkwan’s type, right?” your friend Lisa asked the only male (though not fully male, according to him) in your group with a mischievous grin on her lips.

“Exactly! Do you see those beautiful long eyelashes? Oh my god! I can look at them all day!” Seungkwan exclaimed and dramatically placed a hand over his chest and sighed dreamily.

You rolled your eyes.

You and Seungkwan had been best friends practically since you two were in the womb. Both your parents were good friends and thus, you two became good friends as well; spending years and years together until you grew up to be the teenagers that you were. You always knew that Seungkwan was gay and it had became such a convenient situation for you considering that you were a man-hater.

“Please. What’s so good about him?” you spat in disgust. “Besides, looks aren’t forever.”

It was Seungkwan’s moment to roll his eyes at you.

“C’mon, love. Don’t spoil my afternoon,” he replied, words dripping with irritation. “Just drink your tea and keep quiet!”

You scoffed at him and drank your lukewarm tea with bitterness which almost bled into the drink you were sipping. It had always irked you how Seungkwan kept on mentioning his list of crushes to you every single day. It wasn’t because you were against him being homosexual, yet you just couldn’t see why men should be liked or admired.

“It’s not my fault that I became like this.”

You muttered under your breath as you watched yourself reflected on the dark burgundy brew in your tea cup.

As soon as the pastries and tea had filled your stomachs, your group had decided to go home before it became too dark to walk on the streets. You wanted to go home with Seungkwan since your houses were at the same direction yet he chose to stay in the tea shop to wait for his other friend and practically yet not expressly mentioned, boyfriend, Hansol, who was a waiter in the tea house.

“You go with Lisa, love. I promised Hansol we’ll go home together today,” he told you and eventually shooed you out of the floral front garden of the shop.

Making sure that you were far out into the street, Seungkwan went back inside the tea house and sat on the platform exasperatedly. He removed the ribbon hairclip Lisa had placed on his hair earlier and slammed it on the table forcefully—enough to make Seokmin (who was cleaning a table) flinch.

“I’m so tired of this shit!”

Seungkwan cried angrily at the almost empty tea house and laid down on the cushioned platform; viewing the beams holding up the ceiling.

“I’m tired of pretending that I’m gay when I’m not! Like hell do I find Cheol-hyung’s eyelashes dreamy!” he exclaimed once more, knowing that his friends were there listening to him lash out.

“That’s why I told you since day one not to do it,” Seungcheol, the oldest and most mature among the group, reprimanded him yet not in a condescending way. He had his arm on his hips with a dirty wash cloth on his hands as he was wiping a table clean.

“But I have to! I know I have to!” Seungkwan defended as he sat straight and gazed at his hyung with scrunched brows. “If I don’t pretend, she wouldn’t even let me come near her!”

“Jesus Christ. I don’t even know anymore,” Seungcheol exclaimed, clearly exhausted with the excuses and turned around. “Jeonghan! Tell this kid something please!”

“Yes?”

Another male peeped from the kitchen with a ceramic cup on his hands; wiping it dry. His reddish brown hair fell softly on his brows that made him look perfect against the ambiance of the tea house.

“Give Seungkwan a bit of sense, please? He’s been pining for the girl for almost seven years and he ain’t near from getting her at all,” Seungcheol irritably said and Seungkwan had to groan at the description of him.

“Why don’t you just kiss her or something?” Jeonghan suggested carelessly as he rubbed off an ugly spot on the exterior of the green cup.

“You can do it, Seungkwan!” Seokmin cheered as his happy voice echoed from the east wing of the tea shop, far from the view of the three other guys yet they still heard him (though Seungkwan chose to ignore).

“I can’t even tell her I like her, much less kiss her!” Seungkwan protested and slumped on a nearby cherry table; almost toppling a vase of yellow roses to the side. “If only I could barbecue that little shit of an ex who made her that way.”

“Did someone say barbecue?” Jihoon interrupted as he peered from beside Jeonghan; wiping his hands on his apron. “I was kinda up for samgyeopsal.”

“I meant grilling a person to death, hyung,” Seungkwan replied to the dark haired guy who simply shrugged.

“I’m also up for that,” Jihoon said as he sat on the high stools in the bartending area, yet Seungkwan had enough.

He laid back on the platform once again and groaned against the cushions.

Three Years Ago

When you met him last Sunday, he was all hugs and smiles. You almost forgot that he had not been calling you or messaging you back for the past week. You had almost forgotten that he had completely ignored the way you reached out when he was pulling away again. You almost fell for his attention that was fixated only on you that day.

But, looking at your phone screen today, one day later, that familiar pain and humiliation that you had fallen for his games again came crashing down on you.

He is never going to change.

You put your phone away and ran towards the school gate.

Maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t find you patiently waiting for him at the end of the day underneath that tree where leaves would always fall, he’d finally notice.

But didn’t you do this little act last week and he didn’t even give a shit?

You flung the school gate open, panting. And as you did, something hit you. And the force of this realization brought unwanted tears to your eyes.

This has to end. And it must end today.

But today was the third year anniversary of your relationship.

Sobbing, you clutched your bag tightly and ran to a nearby corner where no one would see you.

I love him so much.

The roar of a motorcycle made you stop crying. You knew that familiar purr. From the corner of the school building where you were, you could see that familiar back, hunched over as he took off his helmet. You saw him take out his phone and read something from it. You watched him put it back. A few of his classmates, some of them girls you didn’t like because they were too clingy, were flocking around him. You felt that familiar stab of pain in your chest and you felt your throat tighten when one in particular, that Sunhee girl, got too close.

You prayed that he would step away politely, to give less space. He knew your feelings about Sunhee, right? Surely he would remember to keep his distance. Heck, he was even the one who told her that Sunhee was having feelings for him. Surely he would take off her fucking hand that was snaking across his waist? Surely, he would remember.

But he didn’t.

And he looked like he was enjoying it, like it was a normal thing to be surrounded by girls and to keep on being with girls his girl is jealous of.

You couldn’t watch this.

You couldn’t.

And you’re tired now.

You stepped out into the shadows and into the bright, autumn sun. Leaves spilled from the tree where you usually waited for him. You calmly let yourself go there and wait for him.

By some miracle, he noticed your presence. That was more than you could expect. Sometimes he doesn’t even see you waiting for him and you would walk home alone.

But this time, he saw you.

You knew him well enough to read that expression of surprise and fleeting guilt. But he masked it all off quickly with that motherfucking calm demeanor that he so liked to show you. And he said goodbye to his friends.

Oh, did it ever occur to you that he never introduced you to them?

He ran towards you.

“Hey,” he murmured once he was close enough. His eyes had softened into some unreadable expression. Well, everything about him was a mystery to you despite three years of being together. The only side you knew about him so well was the bad parts.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, and so you let your eyes speak for you. You prayed that he would read your mind.

But he couldn’t. How could he, when he doesn’t even make the effort to know you at all? It was enough that you were there for him each fucking day. He didn’t need to know. You were there for him anyway no matter what.

“Jaehwa, do you love me?”

You blurted out the question before you could stop yourself.

Jaehwa is taken aback.

You weren’t like this before.

“No,” you took back the question, shaking your head. “let me rephrase that. Do you even like me? Or do you just think of me as something you need when shit happens?” You forced yourself to look into his eyes, even though it was fucking painful and you knew it was impossible to mask the anger you thought you could control.

As you had expected, he began to get all defiant and defensive. “What the fuck is your problem again, Y/N?! Why do you keep painting me like I’m some sort of Class-A jerk? I never thought of you that way!”

“Then, do you love me?!” You couldn’t believe that he was actually evading your questions. “One day you’re okay with me, acting all sweet and devoted. The next day, you ignore me like I’m some sort of disease. You even ignore me for days, yet you always have time for your friends. I’ve tried, Jaehwa! I’ve tried to accept your lame explanations. I’ve tried not to be that needy girl you paint me to be. But I’m fucking tired.” You bit your lip to stem the sobs that tried to escape. “Do you love me? Because my friends keep telling me that you don’t. You do, right? You love me, right? Or perhaps you like me. I could settle for you liking me, you know. I could. I know I could. You like me more than those girls, right?”

There it was, that fucking pity on his eyes. The nerve. “Y/N, I—"

“—JUST ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION, GODDAMMIT!”

The wave of emotions you had tried to suppress was breaking out now. And you couldn’t stop it.

“Do you love me?”

It should have been easy to answer that question quickly. It should have been so goddamn easy.

But he just stood there, stupefied. And speechless.

If there was anything you knew about him at all, it was that he couldn’t lie to you.

Not even when you wanted him to lie so badly.

“I’m tired of putting up with your crap, Jaehwa,” you said, sighing, letting the tears fall this time. “I’m so fucking tired of this cycle.” You spun on your heel and turned your back to him.

And so that was how you found yourself crying in Seungkwan’s arms. It was a typical afternoon for him yet when you burst into his room, throwing yourself on his bed and just began sobbing, it suddenly went all chaotic.

“I told you many times to break up with him,” Seungkwan exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “That asshole doesn’t deserve you.”

“But I can’t. I just love him Seungkwan,” you replied, burying yourself on his chest as he caressed your hair in soft strokes. “I love him so much.”

Seungkwan sighed.

If you knew how much he loved you as well, then maybe the two of you could go crying together.

Yet he didn’t say anything. There was no way he was going to take advantage of you at your weakest state.

“Break up with him already,” he said with an exhausted sigh. Break up with him and stay with me.

“I already did, ok?” you sniffed. “I swear I will never love any guy ever again.”

“You’re serious? What about me then?” Seungkwan asked with a voice hinting at a jest. But yes, what about me? This is unfair, Y/N.

“You?” you lifted your head up to face him—his tired eyes meeting your red, puffy ones. “You did say you were gay right?”

Seungkwan gave you a confused look. Wherever the fuck did you get that conclusion?

Yet your words weighed heavy in his mind that he made an incredibly huge decision in a split second.

“Ah yeah…I-I think I am…”

It wasn’t supposed to be like that yet for him to stay by your side, he will do anything.

As much as obscuring his own identity, he will. For you.

Three years later

“Seungkwan? Let’s go?”

Hansol called out to his friend just outside the primed gardens of the tea shop and Seungkwan, who was done venting out his frustrations to Seungcheol and the rest, dashed outside to meet Hansol.

They were only friends yet because of Seungkwan’s situation, Hansol didn’t deny if people thought of him as Seungkwan’s virtual boyfriend. He was thoughtful enough to consider that his friend was hurting too much.

“You should already confess,” he nudged pouty Seungkwan as they walked down the street illuminated by the glowing streetlights.

“I don’t know. I don’t think she sees me that way,” Seungkwan confessed, kicking a piece of rock away from their path.

“Well, at least you’re true to her. Isn’t that what’s important?” Hansol quietly reasoned out as his friend began to consider.

“…I guess…but I’m scared that it’ll break our friendship…” he replied and sighed, grasping the strap of his bag tightly. “I did lie to her…plus, she hates guys.”

“If she really is your friend, it wouldn’t matter, right?”

Seungkwan hummed, leaning his head from left to right. Sometimes, Hansol’s words help him a lot.

“…Alright…fine. I’ll tell her tomorrow—”

“—hey isn’t that Y/N?”

Hansol’s voice interrupted Seungkwan’s train of words as he followed Hansol’s line of sight. He saw, in a park bench by the riverside, not far from them was you…and Jaehwa.

“Didn’t they break up a few years ago?” Hansol asked yet Seungkwan was hearing none of it—the words blurring and muting as he only felt raw emotion.

It stung.

Why is she with him?

What did his sacrifice mean? Does it really mean anything?

Why?

Why do you always hurt me Y/N?

“Let’s go home, Hansol,” Seungkwan said, turning to the other direction as he steeled himself and his voice.

“But—”

“Let’s go.”

Before I break down and cry.

It had been weeks since you have spoken to Seungkwan properly.

Recently, it seemed that he was avoiding you at all costs—opting to hang out with Hansol and Seokmin more. Yet that was not the only thing you noticed that had changed.

His actions seemed toned down—less feminine, if you were asked—and he no longer wears lip gloss, nor styles his hair with clips and ribbons. He was still funny and jovial yet it wasn’t like before. To you, he was no different from an ordinary high school male.

It had disturbed you. Why the sudden change? Where was the Seungkwan you knew?

However, when Lisa invited everyone for karaoke that afternoon, you saw the opportunity to talk to Seungkwan about it. Besides, you have to tell him some news about you and your ex.

“Seungkwan, walk home with me later?”

“Sorry, Y/N. Jihoon-hyung wanted me and Seokmin to go fetch some new cups at the night market.”

You pleaded. “Just today, Seungkwan…please?”

He couldn’t really say no to you. No, not ever.

Sluggishly, the two of you walked down the sidewalk as the several lamp posts glowed through the cold air. One or two cars sped by yet there was still an impregnable silence between the two of you. Normally, Seungkwan hated the dead air yet right now, he seemed to thrive in it—forcing it to prolong until both of you reached your home.

You’re having none of that.

“Hey, did you know already?” you began, halting in front of a deserted bus stop as the harsh gale of freezing air blew past your cheeks.

“Know what?” Seungkwan asked, burying his face more under his muffler. He didn’t want to talk to you.

“I talked to Jaehwa last time. He said he was sorry,” you continued and Seungkwan snorted; totally not agreeing and you took hold of that. “You don’t want me to, do you?”

A scoff of sarcasm. “That’s because I’m not stupid, Y/N.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? I still love him—”

“—I’m going home. Good night.”

Seungkwan didn’t even let you finish and turned to start walking back to the tea house’s direction.

You froze at his indifference. You thought he’d care.

“I don’t know you. I don’t know you anymore. You’re not the Seungkwan I know!”

You screamed at him as the tears began to stung; emotions which remained buried began to simmer in you. Luckily, Seungkwan stopped walking yet he did not turn around nor said anything in response.

“Why were you avoiding me all these weeks? I don’t know anymore. What did I do wrong? Tell me, please! Just…just don’t ignore me. You’re one of my best friends, Seungkwan and I don’t want to lose you! Why did you suddenly become like—like that?”

“Like what, Y/N?!” Seungkwan cried back as he turned to face you with eyes as wet as yours. “Do you hate me if I’m like this? If I’m no longer your ‘gay friend’?”

You were taken aback. “What…? I—”

“I’m so tired, Y/N! I’m so tired of being just your best friend! I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not!”

“I…I don’t understand, Seungkwan…”

“Of course you don’t understand,” he sneered at you as he rolled his eyes. “You will never understand how difficult it is to listen to someone you love talk about her boyfriend who played with her heart again and again. You will never understand how much pain I have to go through everyday so that I can be with you.”

“…Seungkwan?”

“You still don’t get it, huh, Y/N? I love you! I love you so much that I can’t bear looking at you hurting yourself again.”

Seungkwan was already panting by the time he finished screaming out everything he kept inside for years as warm tears continued to stream down his face. The look of total confusion was on your face and, Seungkwan thought you needed to digest everything he said and finally decided to take off, leaving you there under the bright light of the lamp post.

“Doesn’t that guy look hot?”

The exact same words Seungkwan heard as he hid under the bar, just beside Jeonghan who was again leisurely wiping the tea cups clean.

He didn’t care who it was from—probably from teenage girls who are in the same age as him—and besides, the tea house was basically staffed by handsome men. That was no question.

For several weeks, Seungkwan hid there in the tea house so that he could get away from you and your questioning gaze. He knew you wanted to talk again but he wasn’t ready to face you yet. Not after he confessed that he lied to you about being gay, and telling you he loved you.

“This place is getting too crowded,” Jihoon remarked as he stood in front of Seungkwan yet not directly looking at him.

“Oh, just let poor Seungkwan in,” Jeonghan replied with a motherly tone. “He just got heartbroken recently.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes at the drama and went back inside the staff room to maybe clean some tea cups.

“So? Any plans?” Seokmin asked as he leaned on the bar behind Seungkwan.

“Plans for what?” Seungkwan said with a pout as he glanced at the several bottles of alcohol inside the cabinet behind Jeonghan.

“You can’t possibly be thinking that you’re going to get away without talking to her?” Jeonghan asked with an accusing gaze and Seungkwan’s hesitant look said it all. “You have to face her sooner or later, you know.”

“Yeah…like how about right now?” Seokmin added as he looked right behind him—seeing you in your school uniform, waiting to ask them about Seungkwan.

“He’s there isn’t he?” you questioned the two of them as they shrugged.

“I guess…?” Jeonghan replied as he set down the cup he was holding and escaped inside the staff room with Seokmin in haste; leaving Seungkwan alone to his problem. I have such good friends.

“Seungkwan…just listen to me, please…” you started as he sighed, still hiding behind the counter.

When he didn’t answer, you continued talking—hoping that he was listening to you anyway.

“I’ve thought about what you said last time,” you said as you glanced down on your mud stained shoes. “And…I guess I’m sorry if I’ve only thought about myself and didn’t consider what you were feeling. I’ve already decided to finally cut my ties with Jaehwa, by the way.”

“Good,” was the only reply you heard from Seungkwan.

“And…and…I still don’t know what to feel about your confession because I always thought of you as a sibling…so, I guess maybe we could start again as friends? With you not acting gay, of course. I wanted to be friends with the real you…and maybe we could get from there?”

Seungkwan started peering from behind the counter to see if it was really you who was telling him all these and when he met your earnest eyes, he couldn’t help but blush and look away.

Finally decided to stand up straight, Seungkwan cleared his throat though he was still averting his gaze. “Okay…so um…wait a bit here. I need to clear my head and get you something. Just stay there!”

Seungkwan went from giddy to panicky as he dashed towards the staff room. You were slightly confused and curious about what he was doing and it only dawned to you when he returned with two cups of warm milk tea on his hands.

He offered you a seat before the bar and placed the cups and saucers on the counter before he sat beside you with hands clasped before him. You realize that he was getting flustered by the minutes as he tensed at your every action.

“Um…that, that drink is called ‘White Gardenia’. It’s for you…” he said as he continued to look at his sweaty hands.

“Why…?” you asked as you took a tentative sip on the warm tea. It was delicious of course, with the floral scent complimenting the creamy flavors of the milk and cream. You liked it.

“I thought it would be a good way to start out a new relationship between you and me…” he replied as he finally met your gaze.

Your lips broke into a smile. “You’re still special to me, Seungkwan. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Me too,” Seungkwan said as he lifted the cup with a grin. “Cheers for a new beginning?”

“Yeah…cheers.”

“Well, isn’t that cute?” Jihoon remarked sarcastically as the three of them—him, Seokmin and Jeonghan peeked behind the staff room door.

“Go find yourself a girlfriend, Hoonie,” Jeonghan replied as the other groaned and went back inside; leaving Seokmin and Jeonghan sniggering.

-Leanne and Hyeri

[rizlowwritessortof]

Fic Tag Game

I was tagged by @eyes-of-a-disney-princess - LOVE your writing, girl, and I’m so glad you finally jumped into the fan-fic abyss!! Can’t wait to read your new ones - you tease! :D

Rules: List the first lines of your last 5-10 stories.  See if there are any patterns, then tag some of your favorite authors.

I have done this before, but it’s been a while. So here goes... (under the cut)

Take a Chance

For fuck’s sake, Dean, you’ve done this a thousand times. You can charm a woman without even breaking a sweat. Why are you so damn nervous?

Because, dumbass, it’s Y/N. This time it’s not some random bar chick that I’ll probably never lay eyes on again. And I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to do something that’ll make everything all awkward.

I just want… I just want to be with her. Whatever that means. And I don’t even know how to say that without making things all fucking weird.

Just tell her the truth. Well, the surface truth. Say you’re bored. Take a chance.

She doesn’t need to know you hate being in a separate room from her, that you miss being around her. That you feel not all there when she’s not around, like a piece is missing. That you’re dying to touch her. Like really touch her.

Make You Mine

You climb out of the back seat, tugging your skirt down self-consciously. Dean is staring at your legs, his jaw clenched, and even Sam swallows hard, then turns away.

“Does it look that bad?” you ask, worried for a moment that maybe you’re not dressed appropriately to be an FBI agent.

Sam clears his throat, and Dean growls out, “You look fine.”

You straighten your jacket, lift your chin, and get into the head space you need, a little condescending, a little no-nonsense, like you’re used to getting what you ask for. Dean gives you one more glance and, looking like he’d like to eat someone, leads the way into the police station.

You and Sam trail Dean to the front desk, standing a step behind and flashing your badges dutifully when the officer on duty asks if he can help you. “What can we do for the FBI?” he asks, just a touch of snark behind his words, and you can almost feel Dean’s thunderous frown. He’s been on edge for days, and this day seems to be a bad one. His temper has been unpredictable, his level of patience almost zero, and you cringe a little internally at what his reaction might be.

The Photo Booth

God, this fuckin’ job sucks.

I mean, I know sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to get the information we need. But we’ve been working at this broken-down piece-of-shit carnival for a week now. I’m so goddamn sick of pickin’ up people’s trash and cleaning up after sick kids.

Sam’s being a pain in the ass, too. I mean, I’m dealing with Dad’s death. As much as you can deal with something like that. He’s all up in my grill about my feelings, and all I wanna do is kill something. This damn clown/monster/whatever the hell it is. I just wanna kill something that deserves it.

Ooooh, or something more fun. There she is again. That little piece of heaven that’s been hanging around here for the last couple of days. She’s been pretty damn friendly, too. Had her coming on my fingers in the haunted house last night, she’s just sweet. But I’d like to really get into her, if you know what I mean. God, she’s wearing those little short shorts again, and she’s got a set on her that makes my mouth water. Wonder if she’s feeling friendly tonight, too…

Slow Ride

Holy. Shit.

Seriously, how much is a girl supposed to take? You share rooms with these guys, watch them walk around half-dressed, banter back and forth with them. You take Dean’s suggestive, flirty comments and respond in kind, telling yourself it’s all part of your friendship.

And then he does this.

Of all things, a mechanical bull. You thought those things died out with Urban Cowboy. But now, as you stand watching with your jaw clenched, and your nails digging into your palms, and your thighs clamped together, Dean is riding the fuck out of Larry, the centerpiece of the bar you went into for the sole reason of grabbing some burgers.

You can’t tear your eyes from him as his body sways, looking like he’s part of that saddle. The muscles of his thighs are tight, holding firm, his torso lean and lithe as he moves with it, sinuous and sexy as hell. One arm waves above his head, giving him the balance he needs, the other bicep bunched and bulging beneath the plaid shirt, unbuttoned at the front to allow your eyes to cruise over where his t-shirt clings to his pecs, his ribs, his belly.

The Contest

You sit in the booth, Dean’s arm draped over your shoulder as you lean into his chest, your legs up on the seat, beer in hand. Sam slides back into the seat across from you, answering your smile with one of his own.

It’s a good night, things have evened out for a bit, and you’re all feeling relaxed, almost contented. Sam’s new ‘friend’ had just left, saying she had to work the next day. You’re enjoying hanging with the boys, drinking a few beers. You watch the college kids, early twenties at the most, playing the same games you all used to play, trying to hook up, make some kind of connection.

You let out a happy sigh, looking up at Dean as he watches them, too, a kind of distant smile on his face.

“What?” you ask, and he looks down at you, his smile turning a little sheepish.

“I was just remembering the night… well, the night you opened my eyes.” You blush a little, ducking your head in a vain attempt to hide the amusement curving your lips, and he raises an eyebrow at you, letting loose with a stunning grin. You bump him in the belly with your elbow, and Sam stares at you with a curious gleam in his eye.

“Okay, now I want to hear this story.”

Lose Yourself

Dean is staring up at you, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression dazed and lust-drunk. He’s naked, sprawled on the bed, and you let your eyes travel over him as you consider your options.

The fact that he trusts you enough to let you do this has you on the edge already, and you revel in the delicious torture. His arms are stretched above his head, silken scarves wrapped around each wrist and secured to the headboard, and his fingers are clenched around his bonds, his forearms and biceps flexed. All you’ve done so far is strip down to your lacy black lingerie and kiss him, touching nothing else, yet you are both breathing hard, pulses pounding. His cock is hard and throbbing, leaking pre-cum over his abs, making your mouth water.

But that will have to wait.

You run a finger over his bottom lip, suppressing a shiver as his tongue darts out to touch the tip. “Doing okay, Dean?” you ask softly, looking directly into his eyes and waiting patiently for his answer.

“Fuck, yeah,” he says, the low rumble of his voice making you wince a little at the almost-painful pulse it causes between your thighs.

Patterns: I guess I kind of like the inner monologue as well, I like to hear those thoughts that nobody allows themselves to speak out loud. Especially Dean’s thoughts :) I also like the relationship aspect, the characters knowing each other long term, the complications and realizations that there could be more there than hunting partners and friends. Not that I don’t love a good one time fling, either!! :D 

I’m sure you guys have done this before, so if you don’t want to, no sweat - but I’ll tag @mrs-squirrel-chester  @littlegreenplasticsoldier  @saenalife  @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog