#can't draw a motorbike to save my life!

[meloyellow236]

My Yuuson!

I am currently working on making a version of her for @twstfanblog 's manhwa AU, but then I realized that I never actually introduced her in the first place, so here I go, as well as a the start of a drawing I'm making for the AU. (Ignore the fact that she's mostly a frankenstein of a bunch of TWST characters, I can't draw that hands, hair or buttons to save my life-)

Name: Yuri

Surname: Akatsuki

Age: 18

Pronouns: She/they, but she doesn't care what anyone uses enough to correct them if they get it wrong

Appearance: She has very pale skin and curly white hair, as well as light blue eyes. She appears to be thin, but that's mostly because she exercises a lot.

Personality/Lore: Outwardly, Yuri is a very cheerful and kind person. She worked as a singer in her world before going to twisted wonderland, with most of her brand involving her staying in a childlike manor due to her starting out at a very young age. However, once you get a little closer to her, she has quite the daring and brazen personality, owning a motorbike and having multiple piercings and tattoos that she covers in front of the cameras. She can be a bit of a diva, and has quite the ego on her, but once she's willing to let someone get close enough to her, she's willing to do anything to keep them safe.

While she dislikes her father and stepmother, she is very close to her mother, full siblings, and half siblings, as well her her nephew. Knowing that one of her older sister would have been disowned upon having a child unmarried, all of her sister's agreed to pretend that they each were the mother, leading to all of them going to live with her mother permanently in another country, her brother's following as well. Yuri in particular had to turn to being home schooled for her senior year of high school, until she was brought to night raven college and had to attend as a first year. Her youngest (half) brother is 14, while her oldest (half) sister is 33, her being one of the younger siblings.

That's about it, if you have any questions or anything to add, just ask or comment! Here the start of the drawing, I'll post it once I finish;

[frankenfrady-blog]

Ficlet: Inspired by Season 7 Promo

Rating: G

Summary: Okay, So Henry got this Cinderella to the ball, all be it with only 45 minutes until midnight! Can the Author salvage this fairytale? Or is he screwing it up even more than he could imagine... (budding romance; Henry/Cindy)

“You are late….” Henry said, impatiently. He lifted the leather of his riding glove to take a peak at his wristwatch and winced. “Really late. At this rate you only have 45 minutes to get in there and-” He glanced up to see the young woman before him pay him no mind as she scrutinized her appearance in the palace mirror. “Are you even listening? Cinderella?”

Cinderella gave him a warning look. “It is not my fault that you spooked my horse and decimated my carriage…nor that I look completely out of sorts because of that… that… death contraption of yours! All the wind!” She fussed over her dark hair.

Honestly she looked only a smidgen less than perfection, but Henry wasn’t about to tell her that; she had been somewhat cranky with him since the accident… but who wouldn’t be? And if she even knew how much Henry was screwing up her chances of true love and a happy ending, she’d probably strangle him. It’s what he deserved for being so careless.

One had to be meticulous with being only an observer to these tales. Otherwise, one careless… or even accidental, decision could have a butterfly effect on the whole story. Change it’s course. Change it’s ending.

Ruin a life.

Henry took a cleansing breath and dawned a smile. He went up to the future princess and turned her towards him. She narrowed her eyes at him as he speedily smoothed her hair himself, and pinched her caramel cheeks to rosie them.

“You’re a vision, Cinderella. Your whole life is going to change tonight…” He had an arm around her, guiding her to the ballroom entrance, but his strides were long and powerful. Her glass slippers clinked hurriedly against the palace marble to keep up with him. “Go knock’em dead.”

He gave her a wink and playful pat on her layered skirts. She squeaked and turned to scold him, but found herself nearly falling through the ornate double doors. She caught herself against the golden bannister, finally looking up and out at the sea of multi colored ball dresses and dress coats.

Apparently the orchestra conductor had looked up at just the right time to see her sudden appearance, for he took in a stunned breath instead of starting the next waltz. Everyone, curious as to why the melodious merriment was absent from the room, turned to look at the grand staircase, expecting a monarch to be present and giving a report on how splendid the night was going and to please take some complementary pastries and breads on their way out as the night dwindled down…

…Only to see…her.

The stunning creature in blue. Whose countenance was as airy as a flower, but as poised as a swan. Or so she appeared.

Cinderella’s heart beat was thundering in her ears and her mouth became very dry. They were all staring. At her!

Instinctively, Cinderella turned and thrust out her arm to Henry, who was peeking from around the doorway. He gave her a bewildered look, but then violently shook his head with realization.

“No.” he mouthed at her.

“Pleeeeeease.” she mouthed back. When he didn’t budge, she went back over to him, taking his arm. “Henry, I’m forever in your debt for getting me here…even though you did nearly kill me-”

Henry sighed, though deeply embarrassed. “How many times do I need to apologize for that-”

“-But if you abandon me now… I…. I don’t know if I will be able to go down there…” Henry paused. Her tone, absent of it’s usual snark and calculated politeness, was a soft murmur. “Henry I don’t belong in here. I just… wanted to see it. But I… I can’t do it a lone.”

Her eyes were wide and pleading, glistening with emotion. Henry was entranced by that dark gaze; recognized its vulnerability. She read his hesitation as rejection and turned to leave the ballroom, stifling the beginnings of what would soon be a very long cry home.

Henry swiftly caught her wrist. “Okay…I’ll uh…I’ll go with you.”

Cinderella’s surprised expression softened into a warm smile. She accepted his arm, gracefully gathered up some of her voluminous skirts, and then proceeded down the stairway. Henry was starting to feel self conscious with all the staring; all that could be heard was torches softly crackling and hushed whispers amongst the crowd. His gaze darted about the wide room, distracting himself with how nice the sconces and painted cherubs looked compared to other ballrooms…

…Not realizing that between looking down at the steps before her, and making sure no material escaped her grasp, Cinderella’s gaze was fixed on his strong profile. Finally noticing how comely this strange man was. Made even more appealing by his gestures of selfless compassion.

Finally the music picked up again.

Henry let out his breath. Finally the crowd was losing interest in the newcomers, though he noticed some mens’ lingering glances at his partner. Henry halted though when Cinderella nearly tugged at his arm as they stepped down the last step.

“What…?” He began, but he heard the glassy clunk against the red carpet.

Cinderella bit her lower lip and put her hands on Henry’s broad shoulders to steady herself as she balanced on one foot and felt around with the other for her glass slipper.

Henry put his hands on her waist to steady her, a dark eyebrow arched at her. “Let me guess…the enchanted footwear didn’t come in your size?”

Cinderella found the matching slipper on its side and turned it upright with her toes. “They fit…but my feet sometimes get sweaty and-”

Henry’s eyes widened and then he let out laughter. Cinderella, though slightly self-conscious, found herself with a small smile as well. She liked Henry’s laugh. Even if it was at her expense.

“…And it appears they slip off. Do you mock me, sir?” she challenged him, playfully.

He regained control of himself. “No… no of course not. I’m just…chatting with Cinderella about sweaty feet at the ball. Details often left out of the story…but quite  endearing, I assure you.”

There had been quite a few instances like this one were the strange Henry had made reference to “the story” or “the tale” and spoke of Cinderella as if she were a subject that everyone was versed on… but she let that curiosity go. For Henry’s hands were still her her waist, and hers on his shoulders… and the way that he looked down at her with those hazel eyes; the color of an early autumn forest during a serene sunset…

Henry’s hands left her person as though he had been touching hot iron. Spell broken, Cinderella reluctantly pulled her arms away as well. He looked around nervously, as if he had upset the balance of some written law, running his hand through his messy hair.

His eyes finally settled on who he could only assume was the prince of this kingdom: blonde, tall, blue-eyed, heroic jaw…and he had the threads of a monarch. Also, it seemed all the young eligible maidens were flocking around him.

“Oh good… there’s the Prince.” Henry breathed, walking in that direction. Assuming that Cinderella was following after him.

But her gaze was caught elsewhere. “Oh good…there’s the buffet table!” She grabbed up her skirts and hurried over to the display.

Henry was weaving in and out of the crowed, edging closer, but he looked behind him, taking a double take of Cinderella loading up a silver plate with fruit, mutton, and cakes. Henry’s brows knitted with frustration…

…As he bumped into the Prince.

“Oh…uh… pardon.” Henry laughed nervously, as guards nearby advanced ever so slightly to the side of their prince. “This… well, this is…a great…you know…shindig.” He glanced back at the buffet table to see Cinderella filling a goblet of wine now. He turned back to the future love of her life. “Would you just excuse me, for like, one sec?” He backed away, then turned on his heel to storm towards the stubborn heroine.

“What are you doing??” Henry demanded.

Cinderella hand to swallow down a bit of cake before she could answer. “I haven’t had a decent meal in…gods, I don’t even remember! It’s stale bread, moldy cheese or whatever the birds can bring me but this… this is so brilliant. Oh gods, Henry…the cakes are heaven!”

“Cindy, you’re one way to happiness… true happiness… is standing right over there!” He turned to point at the prince, but when he looked back, she had moved down the table, surveying even more delicacies that the buffet had to offer. Henry ducked between ice sculptures and edible arrangements to maintain her attention. “You’re going to dance with the prince, fall in love, and then you don’t have to be with your evil stepmother anymore! Don’t you want that?”

Cinderella met him at the end of the table. “You think I came here to..what… seduce the prince? Like some maiden of the night, and exploit the new position to improve my own station? Is that how highly you think of me?”

“No, not like that… the Prince will fall in love with you and take you away from-”

Cinderella narrowed her eyes and set her plate and goblet down. “So the key to my ‘happy ending’ is some man who will rescue me; is that how feeble and degenerate I am?”

Henry felt like he had been slapped. How was this getting so out of control? “Just, let me phrase that better-”

“I’ll have you know that I came here for the decadence that I’ve only read about, dreamed about; to create a shiny memory for those nights when I feel especially alone.” She turned away, bringing about a finality to the conversation, but then she spun back around at him with the whoosh of her skirt. “And before our little incident in the woods, I was on my way to this ball. No one was holding me back!”

Henry took the scolding before braving a response. “Then why don’t you just leave them? You’re family… they’re horrible.” He stepped towards her, eyes intensely on her. “If you’re not waiting for someone to take you away…why wouldn’t you walk away yourself?”

She met his gaze levelly and delivered a soft response. “Because they’re the only family I have. And I promised father, for better or worse, that I would watch after them. To be kind…and have faith: because love will endure.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. So he didn’t say anything. Instead he picked up her plate and goblet and nodded for her to follow him over to a resting couch along the wall by an alcoved fountain. She ate in silence for a bit, offered Henry anything from her plate… which he accepted, since he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything decent. The food was divine. After he accepted a sip of her wine, he made small talk with her about the beauty of the room. She talked about the silly fashions of some of the courtiers. They both witnessed some drunken maidens faceplate into a nude statue.

Eventually Cinderella found herself watching the Prince; her supposed salvation, according to Henry. She blushed to see that sometimes his blue gaze met her dark eyes, and he would smile. Her couch buddy noticed the exchanges. He should have felt good; maybe he could get the story back on track…but to do so would negate the strength of character and dignity that his date had shown earlier.

He reluctantly followed his author’s instinct. “You could dance with him. Once. If there’s something there…” he trailed off and Cinderella gave him a look. He tilted his head. “One dance. One dance isn’t going to kill you.”

She looked down into her goblet. “I can’t dance.”

“…I’m sorry: what?”

“I can’t… just forget it. I’m not dancing with the prince.”

“But that’s… that’s the ENTIRE story! You go to the ball, you DANCE, and you fall in love!” Henry couldn’t believe this.

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint your expectations!” Cinderella defended herself, but then she sighed. She didn’t want to fight anymore. “Father never showed me the proper way. I’d stand on his boots and he’d take me around…” She smiled briefly at the memory. “…But he died before I was old enough for lessons. And then…step mother…”

Henry felt like an ass. He immediately took the goblet from her surprised hands and set it aside. He stood up, straightening himself out and then offered her his hand.

“What are you doing?” She asked, eyeing him up and down.

“I’m going to make this night a little more ‘shiny’ for you. Come on.”

She timidly rose and accepted his hand, following him to the dance floor of twirling gowns. As people parted for them, eyes lingered on her. Her legs felt wobbly, and she curled her toes so that those darn slippers would stay on… but as Henry took hold of her hand, and waist, and brought her closer against him…all her hesitation melted away like snow under a morning sun.

“Everyone seems to be looking at you. Can’t take their eyes off of you…” Henry observed, breaking the silence.

“I believe it’s the supernatural apparel that’s catching their fancy.” Cinderella mused.

Henry was silent for a moment. “It’s not the dress. Trust me.”

She blushed.

It helped that he led, but he also guided her, catching her gently by arm, shoulder, or waist when she moved out of time or in the wrong direction. Eventually she got the rhythm and flow.

“You are a wonderful dancer!” Cinderella complimented her partner, feeling a rush of exhilaration from all the movement. “This isn’t your first ball.” Another turn and spin. “Are you sure you’re not a prince?” She smirked.

“Nah…” Henry chuckled, taking her hand. “Although… my mother is technically a princess…”

“What??”

“Ex-princess…lost princess…” Henry scowled at himself. “It’s a long story.”

“Sounds like a fascinating tale!”

“Let’s focus on yours, Cindy.”

She opened and extended her person like she was a flower in water, and Henry was the breeze that directed her path. He gave her a look and nodded towards other dancers lifting their dainty partners in the air. Cinderella gave him an ecstatic nod and placed  her hands on his shoulders as he easily hoisted her up into the air and twirled with her. She let out a laugh and he lowered her, slow and easy.

As she passed down him, her sparkling eyes locked with his, and he held her level with gaze for a fraction more of a second than he should have. The two of them felt magically pulled towards one other.

CLOMP!

Cinderella looked down and let out an exasperated laugh. Henry finally lowered her, but he dropped to his knee to retrieve the fallen glass slipper. She assisted him by lifting up her skirts slightly so he could slip on the shoe.

Henry hadn’t thought anything of it, until he realized that his posture and hers called to mind an illustration he had seen before: he was stealing the Prince’s true love. He looked up at her, conflicted. She couldn’t read his expression.

“Henry… what is wrong, Henry?”

Henry practically jumped when the grand clock above the stairway began its chiming of the 12th hour. Midnight. He gave her a sharp look.

“Midnight! We’re out of time…” He swore.

“What do you mean? What happens at midnight?” she asked.

“What do you mean ‘what happens at midnight’?? The enchantment ends. You will be a scullery maid once again.”

“But… I am a scullery maid. Is… is that a problem?” She looked worried about his answer.

“No! No of course not… but your dress will return to rags-”

Cinderella looked confused. She gently took Henry by the face. “Henry… my dress is mine. And I have two more. One gold; one silver. They were a gift, from the weeping willow that grows upon my mother’s grave. As are the slippers.” She didn’t know why she was telling him all this. She owed no explanation, nor anything as personal as the weeping willow that contained her mother’s spirit. “I don’t know how…but they appeared on the branches after I wished… so hard…”

Henry’s mind reeled. Of course; this was a different version of Cinderella! And he had been playing it out like the version he had known all his life! But there were more, countless more, with different details.

“The prince is gone…” he murmured, frantically searching for that annoyingly beefy towhead.

“Retired to his chambers, most likely.” Cinderella was beginning to feel very concerned for Henry. “It doesn’t matter. Love doesn’t happen at first sight…”

Henry’s face turned back to hers. She didn’t have any idea of the power of true love and the happiness it brings. She was content with one lovely memory with a stranger.

But she deserved so much more.

His calloused hands slid up and over hers, which still cupped his face. He looked devastated.

“…I think I may have ruined your life, Cindy.”

He was talking nonsense, she knew this, but he believed in what he was saying. To such a torturing degree that it broke her heart for him. That he would agonize over her happiness. She let her hands fall to her sides.

“Than correct it by the next ball, Henry Mills.” She replied.

Henry’s eyes regained some of their vigor. He looked up at her, perplexed. “Next ball?”

“There are two more balls after this one. Or were you not aware?”

***

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

SCOTTISH WHISKY

Filip “Chibs” Telford x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford ✨

Author comments: You know, another dirty dream. I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @minnicelli ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“Do you know where is Oswald's warehouse?”

“Yes”.

“Bring the crane”.

That's enough information from Jax, before he hangs up the call. You don't ask. You only take the orders and you execute them. Zipping the jacket of Teller-Morrow and wearing the black sunglasses, you walk towards the big van to check for the direction in your phone. Following the navigator indications by some secondary roads, it takes you almost twenty minute to reach the property. For some reason, you don't get surprised when finding the motorbikes practically destroyed, the guys try to stand them up dragging them close to the crane.

Stepping out of it, you raise an eyebrow somewhat curious, pressing the button in the remote control to lift down the ramp. Their faces are torn between frustration and anger. Pursuing your lips, you look at the president rubbing his face with both hands.

“Who is that beautiful lady?” A strong irish accent makes you twist your neck slightly.

You didn't repair on the four unknown men presents there. You know Romero and Luis. You have seen them sometimes at the club. But not the others.

“I'm talking to you, lady”. The man says again.

Jax is looking at you pleading with his blue eyes to not reply. But that suited man seems like the problem there, and who gave you more work than you can handle having to fix their motorbikes. Or, at least, having to try it. The crew is behind you, knowing well that they're going to enjoy your protective and savage mood because of them. Jackson took you out of the streets. Jackson gave you a home, a family. Jackson saved your life without asking him to do it. No one fucks with him in your presence.

With a soft and falsely smile, you walk close to the irish. The president tries to stop you, by raising an arm on air. Holding his hand for an instant, you nod at him, letting him know that it's okay for you, before continuing your steps. Shorting the distance. Your hands travels to the lapels of his black jacket, seeing sideways how his men point at you, waiting for a false step to shoot you. But the irish one not even flinches, touring your body from top to bottom with his dirty orbs.

“If I would… want to drink a good whisky…” Your voice is melodious and sweet, putting on well the tie around his pale neck. “I would drink an old scottish aged in Jerez's barrels. Not a whisky mixed in the bathtub from a basement”.

You can hear the chuckles behind your back. Are you making a reference about Chibs? Maybe. That man drives you crazy. He's intelligent, has a good aim and his accent is insane for your mind. Even so, you're not into the irish game.

“Do you know I could cut your throat right now, and that your… friends couldn't do anything to avoid it?” He says slowly, dragging every word above his tongue.

“I'm just a mechanic, sir, who cares?”. Palming his chest, you pull your body some inches away. “But, you have already made a fool of yourself, don't you think make it twice it would be too much?”

Actually, you don't give a shit about him, nor about what he can do. He's not going to scare you. Turning over your sneakers on, you come back to Jax position.

“I'll see what can I save of the bikes, boss”.

“Thank you”. His smile is sincere, full of pride because of you.

“I know those magic hands can do miracles”. Tig says placing a hand on your shoulders while Happy is opening you the crane door.

“I appreciate the faith you have in me”. You joke on him, sitting on your seat. “See you at the club, guys”.

Chibs is looking at you, supporting his body against Jax, having a drag of a cigar. You know how much he loves his Harley, supervising every fix up you have had to do. Without no words, Happy close the door narrowing your hand, before drive out of Oswald's property.

“I think the girl has pretty clear what she wants, brother”. Jax palms Chibs back, earning Tig, Happy and Bobby's laughs.

“Scottish whisky”. Happy says with a singing voice.

“Now you don' have any doubts, man”. Bobby tease him, while the other chuckles.

“Lass!” A rough voice claims for your attention, giving you some chills and almost drowning with your own saliva.

Even if Jax smiled when you talked to the unknown irish, sounds like Chibs disagrees. Standing up from the floor, you turn at him hiding your tremble hands behind your back. He's walking towards you with firm steps and somewhat like an angry look. Facing you, he licks his incisors with a nod.

“Walk”. Pointing with a forefinger the clubhouse, you raise up your worries eyes to Jax. He's too serious too, and you're sure he's not going to say anything in you defense.

You obey. You fucked up what they gave you for a misplaced comment by your pretty mouth, which can't stand being closed. Moving your feet over the asphalt and your hands kept inside the pocket of your jacket, you follow the way into the empty club.

“Samcro meeting-room”. He just say, stopping his steps close to the main door. Again, you keep yourself in silence, nodding a little scared swallowing.

Probably they're going to kick you out from there and Chibs is in charge of letting you know because, maybe, he's european and has a direct connection with the irish. Resting your waist against the big wooden table with the grim reaper carved on, you wait impatiently moving a leg in a nervous gesture. The blind covers the window to the clubhouse, so you don't know what's happening, until Chibs opens the door carrying a bottle of whisky and a short glass, specifically for that kind of drink. Closing again the door behind his back, he places the glass to serve it before offering you. Showing him a confused look, you hold it with your right hand.

“Drink”.

For a moment you think it's poisoned, but that doesn't have any sense. Obeying again, you have a sip feeling how the liquid rips your throat, noticing every nuance in. Above all, the aged flavor that wood gives it.

“Tha' is how a good wheske' tastes”. He says taking it off from your fingers and leaving it somewhat away on the table. “And now, 'em gonna shew'ya how a good old scottesh' wheske' tastes”.

All your doubts disappear when the man crashes his lips against yours. You weren't expecting it, but definitely, whisky tastes better in his tongue. The kiss is more needy than you want to show him, nailing your fingers on the back of his head to pushing him closer while his arms get tangled in your waist. You can hardly breathe, but this doesn't look like a problem when he guides you blinded to the sofa, forcing you to sit on his lap. The heat running under your clothes when he urges your waist to move over the lump on his tight jeans.

Biting your lower lip, one of his hands covered by the leather gloves toures your nipples over your shirt, squeezing it and making you gasp. Chibs seems like he knows pretty well your body, as if he studied it before, one of the many times you've caught him looking at you. His hand going down your stomach gives you some delighted chills, while your tongues keep fighting anxious, sneaking it under your sweatpants and your panties. And before you can do any move, Chibs thrusts hard his middle finger inside you, screaming out loud his name on his mouth. The scottish chuckles licking your lips, feeling how the big golden ring below the leather press your narrowness with delicious pounds. Tangling your fingers on his jacket, you let him do with you whatever he wants, enjoying every moan that comes out from your throat.

“Ya like't?” He asks with shaky breath and a scratchy voice that turns you a little more heated.

“Yeah…” You mutter looking for his eyes, bouncing on his hand needing for more contact.

“Do ya wan' me ti fuc' ya?” He asks, sliding a second finger into you with a hard push hiting your g-spot.

“Please… Please”. You beg then, nodding as you can.

“Tonig'”. He just say, knowing how much it teases you making you sob for a second. “Enjoe' my hand, lass”.

His fingers pound you faster, nailing both hands on the back of his head, while he's drinking every gesture you draw on your face under his mercy. He's dominant by nature, like an alpha, but he could never imagine that dominate you would be his favorite thing, making you squeeze under his fury and sexually caresses. A third finger being slide inside your wetness forces you to scream because of the pleasure. Two big rings pressing your tightness, with the leather provoking a friction that burns your skin in a good way.

“Don't stop, please, Chibs…”

“Beg fo' cum, princess”. He demands.

“C'mon… please… fuck, your hand feels so good”. You cry noisily touching his nose with yours. “Fuck… let me cum, please… I need it. Fuck! It… It feels so fuckin' good, holy shit”.

“Good girl, ya have my permission”. He says after some seconds watching your pleading face, whilst your lower lip.

“Thank you, daddy”. You whisper right on his mouth, after containing yourself for a while.

Your body can't handle anymore his hand fucking you so hard, making tremble your legs as he nails his free fingers on your throat to support your body, in the moment you're about to fall when the ecstasy finds your body hitting it with heat and pleasure.

“Fuck, Filip!” You moan as loudly as your voice lets you.

But he doesn't stop, with the wetted sound the leader makes every time it thrusts your pussy flooding the room, so naughty and dirty that you forget for a second the soft stinging the glove makes you feel.

“Tonig' 'em gonna fuck ya harder”.

“Yes, please…” You beg for it, really needed.

His fingers go slow, moving his hand calmly, until he pulls it out to direct it to his mouth licking it before look for your mouth. Your cum, the taste of whisky on your tongue, the taste of beer on his, all getting mixed with your saliva in a dearly and gently kiss.

“Wei' fo' me tonig' here. Alrai', princess?”

“Yes”. You just say, trying to fill your lungs with some air.

[evilmonkeybum]

Forty Four Facts About Me

1) I'll be 38 years old in June.

2) I've been with the love of my life for almost 9 years and been engaged for almost 8 years.

3) I'm scared of mannequins and dolls.

4) I own 4 Bibles, one was my grandads and he got it in World War 2.

5) I have an original news paper from July 1969 about mans first landing on the moon.

6) I know all the words to every song in grease 2.

7) I'm obsessed with William Shakespeare.

8) I have two take 30 pills a day to cope with my pain.

9) I've moved home 13 time in my life

10) I was born in a small town called Wegberg in Germany.

11) I've owned 8 cars and 2 motorbikes.

12) We name all our Guinea Pigs after Formula 1 drivers, Fernando, Jenson, Niki, Nelson, Eddie, Ralf and Nigel.

13) I love to sing and dance when no one is watching.

14) I'm a sucker for chick flicks and romantic comedies.

15) I cannot play horror games but love horror movies.

16) I've been a geek and gamer my entire life.

17) I've got roughly 33 tattoos but is hard to remember.

18) I love listening too country music.

19) I love American culture and I wouldn't want to live there.

20) My favourite city in the world is Prague, Czech Republic.

22) Growing up I had a Labrador cross called Mitzi and I miss her so so much.

23) I've got a vintage Anaheim Mighty Ducks jersey from 1997.

24) I once fell in a creek as a kid and my friends mother laundered my clothes so I wouldn't get in trouble.

25) The first time I got drunk I saw the starship enterprise fly across the sky.

26) While drunk I once had a two hour conversation with a lamp post.

27) While drunk I pissed my pants and then tried chatting a girl up.

28) I used to be an amateur stage actor and DJ.

29) My first ever time on stage, as an adult, was as the Genie of the Lamp in Aladdin, Christmas 2008.

30) In 2009 I met Sir Ian McKellen.

31) I once went on a trip to Loch Ness, on my own and had the best time hanging out with some American backpackers.

32) I have two best friends that I consider my brother and sister, Rob and Andrea.

33) I have 7 nieces and two nephews.

34) I would put my own life on the line if it meant saving any one of my family.

35) I often act as the "grandad" to my group of friends because, most of them come to me for advice and support.

36) In my life I've worked longer in voluntary work than paid work.

37) I'm a Baptist but I was raised Church of England.

38) I support the New England Patriots (x6 Superbowl wins, Rob!).

39) I have more clothes and shoes than my fiancée.

40) I have more "toys" than most children but I call them collectables.

41) I used to really enjoy drawing but I can't anymore with my hands being so shakey and painful.

42) In real life I'm not a material person, (cos I'm a broke ass white boy lol) however, in video games I cannot get enough new and cool things.

43) If I could sit in the Millennium Falcon, I could die a happy man.

44) I have terrible OCD, all my things have to be a certain way and done in a certain way.

I hope this Forty Four Facts About Me has been entertaining and that it's enlightened you. I hope you feel a little closer to me and to my writing now.

Please feel free to suggest any topics or ideas you want me to write about...

I'm open to writing about almost anything, that being said, no Laura I'm not going too write about anal or penises you wonderfully silly weird girl lol.

Peace out

- Evil Monkey Bum

[soldierwinterthe]

The Raid

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1825

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

A/N: Okay, first thing: I hate Mary Winchester. I don’t hate her for having collaborated with the English Men of Letters (okay, a little bit for that, too), but I hate her because she has lied to his own sons! Mary, you're not only a mother, but that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want without even thinking your kids.

Feedback is always appreciated.

Mary has lied; all this time, Sam and Dean thought that she needed to 'adapt' to her new/old life. Instead, she was collaborating with the British Letters Men. And I don't understand; one of them tried to kill Sam, tortured him. How she was able to look at the faces of those men, not thinking about what they did? How did she look her children in the eyes while she was lying? A hunter is dead, Cas is almost dead; and she did nothing.

Sam and Dean... they don't deserve this.

In the main hall hovers the silence; Dean and Mary are fixed in the eyes. What said the biggest of the Winchester brothers must have struck deep inside Mary.

Mary; that's how Dean called her.

No mom, but Mary.

It must have been like a bullet in the stomach, those words. For Mary, and for Dean.

Dean breaks eye contact with the mother, and without another word, he leaves. I look before Sam, who nods at me; I know what he is thinking.

Go to him, I manage.

I would also like to comfort him; Mary has also hurt Sam, especially him. It's him that the Letters Men tortured almost to death. I can't imagine what he's feeling.

I look out of the corner of one's eye Mary to try to go from Dean, but I raise a hand to her, and I stopped her. I don't think it's a good idea; this would complicate things even more.

"Y/n, let me go."

I don't say anything, and I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for her to leave. But she didn't give up, and tries to overstep me.

"He’s my son."

I laugh sarcastically. Meanwhile, I also try to keep calm; I don't want Dean and Sam hates me too, for beating their mother. I approach menacingly Mary, looking at her straight in the eye.

"Now you remember that he's your son. The one you call son has suffered, along with his brother for years. His mother had died horribly, and he had to raise his younger brother, alone. Then they both had the extraordinary opportunity to have you back; you should've heard how Dean spoke well of you.  How you were a sweet woman, gentle, and strong. And I was happy for him and Sam, 'cause you were back here with them. But right now, Mary, I regret to have been happy with your return."

Mary is speechless, I can't even look at me or Sam's eyes. Me and him, we exchange a look of understanding, then I leave the main hall, to go looking for Dean.

I know exactly where he is 'hidden'; our room is like a refuge where lock up all the feelings that we don't want to express the outside. And Dean did well to turn in on himself.

As I expected, when I open the door of the bedroom, he is there, sitting on the floor, his back to the bed.

I don't know what to say right now, and I think Dean even listen to my words. The only thing I do is get close to him, in silence; he turns to me, and his eyes speak for themselves. At this time he can't help but hate her mother, and I understand that. Perhaps even I would hate my mother, if she did it to me something like that.

I kneel beside Dean, and wrapping my arms around his neck, I sit astride on him. I draw him as much as possible to me; I try to convey all the affection, the respect, the love that I feel for him.

Dean and I remain in this position for quite a while; We don't need words, no more. Me and him, we're engaged for so many years, that everyone can understand what the other is thinking, even with a small gesture.

I caress the Dean's neck, and I press gently my lips on his lips. There is no rush in the kiss, or rough, or desire. It's just a gentle, chaste kiss.

"Do you want to lay down on the bed with me? We close our eyes, we rest a bit. I think you need it."

Dean nods, and in silence, we get up from the ground, to lie on our bed. We are face to face, our noses touching; he approaches me, and hides his face in the crook of my neck. I attract him back to me, I feel his tears wet my skin; I caress his back, to comfort him, and after a while, I hear his breathing calm. He's asleep; even I slowly close my eyes, to fall into a deep sleep.

When I wake up, Dean is not beside me. I get up from the bed, and I go to the library. There is no one, except a Sam ticket, where he says he went out. Maybe I know where he's gone...

"Sammy! Y/n!"

I jump when I hear Dean's voice behind me. He comes over to me and kissed me. I warn him that Sam is not there, and nodding, he goes to the cabinet where there are bottles of whiskey.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"I look for something to drink."

I roll my eyes; I know he has just returned from the round of drinks he usually does, when he's... sad. And I feel the smell of alcohol from his breath.

"Again?" I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Dean looks at me, but didn't have time to respond. Someone knocks on a sudden of the bunker door. Dean walks up the stairs, and he and I remain surprised to find him in front of us. It's Mr. Ketch, one of the British Letters Men. Earlier, Dean is uncertain whether to do it or not to enter him, but when Ketch pulls out a bottle of Scotch from behind his back, well, how can Dean resist it?

"What are you thinking?"

Dean brings me back to reality, as the wind hit my face.

What am I thinking? At how he became stunned from that idiot Ketch. The man managed to convince him to get into the car, and to follow him into a vampire hunting. Not until I called my boyfriend 'serial killer'.

I know that Dean can’t resist when there are vampires to kill, so I avoided saying to him that I do not agree on what we are going to do.

"Y/n, they are just vampires."

"I'm not worried about them."

Dean runs a hand off the wheel, and tightens mine. He approached my hand to his lips, and he kisses it.

"Just because we're going to kill vampires with an idiot English it doesn’t mean that I trust them."

"What if it's a trap?"

Dean smiles, and looking from the road, then at me, tightens my hand in his.

"I’m lucky, then, to have you to protect me."

"This place is empty." I say, after inspecting the hotel, where, according Ketch, there had to be the nest of vampires.

"I found one."

Mr. Ketch approaches me and Dean, with a girl; he pushes her toward us, and she falls to the ground. The Englishman asks the woman where are the other vampires, but she refuses to tell. I open wide my eyes when I see Ketch hit with a punch the woman straight in her face; he continues to hit her, again and again, but the girl doesn't speak.

"Okay, that's enough!"

I get close to Ketch and push him away from the woman, while Dean approaches her and tries to get her to talk with a different method.

"What's up? It's a vampire!" says Ketch enraged, looking at me, and then Dean.

"Yes, it is, but it's also a person."

Ketch laughs, and I try to stop myself from beating him. Suddenly, even I laugh, but it's just a way to calm down.

"Did you understand now?" I ask to the Englishman.

"What?"

"The difference between us hunters, and you stupid British. The reason why we don't want to cooperate with you. The truth is... we have a heart. We are hunters, but we know when we need to stop us. You said that Dean is a serial killer, like you. But you don't know anything about him. And you'll never know."

Dean approaches me and Ketch, as we continue to stare at us.

"We have a problem."

I look away from the Englishman and I ask Dean what's going on.

"Vampires have gone hunting."

"About what?"

"Hunters."

The Impala hurtles faster on the road, while Dean follows the Ketch's motorbike; we are head to the operational base of the British Letters Men. As told the vampire, her peers have rebelled, and they have decided to fight back.

"What you said to Ketch..."

"It's the truth."

"Yes, but..."

"No Dean. You want to know what I think about this morning? I hate those fucking English. I hate them from the first moment, for what they did to Sam, for what they did to our family. And I hate the fact that they have managed to convince Mary to work with them."

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. I sigh; Mary will also lied to Sam and Dean, but she's their mom, and those assholes of the British must have told her something to convince her.

"Do you think they have convinced her in some way?"

I raise my hands to the sky, exasperated. I believe I'm about to explode.

"It's the same thing that Ketch did with you! You are so angry with your mother, that doesn't realize that you just went hunting with an Englishman. A fucking British Letters Man!"

"Yes, but..."

"Please Dean. I... I don't want to listen to you, or your mother, or an asshole British. So, shut up, and lets save your mother."

I take a deep breath, and relax in the Impala's seat. I know, probably Dean knows I'm right, but he's stubborn, so he would never admit it. Mary was wrong, but she's his mother, and she's part of the family. I just hope that she don't beat me up when I see her.

Suddenly, Dean slows, and stops the car on the roadside.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing? We have to move!"

Dean slings on my lips, and kisses me. I know that we must act quickly, but I don’t care, I attract him closer to me, and I return the kiss.

We bounce both Dean and I, when we hear Ketch honk.

I pretend not to hear, and I look Dean in the eye.

"You’re an idiot. Now move your ass, and starts the car."

Pulling himself together, he turns on the car and set out. Dean smiles, and looks at me, and then concentrate on the road.

"And you're awesome. Now, lets save my mom."

Tag: @hotwinchester - @doro7winchester - @iamthenewthor - @deadinside-muser

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