Yuuri has an innocuous notebook that spends its life on one of the overfull bookshelves in his and Viktor’s living room and it used to be a place to write down notes to himself but somewhere along the way it became dominated by the “Things my Husband Has Cried About” list.
A sampling of the Things Viktor Has Cried About:
The puppy crawled into his lap by herself
Yuuri oiled the hinges on the bathroom door, which has been squeaking since Viktor moved in
The corner store was out of red caviar
Makkachin and the puppy sleeping in the same dog bed together
Yuuri told him that chartreuse is an ugly color
Yuuri accidentally reciting his vows in his sleep
The snoring noises that Makkachin makes when he’s under the blankets
Anya and Dmitri’s kiss at the end of Anastasia
The way Yuuri’s belly looks in a crop top
Every dog that has ever died in any movie, ever
He was very drunk and couldn’t get his shoe off, and kept telling Yuuri that he didn’t want the doctors to have to cut it off.
Yuuri removing his shoe for him.
Yuuri’s mom including him in the care packages she sends
The first time Mari called him her brother-in-law
They discontinued his favorite Starbucks drink
The puppy’s nose leaves a heart-shaped print when it’s wet
The sound Yuuri makes when he’s sleeping and his nose is stuffed up
Yuuri let him paint his toenails for him
Someone told him that he was listed under ‘Family’ in Yakov’s contacts
He was sick and his soup was too hot
Watching Yuuri do calf stretches
The day he realized he’d been too happy to cry lately–and started crying
He came home and Yuuri was asleep on the couch wearing his jacket and hugging his pillow
When Yuuri held his hand in public for the first time
Headcanons for losers club meeting in group therapy.
I took this a bit further than I meant to, I hope you like it though because I love addressing mental health
(I based it off my own experiences and knowledge so I’m so so sorry if anything is not accurate)
- They all have the same therapist (she’s called Jackie) but they’ve never met each other
- she takes them all for different things
- Bill has depression from loosing his brother (‘n-n-not dead…j-j-just m-m-missing) and anger issues from getting frustrated with his stutter
- Beverly has depression and PTSD from her father and addiction to smoking
- Ben has social anxiety and topophobia from moving so much and getting bullied
- Mike has insomnia and PTSD from his parents death and having to work on the farm
- Richie has ADHD, bipolar disorder and addiction to smoking just from genetics and how his parents treat him
- Stan has chronic OCD and anxiety from his father being a perfectionist
- Eddie has chronic Mysophobia , anxiety and is the worst hypochondriac she’s ever seen
- She has problems with all of them being closed off for some reason
- Bill doesn’t like talking because when he tries to talk about loosing his brother his stutter gets worse, then he gets frustrated and gets overwhelmed
- Beverly just can’t bring herself to talk about it, talking about her dad sets off her PTSD and she gets super defensive about her smoking
- Ben is actually quite intimidated by Jackie, he knows deep down that she wants to help but can’t help but feel like he’s just putting his problems on someone else’s shoulders
- Mike is the easiest one to open up, he needs to know that someone is there and supporting him but at the same time he can’t talk about his parents without tearing up
- Richie talks about everything that isn’t his problems and wastes their hour pretty much every time, although some days he comes in and pours his little heart out
- Stan has told himself if he lets people know about his problems and says them out loud then it’ll make it all worse
- Eddies the only one who’ll willingly talk about what’s happening although he’s insecure about telling her incase she thinks he’s stupid
- so basically, she has a hard time with all of them but she still wants to help them all so bad
- So she proposes to her team leader that she should have an extra session with them once a week where they’re all together
- once she gets the all clear, she tells them about it
- They all agree sounded slightly worried and unwilling, other than Richie who was having a fantastic day and is ready to meet his new fucking friends
- the first session was…interesting to say the least
- Jackie set the chairs in a circle
- the first to arrive was Stan, he always needed to be early no matter what incase he missed something and took the seat next to Jackie
- Eddie was the second to arrive, he took the seat on the other side of her
- As a therapist, this warmed her heart as she knew they did that to feel safer
- She introduced them and got them talking about why bedrooms should be kept tidy, needless to say they become friends right away
- Bill was the third to arrive, he had gotten the wrong room at first and was kinda upset
- he walked in whispering the paragraph that helped his stutter, looking down
- He didn’t look up until he was sitting down at the furthest seat from Jackie in the circle
- She started to introduce them but he honestly wasn’t listening, he was too busy staring at the cute boy with curly hair in front of him
- Stan catches him staring but that doesn’t stop him, he just watches as Stan’s cheeks redden
- next to arrive is Ben and Mike, they weren’t really friends yet but they helped each other find the room
- And finally, Bev and Richie walked in taking as if they had been friends for years (slightly late)
- apparently Richie’s lighter had given up on him so Bev offered hers up, they became friends pretty quickly
- Ben is awestruck by Bev
- They both sat in the remaining two seats left
- As soon as Richie sat down he noticed the small boy next to Jackie and ended up doing the exact thing Bill did with Stan
- Jackie goes around the circle, asking everyone to introduce themselves and their problem and also say how they’re feeling today
- When it comes to Richie, he’s still looking at Eddie
- ‘I’m Richie, I have ADHD and I’m so fucking gay right now’
- Everyone (including Jackie) laughs, they like Richie already
- The session went okay, nothing too interesting happened and they just talked about stuff
- Jackie definitely noticed how they became more open as the hour passed by
- Although Richie spends most the time flirting with Eddie
- Stan leaves last, Bill waits for him by the front door and Stan swears he didn’t tear up a little
- Bill does this and walks Stan home after every session, after the sixth time they start holding hands
- Eddie eventually grows super fond of Richie so one day when said boy walks in and doesn’t talk or even really look up the whole hour, Eddie is pretty worried
- after the session, Jackie asks to talk to Richie privately and Eddie waits by the front of the building even though it’s raining
- Richie comes out after ten minutes, sniffling with red tearful eyes
- ‘Oh hey, Eddie spaghetti….isn’t your mom worried you’re not home yet?’
- 'I’m more concerned about you than my mom right now’
- Richie offers to walk Eddie home, giving Eddie his black denim jacket littered with patches somewhere along the way
- Richie also uses this time to explain his ADHD and bipolar disorder to Eddie
- 'Is there any chance I could get my jacket back? I’ll probably stay out for a bit’
- 'Sure…why are you staying out if it’s raining?’
- 'Just, parents and stuff yanno’
- with that, Eddie demands Richie stay over until his mum comes back or the rain stops
- Ben starts writing little notes and poems which he puts on Bev’s seat before every session and are signed anonymously
- Bev thinks it’s Bill at first but she sees Stan and Bill holding hands on the way home so she crosses him off the list
- one day, whilst she’s out smoking to get away from her dad she bumps into Richie
- she decides he’s a good smoking buddy and they become close, sneaking out pretty much every night to smoke together
- Richie saw Ben putting a note on Bev’s seat one day and honestly he just can’t keep it to himself
- 'Why don’t you ask Ben if he’s your secret admirer?’
- 'I might just do that’
- She leaves a note on his seat one day, with her number and the words 'my heart burns there too’
- To say Jackie is pleased with them and her decision to make their group is an understatement
(All info is culled directly from in-game references; gif was made by me - if you want to use it in something else, please ask &/or give me credit. Thanks so much! <3)
~ Background Canon ~
Seems to have little/no respect for people who sleep around and/or put sex before other, more important things
Was (possibly) in the Army
Has a Boston Terrier named Betsy (likes to pretend she’s a pit bull)
Likes to tell elaborate (and sometimes graphic) stories. (Are they true? No one but Robert knows.)
Knows how to fake people out (i.e. good poker face?)
Sends texts/messages like a teenager
Believes hitting a child would be despicable
Insists on watching movie credits to the VERY end
Has a daughter named Val who lives in Brooklyn; she works for some ‘news media online magazine thing’ and makes a lot of money doing it.
He’s unsure of Val’s age, but thinks it’s maybe 25 or 26
He refers to Brooklyn as ‘home’ (…so what does that make Maple Bay?)
Carries a fully-stocked first aid kit in his truck
Has an unconventional sense of humor
Has a tendency to say exactly what he means…and then pretend like he didn’t mean it
Not the most talkative of people, generally speaking
Thinks River has an ‘old soul’
His wife’s name was Marilyn; she died in an ‘accident’.
He has a ‘long, wicked scar across his pecs’ (supposedly from a bike accident with Val)
Has a tattoo on his left hand, shaped a little like a compass rose
The mention of cannibalism reminded him of the last time he went skiing. (Just another ‘story’?)
Claims his leather jacket has been in his family a long time, and that it’s ‘cursed’
Seems to have done a lot of thinking about killing someone. “It’s not just their life, you know. It’s their hopes and dreams draining away. Every memory and experience they’ve ever had…gone.”
This guy may not look it, but he’s smart! Knows who Hemingway is, has heard of capybaras, is a classic film buff, knows random Bible verses by heart…
Robert’s hands are calloused and covered in little white scars.
Got stabbed in Louisiana…or was it Kentucky…?
Isn’t a ‘sore loser’
Drives a VERY old red pickup truck.
House is filled with sleek, modern appliances; a big flat-screen TV; and shelves upon shelves of DVDs
~ Likes/Dislikes Canon ~
Has at least a mild interest in sports of some kind and a preferred team that he roots for
Likes Paranormal Ice Road Truckers, but isn’t a fan of TV in general
Likes war documentaries
Doesn’t like small talk
Doesn’t like being called Rob (…or Bobert) - ‘buddy’ seems to be okay?
Likes to go camping (but hasn’t been after what happened last time)
Digs old movies from the 30′s and 40s
Takes the creation of movies VERY seriously
Likes Tom Waits and Santana
Likes to whittle and is pretty good at it
Smokes like a chimney (if all the ashtrays in his house are any indication.)
Enjoys the Criterion Collection
~ Food/Drink Canon ~
Likes whiskey… A LOT - especially shots
When it comes to alcohol, rarely takes ‘no’ for an answer
Likes white zinfandel because it’s delicious, fruity, and refreshing
LOVES pineapple on his pizza
Thinks Jim and Kim’s is the best bar in town
Occasionally hangs out at The Coffee Spoon
~ Sex/Romance Canon ~
Talks dirty…very dirty
Enjoys leaving hickeys…lots of them
Rough enough in bed to leave a person feeling sore and ‘creaky’ afterwards
When his lover says ‘no’ or ‘stop’ he takes it seriously
Recognizes that he’s an emotional wreck/emotionally unavailable…and is honest about it
~ Memorable Quotes ~
“The key to being cool is acting like you don’t care about anything, but actually care very deeply about everything to the point where it’s debilitating.”
“Too many people think that they have to fill the dead air with noise. Personally I think they’re afraid of the silence. Or they’re afraid of what the other person is gonna think of the silence…learn to be comfortable with silence.”
“I respect your opinion. And I will fight with my life for your right to say it. But where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s your sense of taste? Why won’t you love yourself?”
“The juciness of the pineapple paired with the tanginess of the sauce is a flavor combination that everyone should experience at least once, if not a thousand times more. Pineapple on pizza is one of the few things in life that I genuinely and thoroughly enjoy. Please. Please just do this for me. No - do this for yourself.”
“That popcorn-ass drivel the mass media is shoving down your throat will only make you dumber and sadder. You of all people should strive for a higher standard in the art you consume.”
“Are you kidding me? I would never hit a child. That would be despicable.”
“This is my Thinking Bench. I have to get a solid two to three hours of brooding per day. Filling quotas…A lot of people underestimate the senses of a man who broods.”
“I’m so many levels of irony deep that I’ve forgotten what humor is.”
“I was so busy chasing after all of these things that I thought would make me happy that I didn’t think about anyone else. All I cared about was myself.”
“Maybe I’m just built like this. Or maybe I do it to myself. Maybe it’s my own choice I’m as unhappy as I am.”
“I’m working on my relationship with existence.”
“Long live the king, baby.”
“I spent my whole life only taking, and taking, and taking. And now here I am, an old, broken man sitting on top of a pile of everything I’ve ever taken. Alone.”
“I spent so much time chasing after things I thought were gonna make me happy that I ruined my only real chance at happiness.”
“You know, every day for me is a battle against my own self-destructive habits.”
Summary: Modern!AU You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.
The next day was peaceful and quiet. The calm before the
storm as Mary had said. You sat on the patio, cooking lunch with Bucky’s
grandmother while he was playing basketball with his cousin, Peter.
When his grandmother caught you staring at him, she gave you
a knowing wink and you ducked your head to hide your smile.
Winnie wanted to get to know you better and decided to take
all the girls to the beauty salon to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Of
course, Bucky whispered a stupid comment into your ear and you discreetly
pinched his side, making him yelp.
Summary: As a mild criminal, you make a bold move to pick-pocket a
suspicious looking stranger, but you may have picked the wrong target. (Bucky x
Request/Prompt(s): Can you do this “I kissed you as a
distraction while stealing your wallet” with Bucky x reader? Thanks!
Word Count: 1933
A/N: Ok first, I do not condone
theft. Second, I’m so glad someone picked this one!!! :D This was such a fun
“We’ve been here for over an hour!” you
whined, pacing the small empty room, dust particles swirling up into the
sunlight with each step. “When do we make the drop?”
I’m ready,” your partner hissed, clearly annoyed with your impatience, “We’re
the ones with the goods, they’ll wait and right now I’ve got a lurker that’s
been hanging around at the corner for too long.”
see.” You pushed your way to the window, picking up the heavy binoculars from
“Big guy. Army
green coat, and black hat, northeast corner.”
Summary: In which you go missing and it turns Eggsy’s world upside down.
Pairing: Eggsy x Reader
Word Count: 3,196
A/N: Well here it is, my first Eggsy fic. This is all thanks to @writingruna who, after learning that I was thinking about writing for Eggsy, sent me a bunch of requests to help motivate me to do it. It worked and here’s one of those requests.
The Kingsman never had a rule put in place about agents dating each other. At the time of the organization’s creation, they didn’t feel the need to. Becoming an agent meant making sacrifices. The unspoken assumption was that this meant giving up a chance at falling in love.
That assumption was made on the belief that falling in love with someone outside of Kingsman could only end badly. A relationship was meant to be built on the truth, and telling the truth was one of the many things an agent couldn’t afford to do. Secrecy was the most important aspect of the organization. There was also the fear that personal connections could become liabilities out in the field. What if an agent’s significant other was kidnapped and used as leverage by the enemy? Or worse, killed to exact revenge?
Love was complicated enough on its own. By adding a person’s status as a Kingsman into the mix, that equation suddenly became an unsolvable one.
summary : to put it simply, peter parker doesn’t like candy that much, but somehow he keeps finding himself at the same candy shop in manhattan, and it’s definitely not because of the cute worker always standing behind the counter at precisely four in the afternoon. definitely not.
wc : 1.6k
author’s note : if there’s typos my bad i don’t proofread i’m lazy
“The freckly dork with the sweet eyes is back.” It’s the first thing you hear when you walk into work that afternoon, four o’clock sharp as usual, fiddling with the strap of your apron with the shop name scrawled across the front in lovely cursive letters. You lift your gaze from the cash register toward the aisle you’ve noticed he wanders in most frequently- not that you’ve really been noticing the cute boy of course- and find him through the throng of people, though he’s quite easy to spot considering he’s shuffling awkwardly through stacks of chocolate whilst blatantly staring at you. You’re not sure he even realizes what he’s doing until you lift your hand in a tentative wave and his entire face pretty much glows pink as he smiles back nervously and he knocks into a display shelf.
“Poor kid is smitten,” your coworker sighs with a smirk plastered on her face as she unties her own apron and slips into the backroom to hang it up. “Does he even know your name? Do you know his?”
You wave her off dismissively. “My name is on my name tag, I’m sure he knows it. He never buys anything, anyway. He just… like, lingers here.” You shrug. “He’s cute so I let him stay.”
She throws her head back and lets out a laugh, returning her scrutinizing gaze back toward the boy with the precariously gelled hair who is hastily trying to restock the shelf he knocked over while simultaneously stumbling into another one. You wince at him, trying not to stare because god, he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen but he reminds you of a baby deer learning to walk for the first time in the clumsiest, messiest way imaginable. “He comes here to gawk at you, dumbass. His eyes never stray,” she places a hand mockingly on her heart as you roll your eyes toward her. You flash a jovial smile to a customer when they approach you to ring up their order before turning back to your friend.
“Should I talk to him?” You inquire, placing the money in the correct slots of the register. You glance back up at him as he holds his hands out in front of a chocolate, silently pleading with it to stay put so he stopped looking like an absolute moron in front of you. He looks back at you and this time waves back a little, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to appear cooler than he actually was. “I’m gonna talk to him.” You say, not waiting for your friend to divulge her own opinion on the matter.
She shrugs, slipping on her jean jacket and grabbing her purse. “You’ve always been a sucker for the dorky, in need of help, doe eyed type of guys.” You swat at her shoulder playfully but she dodges it, winking at you before walking around the counter and lightly patting the boy on the shoulder as she makes her grand departure. He looks around in confusion until he sees your friend gesturing toward you.
“Scotty, can you cover for me for just a sec?” You call, your face turning to the backroom of the store while Scott, your other coworker, emerges from it. He gives you a scowl, brown eyes narrowed, though you know its playful. To avoid song quite conceited, you don’t admit it often, but you’re pretty much everyone’s favorite employee. “Thanks babes.” He takes your place at the register, and despite the tattoos and nose ring he sports, his smile is practically contagious. He’s another favorite among the customers just because of how pleasant and charming he is.
Peter, though you don’t known his name just yet, watches as you exit your position at the register and hastily tries to make himself look busy standing in front of the same selection of candy that’s he been for fifteen minutes now. He picks up a chocolate bar, pretending to examine it as thoroughly as possible when you lean against the stand next to him. His palms feel sweaty. “I- I was gonna buy something eventually, you know, one of these days. I swear.” He practically shoves the Hershey’s bar in your face, but you lightly push his hand back. “I’m just- I’m, um, very, very indecisive.”
You laugh a little. “Um, it’s fine. That’s not even what I came over here for.” You scratch the back of your neck for a second, an anxious habit because suddenly, you’re pretty nervous standing in front of a sweetly awkward boy with possibly the nicest eyes you’ve ever seen and the cutest shy smile that he seems to be trying to maintain desperately.
“Oh.” He nods, heat crawling up his cheeks as he sidesteps out of your view. “I- I- I- um, sorry for blocking something, I probably am-”
“You’re not,” you assure him. Peter can feel his heart squeeze tightly when you take a step closer toward him, but your smile is the least intimidating thing he’s ever come across. It’s gentle. He appreciates the gentleness of it. “So, um, what’s your name?” It doesn’t come out as smooth as you would have liked it to, but Peter grins back at you like you’ve just asked him the greatest question in the universe.
“I’m Peter,” he replies, running a hand through his hair again in a way similar to your own nervous tick of rubbing the back of your neck. “Uh, Peter Parker, he repeats, not knowing if you wanted his last name or not.
Scott, across the room, cups his hands around his mouth and calls toward you, “Y/N, if you’re gonna flirt with that kid, at least reorganize the shelves, too!” You turn around to give Scott the finger. To be honest though, you’re also turning around to mask the embarrassment on your face.
Peter steps out of the way again so you can stand in front of the mess he had already created just a few minutes before. “I’m Y/N, in case you didn’t catch that.” Peter likes the little disconcerted expression you’re donning now. He’s glad that he’s not the only one flustered here, and in an odd way, it makes him feel a little more confident when talking to you, the same person he’s been trying to gather the courage to hold a conversation with for the two weeks.
“I knew that already,” he says. Then, realizing the odd way you’re looking at him suddenly, he continues, “because of, you know, the uh, name tag. Your name tag. It has your name on it. So, that’s how I know.” Another nervous smile flashed toward you.
“Oh, yeah,” you look down at it. You continue stacking the shelves in the proper manner. “You really did a number on these,” you wave your hand toward the shelves. “Tell me, how’d you manage to knock down two different shelves in under five minutes and put everything back in a way not even remotely close to the way they were before?”
He knows you mean it lightheartedly, but he still blushes even deeper than before. “Hey, at least I tried,” he answers defensively. “But, um, I don’t even really know. I think you made me nervous. You- you waved at me.” He glances down at his shoes, shuffling his feet again. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, he thinks to himself. He misses the beam you give him, secretly pleased with yourself for having that effect on him. It was flattering.
“I made you nervous?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he nods. “That’s cute, Peter. I’m not much to get nervous over, though. Trust me.” You turn your back on the display shelf just in time for Peter to shake his head at you.
“I’ve been coming in here for two weeks now, and I haven’t bought anything because I’m too nervous to go up to the register and talk to you. So yeah, you are. Something to get nervous over, I mean.” You knew what he meant, but he had a habit of over-explaining every little detail that you found endearing, so you let him talk. “Is that weird? Am I weird?”
“Nah.” You reach out to squeeze his hand for literally a millisecond, which irritates him to no end because he kind of wants you to hold on for longer. “Like I said before, it’s kind of cute. You’re a cute kid.”
Puffing out his chest a little, he says, “Well, I wouldn’t really call myself a kid, I am fifteen so…” Oddly enough, it’s that comment alone that makes you sort of fall in love with him in that moment, and the way he so terribly wants to impress you. There’s no way to describe him other than ridiculously sweet, which is ironic considering you’re standing in a candy shop when he admits that you’re the prettiest person he’s ever laid his eyes on and when he asks for your number, you don’t hesitate to give it to him.
It’s the first time he buys something from the store, and he walks out with a stupidly happy grin on his face and approaches Ned with a new bounce in his step. He’s been standing out there for a half hour and patience that was diminishing faster and faster. As they’re walking back to the train so they can go home, Ned eyes Peter as he bites into a chocolate bar. “Peter, you literally hate chocolate, what are you doing?”
Peter shrugs, taking another piece off. “This chocolate bar scored me a date and the number of the cutest worker in that store. I’m gonna learn to love it.”
“The worker you’ve been stalking for the past two weeks?”
“It wasn’t stalking, Ned!”
Ned gives Peter an unconvincing nod, but truthfully, he’s glad to see his best friend so excited over someone. It’s been awhile since Liz, and Ned knows Peter deserves to be happy. And boy, is Peter ever so happy, even while he’s eating chocolate that he hasn’t liked since he was seven.
Jimin’s the CEO of some big corporation, grown and passed down to him by his father, and Jungkook is the super hot repairman that everyone thirsts after.
Oh, yeah, and his husband.
Everyday they come to work together, early enough that no one sees Jungkook get out of the driver seat of a black Rolls Royce Phantom. No one even knows that they’re together, all they know is that they’re both extremely attractive and happen to wear wedding rings. Apparently, no one has noticed that their rings are matching. Or the fact that things happen to mysteriously “break” in the CEO’s office every. single. day.
Jungkook doesn’t mind his job. Really, he doesn’t. And Jimin’s offered to get him a higher position before but nothing was ever really appealing. So, he sticks with fixing the printer on the 5th floor that always breaks on Fridays and cleaning the windows every Monday, all the way up to the 28th floor. And spending most of his time in Jimin’s office “fixing” the office chair. and the couch. and the desk. and the door.
(Though to be fair, half of those things are “broken” because of him.)
There was one day that the air conditioning broke and, although Jungkook tried his best, they ended up calling a guy to come fix it. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of summer and the air conditioning guy couldn’t get there until the next day. So, Jungkook spent his entire day with the top half of his coveralls unbuttoned and hanging around his waist, only in a thin, white tank top.
Office workers ogled as he stood on a latter, head disappearing through one of the ceiling panels as he rewired one of the lights. Jimin had come down to the 17th floor once he’d heard his secretary say that the “hot repair guy is only wearing a tank top”.
“Oh my God, looks at his arms.”
“Too bad he’s married.”
“Screw that. I’m taking a chance.” That was when Jimin drew the line.
Jungkook was too busy with his work to notice the crowd staring at his sweaty chest and was too nice to tell them to “fuck off” anyways.
Jungkook would smirk when he’d hear Jimin call him by his last name, knowing that he only did that in front of employees. He’d dip his head and look to him attentively.
“Yes, Mr. Park?”
“Come to my office when you’re finished, please.” Jimin would push the sleeves of his white button-up further up his forearms as he walked back to the elevator, his jacket discarded due to the heat.
And after about 10 minutes of pretending to work, Jungkook would climb back down the latter, wipe the sweat from his forehead, and pack his things up before making his way to the elevator. He’d planned to just walk into the office as soon as he’d reached the door. Unfortunately for him, the secretary would have other ideas.
“So, Jungkook,” He’d stop just as his hand reached the doorknob, cursing himself for not just ignoring her, “you’re married, huh?”
“How long?” She would try to be coy, showing off parts of her body that he failed to be interested in.
“Who’s the lucky woman-”
“Jeon!” Jimin’s voice would snap as he opened the door, interrupting the secretary sharply.
Jungkook would walk into the office, head ducked low in faux-submission, sly smirk on his face once the door had closed.
Jimin would be on him in a second, hands pulling him closer by the waist of his coveralls. They’d be nose to nose when Jungkook would chuckle lightly and loop his arms around the CEO’s waist.
“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Park?” Jungkook would tease him, untucking the bottom of Jimin’s shirt to run his hands up his back before settling into the dimples below his spine.
“Oh, shut up.” Jimin would growl and yank his head down, mouths meeting in a heated and messy collision.
And when Jungkook would pull away, taking great restraint to not take Jimin right there against the door, he’d grin through his light panting and walk them towards the desk before plopping down in the chair himself and pulling Jimin into his lap.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Jungkook would mumble against Jimin’s neck, peppering kisses up to his jaw and back down to his collarbones.
Jimin would sigh happily and lean into him, threading his fingers through Jungkook’s hair before frowning and grumbling to him.
“Everybody lookin’ at you. Thinkin’ they have a chance.” The kisses would stop and Jungkook would raise his head, stupid grin plastered to his face.
“Baby,” He’d whisper, knowing that it made the seemingly big and bad CEO melt into a puddle, “you know that I’m all yours.”
And for a powerful CEO, one would not think that Jimin would so easily pout like a child and send puppy eyes to, well, anyone really. But when it came to Jungkook, Jimin was all soft touches and sweet smiles compared to his sharp tone and intimidating presence around the office.
And when the secretary would barge in without knocking, finding her boss on the lap of the super sexy repair guy, Jimin couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it.
“Mr. Park, I- oh. Oh.” He’d only look over to her with a smug smile and turn Jungkook’s face towards him, reveling in the hooded look Jungkook sent him before turning back to his secretary.
“Can I help you?”
“N-no. No, sir. I-I’m sorry.”
At the end of the day, Jimin would gather his things and find Jungkook waiting for him outside his office in a black dress shirt, a red tie, a smug smile, and fresh bruises above the collar of his shirt as he offered his hand.
That night, They would go home and find themselves tangled in their bed, both out of breath and in the haze of fading euphoria. Scratches decorated Jungkook’s back and bruises littered both of their necks, a few straying to Jimin’s thighs.
“If they didn’t know you were mine already,” Jimin would start, tracing the red lines on Jungkook’s back as he stood at the bathroom sink, “they sure as hell will now.”
Jungkook would only smile and grab him, pulling Jimin back to bed to cuddle before falling asleep.
And when the air conditioning still wasn’t fixed the next day and Jungkook had to fix the printer on the 5th floor in only a tank top, everyone would avert their eyes awkwardly as Jimin walked through the hall, sending a smile to Jungkook before continuing on his way, knowing that Jungkook would be in his office in the next 15 minutes.
Summary: A look at the reader through Dean’s eyes, focusing mostly on Dean’s emotions throughout the day and how he reacts to even the simplest of words. This is the raw and vulnerable side of Dean.
A/N: I haven’t written something like this, I think ever before. It’s heavily focused on Dean (especially since it’s his POV). Even so, the reader is a huge part of it, but once again, through Dean’s perspective on the matter. Hopefully, you love it. I spent a long time on it, trying to really get into Dean’s head. It’s not the light side of Dean, not many jokes or wise cracks – it’s him in his raw emotional state. Also, this would not be possible with @thefangirllifeismine who not only corrected all of my shitty grammar, but stayed an inspiration throughout. Please, send in your feedback. It’s extremely important to me, I’d love to hear what you thought about this, especially since it’s definitely different from what I usually post.
– – – –
Her lips were moving, but my eyes were stuck on her hair. It was wet, and dripping a river down her shirt. I don’t think a towel ever touched her head.
“Dean?” Her voice was warm, inviting. It always was. She was never harsh with her words. Sam constantly tried to poke at her, just to see what her voice would sound like if she raised it.
“Yeah?” I met my eyes with hers, catching her gaze.
I felt my brother’s eyes on me as well; his brow was raised and a smirk played on his face.
“We were asking if you wanted to go to the bar tonight.” Sam filled me in.
A laugh came up from my throat as I raised the glass of whiskey in my hand. “I’m fine right here.”
Y/N smiled and looked at Sam, “You’re still in, right?”
He nodded and got up from his chair. “I’ll go shower.”
I tipped my glass in response, and took another swig from it.
“Have you been out in the sun?” Y/N asked, suddenly.
I furrowed my brows, “I was working on Baby earlier, why?” Then, proceeded to lift up my shirt and smell it. “Do I smell that bad?”
“No,” She let out a light laugh, “Your freckles are darker.”
“My- my freckles?”
She leaned forward in her seat, her nose a mere foot from mine, “Freckles get darker in the sun.”
“Huh.” I muttered and took another sip of my drink.
“It’s cute, Dean.” She said and the whiskey managed to go down even slower. My lip twitched upwards.
Without waiting for me to respond, she gathered her hair to the side and wiped her now wet hands off on her jeans before jumping out from her seat.
“I’ll go change for the bar. Invite’s still open.” She smiled, turning on her heel.
I watched her leave, shamelessly.
The first time Sam and I met her, it was an accident. Neither of us knew we had been working the same case, so when I approached who I thought was the legitimate FBI agent on the case, Y/N’s face beamed back at me instead. After a few back and forth questions, the three of us discovered none of us were agents, and went to grab drinks instead. It was supposed to be a one time deal.
But, one night turned into two. Eventually, three. In no time, I was helping her bring boxes into the bunker from the trunk of her run down car.
“We can’t let anything happen to her, you know that right?” Sam said to me the night she moved in. The shower water was running loudly, and in that noise, we had a discussion.
“I know.” I replied to my little brother. Worry etched itself into every wrinkle on his face, just like it did on our mother’s. He would never know just how much he looked like her.
“That means relationships, too.” Sam narrowed his eyes at me.
I looked away, forgetting how easily he was able to read me.
He continued speaking, “Everyone we get too close to…”
Sam never did finish his sentence. The shower water shut off abruptly and out bounced Y/N. Her face was flushed and her hair dripped down her bare shoulders.
My thoughts were interrupted as Sam strided into the room.
“You sure you’re not coming?” He asked, cuffing up the sleeves to his shirt.
It was tempting. I knew the bar had better whiskey than the shit that was currently burning its way down my throat. Better yet, the bar had Y/N. Whenever she entered a bar, I could see everyone’s attention land on her. Her warmth radiated through her big eyes and genuine smile. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that?
“Nope,” I shrugged, “Not tonight.”
He nodded his head and walked towards the door, waiting for Y/N to meet him there.
“See you.” Sam shouted, his voice echoed down the hall.
Moments later, Y/N came out from her room. A short navy dress was hugging her skin, but what stole my attention was the jacket draped across her shoulders.
“I hope you don’t mind.” She said, pulling my black jacket around her.
“Looks better on you, anyways.” I said. It was the truth.
“Thanks, Dean.” She smiled at me before opening her small purse, reviewing whatever items lay inside of it. “See you later.”
With that, she was gone.
It may have been another hour before I got up, but when I finally did it was solely because I needed to go to the bathroom.
I stopped at the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, but this time it was different. Usually, I don’t look in the mirror.
Not when I wake up.
Not before I go to sleep.
If I do, I hate it. Plain as that. I never did like the man staring back, and I don’t know if I ever fully will. What changed though was that this time, someone liked what they saw on me.
My fingers reached up to my cheeks, running along the freckles on my skin.
Y/N liked them.
She honest to god, found something of mine that she liked. So, I did too. Immediately, I loved my freckles. I loved that my cheeks and nose were dusted with them, and that the most beautiful woman that I had ever laid eyes on, had found beauty in me, as well.
– – – –
It couldn’t have been earlier than two o’clock in the morning, when I heard familiar footsteps stumble down the bunker’s staircase. I kicked the sheets off of myself and went to see the state they were both in.
“Come on.” Sam mumbled, trying to hold Y/N up, but he was hardly walking himself. “Dean!” Sam shouted, his drunk self wearing a huge smile.
“Oh, it’s Dean!” Y/N exclaimed, a laugh bubbling out from her lips. She gripped the edge of the staircase with both hands, leaning forward as she spoke.
I crossed my arms and raised my brows, watching the two of them stumble through the bunker like baby deer.
“Here-” Sam tossed me a pair of car keys, “We called a cab, the car is still in the bar parking lot.” The keys hit the floor with a loud jingle, his aim completely skewed from the liquor.
Y/N rounded the edge of the table and began to fall towards me.
“Woah, there.” I grabbed her by her arms and steadied her.
“Thanks.” She laughed once more, at nothing in particular.
Behind me, Sam had already found his way to his room. Eventually, I’d have to check on him. For now, I gripped Y/N’s shoulder and guided her to her own bedroom.
“Oh- I forgot!” She looked up at me with wide eyes. “Remind me in the morning.”
I looked at her, waiting for her to explain. When she didn’t, I asked her what she was talking about.
“I have-” she stuck her hand in the pocket of my jacket that she was wearing and pulled out a napkin. A number was scribbled onto it. “His name is Matt. I have a date with him tomorrow night. Remind me, ok?”
I took the napkin from her, fighting the urge to rip it to shreds.
“Okay.” I stated, turning on the lights as she walked over to her bed.
“Promise me.” She kicked off her shoes sloppily. “He’s so nice-” I could tell she was beginning to ramble. Once she’s had enough to drink, she tends to.
“I bet he is.” I cut her off, helping her unzip her dress.
“He just has the most gorgeous freckles!”
In that moment, I worried that she could actually hear my heart drop into my stomach. I swallowed thickly, and within seconds, she continued on her drunken ramble.
“Goodnight.” I stated, simply from habit.
“Night, Dean!” She dropped onto her bed.
I should have gone back to bed. I should have crawled under the covers and shut my eyes. My feet had other plans, though. Step after step, I was trudged through the halls and into the library where my hand found a bottle of brown and an old glass.
Sam’s words spun through my head. She had to be protected. I thought back to everyone I had ever gotten close to; Charlie, Jo, and Bela were long dead. Just like every other fucking hunter that I had ever met and let into my life.
Sam tried to show me the positives. He brings up names like Jody and Cas – but who knows what will happen to them too?
I took another shot.
Eventually, it got dark.
– – – –
“Hey, sleepy.” Y/N’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Wake up.”
I opened my eyes and everything was sideways. Fuck.
“You fell asleep here, again.” Her soft voice explained my current situation. It was embarrassing. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, looking at the scene before me. A mostly empty bottle, a half drunk glass, and what I think was a little bit of drool, lay on the table.
“What time is it?” I asked, quickly getting up from the chair and brushing past her. She smelled like her shampoo. Always vanilla.
She turned her wrist towards me. Nearly noon, her watch read.
“Thanks.” I muttered and began walking towards the kitchen.
“I should be thanking you.” Her voice called from behind me. Then, her footsteps began to draw nearer. “I couldn’t have been easy to take care of last night. Sam and I, we kind of let loose.”
I grabbed the coffee pot and turned it on. The sound of boiling water dripping down filled the silence.
“No, it was fine.” I replied, then remembered what she asked of me last night. “Except-” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. “Matt.”
Her eyes went wide, “Oh god.” She took the napkin from my hands. Her hair fell before her face as she read the number, and she combed it back with one hand.
“I totally forgot. Shit.” She pulled out her cell phone and checked for any notifications. “I’ll just text him.”
I turned from her, unable to watch her any longer, and grabbed a cup for my coffee.
“Want some?” I asked over my shoulder.
“No, thanks.” She said, just as her phone beeped. “He already answered!” She exclaimed.
I kept my eyes glued to the cup in front of me, not daring to see her face light up as she saw his name and not mine.
“Smells good.” My brother’s voice carried into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet and grabbed a cup as well, waiting until I finished pouring my own before taking the pot.
“Feeling good, Sammy?” I threatened a laugh and he rolled his eyes.
“I haven’t been this hungover in ages.” He grabbed a bottle of Advil and returned to the table. “It was worth it though, you should have joined.”
I shrugged and took a sip of my coffee.
“Who are you texting?” Sam directed his question at Y/N, who still stood in the middle of the kitchen.
She looked at him and dangled the napkin in the air, “Remember that guy at the bar last night?”
“The really funny one?” He asked.
She nodded fervently, “Yeah, Matt. I got his number and we’re going to grab dinner tonight.”
Sam glanced at me, before returning his gaze to his breakfast.
“He’s a good guy.” Sam said. I think it was more to me, than Y/N.
“I bet.” I mumbled into my drink.
– – – –
Sam decided to watch a movie tonight.
“Batman?” I questioned. He wasn’t one for the superheroes.
He popped it into the disk slot and dropped onto the couch. Looking at his huge frame swallow up the furniture, I remembered being able to hold him in my arms.
“Last time Y/N picked, it’s your turn.” He said while pressing play.
“Good. Wouldn’t want one of your history documentaries to bore me to death, tonight.” I began to laugh and he rolled his eyes.
“Whatever.” He muttered and grabbed the bowl of popcorn he had prepared.
An hour into the movie, the bunker door swung open. The loud creak it made reminded me to oil it later.
“Y/N?” I called out her name. The heels she was wearing when she left were no longer on. Her bare feet padded against the hardwood floor until she finally reached us.
“How was it?” Sam asked, lowering the volume.
Her lips formed a fine line, “I’m just going to go shower.” She grabbed a fistful of popcorn before disappearing.
I looked at my brother. His brows were raised as he shook his head in confusion.
“I’ll go-” I sat up from the chair, “I’ll go check on her.”
Her door was shut. I raised my fist to knock, but she opened it before I got the chance.
“You walk loudly.” She stated. My lips formed at ‘O’.
“What was that about?” I motioned towards the other room with my thumb.
She shrugged and put her heels away in the closet.
“Sorry about that.” She looked up at me with her big, bold eyes, “I think Matt was a lot nicer when he was drunk.”
I crossed my arms and sat on the edge of her bed. “Huh?”
“Well, we ordered our food and everything was great. I mean finally, a break from hunting.” She explained, and I sighed.
She pulled her bouncy hair out from the pins it was in while she continued, “He was sweet at first, really. But I could tell something changed. Matt wanted more than what I did…”
My arms fell to my sides, “Did you leave?”
“Yeah, but that was only after he asked me four times to go back to his place.” She was on the floor, her legs bent underneath her. She dropped her hands onto the floor from frustration as she spoke.
“What a douchebag.” I stated, no other word was able to form itself. “You don’t deserve that.”
She looked up at me, and a smile formed itself against her cheeks.
“I’m gonna be single forever.” She joked. “I mean, who am I kidding?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
From her spot on the floor, she reached out and gripped my leg with her hand. “Come on, Dean. We’re hunters. Let’s say it did work out with Matt – who’s to say he wouldn’t freak out the second that I brought him down into the bunker or told him that vampires are real!” Her grip tightened as she spoke, “It’s so fucking frustrating sometimes.”
“Dating is the worst.” I agreed with her.
“No.” She ran her hand down my leg and to my ankle, where she removed it.
I furrowed my brows and looked at her, every bit of me confused.
“Being alone.” Her eyes dropped from mine and my chest suddenly felt heavy. I knew the feeling of being alone, too well. It was heartbreaking, yet familiar at the same time. It was relief, yet yearning.
“You got me.” I blurted out.
She got up from her spot on the floor by my legs, and situated herself on the bed so she sat next to me.
“I know that, Dean. I meant… more.” Y/N’s voice dwindled into a whisper. I turned my head to face her, and in that moment, I couldn’t lie to her.
“Exactly.” I stated, and her eyes first searched my face. They traveled from eye to eye as she thought of what I could possibly mean, until her lips parted.
I didn’t know what to expect. My heart hasn’t raced this fast since for someone else since high school. I either just started the relationship I had been waiting for, or ruined a friendship that was worth more to me than anything else.
I was so focused on her face that I hadn’t realized her hand found mine.
I wanted to keep her hand there, to squeeze it tight. But, Sam’s words found their way back into my head.
“I’m selfish.” I stated simply, standing up from the bed.
“I’m being selfish, you deserve better.”
She tilted her head at me, her hair falling with it. “What are you talking about, Dean?”
“Everyone I touch, they-”
“I know what you’re going to say.” Y/N cut me off. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“You know I’m not going to.” She stood up from the bed and walked up to me, placing her open palms on my chest. “I’m not just somebody.”
“That’s the point!” I exclaimed, voice rising. “You aren’t just somebody! What if something happened to you? I can’t let you get hurt.”
“You’re not my keeper, Dean.”
I laced my fingers around her wrists, holding her palms tightly against my chest. “From the first time you walked through those bunker doors, I wanted no one but you, and you know why I haven’t told you?”
She looked up at me through her lashes.
“I have been torturing myself every day, because I want you safe. I need you safe.”
For a few moments, no one said anything. Y/N just stared up at me with a look I had never seen before.
Then, she stood on her toes, and pressed her lips to mine.
And God, it was everything I thought it would be. She was warm and sweet, like honey. Her hands were squeezing at my waist and I knew right there that I was done for.
My hands traveled up to her neck, grazing every inch of her skin.
“Since the first day?” She teased, speaking slowly against my lips.
I laughed, “Since day one.” I affirmed and she smiled so wide that all I wanted to do was kiss every inch of her bubbly cheeks.
“How about we get dinner tonight, sweetheart.” I asked, hoping she was still hungry after the shit dinner she described with Matt.
“I’d love to.” Y/N’s fingers found mine and she led me out of her room.
Sam was still seated on the couch. His hand was glued to the remote and I could hear the channel being changed every other second. When we passed through, my hand still in hers, he raised his brows and stared at me.
“Woah, wait-” He called out behind us.
“We’ll be back soon!” Y/N called over her shoulder.
A smile remained on my face for the rest of the night, never faltering.
A/N: This post was written posthumously, since this photo killed me obviously. Also on: AO3.
“Sorry I haven’t come by sooner, I was…”
“Busy fending off a throng of reporters and being a full-time parent?”
“Yeah.” Oliver huffs a short laugh, stealing a shy glance at the ground, as all the weight of the day visibly slips from his shoulders. She likes him like this, more innocent and carefree, where it’s no longer Mayor Queen or the Green Arrow or more recently a worried Dad standing in front of her…it’s just him. Just Oliver. Just her Oliver.
“I won’t hold it against you. Come on in.”
She holds the door open for him as he steps inside, his arm carefully dodging her shoulder, but that doesn’t stop a thousand goosebumps from breaking out over her skin in anticipation. As she shuts the front door, Felicity steals a quick glance of her own at his back because wow. While she loves Suit Oliver in all of his various…well, suits, it has been ages since she’s seen Casual Oliver. And honestly, seeing him standing there in full-on casual black and that jacket that she swears is framing his jaw really well, looking so at ease in her apartment…what used to be their apartment…it’s bringing back a lot of old memories mixed with new, tingling hopes stirring in her stomach.
Oliver spins to regard her in return, wearing a strangely nervous look. It’s then that she notices the small box with a white bow in his hands. “I uh…I was gonna wait, but I just…” He sighs, pausing, watching her like he’s waiting for her to stop him. And when she doesn’t, he finally says, “I brought you something,” holding the box out to her.
“Oh. What’s this?” She takes the box from him, wanting to reach for his hand, too, but he pulls back before she can.
“It’s just a uh…a present.”
“I can see that. You know, it’s not my birthday for another several months,” she teases him with a smile.
He doesn’t quite smile back, but there’s a hint of mischief behind his eyes now. “I know. This is different.”
Felicity frowns at his serious voice, watching him cross his arms. Uh oh. She knows that move. He only does this when it’s something big, something important. “Okay.”
She hesitates, her fingers hovering over the lid, playing with the plastic bow. Her heart starts to hammer against the walls of her chest with a new ferocity, like it somehow already knows what’s inside.
Swallowing once, she finally lifts the lid and finds nestled on top of a cotton square…a silver key.
“It’s a key,” supplies Oliver, his voice sounding very far away and warped, like she’s suddenly trapped inside a fish bowl.
Felicity stares in awe at the little object shimmering in the dim lighting, calling out to her. Slowly, she picks up the key, feeling the cool, wonderful weight of her future pressed against her palm.
“I know we’ve talked about it, and you’ve met William, and he seems to really like you. And this doesn’t mean that you have to move out of your place or anything, I just think…”
His voice sounds much closer now, and she glances up to realize that he’s standing right in front of her, his hands finally reaching out to hold her shoulders, drawing her closer, drawing her home.
He licks his lips. “And if this is too fast then–”
“Oliver, are you sure?”
He sighs again, only this time it’s a gentler sigh, a contented sigh, a hopeful sigh. His gaze grows intense yet familiar, and oh she’s missed that look most of all. Even after five months of taking things slow, after being engaged to this man once, she’s still getting used to him looking at her like this–like she’s the only thing in the entire world that he wants. She’ll never be used to it. She couldn’t look away from him even if she wanted to. And she doesn’t want to.
“I’m sure of one thing,” he says, his voice so deep it sends a warm feeling straight down her gut. “I love you, and I want us to be a family. All of us.”
Trapping the key in a fist, Felicity reaches for Oliver just as he lowers his head down to her. Thank you,she says through the kiss, her lips gently pressed against his, re-familiarizing herself with his taste. But Oliver changes the angle quickly, deepening the kiss, his hands coming up and around her, pulling her close, his fingers pressing deep into the muscles of her lower back.
Felicity feels herself losing focus, her grip around his neck loosening…. She fumbles in the haze but manages to set the little box down on the counter, freeing her other hand to join the one still tightly clasped behind his neck. Her fingers sweep into his hair brushing against his scalp.
Seconds seem to bleed into minutes, and she doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, holding each other, remembering and relearning and learning afresh what the other person feels like…
A loud clang startles her, and Oliver pulls back, breaking the kiss, though she doesn’t let him go too far.
Realizing she must have dropped the key, Felicity breathes against his open lips, “It’s fine. I’ll get it later.”
And then she kisses him again, openly, fiercely, desperately. This kiss is different than the one before, taking on a life of its own, like the one they shared in this very spot years ago, when they first moved in together. It feels right that they should find each other again in this way. Felicity clings to him, his body still so warm and solid and familiar. How is he always so warm?
After what feels like too brief a time, though, Oliver pulls back again, breathing heavily. He keeps his eyes closed, as he presses his forehead against hers. “Felicity,” he whispers. “Can I ask you a question?”
“If the question is can you stay the night, the answer is yes.”
He laughs, giving her a short and more chaste kiss. “Are you sure?”
“Besides,” Felicity nips his lips again. “I don’t expect to be staying here much in the future. We better make the most of it.”
When Lance woke up, his arm wasn’t a bloody mess anymore and he could hear something other than his heartbeat trying to dash out of his body. Exhaling, he scanned the room and realized the quite chatter he heard was from upstairs. It was probably the refugees. He blinked.
The refugees. Wait.
Sleep chamber knees or not, Lance scrambled out of the pod, his armor ruining the impact of the floor when he tripped. Lance kind of needed something to smack some sense in him as he frantically ran for the door.
Keith? Is Keith okay? Is Pidge? Where’s the team? I don’t see anyone in a pod, so that either means everything’s okay or someone’s dead-
Where’s my helmet?
Really, Lance? Now? Of all times?
The itch for to find it doesn’t make much sense until Lance remembers there are communication systems in his helmet. I’m a genius!
After three seconds of looking around the room like an idiot, Lance spots it on top of his folded jacket and jeans. His shoes sat next to them. Someone must have thought to leave them there for him, which was nice, but he wasn’t going to take off his armor until he knew no one was dead or in danger. Picking it up, he pushes it on his head and sighs as it turns on at his DNA signature. “Hello, anyone there?”
“Lance!” Allura’s pleased voice overwhelms him for a second, but he focuses on what she says. “I’m glad you’re awake. All the prisoners are located in the ballroom, and there were only a handful of injuries. Your fellow paladins are safe and doing recon at the moment. You can change into your regular clothes and join them in you wish, but Coran and I wouldn’t mind you hanging back.”
He smiles. Good, everyone was accounted for. “Nah, I’ll go.” He says, shucking off the armor on his calves. He pulls it off while Allura chatters on. “Okay, I’ll send them a message to let them know you woke up and will be joining them shortly. They’re on the coast of this island, which is relatively small, so you’ll be fine walking out the castle door and straight. Rest up when you’re done. We can’t have a paladin tired from battle injuries. Don’t think you can get away with it either. Hunk has a drone with him that monitors the rescue and I will see if you try anything reckless.”
“Okay, Allura.” He laughs, removing his chest plate. She huffs, and says goodbye, the switches off the coms. Lance pulls off his helmet and peels away his flight suit. His back is wide, exposed, and easy to see.
He knows. He knows. He should hurry.
Keith toes a thick chip of metal, flipping it over in a pile of rubble. They’ve just cleared out another jetty, reeling in prisoners with Pidge’s bayard on the floating escape pods, and pointing out the direction they should walk for help. A furry pile of three distinct round mounds hops past quickly, fluffy pastel fur tickling the other colors. It chirps in thanks before speeding up. Cold, dry hands pat Keith on the arm in gratitude as a leathery mix of tree and human walks past, thin legs extending to move the whole body like it’s floating above it.
He huffs. He wants Lance.
Yeah, he could admit it. Lance, was a solid person to have beside him. He always had Keith’s back, he was loyal and funny, and he had just taken a bullet for him. He wanted to make sure he was okay. He wouldn’t stop looking back, searching for a rustle in the bushes and a bright smile, his heart lighter but impatient without Lance.
Keith sighed and crossed his arms, smiling tiredly.
Yeah, he really couldn’t wait to have his sharpshooter by his side again.
After all, a good team takes two.
Lance tugs on the waistband of his jeans and slips on his shoes.
His armor is a heap on the floor in front of the pod - he’ll have to come pick it up later. Anxiety twirls around by his feet and dances up towards his back. His exposed back. There’s a problem. He needs to cover his tan skin immediately. But he hadn’t been left a shirt. He’d have to wear just his jacket and not take it off.
They did “salvage” in casual clothes for a reason. The armor, as protective as it was, added weight. It might have been light and flexible, but it still got in the way of some maneuvers, and if someone fell in water, it would weigh them down. Even if the helmet had life support, it only lasted so long. There were too many “what if’s” when it came to the armor and water. Their best chance at surviving was getting to the surface as fast as possible. Unnecessary weight would slow them down.
Funny how Lance was only physically light. He sunk like a rock everywhere else.
It was ironic how many people would want him to drown when he was the only one who could swim.
Stuffing his arms inside, Lance shrugged on his jacket, and zipped it up. He passed through the halls like a ghost, the survivors busy chattering around him. Demon held inside his jacket, he walked out into the semi tropical rainforest.
It was the worst possible situation.
Lance had just brushed past a leafy bush to have the sea roar in his ears and salt hit his lips. The team was hovering over the rocky coast that disappeared into the blue ocean, craving to save the pod tittering on a small cliff of rock, but unable to risk crossing the water. The pod was absolutely trashed , the spike of obsidian piercing the buoyancy - if it fell, it’d sink to the bottom. Flying out would get them both killed - the pod could fall and take one of the team down, trapping them in the waves, and both the prisoners and them would drown. But what made it horribly, horribly worse was who was in the pod.
Two recongzinable faces peered out the door way, the door probably having been ripped off in the crash. Matt was gripping the edge, bracing himself and using his leg to hold back a weary Samuel Holt. He was definitely injured, unconcious, the small trail of dark blood dripping off into the ocean. The sea rocked and churned underneath them, an uncomplete death sentence, and the pod creaked ominously, ready to give in and crash at any second. Dread sat heavy on Lance’s tongue.
Shiro was grasping Pidge by a hand, his face terrified but trying to gain control. Pidge wasn’t struggling against Shiro- she was struggling against herself, desperation written in her features, but the menacing roll of the ocean warded her away. All she wanted was to save them, Lance could tell, but her body was screaming to flee the water, to fly, to escape being dragged from the sky, dragged to a heavy, wet death. Hunk and Keith looked like a watered down version - scared, cautious motions back and forth, unsure and scared.
Lance’s hand was already playing with his zipper.
Everything about Matt screamed tense and near frantic. Tensed like a cat, his body locked against the open air, sagging like an acrobat on ropes, Matt clearly was trying to find a way out of this without killing himself, his dad, or his sister. But he hadn’t found a possibility. If he moved, the pod would tilt with his weight, or his dad would fall into the water. No one could fly out to them - he’d have to get off himself. But he couldn’t move, the floor of the pod wrecked with a spike behind him and Samuel supported by his leg.
Lance could be that possibility.
Like a sick bird that had finally had enough, the pod plummeted in the water with the screech of torn metal.
Pidge’s heartbroken scream matched it.
Lance was tearing out of his shoes and jacket, tossing it in the sand, head leaps and bounds ahead of him. Sand kicked up from his sprint sprayed the droid and the team as he raced past. Lance could feel their incredulous stares go from the flooded hunk of metal to his bare back, but it didn’t freeze the determination in his veins. He dove in the water with a splash.
Calm was the first word in his mind when the swirling blue washed over his head. It was calm here, the gentle roll of the current miles below him. He was light, weightless. The second word was control. In water, Lance was in command, a quiet authority. He pushed and pulled himself along, arms scooping out his way. Quick, strong kicks brought him to the submerged metal ship, and he pressed two hands to the metal, looking for the window. This ocean wasn’t his, wasn’t theirs’s. They needed to get out soon.
Gliding in through the empty window frame, Lance slinked up to search over the jagged metal and broken, dead wires. Matt’s transfixed face meet his. His eyebrows furrowed, and for someone who should be drowning, he was doing remarkably well at staying calm.
Matt stared at him as if he was a mirage almost, but Lance could tell Matt was the kind who didn’t care as long as they didn’t die. Tapping the roof of cramped pod, Lance waited for Matt to nod before reaching over and working Samuel over the barrier with him, pulling the older man into his arms. A cut craved out a thin line across his calf, a blood came from a smaller one of his head. He was clearly passed out and needed to be brought to the surface ASAP. Lance smiled and held up one finger, then two. Realizing Lance would come back for him, Matt nodded sagely and floated back.
Propelling off the wall, Lance left water dragging behind him. The weight in his arms was incredible - the man wasn’t much shorter than him but had to weigh almost twice as much with his wings.
Thick and waterlogged, they curved and looked fluffy like Pidge’s. Lowered with age, his wings dragged behind him like a pair of broken airplane wings. Streaked with brown and gray darker than Pidge’s, they’d ironically cause the man they made light to drown like an anchor if Lance let go.
He doesn’t dare tempt this new ocean.
Breaking past the surface with a gasp, Lance clutches Samuel to his chest and awkwardly swims to shore with one arm. Scrambling up the loose, wet clumps of sand, he ignores the stricken staring of them team and flips Samuel on his back.
He starts pumping Samuel’s chest.
Come on, come on.
He’s on a time limit, damnit!
He pushes harder, and Samuel suddenly jerks against him, coughing water out of his lungs. Lance takes the second to arrange him on his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, then dashes back into the ocean. His kicks are a last-ditch effort that pay off, literally almost ramming himself into the pod. He yanks himself through the window and nearly slices his hand open on the broken metal wall. He might not be able to fly, but he can swim and save someone drowning. He can. He can, no matter how worthless he is. It is called a trash can - not a trash cannot. (He thinks that’s a line from some anime, but he doesn’t have time to really ask himself if he made a refrence while saving someone drowning. He probably did).
Matt’s lips are turning blue when Lance arrives. His jaw is set and cheeks ballooned out, precious oxygen held inside. Quickly, he reaches out to Lance, who helps him over the wreckage. Wrapping his arms around Lance’s neck, he tucks himself against his body. Lance latches an arm around him, careful to hook it under his wings. They are near replicas of Pidge’s, though clearly entering the final stages. Less childish, more rectangular in design, with darker hints of brown. The tops poke Lance gently in the face, but the bottoms are pressed to Matt’s knees.
Using the smooth sheet of metal as a boost, Lance rushed up to the surface, leaving the pod to sink even faster than before. The distance was greater, the weight heavy, and the time less, but he’d have wings before he let go of Matt.
Bobbing to the surface, he gulps in air. Matt is sucking in giant breathes against his neck, giggling and trembling with relief. He even happy kick-spams to shore with Lance.
But relief is far, far, away from Lance.
The weight of a wingless world crashes on his back, so, so much heavier than Matt or Samuel.
His shoes are too far away.
He doesn’t wait for the team to ask questions, doesn’t give the anxiety and self hate a chance to strike, snatching up his jacket. There’s a quick “Hey-” before water is filling his ears again, and he’s swimming out, swimming away. Desperation and adrenaline sing in his veins, overruling this sea’s temper. This isn’t his ocean. The pushes and pulls are closer to shoves and yanks, semi-aggressively telling him to leave, but Lance makes his way through anyhow. Currents a similar shade of blue to the ones from Earth twirl around him, tiny air bubbles decorating them like stars. It’s frigid, a cold, agitated embrace that makes Lance burn in a satisfying way. He wasn’t like the others, he couldn’t be. No one wanted a wingless. Nothing was ever permanent, not even love.
Lance comes up for air, swallowing a lungful before smoothing back down into the deep. The few seconds he’s up, he hears the team,incomprehensible , but they’ve figured out he’s leaving. Fear pounding at the brittle door calm forces up in his head, Lance dives deeper, the water turning darker without the sunlight. He can still see, but the water is a murky, dusty blue, not the clear, aqua where the light reflects easily. His speed is probably breaking any records he’s had before. Nothing like the people you came to love hating you to make you have a lighting fast exit.
Rocketing through the water, Lance left giant disturbances in his wake. Air bubbles burst out of existence behind him. He had already shifted when he came up for air - his hands curved out his path with the webbing, and the water pressure boxed gently on his ears. His knees weren’t knees anymore, just two long, flat masses of flesh and bone that shot him through the water. The second pair of eyelids he had blinked out any grime in the water, the rhythm different and more pronounced than his first pair. His tongue pressed against the sharp eyeteeth in his mouth, the threat of nicking his tongue grounding him.
He doesn’t know how long he swims, limbs throbbing with fluid energy. He goes until rocks start to spike up, some gentle curves and other sudden daggers slicing through the water. Miles below, he can spot the muddled, bright light purple and galaxy red glow of underwater volcanoes in the darkness. Lance hasn’t seen anything alive yet, but he knew better than to test it by exploring near lava.
Gliding up against the smooth rock, Lance spots the openings to caves, pretty corals fanning out from them and shells dotted here and there. Clutching his jacket tighter, he twists through one. It’s small, and hallow, the water pooling much lower than the majority of the rock. The roaring of the waves crashing washes over the cave, but the cave shelters him. Coal black rock juts out here and there, blocky, but gorgeous in the way only sea caves were. Soft colored crystals lit up small patches of shadow, a handful clustered around an alcove.
Carefully, he clambers up the dry rock to the opening and settles back into it, his knees pulled to his chest, cheek resting against the even rock. The anxiety coils up inside his neck.
Now they despise you.
I mean, why wouldn’t they?
Even you despise you.
Useless, ugly, waste of space. Wingless.
Just drown in that goddamn ugly water you call home.
It suits you.
Nothing but extra weight.
God, why do you exist?
Chilly air pricks at Lance’s bare feet. He tucks himself tighter, wriggling his toes. His jacket is drenched, but he drapes it around the exposed parts of his back. He clings to the rock, hoping the warmth will come back. He’s not freezing, but numb, like rain soaked pavement.
He could stop here, lulled by the tune of a sea that wasn’t his, void emotions filling up his silhouette, abandoned by himself, half asleep in a crevice with a mundane storm brewing over head.
Summary: Bucky Barnes is the consummate ladies man, a different girl every night, no lasting relationships. You are a painfully shy bookworm terrified of getting involved with someone for fear of getting hurt. When the two of you literally run into each other, sparks fly.
Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.
Aelin didn’t really think twice when Rowan messaged her a few weeks later, one Sunday morning, telling her to dress comfortably for their date. She also didn’t put much thought into it when she asked him what, exactly, his definition of “comfortably” was, and he responded with leggings and a sweater. But she was slightly disappointed she didn’t have to dress up for the evening.
She did, however, raise an eyebrow later that day when Rowan messaged her again, just moments after she’d gotten dressed.
Be there in 5. And make sure you have your skates.
At first, she thought it was a joke. He couldn’t seriously be taking her skating on her day off. The only day off she’d have for a long time.
Practice had been … rough lately. With Nationals coming up in just over a month, and with Aelin still yet to land her triple-triple, she normally left practice in a sour mood. Uncle Weylan said she needed all the practice she could get. So over Christmas break, they were having practice for hours on end every day. If she didn’t land her triple-triple by New Years, they were taking it out of her program.
But sure enough, when Aelin messaged Rowan “seriously buzzard?” he came back with “seriously fireheart.”
So despite the fact that Aelin really wasn’t in the mood for skating at the moment, she made sure to have her skates with her.
“The rink?” She questioned as she climbed out of Rowan’s car. “I figured you’d be taking me to the pond when you told me to bring my skates.”
katherinelucius said: It was said that the Satyr in London was killed by Nephilim. Will we ever know exactly who did it?
Yes, Hypatia drops that point in Lord of Shadows, mostly to make everyone feel awkward. But it’s no secret if you’ve read Clockwork Princess closely. :)
excerpt one from CP2:
..Sallows looked up peevishly as the shop bell tinkled, warning of the opening of the door, and he frowned. He thought he had locked it. “Back again, Nephilim?” he snapped. “Decided to throw me into the river not once but twice? I’ll have you know I have powerful friends—”
“I don’t doubt you do, trickster.” The tall, hooded figure in the entryway reached around and pulled the door shut behind him. “And I am very interested in learning more about them.” A cold iron blade flashed in the dimness, and the satyr’s eyes widened in fear. “I have some questions to ask you,” said the man in the doorway. “And I wouldn’t try to run if I were you. Not if you want to keep your fingers attached to your body… .”
Charlotte did not rise from her desk. Starkweather looked much as he had the last time she had seen him. … “Please be seated, Mr. Starkweather,” said Charlotte as courteously as she could to someone who she knew disliked her, and had hated her father. But he did not sit down. His hands were locked behind his back, and as he turned, surveying the room around him, Charlotte saw with a flash of alarm that one of the cuffs of his jacket was splattered with blood. “Mr. Starkweather,” she said, and now she did rise. “Are you hurt? Should I summon the Brothers?”
“Hurt?” he barked out. “Why would I be hurt?”
“Your sleeve.” She pointed.
He drew his arm away and gazed at it before huffing out a laugh.
“Not my blood,” he said. “I was in a fight, earlier. He took objection…”
“Took objection to what?”
“To my cutting off all his fingers and then slitting his throat,” said Starkweather, meeting her eyes. His own were gray-black, the color of stone.
“Aloysius.” Charlotte forgot to be polite. “The Accords forbid unproved attacks on Downworlders.”
“Unprovoked? I’d say this was provoked. His folk murdered my granddaughter. My daughter nearly died of grief. The house of Starkweather destroyed—”
Starkweather killed Sallows (Charlotte knows immediately that he killed a Downworlder, and it’s unlikely that there was more than one Nephilim wandering around London cutting the fingers off Downworlders that day) and had no remorse about it. He was a jerk.
soooo this is the first fic I’ve written in a while and the first one ever that I’ve decided to publish online haha it was also supposed to be a short one-shot but I got carried away and ended up with like 5K words of pure fucking smut. like beginning to end, this is all smut. so I’m splitting it up into two parts.
this is based off an actual dream I had about Tom a couple nights ago where we were staying in a hotel and someone was trying to flirt w me or some shit and I was texting Tom about how annoyed I was, and the most vivid part of the dream that I remember is a text from him that said “Come let daddy make you feel good” (A+ subconscious over here - Tom with a daddy kink). so this is loosely based off that dream, hope y’all enjoy 💖
“Come on baby, don’t be that way,” the older man’s voice gruffed.
“I said fuck off,” she spat. She rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink as the older man next to her at the bar mumbled unintelligible curses and slipped away to bother someone else. She’d never had any issue fending for herself when it came to lonely, horny men in bars, but she had already been stressed from work and random strangers coming onto her wasn’t easing her irritation.
Her phone buzzed on the bar and she glanced down to see a text from her boyfriend Tom pop up on the screen. He had come back home to her from filming, but for only a few days before he was being whisked away to some other foreign location. For the meantime, they were holed up in a Four Seasons in Midtown Manhattan, all paid for by the company that had hired him. Normally she’d protest and demand he come home to her apartment – given she lived in New York and her place wouldn’t be a far drive – but she’d finally be spending a weekend with her boyfriend with no distractions, and she couldn’t complain.
Is that man still bothering you? Do I need to come downstairs and give him a piece of my mind love? x
She chuckled to herself as she read her boyfriend’s message. Despite the stranger at the bar being a good two feet taller than Tom, he would barge downstairs and willingly take him on himself for her.
I’m alright, he’s gone somewhere to sulk. But he’s ruined my attempts at easing this headache. 😡
She hit “send” and took another swig of her drink. Tom was already upstairs in their suite, after his flight in he’d crashed in bed without second thought, so she decided to let him rest awhile and went to the bar downstairs to try and ease her headache. Her phone buzzed again with another message from Tom almost immediately after her previous message had delivered.
That’s a shame, I was looking forward to showing him what happens when someone messes with my girl.
Warmth spread inside her as she read the last two words and looked down to hide her grin. She adored Tom with every fiber of her being, and all the ways he showed her how much he adored her as well. Before she could type up a response, her phone buzzed again and another message from Tom popped up.
Forget the bar and come upstairs, darling. Come let daddy make you feel good.
She bit her lip and clenched her thighs closer together. This was going to be another one of those nights. She’d always harbored an interest in the whole “daddy kink”, in secret of course, since most of her friends always expressed their being grossed out by it. She was even more excited when she began to learn about her boyfriend’s hidden desires and discovered this was one of them. Although she found that he only pulled the daddy card on nights where he was feeling needier than usual, craving not only her touch but seeing her submit to him.
Nights like tonight.
Downing the rest of her drink, she spun around and hopped off the barstool to make her way to the elevator, the warmth already growing in her core. As she exited the elevator on their floor and rounded the corner, she saw him standing at the end of the hallway – was he that impatient that he was coming downstairs to retrieve her himself? He smiled warmly at her and extended a hand to her as she approached him. Taking her hand, he pulled her into an embrace, gently lifting her off the floor and spinning her in a circle once before setting her back down.
“Have I been gone that long?” she grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Much too long, m’love,” he whispered just audible enough for her to hear. His eyes bore into hers, and she could see a flicker of something dark in them. Winding an arm around her waist, he pulled her close and lead her down the hall to their room.
The moment the door was locked she felt his hand on her arm pulling her back and pushing her against the door, Tom’s face centimeters from hers. Before she could utter a word his mouth was on her, kissing and licking at her neck while his hands raked up and down her body.
“Are you going to be a good girl for daddy tonight?” his voice rasped in her ear.
“Uh huh,” she whimpered as she felt his hand move between her thighs. He slipped his hand down the front of her panties, sliding a finger over her clit.
“Fuck darling,” he groaned. “You’re soaking wet. Is this all for me?”
Her head fell back against the door as she moaned in response. He quickly removed his hand and gently grabbed her chin, tilting her head back down to look in her eyes.
“Answer me when I ask you a question,” he said sternly, making her knees go weak. She loved when he took control in the bedroom.
“Y-Yes,” she whispered, her breathing becoming heavier in her eagerness.
“Good girl,” he pressed a kiss to her lips. “Now, arms above your head, and don’t you dare move them.”
She immediately obeyed, holding her hands together as far above her as her arms would allow. Tom returned to the spot in between her thighs, tapping her foot with his so that she would spread her legs farther apart for him. He slid his hand back down the front of her panties, this time lingering on her clit. He slid his middle finger back and forth over the sensitive bud of nerves, and her hips bucked in response. He held her down against the door with his free hand as he began rubbing her clit. Her hands balled into fists as she let out a loud moan that she was sure the other residents nearby could hear. He slipped a finger inside of her and she felt herself getting weaker, her hands sliding down to the top of her head. Without missing a beat, she felt Tom’s free hand grab her jaw, as the hand between her legs froze.
“What did I say about those hands?” he growled in her ear, to which she whimpered in response, returning her hands to the spot above her head. He began mercilessly rubbing her clit with his thumb as he pumped a finger in and out of her, making her squirm against the door.
“Tom… I’m gonna…” she breathed, feeling her muscles beginning to clench around his finger.
“Don’t you dare come without my permission,” he ordered, slipping a second finger inside of her. “I will punish you.”
But that’s exactly what she wanted, she loved the way his demeanor changed when she disobeyed him. And she loved the way he bent her over his knee and spanked her until her ass was cherry red. Gazing up at him through her lashes, her mouth dropped open as she let her orgasm wash over her. He continued to work her pussy as she rode out the rest of her orgasm, leaving her panting against the door. Before she could come down from her high, his hands were on her wrists as he pressed himself against her, his hardness poking against her leg.
“You dirty, filthy little girl,” he grumbled before pulling her towards the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed as she stood in front of him, knowing very well what was coming next and she could feel herself becoming hot and bothered all over again at the thought of it.
“Strip,” he ordered. She immediately kicked off her heels, reaching back to unzip her dress and sliding it off. His eyes moved up and down her body as he removed his jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his gray sweater. After tossing her bra and panties into a pile of discarded clothing she stepped closer to him and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her down over his lap. She instinctively pushed her ass farther in the air, presenting herself to him as she bit her lip, waiting for his hand.
“Do you know what you’re being punished for, little girl?” He asked, sliding one hand up her back, gripping her shoulder and holding her down. When he heard no response from her, he brought his hand down on her ass. Letting out a small yelp, she grabbed handfuls of the comforter.
“I said, do you know what you’re being punished for,” he repeated, positioning his hand over her again, waiting for an answer.
“F-For coming without permission…” she mumbled into the comforter.
He brought his hand down on her ass again, harder this time, eliciting a louder cry from her.
“What was that, little girl?”
“For coming without permission,” she repeated, lifting her head off the bed. Her response was met with another hard slap on her ass and she threw her head back into the comforter to muffle her cries. His hand moved from her shoulder, taking a handful of her hair and pulling her head back.
“I don’t think so sweetheart,” he chided. “You’re going to let everyone in this damn building hear those pretty cries, so they all know what happens to my little girl when she disobeys me.”
She gripped the bed covers tighter as he brought his hand down on her ass again, and again. Each time pulling loud cries from her and she hoped for his sake no one knew he was staying at this hotel. She’d hate for their little bedroom adventures to earn him never ending embarrassment from friends and family, not to mention his fans online if anyone heard about what was going on in their room.
Looking down at her ass, which was now a bright red, he promptly pulled her upright into a sitting position on his lap. She flinched as she was forced to sit down on her now-sore bottom, and he took her face in his hands.
“Are you going to be a good little girl now?” He asked, his lips ghosting over hers.
“Yes daddy,” she answered. She felt his cock twitch through his pants underneath her at her response. He pulled her in hungrily, prying his way into her mouth and gently taking a fistful of her hair, cautious of her possibly-sore scalp after tugging her hair earlier. Her hands eagerly moved down his torso to the hem of his sweater, tugging it up and over his head. She began moving off his lap to her knees in front of him, unbuttoning his pants to free his cock.
“Are you going to suck me off, sweet girl?” He cocked his head to the side as he gazed down at her. God, he loved seeing her like this.
“Yes daddy,” she replied again, more innocently this time. She bit her lip to hide her grin as his cock twitched in her hand at the sound of her answer. She could almost laugh at how worked up that word got him.
Wasting no time, she took all of his length in her mouth, receiving a throaty groan from him. Staring up at him, she held eye contact as she began bobbing her head up and down over his cock, running her tongue along the underside of him.
“Fuck baby girl, you feel amazing,” he moaned, resting on his forearms to watch her. She slowly pulled away from him, releasing his cock with a loud pop before licking his slit ever so gently. After minutes of sucking and teasing, she could feel his hips starting to buck underneath her.
“Can daddy fuck your mouth little girl?” he asked between breaths. She could see his chest rising and falling and she knew he was close. She pulled away from him once more before nodding. She scooted away, sitting back on her heels. He pulled himself off the bed, dropping his trousers and kicking them off.
“Such a good little girl you are,” he praised, stroking her cheek before running both his hands through her hair, gently taking ahold of her as she took him back into her mouth and allowed him to begin bucking his hips into her mouth.
The room was silent, save for the sounds of her gagging on his cock and his groans as he thrusted harder into her mouth. She could feel him dripping down her throat and knew he was close, and began swirling her tongue around his tip.
“F-Fuck baby girl, m’not gonna last much longer,” he moaned, his words slurring together as he edged closer to his climax. She felt his cock twitch in her mouth once more and began bobbing her head in rhythm with his thrusts and felt him spill down her throat. His hips slowed to a halt as she continued sucking him off through his orgasm, swallowing down every drop of him.
Pulling her to her feet, he wiped off the mixture of himself and her saliva off her chin and peppered small kisses on her cheeks and lips.
“Such a good girl, so good to me,” he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing small circles on her back. “Now, why don’t you get on the bed and let daddy make you feel good again.”
Shawn’s got his hands on her thigh.
It’s smooth and unyielding, dragging across the bare skin, moving upwards as he looks down at her with heated eyes, waiting for her inevitable panicked response. She stops writing her essay, eyes turning up at him with anxiety and frustration clouding her vision.
Shawn’s grinning “What’re you talking about? I’m not-“ he drags his fingers across the inner skin and she sucks in a breath.
“-doing anything, baby”
She reaches down and clasps his hand in hers and she yanks it away from her thigh as she turns to him.
Her eyes are dangerous and he’s grinning, leaning into her so he can smell her strawberry shampoo and fruity perfume.
He forgets they’re in a library, or at least he doesn’t care as he bends down and brushes his lips across her ear.
He feels her squirm in her seat, and her eyes are dancing over the library, seeing that people are reading, writing – not looking as Shawn slips his hand out of hers (or she lets go) and slips it between her thighs again.