but that still counts because it was partially of her own making

Prints

Summary: You and Sam leave your mark on the Impala.

Word Count: 2300

Warning: Smut, dom!Sam, dirty talk

A/N: Just something that happened. Enjoy! XOXO

“Is that a foot? Is there a footprint on the window?” Dean glares at the window through the rearview mirror, and you shift a little in the backseat to avoid his gaze.

It’s foggy and damp out, exactly the kind of weather that makes the windows fog up no matter what you do, and the three of you are piled in, ready for your next adventure.

Except there’s a footprint on Dean’s precious car.

And you know exactly where it came from.

Keep reading

Voltron Headcanons~

-Lance used to make really shitty, low quality videos with his siblings and posted them on youtube.
*They had like 40 subscribers and they were all family members except for Hunk.
*When Lance became a paladin he started recording himself talking about his day every day so his family wouldn’t miss anything even if he never went back.
*The only one who knows he does this is Pidge, because she accidentally heard him when she was in the vents.


-Pidge is ALWAYS in the vents. She thinks they’re very useful in battle and to get information.
*She wanted to get back at Hunk for reading her diary.
*She’s still crafting her plan.
*She has some good blackmail material, tho:
~Shiro’s eyeliner actually takes about two hours to get right, that’s why he always wakes up first.
~Keith spends an hour looking at himself in the mirror and trying to fix his hair every time Lance insults it.
~Lance actually likes Keith’s hair (see: Lance talking to himself and recording it).
~Allura spends all the time she’s in her room doing weird poses on the bed and she falls at least three times per day.
~Hunk has nightmares with Iverson and will wake up screaming not to fail Lance again.

*She hasn’t been able to find anything about Coran, though.


-Keith is lactose intolerant.
*Which means he’ll eat as much dairy as he’s physically able to in space.
*Pidge thinks it’s funny. Lance has an ongoing migraine.


-They have inside jokes.
*The goo is hot and burns Hunk: “Goo, I can’t believe you would do this to me. We had a BONDING MOMENT. I CRADLED YOU IN MY ARMS.”
*Pidge and Shiro will randomly shout: “YOU KNOW YOU LOVE THOSE PEAS, DAD. "The rest of the team is very confused.
*Pidge: VOLTRON DRINKING GAME! You drink every time someone rejects Lance. Keith: Pidge, do you actually want to die? Lance screeching in the distance.
*Allura actually asked what the quiznak a British was when Pidge commented on it. Lance hasn’t stopped laughing yet.


-Hunk’s cooking abilities come from his moms, who owned a family restaurant in their hometown.
*When Lance went to visit and first ate their food he cried.
*Similar reaction to Hunk’s when he visited Lance’s family.
*The day those families get together it’ll be madness. (Hunk: Delicious madness).


-Keith and Pidge are best friends.
*They first bonded over their beef with the Galra.
*Then about being sad with no family.
*Then about how annoying Lance was.
*By the time Keith started talking about Lance more than to say he was annoying, Pidge was too invested to ignore him.
*If she has to hear one more line on Lance’s eyes she’ll murder someone, though.
*She’s tired.


-Pidge goes by both binary and non-binary pronouns.
*She doesn’t care.
*He doesn’t care.
*They don’t care.
*She’ll fucking fight you if you assume based on stereotypes.
*Someone: but you look like a boy! Pidge, wearing a "feminine” outfit: Bitch, you thought!


-Shiro loves reading.
*His favourite book is Pride and Prejudice.
*He owns a copy that looks like it’s been run over by a truck.
*Keith once tried to convince him to replace it and that was the first day he feared for his life.


-Talking about books, favourite books:
*Lance’s favourite book is The Fault in Our Stars.
~Try to talk badly about it and he’ll fight you.
~If you make a reference to it, he will cry.
~“Maybe Voltron will be our always.” “DAMN IT, PIDGE!”

*Hunk’s favourite book is a cooking book his mom got for him when he was like 8.
~He’s not much of a reader unless it has to do with cooking and or engineering.
~If he does read, he likes fantasy and romance.
~Him and Lance have cried over many fictional things over the years.

*Pidge’s favourite book is The Art of Being Normal.
~She doesn’t think the story is perfect, but it made her feel a lot of things.
~She’s also partial to sci-fi. Asimov is her god.

*Keith is a Harry Potter boy.
~He didn’t have many books in the shack.
~He’s reread them more times that he can count.
~“What do you MEAN you haven’t watched the Harry Potter movies?” “Why watch the movies when you can READ THE BOOKS?”

*Allura’s favourite is the Altean equivalent of Romeo and Juliet.
~She likes that they all die at the end.
~“They deserve it. Idiots.” “Allura, no…”

*Coran’s favourite book is the Universal Encyclopedia.
~He’s working to get Earth included because he finds humans fascinating.
~“So you just… take them in your house? Aren’t they wild animals?” “They’re just dogs.” “Incredible.”


-Lance remembers the bonding moment.
*He just said he didn’t because he was bitter Keith didn’t remember him.
*It keeps him up at night.
*“I’m such an idiot.”


-Keith remembers Lance from the Garrison.
*He didn’t at first because he was still in shock from Shiro.
*It also keeps him up at night.
*“Lance is such an idiot.”

On the Social Dimension of Disability: “I don’t think of you that way.”

I can’t count the amount of people who have said some variation of “I don’t think of you that way” when it comes up that I’m disabled.

Disability (n.):  a physical or mental condition that limits a person’s movements, senses, or activities.

I have permanent paralysis in my shoulder, arm, and hand from an injury to my brachial plexus. My range of motion in that arm is about 40% of what a typical, uninjured arm would be, not to mention my underdeveloped strength, dislocated shoulder, and the resulting scoliosis. I could go on. Based on the simplest, literal definition, I am definitely disabled, because at the very least, compared with a typical body, my movements are limited.*

So, why am I always hearing “I don’t think of you that way”? 

Often a person says it to relieve their own social discomfort or cognitive dissonance, either because I’ve self-identified as disabled or because they’ve said something disparaging about disabled people. Examples:

  • My boyfriend’s mom says she has “crippling self-doubt.” My boyfriend says, “bad word choice,” gesturing to me. She does a double take, looks my way, and says “Oh, I’m sorry, it didn’t occur to me because I don’t see you that way.”
  • My college roommate and I are chatting and I mention, in a neutral tone, that I am disabled. In the voice of someone finally expressing something that’s been bothering her, she says “I don’t know why you think of yourself that way. I don’t think of you that way.”

In the first example, my boyfriend’s mom uses “crippling,” (cripple (n.): a person who is partially or totally unable to use one or more limbs) as shorthand to say that her self-doubt prevents her from normal activities, or at least from the activities she’d prefer to take part in. When my boyfriend points out that this metaphor implies physical disability (such as mine) necessarily means abnormal, negative, or useless, she experiences discomfort. She relieves it by saying, “I don’t think of you that way,” preserving the abnormal, negative, or useless associations in her head with physical disability. Because she sees me as normal, useful, productive, I must not be disabled. The definition of disability shifts from a value-neutral description of physical or mental difference to a negative social role, in order to exclude me.

In the second example, my roommate does something similar. Although I don’t express sadness or anger when calling myself disabled, it makes her upset, and she pushes back. That’s because, rather than seeing disability as a value-neutral physical or mental difference, she sees it as a negative social role. In her mind, by self-identifying this way, I’m insulting myself.

The problem with both these lines of logic is twofold:

  • The definition of disability shifts at will in order to protect the nondisabled person’s perception of disability as a negative attribute.
  • Inclusion and exclusion into this social role shifts at will in order to protect the nondisabled person’s perception of disability as a negative attribute and attitude toward disabled people that they do “think of that way.”

If I’m not disabled, then I have no way to explain why I was told not to become a lifeguard, or why men routinely refuse to date me because my “arm is just too weird,” or why strangers approach me to tell me how great it is that I’m out living life. I lose out on putting a name to these negative experiences (which is a necessary part of healing from them and fighting back) in order to protect nondisabled people’s shifting definition of disability.

Worse still, if I’m not disabled, then disabled people are just the faceless, abnormal, negative, useless Other. If, as soon as a person because a valued figure in your life, they’re excluded from that group, it is far too easy to dehumanize, objectify, and disenfranchise that group. 


*I wouldn’t trade that limitation of movement for the world, as it’s caused me to develop an interesting set of physical skills that nondisabled people lack along with character traits that are integral to my personality. But that’s for a different post.

You're the one (G.D)

A/N: I combined two requests btw. AND YES I KNOW I TOOK FOREVER. THIS IS A LONG ASS IMAGINE SO BE READY. Oh yeah Idk how to write childbirth, so if it’s not accurate..sorry. Lol anywaysss hope you enjoy (ITALICIZED PARGRAPH IS A FLASH BACK)

Requests: “Okay. So I was thinking what if we had a Grayson imagine where the reader had been best friends with them both forever. She gets with Ethan and she gets pregnant but Ethan dumps her and runs away. She’s left with massive anxiety and depression but Grayson helps build her back up and raises the kid as his own and they end up having loved each other forever.”

“Hey girl, hey. Can you do an imagine where Y/N and Grayson get home from the hospital with their baby girl, and that night, Grayson won’t sleep and he’s just kinda sitting there because he wants to protect the baby and he’s nervous something will happen to her? Make sense? Yes no? ilysmmmm 💕🖤❤”

Word count: 12,500 +

Warnings: Cusses, Birth, and this is extremely long so yeah :) OH YEAH LOTS OF TIME SKIPS SO PAY ATTENTION :D

Originally posted by loveviral




“Y/N..you have to get up.” Grayson murmured as he poked your leg through the duvet draped across your body. “No. Leave me here to wallow alone in my own sorrow.” You retorted, however your words were muffled by the pillow that your tear stained face was shoved up against. Grayson seemed to understand what you were saying, but he wasn’t having it. “Get up, it’s not healthy for you, or the baby.” He reasoned and poked your leg once again. Becoming frustrated, you kicked out a leg at him and groaned into your pillow. He caught your ankle in one of his hands and you squealed. “Gray! Let me go!” You lifted your head up to look back at him. He had a devilish, but cute smirk plastered onto his face as he pulled your foot up towards his mouth. Your lips formed an “O” shape and you let out a tiny gasp. “You wouldn’t..” You whispered as Grayson cocked an eyebrow, “Oh, I would. Unless you get your lazy ass up and off the bed.”
“Fine! Fine! Just don’t lick my foot, that’s gross. Do you have a foot fetish or something?” You said as he dropped your foot, letting it softly bounce onto the bed. “No but Eth..sorry.” Grayson trailed off as your eyes darted towards the ground. “It’s fine..its been three months, Gray..I should be over it.”

“But you’re not.”

“I know.” You said, your voice cracking just the slightest bit. Grayson looked at you, his look said it all. Sympathy and pain, his eyes wrinkled just a little because he was frowning, his lips curved downwards a bit. He had bags under his eyes, he hadn’t gotten much sleep and that was partially your fault. Okay, it was all your fault.

Being pregnant was horrible, you were constantly throwing up or just feeling crappy throughout the entire day. So, when you and Grayson would fall asleep, you would always creep into his bedroom complaining about headaches or stomach pains. Or, he’d have to run to the bathroom to help hold your hair up.
So, he eventually ended up moving into your bedroom, it made things much easier but he still lost sleep. Maybe more since you kept tossing and turning a lot.

Grayson walked over to your side of the bed and bent down to your level, he lifted up a hand and softly caressed your jaw and cheek. He used his thumb to push away the stray strands of hair as your head fell against his palm, so he cupped your face. “Time heals everything.” He whispered. “Well time is taking an awfully long time to do so, Grayson.” You muttered as Grayson leaned forward. His lips made soft contact with your forehead and your eyes fluttered shut at the relieving feeling. His lips lingered for a few seconds before he pulled away. “Just trust me.” He mumbled and stood up. You sighed and looked down at your growing stomach. It wasn’t very big, you were able to cover it with some of Grayson’s T-shirts and his baggy sweatshirts, but you knew you’d grow to be the size of a whale, not being able to fit into anything. The thought made you frown, you’d have to work out a lot more often to lose all the weight and Grayson would consistently have to remind you that you weren’t fat, it was just the baby. Of course you being you, you wouldn’t listen to him.
Delicately, you pressed your cold palm against your belly and sighed.

A tiny human was growing inside of you, and it didn’t have a father…
Well it did..but he didn’t want either of you.

Keep reading

Rest, You Need It

He needs to tell the team that he isn’t going to train today. Lance has managed to hide a head cold since yesterday, but if he wants to get better, he is going to need to rest. 

He blames this on Pidge. She’s been running a fever and complained of sore throat but 3 days ago Shiro forced her to bed with the flu. Everyone has been really good about keeping her comfortable, though Lance won’t deny that he has tried to avoid any real contact. 

While the other Paladins and the Alteans included, have provided her with food, medicine, and comfort when she asked, Lance who came from a big family, was to familiar with the saying, “Once one goes down, they all go down.” So he isn’t all that surprised that he doesn’t feel good, even if he thought he was doing a good job of preventing it. 

He needs to talk to Shiro first. 

Shiro will be more understanding.

Keep reading

Studying? I think not/// Ethan Cutkosky SMUT

Studying? I think not//Ethan Cutkosky SMUT

Word count: 2008

Warnings: full on smut


(Y/N)’s p.o.v

I anxiously bit my lip, today was the day Ethan was coming back from playlist.

He offered for me to go with him but I turned him down, I had to stay here and deal with school, it was currently midterm week and I needed to study.

I had recently finished my first five test, Writing, Reading, history and Science. I now had to take my Latin and math one, the two I knew I would fail.

I mean I’m not bad at math it’s just not my strong suit, and neither is Latin.

I texted Ethan and told him about it and he told me as soon as he unpacked he would come over and help me study. But little did I know he had other plans.

“Hey babe” Ethan said kissing the side of my head. I smiled.

“Hey” I mumbled while wrapping my arms around him, he was like a huge teddy bear.

“Alright, let’s get started” he said.

I pulled out my Latin binder, Latin worksheets, Latin translations, and Latin textbook.

Ethan rubbed the side of his head, “why didn’t you pick Spanish”

I rolled my eyes “I didn’t pick Spanish because I can’t make a decision until high school, I’m still in eighth grade remember?”

Ethan only sighed and got in a comfortable position on my bed.

“Let’s start with translating some sentences then we can work on Roman numerals and derivatives” Ethan said looking through my stuff. I nodded my head.

“Alright can you translate this sentence ‘ubi est nilus fluvius?’ ”

I smiled “easy, where is the Nile river”

Ethan smiled “correct, ok next sentence 'Africa et Europa in Rheni fluminis’”

“The Rhine river is not in Africa but Europe” i responded.

“Correct babygirl”

Ethan leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my lips. I giggled and pulled away.

“Come on lover boy, you said you would help me study, not make out with me”

“But I prefer this much more” he mumbled on my lips.

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away. “Come on, the faster we get threw this, the more time we’ll have together to do what you want”

He only sighed and we continued practicing Translations.

“Ok, we’ve gone threw almost 90 translations, can we move onto Roman numerals and derivatives?” Ethan asked.

“Yup” he opened my binder and flipped to the second column and opened the rings to take out my derivative and Roman numerals worksheet.

“Ok, so when i say the number in Latin, say it in English and name one derivative, ok?” He explained.

I nodded, “seams simple enough”

“Alright, unum”

“The number is one and a derivative could be unison”

“Duo”

“The number is two and a derivative is duplex”

“Quinque”

“Five, quintet”

“Sex”

“Six, sextuplets”

We went on and stoped at thirty.

“Alright I think your in pretty good shape (y/n)”

I blushed, “thanks, now. Time for math”.

I reached over for my bag and pulled out the algebra textbook and my notebook.

“I don’t need as much help with math, I just need help with slope intersect form, and all the lines that have to do with slope and graphing”

Ethan’s p.o.v

I watched as she grabbed her backpack and took out her textbook and notebook, she looked so pretty.

Her hair was up in a high ponytail and some strands of hair had fallen out. She was wearing my oversized sweatshirt that I had left here a before I left for playlist. She had paired the sweatshirt with some shorts.

Her mouth was open and words were coming out but I couldn’t focus on them, I was too busy checking her out.

“Hellooo, earth the Ethan?” (y/n) said whiles snapping her fingers in front of my face.

“Mhhh, what as that?” I asked.

(y/n) rolled her eyes “I said, I don’t need as much help with math, I just need help with slop intersect form, and all the lines that have to do with slope and graphing” she repeated.

I nodded “ok, let’s get started”

I took her textbook and opened it to a bookmarked page that was highlighted with different colors and little notes on the margin.

I then opened up her notebook to the first page and see a bunch of notes. Something’s were highlighted and there were notes on the side just like her textbook.

“Why do you highlight things and write notes everywhere?”

“The highlighters all have their own meaning. Yellow means I totally understand what I’m learning, pink means I I’m completely lost, and orange means I somewhat get it. The notes are supposed to help me when we take open book quizzes” she said sheepishly.

“I got the idea from teen wolf, remember? You were there. We were cuddling on my bed while catching up on the series because I wanted to and you agreed to it for some odd reason, stiles was helping malia study and he asked her why she highlighted things” she continued on.

I nodded my head remembering. “Does it help you?”

“Yeah, it works out perfectly. I stay after school and get help with the stuff that are pink”

I sighed. “Ok, well les get to work”

I skimmed threw her textbook and saw some practice Problems that she had highlighted pink.

“Ok (y/n) what are the two slope equations that you have to know?”

“Umm, y=mx+b and y1-y=m(x-x1)?”

“You partially got it right the second formula is y-y1=m(x-x1)”

She nodded and i looked at her notebook and asked her.

“How do you find slope?”

“You have to have your y and x axis graphed then you do y2-y1 over x2-x1 and you have your slope”

I nodded “you got it right, let’s try a problem”

“Ok”

“Passes through (-2,5) and (3,9)”

“Ok so first you have to find the slope so you do y2-y1 over x2-x1 and you get 4/5 as your slope, then you fill in the numbers and it will be y-5=4/5(x-(-2))”

I smiled “yup, your so smart baby girl” I cooed.

She only blushed and looked down I chuckled at her.

“Ok time for graphing, state the x and y intercepts for the function, then graph the function”

(y/n) reached over and grabbed her graphing book.

“The function is 2x - 3y = 6, solve it”

(y/n) waisted no time. She quickly jotted down the function and stared plugging in numbers for each side to find x and y. When she did she bit down on her pencil and furrowed her eyebrows obviously confused. She then erased half of her work and plugged in zero to see where that would get her, after she did that she found the intercepts and graphed the function.

She handed me the notebook and I looked down at her work, it was messy but clean and the same time. I checked the work and handed it back and nodded my head.

We continued to study until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“(y/n) we’ve went over everything, your so smart you need to have faith in yourself babygirl”

She nodded and rubbed her eyes.

“Now, time to have fun” i smirked.

I started to take all of her books, papers, and binders off of her bed so that it was just me and her.

I gently pushed her so she was laying down on the bed and started leaving wet butterfly kisses from up her neck to her lips.

She tangled her hands in my hair and kissed me harder. She wrapped her legs around my waist.


We continued kissing for a while before I pulled away to take off my shirt and 'her’ sweatshirt.

I looked at her and saw that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I let out a low growl and mumbled 'fuck’.

She blushed and covered her chest.

“Don’t babygirl, your beautiful” I said while unraveling her arms from her chest.

I leaned down and left love bites on her collarbone. I didn’t leave a lot, I knew she didn’t like it when I left them out in the open, she would get in trouble for it.

I took her right breast into my hand and sucked on it. I bit down on her nipple and it turned into a hard bud. I did this to the other breast.

I then moved down and teasingly started to pull off her shorts. She whined at my slow pace and took matters into her own hands and ripped off her shorts

I smirked. Only I had this effect on her.

I sucked in a harsh breath when I saw her white lace underwear. I could feel myself hardening even more.

I took off her underwear and placed my head in between her legs and placed wet kisses on the inside of her thighs.

I stopped when my lips met her heat. I inhaled and kissed her clit. She moaned my name and fisted the sheets.

I then stuck my tongue inside her and moved it around a little. I then brought up my hand and stuck in my index finger.

“Ethan” (y/n) moaned. She grabbed my hair and pushed my head in deeper. I grabbed her hands and placed them back down. And started going faster making (y/n) squirm, moan, and play with my hair.

“Ethan, I-I-I’m going to-”

“I got you babygirl” my pace fastened and (y/n) arched her back and came in my mouth and hand. I swallowed it all and licked her clean. I then sucked off the rest of her juices that was on my hand.

I stood and took off my pants and boxers my member sprung up and hit my stomach. (y/n) got up and sat on the edge of her bed and took my length into her hands.

She licked the tip and slowly slid it into her mouth. What she couldn’t fit in her mouth she wrapped her fingers around and massaged.

“Mhhh, babygirl right there I said while wrapping her hair around my hands and pushing my length farther into her mouth.

She started bobbing her head up and down. I moaned and released into her mouth.

She swallowed it all and I picked her up and placed her on the bed and positioned myself at her entrance.

"Ready babygirl?” She nodded her head in respons. I slowly slid myself in and waited for her to get used to my size. When she did I started going faster.

“Mghhh, Ethan fatserrr” I oblige and went faster slamming in and out of her.

“Princess I’m going to come”

“Me too”

“On the count of three, ok?”

“Ok”

I got in a few more thrust before I pulled out and came on her stomach.

I got off of her bed and went into her bathroom and got some paper napkins and went back to her room to wipe off the seamen that was on her stomach.

“I love you” I cooed before kissing her lips

“I love you t-”

“(y/n), honey are you home?”

(y/n) and I looked at each other at he sound of her moms voice. We shot up and quickly put on our cloths.

I opened her window and she sprayed some of her perfume. We jumped on her bed and I grabbed some flashcards from the floor and fixed my hair.

“What’s osmosis?” I questioned just as her mom opened her door.

“(y/n) what have I told you about closing the door when you have Ethan over? This door is to stay open. Okay?” Her mom said.

(y/n) smiled and nodded “alright mom”

“Hello Ethan”

I smiled and waved “hey Mrs. (y/l/n)”

Her mom smiled and walked out he door. (y/n) and I let out sighs and fell back on her bed.

“That was close” I mumbled.

Request: Blessed

Request: Could you write a story where the reader is a maid at the motel and Sam and Dean are sleeping in (without a case, so they sleep in late) but hear a pretty voice singing classic rock next door (as reader sings while cleaning) and Sam convinces dean to at least go see who is singing and he’s smitten. Thanks!!

Word Count: 1,213

<3

Dean is very much used to harsh awakenings. Blaring alarms, the cut of a knife, a bucket of cold water… there’s not much that’s foreign to him anymore. Late mornings, on the other hand, when the sun is far above the horizon and yet he’s still in bed, remain his favourites, because he’s able to wake on his own time, at his own pace, and maybe finally get out of bed not feeling completely exhausted.

So when he’s woken far before his usual post-case-lie-in time, for a few moments he’s mildly annoyed. That is, until he hears exactly what woke him up:

“There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I’m one,”

He’s heard angels speaking. He’s heard them screaming, and smashing windows with it – so to say an angel’s voice was coming through the paper-thin motel wall couldn’t be further from the truth. This is the opposite – sweet and soothing, and even better, singing a song he’s loved since childhood.

Throughout the sing, the voice hits each and every note, somehow capturing the haunting rhythm of the song within a bright, airy, melodic tone. He’s completely entranced. All he can do is lie there, his hands locked behind his head, and let himself be relaxed by the soothing voice as it moves through a veritable playlist of absolute classics – the gap between songs leaves him waiting in suspense, hoping for another one to start up – and the voice always obliges, and the opening notes to whichever song it chooses sound even sweeter than ever.

“You’re not going to go and flirt with her?” Sam’s voice startles Dean out of his reverie, though the voice doesn’t leave his mind.

“She’s… I don’t know what she’s doing. I don’t want to disturb her.” He says quickly – there’s a part of him that enjoys the mystery, the not knowing, the building up the image of a woman in his mind: in his head, she’s beautiful, but not overtly so – and she’s funny, with a bright, mischievous smile. It’s all an illusion, of course, but he doesn’t mind. It’s a nice mirage to bask in the glow of, either way.

“Disturb her? What’s gotten into you?” Sam’s incredulity is clearly audible in his tone, and the elder brother peels open one eye to give his brother a look.

“Nothing. But she’s obviously busy.” As if on cue, the singing pauses for a moment and is replaced with the sound of furniture scraping across the floor before starting back up again.

“You’re nervous.” Sam grins as the realisation reaches him, “You’re actually nervous to speak to a girl. Why? You’ve talked to girls who like rock before.”

“I know, I just-“

“I’m sure she’s nice enough. I’m assuming she’s staff, judging by the cleaning cart just outside the door, so she’s basically contractually obligated to be nice to you,” When Dean doesn’t reply and still looks dubious, Sam sighs in resignation, “At least go and see who it is. What she’s like. And if you like her, we don’t have a case or anywhere to be, so staying another few days shouldn’t be a problem.”

***

Dean drags himself out of the bed after that, hurrying into his jeans with such haste that he manages to shove both legs into one trouser-leg and nearly end up flat on his face, to his younger brother’s infinite amusement.

However, for once Dean doesn’t bite back, and instead heads out of the room somehow feeling a thousand times more refreshed than usual despite not having even touched the coffee pot. He nearly hesitates outside the door, but after a short pep talk and a mental kick up his own ass, he shifts the cleaning trolley out of the way and knocks, two sharp raps on the open door.

The sound cuts your voice off instantly, and you turn from what you were doing – changing over the (frankly, disgusting) bedsheets. They drop into a crumpled heap of faded, stained linen at your feet as you flash him a bright, friendly smile and brush your hands off on the black tabard that’s draped over your jeans and black t-shirt, the design of which he can’t make out for the over-garment.

“Can I help you?” You ask him sweetly, and he’s taken aback by how kind your expression is, and how beautiful you are – even more so than the vision he’d cooked up in his head, despite his thinking that it couldn’t be possible.

“Hi, I- uh- no, I-“ Dean Winchester, flustered. If you knew him, you’d be a lot more impressed than you are amused, considering the laugh that escapes your lips. Part of him wants to muffle the sound with his own lips, the other wants to listen to it forever.

“Is it your room? I was coming there next, I promise, but the people in here last… I don’t know what they were doing. I don’t think I want to know.” You shudder, only partially in hyperbole. He huffs with laughter, suddenly remembering the various states of filth and chaos he’d left motel rooms in over the years and feeling a flash of guilt.

“No, it’s fine. We were lying in anyway. I woke up to your excellent serenade.” He smiles, hoping it comes across as flirtatious, despite it feeling more hysterical.

“Oh, I woke you?” The flush that spreads across your cheeks is nothing short of adorable, “I’m so sorry, I knew the walls were thin, but-“

“Not like that!” He quickly corrects you, “I was just curious. I had to see who was singing my kind of music so well.”

“Your kind of…” He watches as you put the pieces together in your mind, “Is that why you’re wearing an AC/DC shirt backwards?”

He looks down and, sure enough, there are tour dates emblazoned down his chest – it’s his turn to flush then, but you only laugh, going back to piling bedsheets into the laundry hamper you’ve set at the foot of the bed.

“I guess it is.” He smiles, leaning against the doorframe, “I’m Dean.”

“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you.” You look up at him and, again, smile with a face full of sunshine. It warms even the deepest darkest reaches of his soul, where no light dares venture anymore. But you do, and you don’t even know it.

“I absolutely assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” He grins, straightening up and taking a step towards you, “I know you’re working and everything, but when do you get off?”

“Noon.” You reply, “As long as I get everything done.”

“In that case, you wanna grab some lunch? My treat. My brother and I are in town for a while, and I need someone who knows where all the good pie is.”

“Your brother? He coming too?” You ask offhandedly, doing a great job of looking casual about it. Dean scoffs.

“Not a chance. He’s all… salad and sadness.” Dean rolls his eyes, which makes you laugh.

“I happen to know a pretty good place. I’ll meet you at your room at noon-thirty?”

“Noon-thirty it is.” He agrees, and you bless him with another grin.

“It’s a date, then.”  

Overwatch characters with D&D classes, subclasses from basic player's handbook, races, subraces , and alignments:

I will use a few commonly used custom races like half elemental and warforged as well as a few common custom classes like gunslinger and artificer.

Also I will try to only use human occasionally if nothing else really fits. And I’ll try to include a short description of why I picked the race/if they’re half elf detailing how the choose you’re own ability increase is assigned.

Anyway hope you enjoy.
—————————————-
OFFENSE:

Genji:
Nuetral good
Warforged (I know he’s a cyborg but most of him is robotic so I’m counting him as warforged)
Way of shadow monk/Assassin rogue

McCree:
Chaotic good
Half elf (for bonus CHA and points into probably STR and DEX)
Gunslinger

Soldier 76:
Chaotic good
Half elemental (because he’s biologically enhanced. Not sure which subrace he’d be though.)
Champion fighter

Sombra:
Chaotic neutral
Half elf (bonus CHA with points into DEX and INT)
arcane trickster rogue

Pharah:
Lawful good
air half elemental (for pretty obvious reasons)
draconic bloodline sorcerer (with multiple feats put into armor and weapon proficiency gains)


Reaper:
Chaotic evil
Fire half elemental (to partially explain his abilities colors and because he was part of the same program as soldier 76)
eldritch knight fighter

Tracer:
Chaotic good
Half elf (for bonus CHA and points into DEX and WIS)
Conjuration wizard
—————————————-
DEFENCE:

Torbjörn:
Chaotic good
Mountain dwarf (yeah you knew this was coming)
Artificer (with feats into weapon and armor proficiencies)

Widowmaker:
Lawful evil
High elf (intelligence and DEX boost would make sense for her)
Hunter ranger

Hanzo:
Neutral
Half elemental (again I don’t know what subrace air? Fire? Water? Earth is the only one I think I can rule out.)
Beast master ranger

Bastion:
Neutral/Chaotic good
Warforged (no explanation necessary)
Battle master fighter with one or two levels into druid

Junkrat:
Chaotic evil
Fire half elemental (because he’s always on fire and never hurt by it)
Evocation wizard/Fiend warlock

Mei:
Neutral good (I’m going by their in lore personalities not in game play styles)
Stout halfling (I know she’s much taller than halfling height but otherwise I think it fits)
Circle of the land arctic circle druid
—————————————-
TANK:

Reinhardt:
Lawful good
Goliath (he’s enormous and the STR and CON increases make sense for him)
Oath of vengeance paladin

Zarya:
Lawful neutral
Goliath (same reasons as Reinhardt)
Oath of vengeance paladin

Orisa:
Lawful good
Warforged (again no need to explain why)
War domain eldritch knight fighter (with a heavy focus on abjuration rather than evocation)

D.va
Neutral good
Half elf (CHA increase because she is able to have a very successful streaming career with points into DEX and INT/WIS the DEX is necessary for fast reaction time and INT/WIS for in game skill)
Maybe a specialized artificer with a shield guardian made into a mech? I honestly don’t know

Roadhog:
Chaotic evil
Orc (maybe half orc, I’m not sure)
Berserker barbarian

Winston:
Lawful good
Bugbear (closest thing to gorilla we’ve got)
Abjuration wizard maybe?
—————————————-
SUPPORT:

Ana:
Chaotic good
Human (nothing else I could think of really fits)
Hunter ranger

Mercy:
Lawful good
High elf (seems like an ok fit with the plus to INT)
Life domain cleric

Lucio:
Chaotic good
Human (again nothing else I could think of fits that well)
Valor bard

Zenyatta:
Lawful good
Warforged (sorry I know all the omnics are warforged but robots are still robots in D&D)
Open palm monk

Symmetra:
Lawful neutral
High elf (falls into high elf arrogance and INT increase)
Artificer

Seven Stages

Summary; 

What a stupid question, Richie thinks. How are you? How do you think? On average Richie gets three hours of sleep a night. He can’t sleep unless my best friend is in his bed with him to begin with. He leave this hell hole to go to his own personal hell hole, where his living parent emulates death at the hand of whiskey. In the nights where Eddie doesn’t sleep with him, he sits in silence. But it’s not silent, because in his ears ring the gun shot he heard a month ago from the study. Over and over, he hears it, and sometimes he even feels it. A gaping hole forms in his chest, and he’s not even sure what caused it. Like everyone, including himself, always said: His father was shit. Garbage with a sharp backhand. Why was there a hole in his chest?

TW; Abuse, Suicide, Alcoholism, Grief/Loss, Minor Homophobia

Pairing; Reddie

Word Count; 8710 (Oh geez)

Read it in parts on AO3

A/N; A fic about Richie losing his father, and learning to grieve and cope with the support of Eddie.


Shock & Denial

Today is a day like any other. There is nothing wrong with today. Not even the fact that it’s raining. He woke up this morning, he got dressed, and kept with his usual morning routine: Grab a poptart, put on his mismatched socks, tie his shoes and leave. No, there is nothing wrong with today.

That’s what Richie tells himself as he strides into Derry high school. He did as he usually would, not a change in his routine. It wasn’t uncommon for him to not see any of his friends until lunch, he didn’t have classes with any of them, considering he was the only one in AP classes.

The first hiccup in his day: Focusing proves rather difficult as he sits in pre-calc. Everything his teacher says goes in one ear and out the other. His focus keeps falling away from the lesson, and his gaze falls to look out the window. He zones out there, losing track of time until the bell signaling the end of the period goes off.

It’s time for lunch, which is when the second hiccup occurs. Richie’s friends all know today is not like any other day. All of them know things are bad right now, and none of them can figure out why Richie sits down for lunch and acts as though nothing is wrong.

Things are very wrong.

But no one says anything, because Richie won’t say anything. They’re all hyper aware of the fact that less than two days ago, Richie’s father had taken his own life in his study. No one will mention it. How do you mention it? They all share looks between one another while Richie nonchalantly eats his lunch.

Keep reading

gone — part three || theo raeken (!!)

author: @broodybell
pairing: theo x reader
word count: 2,569

warnings: oral (both recieving), unprotected sex, swearing, fingering, teasing

authors note: this was meant to be written and posted 5 months ago… THIS IS AN EXAMPLE OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I START A FIC AND THEN GET NEW IDEA’S FOR OTHER FICS AND ABANDON THE ONE I ORIGINALLY STARTED. but yeah, it’s a lil sinful, not major but, a lil sinny.

part one. // part two. // part three. !!

summary: reader and theo are finally reunited after months of being apart. 


Keep reading

Hey so I’m thinking about Kara and M’gann again and I wrote some stuff because goddamn it I am gonna build this city from the ground up if it’s the last thing I do.


strange girls in a strange land

It’s never a secret. For the first time in Kara’s thirteen years on Earth, there’s no great revelation. There isn’t anything to reveal.

This weight that she’s carried with her into every relationship outside the Danvers that she’s ever tried to build since she landed—it suddenly becomes inconsequential, when they’re together. The fact that Kara is Kryptonian, that she is Supergirl. The distinction between Kara Danvers and Kara Zor-El and National City’s resident hero. The deception; the disguise.

There’s no pretense between them, no pretending, no parts to play. They meet in the ring as Supergirl and Miss Martian, and then a few days later Kara Danvers shows up at the alien bar—and M’gann knows. It’s not something she needs to deduce or figure out after they’ve known each other a while. She just looks at Kara and she knows—it’s just a simple unconscious observation, as clear to see as the gold of Kara’s hair or the blue of her eyes.

M’gann slides Kara an Aldebaran rum and Kara doesn’t even realize that she’s still wearing her glasses.

Keep reading

Nowhere Fast (Logan x Reader)

 Word Count: 7k+

Rating: M for some mild smut

Warnings: None

Note:  I’m playing fast and loose with the events of “Logan” so most of this is pretty inaccurate. Took the basic premise and turned it into a fix-it fic slash road trip romance because the ending of that godfuckingdamn movie made me want to cry and I couldn’t leave the love of my life like that.
Also keep in mind that I have no fucking idea how cars work so anything in this oneshot is just guesswork.

ALSO the reader is said to be nineteen because duh this started out as a shameless self insert because I ADORE logan and he deserves love and someone who will appreciate his abs
Enjoy and also SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK KMS

It becomes his next mission, after Laura. Saving kids like her. Bringing them up across the border. And of course it’s easier said than done, but Logan feels like he owes it to them. It’s partially his fault their lives have gone to hell, anyway.

That’s how he meets (Name). She’s a mutant, the first natural-born one he’d seen in years– not strong, though, not with all the shit Transigen has been fucking dumping into the food and the water supply– and her entire telekinesis thing had brought a horde of those asshole Reavers crawling out of whatever hellhole they’d been stowed away in to track her down.

He picks her up in a bar somewhere east of Phoenix, Arizona.

And–

The first thing he really registers about her is that she’s fucking pretty.

He notices her in fragments– she’s attractive in that sort of innocent way, with wide, wide eyes and dark lashes and a soft pink mouth and a bright smile, cutoff denim shorts exposing just a little more skin than actually necessary, enough that it makes him swallow around a sudden tightness in his throat.

He ignores it, focuses hard on doing what he came here to do, manages to get her out of there and into his truck without incident. Somehow she ropes him into small talk on the drive, though, and that– that’s where everything just ends up going to shit.

He tells her he’s like her– a mutant– explains where they’re going and why. Up through Michigan, to Canada, he tells her, because the Reavers will be expecting them to try to get through North Dakota again, and he’d rather be safe than dead. A solemn silence follows, which she breaks by making an odd sort of happy noise at whatever music is playing through his shitty speakers, and forcing him to crank up the radio for a song he’s never heard before. She tells him that she loves the song with a smile that’s pleasantly genuine. He says all he likes is alcohol and cigars and for some reason she finds that funny.

She asks him how old he is– “Old enough,” he says, avoiding the question– and then they lapse into a short silence.

“I’ll be nineteen soon,” she mentions as he’s crossing the state lines into New Mexico, an unimportant remark made in passing, and Logan feels his throat tighten inexplicably.

He glances over at her, mumbles some intelligible reply, rakes a too-hot gaze up her legs and over the front of her half-unbuttoned flannel shirt and registers that his palms are sweaty and his mouth is dry and that his stomach is sinking–

She’s barely even legal , he thinks, hopelessly resigned to how much he already knows he doesn’t fucking care.

  —————

They get to the safe house just fine, and Logan breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they pull into the winding dirt driveway at nearly two in the morning– the hardest part of this is over. His connection will be over within the week to take her up to where the rest of the kids are, and that’ll be it.

He never shows up.

Which is just fucking great, and leaves him with the responsibility of bringing her up to Canada himself.

It’s fine, he tells himself, as he pushes open the heavy oak door to the safehouse and realizes it’s only got two rooms.

Fine.

There are separate beds, at least.

It’s not fine.

He finds out almost immediately that she sleeps in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear. That first day is hell– it’s like she’s actively trying to kill him; she runs around the house they’re forced to share in the tiniest goddamn shorts he’s ever seen and seems to own a fucking million of those tight, low-cut tank tops. And it’s not just that– she’s a good kid, too, which just makes it worse.

She’s cheerful. She’s smart and a little sarcastic and ridiculously positive, but she’s also focused. Nothing he does goes over her head. At first Logan spends half his time being ridiculously fucking careful about what he says and how he says it just to make sure he doesn’t accidentally scare her away, because he knows he can be frightening. He’s killed people before.

Three days in he becomes convinced that the girl honestly doesn’t care. Nothing he does ever phases her.

It’s nice.

She’s clever, and brave, and unfailingly, stupidly kind.

It’s fucking weird.

On the last day, he wakes up to her fucking making him breakfast at seven in the morning like it’s a normal thing for her to do.

“It’s sort of a thank you, for, you know,” she mumbles through a mouthful of blueberry pancakes, “For saving my life.”

“Mm,” Logan responds, trying not to stare– because her nightshirt is incredibly fucking see-through and he might be two-hundred-something years old but he’s still a man, and–

Fuck.

It’s fine.

(It’s not fine.)

“You could say thank you,” she whines through his silence, pretty obviously not meaning it.

“Thanks,” Logan replies, more gruffly than he intended. He pours cheap convenience-store syrup over the pancakes and focuses harder than necessary on cutting the stack into neat, even pieces. She bites her bottom lip. He does not look.

“So,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes thoughtfully. “I– what are we going to do? I mean, we can’t– how long are we staying here?”

He licks his lips. Swallows. Drops his fork down on his plate and clears his throat with a cough that’s a little too rattling to be healthy, and says,

“Not long.”

She doesn’t say anything.

It surprises him, how easily she accepts the answer. To be honest, it’s nice, because he really didn’t feel like arguing, but a part of him wonders about her family and her friends and if there will be anyone to miss her– if Transigen fucking left anyone alive to miss her. The answer, if he had to guess, is no. She’s alone. She’s probably already been through her fair share of hell, but she still sings as she does the dishes, swaying gently to the tinny sound of some acoustic pop song as it filters in from the cheap radio he keeps on the kitchen window sill. He finds himself in awe of how incredibly fucking happy she still manages to be.  

Logan leans back in his chair and he sips at his coffee and he watches her as she stares almost pensively out the bay window above the sink, her face illuminated in the warmth of the morning sunlight.

It’s nice, he thinks. It’s normal.

It doesn’t stay that way. Things like this usually don’t.

  —————

They clear out two days later. Logan leaves two hundred dollars crammed in the space between the front step and the doorframe for his contact who had set up the safehouse– if he isn’t already dead– and loads the remaining food and supplies into the back of his beat-down pickup truck.

“What the fuck,” she says, looking half-dead in the passenger seat– and it’s not really a question, so Logan doesn’t bother to really answer.

“Seat belt.”

“What the fuck,” she repeats, louder, voice taking on a whiny sort of edge that should really piss him off more than it does. He’s already got a soft spot for her, apparently. Jesus Christ.

Logan grits his teeth.

What ?” he responds, deadpan.

“Wh– you dragged me out of bed at five in the fucking morning,” she says, kicking her feet up on the dashboard with a yawn.

Logan growls, and swats at her kneecaps with the folded-up, coffee-stained road map he’d swiped from one of those shady-looking rest stops by the highway. “Get ‘em off,” he snaps.

She flashes him a rude look, and in a move entirely indicative of how young she actually is, sticks her fucking tongue out at him , a flash of red against the white of her teeth.

And Logan–

Logan laughs. He laughs, the sound abrupt and kind of stilted, like he isn’t used to doing it, like there hasn’t been a reason for him to in what feels like years.

Which is probably true.

Fuck, he thinks.

The girl– she’s still looking at him, flatly unimpressed. Waiting for an answer, or an explanation, or something.

“We had to leave early,” Logan says, risking a side-glance over at her as he maneuvers out of the dirt driveway. “Makes sure we won’t be followed.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, and then heaves a sigh, leaning back against the leather-upholstered seat.

“I forgot about that,” she eventually offers. It’s kind of an apology.

He responds with a noncommittal grunt, reaching over to turn the radio up.

Soon enough they find the main road, and start heading northwest on a mostly-empty highway. The sky is still dark. The only light comes from the streetlamps, glinting off of the tinted windows in eerie, fleeting patterns as he drives past them, one by one.

“You’re not forgiven, though,” she says eventually, lips twitching up into a semblance of a smile. “I don’t get up before ten.”

Logan rolls his eyes. He wants to say something dismissive. Something rude, something to shut down whatever semblance of a friendship they’ve established.

Before he can muster up the courage to say anything she’s rolling down the windows and sliding on a pair of fucking sunglasses even though it’s like, five-thirty in the fucking morning, and turning up the radio as far as it will go. In the distance, the sun finally slips past the horizon line, and the light takes on this warm, ethereal sort of tone, highlighting the planes of her face in a way that makes Logan think about– things. Stupid things.

She’s pretty in a way that she shouldn’t be.

Whatever Logan was about to say dries up and disappears somewhere below his adam’s apple.

He looks at her.

His reflection stares back at him from the mirrored lenses of her knockoff Ray Bans.

“I can’t see shit,” she says, and, again, he finds himself laughing.

  —————

The first night, he manages to find a place for them to sleep: a motel about a half mile from the highway, nestled between a tiny gas station and a greasy, stereotypical “All-American” burger joint.

And it’s shitty.

Logan walks into their room and feels like he’s been blasted back to the fucking 1980s– between the weirdly overused floral patterns fading on the bedspread and the honest-to-god shag carpet, it’s like he’s stumbled into a time capsule.

“Ew,” the girl says, inspecting an odd stain on the chintz armchair by the coffee table. “ Ew.”

Logan scans the room. One bed. No couches, just chairs. The girl notices him silently studying the furniture and immediately sees the problem.

Her solution surprises him.

“We can share,” she says nonchalantly, “Just don’t snore.”

Logan opens his mouth, but doesn’t actually say anything. He closes it.

Right.

And that goes about as well as expected– which is to say they go to bed a respectable distance away from each other, and Logan manages to fall asleep without thinking too much about the practically half-naked girl next to him.

Except-

He wakes up on his side, hip digging uncomfortably into the box spring set beneath the paper-thin mattress, and finds her tucked into the empty space left by his body.

Right , he thinks, again, not really awake, and to be honest, uncertain as to whether or not he’s even conscious.

She shifts. Yawns, breath ghosting hotly against his bare chest. Makes absolutely no effort to move away, not even a little, and Logan feels something that’s almost panic begin to simmer in his abdomen, dissolving any of his remaining sleepiness and leaving him awake and painfully aware.

So he does the logical thing, which is to try to disentangle himself as quietly as possible, before realizing he’s already pressed up against the wall and that there is absolutely nowhere to go.

Fuck, Logan thinks, with the appropriate amount of irritation.

At least he hasn’t popped a boner.

He shifts uncomfortably.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Physical closeness– he refuses to call it intimacy, because it isn’t– has never bothered him before. His truck is small and road trips are long and at this point he should be used to the inevitability of being forced to share a bed with someone.

It would help, he thinks, if that someone were less attractive and less available and less exactly his type. Logan still isn’t sure if he even has a type, but if he did, she’d be it.

(He’s so screwed.)

She yawns, again, and then uses Logan’s body as leverage to push herself away from him towards the end of the bed. And Logan– he stays perfectly fucking still and forces himself to ignore the heat of her palms against his lower abdomen.

“Morning,” she mumbles, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of the bed. She stretches, and her nightshirt rides up, up, up, exposes the curve of her spine as her back arches. The sun streams in from the nearby window and kind of fucking surrounds her, makes her look like some sort of goddamn angel, or something else equally as stupid.

Logan answers her with a noncommittal grunt and buries his face back in one of the lumpy pillows, legitimately praying for strength.

Getting up doesn’t help anything. They eat off-brand cereal for breakfast and he does his best to not talk. Later, she showers while he brushes his teeth, because they need to get on the road as soon as possible and sometimes that means awkward shit happens. He discovers there’s a sliding door to the bath, and it’s that bullshit frosted glass, not really see-through but not solid, either. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to keep himself from watching– he can’t really see anything, nothing defined, anyway, but there’s the outline of her body through the condensation collecting on the glass, and it’s enough to make focusing on anything else difficult.

Jesus Christ.

It occurs to him, after they’ve checked out and after he’s thrown their bags in the back seat of his pickup, that ignoring her should be a lot easier than it’s ending up to be.

It isn’t.

They stop at the tiny convenience store next to the motel before leaving, to stock up on food.

“And gas,” he adds, staring at the meter, hovering just above ‘empty’.

She goes in to pay and Logan fills up the tank, fingers drumming absentmindedly against the dusty side of the car. He glances into the shop through the dirty glass window and his eyes fix on her almost immediately. She’s smiling and handing a twenty to the cashier– a young guy, about her age, who looks like he has no fucking idea how to react to so much genuine happiness being directed at him.

HIs immediate response is a startlingly aggressive rush of irritation towards the cashier, followed immediately by irritation at himself.

He used to be immune to this sort of shit, he thinks, shoving the gas nozzle back into its cradle.

Apparently that’s changed.

  —————

By the end of their sixth day on the road, they’re somewhere in Illinois and Logan is suffering.

The AC is out and his engine is overheated and he’s overheated and about two minutes away from what feels like a goddamn heat stroke. He’s not sure if he can even have those, but he is sure that he’s about to find out.

They might have enough time to stop for repairs and still be ahead of the people following them. But Logan isn’t going to risk it. He doesn’t want to fight. He’s tired, and there’s always another way, even if that means running.

He tells her they’re going to start driving at night, and her response is understandably negative. It still doesn’t stop him from pulling the truck out of the little bed-and-breakfast they’d ended up in and getting back on the road as soon as the sun sets. She complains for a solid two hours before she starts to fall asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat.

They’re driving through a long stretch of wilting, sun-dried fields when it happens.

“Wh– fireworks?” She says, opening her eyes just as the first one explodes into a shimmer of red and white above the car.

Logan grunts in affirmative. “‘S the Fourth of July,” he says. “I think.”

She sits up straight in her seat, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her neck where the seatbelt had bitten into her skin, and fixes him with an imploring look that he can barely see in his peripheral vision.

“No,” he says, already knowing what she’s going to ask.
“But I want to watch the fireworks. Just half an hour,” she answers, somewhat convincingly. “I’ll watch from the truck bed. You can be an asshole and just sit in the car.”

Logan manages to hold his own for about five entire minutes.

“Goddamnit,” he grumbles. She grins.

(In hindsight, giving in to her was a horrible, horrible idea.)

He takes his shitty, beat-up pickup truck and parks it down off the road in one of the fields, half-hidden from the road by a giant weathered sign that reads Land For Sale in peeling black paint, and she climbs into the back truck while he stares at the steering wheel and contemplates what he’s even fucking doing to himself at this point.

He gets out of the car.

She’s lying on her back in the bed of the truck, arms tucked behind her head. The suspension creaks perilously as Logan moves to sit beside her. The sky is clear and the stars are bright and the moon is glowing and full. A firework shoots up into the sky in a trail of golden smoke and explodes with a dull crack across the dark expanse of the horizon. Logan doesn’t care. He’s been alive long enough that any sense of wonder he had for them has just– dissipated.

Above them, fireworks continue to go off, flickering through the sky in bursts of bright, effervescent color.

Logan looks at her as she watches them. He thinks about the happy smile she’d given him when he’d agreed to this bullshit. He thinks about the corresponding warmth that had blossomed slowly in his chest somewhere between his ribs, and wonders, not for the first time, when everything had gotten so fucked.

  —————

They’re in a shitty roadside bar in Michigan and she’s kicking his ass at pool when he realizes he has a fucking problem.

They’ve been camped out for the last hour and a half, commandeering the pool table in the back corner of the bar surrounded by half-drunk wannabe-rednecks in sleeveless flannels and fourty-year-old men with beer bellies who pretty obviously peaked in high school. Logan’s had enough scotch to actually start feeling it, which has been getting easier and easier to accomplish as his fucking healing factor shuts down, or whatever, but that’s not what really matters. The buzzing inside of his head isn’t entirely because of the alcohol, anyway.

The girl– (Name)– is bent over the pool table lining up a shot, and his eyes make a slow sweep up her body almost without thinking about it, lingering over her legs and her ass and the slow sinuous curve of her spine and–

“I am… the best, ” she announces, pausing to make sure she’s succeeded in sinking the eight ball before gloating, “That’s two to one, against somebody who’s spent, what, twenty years doing nothing but bar hopping–”

Logan swallows, mouth feeling particularly dry, and finishes off the rest of his scotch.

“Shut up ,” he says, not really meaning it.

Their arms brush. Distantly, he can hear the low-pitched rumble of his own laughter. She’s saying something about a rematch and he can’t fucking say no to her because they’ve got time to kill and this is infinitely better than being stuck in another shitty motel room.

She’s moving around the table, collecting the pool balls to rack for their next match when somebody approaches her from the bar.

In hindsight, Logan should have fucking expected this. It’s a dive bar and half the men here are scum and the other half are just plain stupid, and she’s young, and attractive, easily the prettiest girl in the damn place– it shouldn’t be all that surprising that somebody else would notice that.

The guy– he’s tall. Reedy. Messy, dull hair and a shitty beard that’s patchy and frankly pathetic, like he made it through half of puberty before his body just fucking– gave up. He’s got sweat-stains on his faded Michigan University t-shirt and tobacco-stained teeth and Logan knows, logically, that she isn’t even remotely fucking interested, but–

That’s not what matters.

What matters is that this piece of shit had seen him, and her, and assumed that any sort of bullshit he planned on pulling would be perfectly okay, because there was no way that the two of them could ever be together, no, the guy hadn’t even bothered to fully look at Logan before dismissing him entirely.

And–

That makes him angry, even though he knows he’s got no right to be.

He comes up behind her. Curls his arm around her waist. He feels her stiffen and then relax into his side in less than a second, and a part of him wants to believe that the reaction is instinctive, natural, like she hadn’t even made the conscious decision to do it.

Logan grits his teeth and glares veritable daggers at the dirtbag leaning over her, and his anger must be palpable because the guy’s cocky, predatory smile withers and dies and he’s holding up his hands and walking away before Logan even has a chance to say anything to him.

She doesn’t move away. Instead, she leans into him, and lets out a heavy sigh of relief.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, reaching down to squeeze his hand. Logan stiffens– even that little amount of contact is enough to make his pulse beat faster, stronger, louder.

“We should get out of here,” he says, voice low and slightly gravelly. The events that had just unfolded– they don’t feel real. Like he’s outside himself watching everything unfold through a telescope a million miles away. What the fuck is he doing?

He swallows.

The look she gives him is soft, and Logan wonders if she realizes what’s happening, if she even gets it, gets the nights in the hotels and the hours together driving and the fireworks and the fucking bar fight he’d been willing to start for her, gets what it all means when the incidents are lined up like that, one after another–

“Yeah,” she answers. “We should go.”

They wind up in another hotel with two six-packs of Logan’s favorite beer, and everything feels– off. Wrong. The silence is thick and there’s a thread of tension between them that hadn’t been there before.

Logan realizes he’s singlehandedly destroying the first good thing he’s had in forty years.

Fuck.

 —————

He has a plan. Get to Canada, get her somewhere safe, and then leave.

That doesn’t happen.

  —————

 The truck finally gives out in a tiny town called Paradise, on the very edge of Lake Huron.

It would be funny, he thinks, almost like fate, if he even believed in that sort of thing.

“Engine’s all overheated,” the mechanic explains, poking at a half-melted length of rubber piping. “See this? Coolant’s supposed to go through here, but it’s all fucked.”

Logan grits his teeth and crosses his arms and digs his nails into his palms with an unnecessary amount of violence. “Can you fix it?”

The mechanic runs grease-stained fingers through his hair and nods. “Yeah, I mean, next week , not, y’know, today.”

He babbles on about the shop missing the parts or some other bullshit, because apparently they don’t get much business in fucking-nowhere, Michigan– big surprise– and then he directs Logan and the girl to a small hotel by the shoreline that’s mostly empty, where they’ll apparently have to stay until the parts come in on Monday.

He checks in at the front desk and gets the keys from a sweet old lady who asks too many questions. Their room is small, and overly-decorated, with ocean-themed throw pillows scattered across a matching set of armchairs and a handful of seashell windchimes hanging out by the screened-in porch. It’s a nice place, better than where they’d been forced to stay before, but Logan doesn’t care. He just throws his bags onto a quilted starfish-patterned bedspread and collapses on top of it with a long, drawn-out sigh.

The girl is standing in the doorway, watching him.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

Logan grunts in affirmative and closes his eyes. He hears footsteps, steady and quiet against the plush carpet, and then a hand brushes across his forehead and it’s fucking ridiculous how quickly his pulse stutters and how sharp his sudden intake of breath sounds in his ears.

“No fever,” she says.

“‘s just the adamantium,” he grunts, except it isn’t.

She looks at him, and it’s suddenly so easy– too easy– for him to be angry. Irritated that when he looks back at her he can’t get a read on her, or her mood, or her intentions, can’t quite tell what she’s thinking.

He sits up, suddenly feeling suffocated. He’s tired of this– tired of fighting her and himself and tired of never being sure whether he’s winning or losing or just wasting time. Nothing makes sense anymore. It feels like he’s been knocked off-balance, like for some reason his center of gravity has shifted just enough to make his world spin around him and the only fucking thing he’s certain of anymore is his own denial. He’s never been good at confronting his emotions.

Logan stands up.

“I’m going out,” he says, tone clipped and short.

She doesn’t stop him.

Logan didn’t really expect her to.

  —————

She finds him a little over an hour later. It’s dusk– the sun has slipped down over the horizon, but there’s still just enough lingering light to give everything a soft, surreal sort of glow.

Logan’s clothes and shoes are stacked in a sandy heap up on the shoreline and he’s waded into the lake up to his waist, watching the fractured patterns of silver moonlight flicker over the surface, dizzyingly bright against the dark water.

“Hey.”

He says nothing. Her gaze moves slowly over the planes of his upper body–the scars and the burn marks and the bullet holes that never really healed right– and the expression on her face is something he only distantly recognizes. Their eyes meet, and she searches his face, studying him, and Logan can see the precise moment when she realizes, pieces together his evasion tactics and his silence and his jealousy and his perpetual anger–

Her expression softens.

She pulls her tank top up over her head in one slow, languid movement. Discards her shorts. Wades into the lake until she’s standing beside him, gentle waves lapping at her stomach. She skims her hands over the water, gently, lightly, never quite breaking the surface, and Logan watches with a sharp sort of intensity.

The tension feels different, tonight. It’s softer, but it’s also become that much harder to avoid.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says in a gravelly whisper, before he can even think of stopping himself. His laugh is half bewildered and half angry, because he’s always, always angry. “You never fuckin’ know what you’re doing.”

She moves towards him. There’s the soft, lingering glide of her bare, wet skin against his as she traces the lines of the puckered, waxy scar he’d gotten on his left arm when he saved her life, and there’s the miniscule amount of space between them, hot and thick like the air inside of his shitty truck had been for the week since the AC blew out. None of this is new, not really, but it still feels different, this time.

“If I–” she pauses, swallows, and her pupils are dilated and nearly eclipsing her irises and Logan feels a sudden tightness in his gut, feels heat, feels anticipation and longing and a lot of fucking things, really, things he probably shouldn’t be feeling but feels anyway.

“If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

He stares at her.

(He hadn’t been expecting that. He should’ve, though. She’s never been one for subtlety.)

The effect it has on him is instant. It’s like being doused in cold water. The fire pooling in his stomach fizzles and dies and is abruptly replaced by the thousands of reasons why he can’t and shouldn’t and won’t. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. He can’t just come waltzing into her fucking life and take a space that she should be saving for somebody else. For anyone else, really, for somebody who’s safer and kinder and better than him.

“(Name),” he warns, sharply. Abruptly.

End of conversation.

It isn’t really the end of it, though. She’s too fucking stubborn.

“Logan,” she retorts, moving closer. She reaches out to touch him again and he grabs her wrists before she can and fuck, he thinks, she’s looking at him like she already knows how he’ll react to everything that she’s saying and everything that she’s doing and he can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s managed to get himself into.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, hoarsely.

She doesn’t say anything. He can hear the gentle sound of the waves lapping up against them, the strange silence of the surrounding shoreline, can feel his own heartbeat perilously, traitorously loud inside his ribcage.

She’s waiting for him, he realizes. He’s waiting for him.

“Fuck,” he says.

He lets go of her wrists, registers her hands against his bare chest, warm and soft, and then he’s reaching out, cupping her face, tipping her chin up.

She moves up to meet him.

He kisses her slowly. Gently. His hands are shaking and she has her arms wrapped loosely around his neck and her body is pressed against his like it belongs there.

It’s easy. It’s so fucking easy. Weeks of constant tension dissolve like mist in the sunlight.

She’s the one who ends it.

“I’m going back to the hotel room,” she whispers, breath warm where his neck meets his shoulder. “Come with me?”

He breathes out, exhale shallow and shaky, but his eyes are steady on hers. Focused.

By the time they get back to the hotel, it’s dark, but that doesn’t matter.

The door closes with a soft click of rubber insulation against wood, and Logan looks at her, really looks at her, eyes roaming over her legs and her hips and her chest and her mouth, all the places he hadn’t allowed himself to notice until now.

The distance between them closes much more easily, much more quickly, this time.

“Never thought we’d do this,” he murmurs, and then corrects himself, “Never thought you’d want me to.”

Her laugh is soft. Disbelieving. She meets his eyes and leans up towards him and whispers, “That’s because you’re stupid”, and the words dissolve into his mouth as she kisses him– or maybe he kisses her, or maybe a little of both. It doesn’t matter, anyway, and Logan doesn’t care.

He frames her face with his hands and slants his mouth over hers and deepens the kiss, his tongue parting her lips and pushing in and scraping over her teeth, across the roof of her mouth– she tastes exactly how he imagined, exactly how he’d dreamed she would, sweet like chapstick and strawberries and so fucking perfect that for a moment he’s left wondering if this is even real. His hand is moving down from her face to the curve of her waist, fingers digging in, and he’s urging her closer until her body is pressed up so close to his that he can feel her heartbeat against his chest, the rapid rise-and-fall of her breathing as he keeps kissing her. Her hand wraps around the back of his neck and her teeth scrape over his bottom lip, half-smiling against his mouth when he makes a sound almost like a growl and kneads her hips, yanking her closer, moving one hand up under her half-damp tank top. Her skin is soft and warm under his calloused hands and fuck when he drags his thumb across her nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra she makes a noise like a sigh, or maybe a moan, shallow and soft, and rakes her nails down his arms–

It’s still not good enough.

He wants to touch her everywhere.

Logan yanks her tank top off, fabric clinging stubbornly to her still-wet skin, and then he fumbles with the clasp of her bra for a moment before discarding that, too. She’s beautiful, and he had known that, but it’s not the same– not when it’s like this, when he can so easily reach out and touch, and maybe he stares for a second or more than a second–

“Jesus,” he whispers, a little more frantic than intended, and almost immediately his mouth descends over the soft column of her throat and then down to her collarbones, her breasts, kissing every inch of skin he can reach with a sort of reverence he hadn’t known he was capable of. She leans into the feeling of his mouth, gasps out his name in a breathless, needy way that hits him hard, makes his cock ache in the rough confines of his boxers as he sucks a bruise into her skin where her shoulder meets her neck– half because he wants to and half because it’s proof that this is real.

In the back of his mind, he thinks of all the ways he could talk himself out of this, all the countless reasons why he shouldn’t let this get any worse or any more permanent, but he finds that he doesn’t care. She kisses him and he tugs her closer, a low groan vibrating somewhere in his throat at how effortlessly her body fits against his.

She’s the one who pulls him towards the bed.

“Come on, Logan,” she says, and it’s probably supposed to sound teasing, sarcastic, defiant, even, but mostly it just sounds breathless. There’s a bruise blossoming on her neck and her mouth is swollen and red, and Logan stops and stares and the only thing he can think is I did that, I did that to her, I kissed her–

“Fuck,” he bites out, the noise low and unsurprisingly aggressive.

He hears the rustle of the comforter against the mattress as she moves onto it, and he follows, wrenches his shirt up over his head and tosses it to the floor and then easily pushes her legs apart to take the space between them. Her nails dig  into his shoulders, not enough to really hurt, and she drags him down into another kiss, the movement of her mouth against his mirroring the slow, languid roll of her hips–

“Get your clothes off, c’mon,” he mutters, half pleading, biting her bottom lip just hard enough to make her gasp against his mouth and relishing in how she reacts to him, honest and real in a way he hadn’t expected.

Her shorts are off before he even has time to think about what he’s doing, and then her underwear, too, joining his shirt in a messy, haphazard pile of clothing on the floor, and he’s looking at her and she’s staring right back and the sudden rush of vulnerability he feels is almost enough to make him wonder if this was a mistake. It’s fucking stupid, he thinks, because he’s still got half his goddamn clothes on, why does he feel so exposed ?

But–

Still.

His breathing is ragged. His pulse is thundering. The air is thick with something that feels like static electricity, sharp and heavy, like in the moments before a storm. His eyes rake up her body almost of their own volition, taking in the swell of her breasts and the curve of her stomach and then trailing down, down–

“Logan,” she mutters, squirming under the heat of his gaze, and any hint of defiance is gone at this point, replaced by pent-up, repressed longing, and it suddenly clicks that this entire fucking thing had never been one-sided. It had never just been him, she had watched and waited and wanted him too, and–

“(Name),” he rasps, not sure if he had even meant to say it out loud, and then he’s undoing his belt and fumbling with the button on his jeans, discarding his clothes in a bundle and closing the space between them with a newfound desperation.

She leans up and meets him halfway, and the kiss is frantic and messy and perfect. His weight pins her down to the bed and his desire is all-consuming, white-hot in the pit of his stomach as she rocks up against him, the friction making him groan. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s wanted something this badly, and the feeling of her bare skin is like a fucking drug. His hand slips down her stomach, moves in between her thighs, and she’s wet, fuck, his fingers are slick against her skin and when he touches her she chokes out a soft, trembling moan, and he realizes distantly that he’s so fucking hard it hurts–

“Logan,” she whispers, a little desperately, rocking her hips up into his hand, looking for friction, and his breath just fucking falters, shit, the arm supporting his weight on the bed is trembling and he can’t think of anything he wants more in this moment than her.

“Jesus,” he groans, pressing a finger inside of her and curling it up, and her answering moan is needy and helpless and when he starts to fuck her with his fingers she fucking melts underneath him in the best way–

“Stop fucking– teasing,” she says, trying to sound irritated but failing miserably as her voice wavers and dissolves into a moan.

Logan exhales shakily. He stops touching her.

They’re both aware of it, he knows, his cock pressed up against the inside of her thigh, hot and hard and insistent, and then she rocks her hips up against him and he groans, the sound frantic, desperate, dragging her into a kiss–

He thrusts into her in one fluid motion.

“Ah– fuck,” he groans, against her open, waiting mouth, eyes closed and face tense and the muscles in his arms and upper back strung taut, tense with the effort of holding himself still.

There’s a moment of silence– a moment of stillness– that’s strangely intimate, warm and familiar and right, his breathing ragged and unsteady against her neck as he struggles to hold on to the quickly-fading remains of his self-control.

Logan moves slowly.

Her answering moan is soft and the warmth of their combined body heat is heady and suffocating–sweat beads on his forehead and her breath ghosts hot across his collarbones as he moves and as she rolls her hips up to meet him. His forehead is pressed against hers and their noses are bumping as he kisses her, open-mouthed and messy, catching her gasp and his answering groan as she tightens around him, hot and wet and perfect. The way she drags her palms down his chest and across the wide expanse of his shoulders is desperate, almost like she’s looking for something to hold on to as he thrusts in a little harder, watches, seemingly entranced, as his cock moves, in down to the base until their hips are pressed together and then back again.

Logan ,” she moans, biting into the tight, sinewy curve of his shoulder just enough to make him groan, and make his rhythm stutter, and make his hips snap forward hard, and whatever he was going to say in response is replaced with a desperate, needy growl at the way she moans with the rock of his body. A shiver trembles down her spine, liquid and involuntary, and he can feel the way her muscles tighten around his cock, can hear the creaking of the bedsprings and the sharp, ragged sounds of his own breathing and nothing else really seems to matter except what’s happening right then. He doesn’t care about the past, or the future, or anything except the way she melts when he kisses her and how she arches her hips to meet his and moans into his mouth at the feeling, simultaneously overwhelmed and wanting more–

He snaps his hips forwards and he watches her tremble, watches her mouth part for a gasp and how she never stops looking at him, not even for a second. Her eyes are bright, clear and warm, and Logan wonders if she’s always looked at him like that, if maybe he just never noticed.

“I– fuck, fuck, I’m–” she gasps, tripping over the words, a little desperate and a lot frantic as she grinds up against him, one hand tangled in his hair and the other somewhere on the expanse of his shoulder, reaching for purchase, something to hold on to–

He’s acutely aware of her body pressed up against his own, slick with sweat and incredibly fucking warm, her face buried in his shoulder and her breath hot against his skin and her body soft and pliant and perfect underneath him. Everything about this is driving him fucking crazy and he’s wanted it for so long that it’s hard to focus, that everything else is a colorless, meaningless blur in the background and all he can see is her, back arching and muscles tensing and calling out his name as she comes.

And it’s fucking beautiful, and perfect, and exactly how he imagined while also being so much better. She trembles and tightens around him in the most delicious way and the moan she releases is wonderfully helpless and whatever remaining scraps of decorum he had left just fucking dissolve. His thrusts become erratic, his rhythm falters and he realizes, distantly, that he’s not going to last much longer as she rocks against him until he can barely think straight.

“(Name),” he mutters, and chokes out a curse, buries his face in her shoulder and relishes in it, in the closeness and the shared body heat and the feeling of being here, with her, like this, until his body falters and his weight comes down onto his forearms and his orgasm is wrenched through him like a fucking revelation.

And then it’s over.

He doesn’t move for a long moment. She doesn’t make him. Nothing seems to matter anymore except the warmth of where their bodies are still joined, the sound of their combined breathing, and the ache of the emotions they had unleashed on one another. It’s a brief moment of peace for him, and he thinks she must feel the same.

“You can get off of me now,” she complains, softly. Breathlessly. Logan huffs out a laugh, deep and warm, and moves away. He hesitates, only for a second, before pulling her to his bare chest with his hand curled over her hip.

The silence isn’t as suffocating as he’d expected. It’s almost– comfortable.

“Dumbass,” she says. There’s an honest sort of affection in her voice, as she throws an arm over his chest and buries her face in the crook of his neck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, sleepy and sated and not really meaning it at all.

  —————

He goes up to Canada. Brings her back to a house he hasn’t been to in years, nestled comfortably in the mountains under the shade of a forest of pine trees. The last time he was here, he was still mostly human; no adamantium. Just bone. The house is empty, but he still owns it, technically.

The first thing she asks him after getting unpacked is if he’s going to stay. He expected the question, but answering it is still hard, the word catching somewhere in his throat just below his voice box.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I think so.”

Christian Yu x Reader: Let Me Explain - Chapter 6

Chapter 1: These Seoul Streets. | Chapter 2: Uninvited Guests | Chapter 3: Confrontation | Chapter 4: Who Wouldv’e Thought?| Chapter 5: Red Roses

Chapter 6: It’s Party Time

Word count: 5287 (I’m sorry lol)

Series type: Angst.

Warnings: Bad language and mentions of alcohol and consumption of it.

Additional Characters: DPR LIVE (Dabin) and mentions of other artists/fictional characters.

A/N: Thank you everyone for supporting the series the way you have, sadly all good things come to an end, this is part one to the finale. Please keep in mind English is not my first language therefore there might me some spelling/grammar mistakes


You can’t even explain how everything happened so fast. It’s been three days since that night, and it has also been three days since you’ve seen Christian face to face. You keep in contact through texts and calls and see him through late night face time sessions, but both of your schedules were too packed to actually meet up. Especially now that operation fake relationship is up and running.

After Christian attended that meeting at YG he had been so busy, being pushed around like the media puppet they made him to be. Christian explained that they wanted to get the important stuff out of the way first so that the public would keep paying attention to them, which was key for all of this to work. He told you it was temporary. That he’d be really busy for a week or two before things would slowly start to die down. It was exactly what you were afraid of. Every time he’d text you to ask you if you were okay with something you didn’t have a choice but to say yes. You had to. He was being considerate of your feelings throughout the whole thing, but you didn’t even put up a fight. Not even when he expected you to because you felt like you were secretly being watched by Hyung Suk. It made him question why you didn’t care anymore, but he didn’t have much time to think about you because he was kept busy. Christian was only trying to please and help everyone around him at the same time, neglecting his own work and relationships in the end. In some weird way you were relieved he was too busy to be with you. It made it easier to keep your secret. But you missed him. More than you expected to.

You could have predicted this. You could have said no when you had the chance. But now you’re glued stuck to a spot you couldn’t get out of because you were being blackmailed. You partially blamed yourself for this mess, thinking back to that night in the dance studio when you so childishly thought of this deal as a test for Christian’s loyalty to you. Would you have done differently if you could have? Absolutely. Can you now? Absolutely not. Not with all of these consequences. You weren’t only responsible for your own life if this video got out because of you, but also the lives of Christian, Dabin, Cream and the rest of the people affiliated with DPR. There was too much damage to be done with the truth. Damage that couldn’t be mended.

You nearly broke your brain overthinking the past couple of days and nights. You contemplated on whether to tell Christian or not, but you know you can’t. Not until you figure out a solution.

You had been coping with your emotions by shutting them out. Living on automatic pilot. It’s like you slowly tricked your mind not to care anymore, even though you do. More than anything.

You manage to smile at the Starbucks employee who handed you your two Americano’s. Saying a quick thank you. You hastily run to your car through the rain and put the coffees on the passengers’ seat. You drive to Dabin’s apartment. You hadn’t seen him since that night either. He texted you last night If you could come over at around 3 in the afternoon to listen to some of his new music. He loved to hear your opinions on his stuff because he knew you get to listen to new releases before most people, since you choreograph songs for many idols and solo artists. It unexpectedly made you an expert on new trends in kpop/khiphop.

You arrive at around 1:15 in the afternoon, you knew you were early. A little too early. But you were bored and way too happy to find some distraction with a good friend.

You ring his doorbell first, waiting for a good 30 seconds before you decide to bust out his spare key. He does it to you all the time, so you figure you could too. Maybe he isn’t home? Hence the 3 o clock time stamp you figured.

You clumsily enter, trying not to drop the coffee.

“Dabin?” you yell out kicking off your sneakers before you walk into his living room. No response.

You frown putting the coffees on his kitchen counter when you hear a door open. You turn around to see a half naked Dabin standing before his bedroom door, softly closing it behind him. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Where’s your shirt? It’s 1 in the afternoon” you ask looking him up and down.

“Why…. are you here?” he asks wide eyed in a hushed tone.

“Uhm, you asked me to come?” you say crossing your arms.

“Yeah at three y/n. At three” he repeats, still talking in a hushed tone.

“Why does it matter, you’re always up at 10.” You say rolling your eyes. “And why are you whispering. Is Lori sleeping? Is Christian making you dog-sit again because he’s too busy?” you ask taking a sip of your coffee.

Dabin doesn’t say anything, he just stands there guarding the door to his bedroom when suddenly it clicked.

“Oh my god…Are you? Did you? Is someone here?” you stammer.

He closed his eyes nodding. He’s embarrassed, how cute.

Your eyes lit up, giving him a devilish smile “Can I meet her” you say enthusiastically.

“What!? Are you crazy!?” he says in that hushed tone again, frantically looking around for his shirt.

When you look around with him you see a trace of both male and female clothes paraded on the floor.

You snort trying to hold in your laughter when you see Dabin trying to collect both his clothes, and the clothes of the still unknown female.

“Is she still asleep?” you ask walking towards the couch to sit down.

He nods still trying to find something.

You adjust yourself on the couch, feeling something poke you, your hand searched for the culprit, pulling it out from under you. A bra.

“Were you looking for this?” you ask swinging it around in the air.

Dabin looks at you with his embarrassed/angry look and nearly jumps you trying to get the bra from your hand.

“Y/n I swear to god” he says pretending to slap your cheek. You just chuckle at him. Enjoying the fact that you got to tease him.

It has been too long since playful you took a step outside. You knew that coming here would result in a fun time, but you didn’t imagine it to be this type of fun.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” you ask taking another sip, crossing your legs making yourself more comfortable.

He sighs. “Remember Kang In Ah?”

“Kang In Ah, you had a crush on since middle school Kang In Ah?” you ask surprised.

“Yeah, I’ve been…seeing her” he says avoiding eye contact.

“Is that why you always leave early or bail on Christian and I lately?” you ask cocking your head to the side.

He just nods at you, combing his fingers through his hair.

You smile, genuinely happy for him. If anyone deserved to be in a loving relationship it was Dabin. You were especially happy because it was In Ah he was seeing, you always hit it off very well with her.

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could have hung out together.” You ask a little offended.

“I didn’t want to introduce her officially until things got serious, besides when do you or Christian have time anymore.”

Your smile drops hearing his name, and it didn’t go unnoticed. So much for your fun distraction.

You try to steer the conversation back into the casual direction. ‘Well…looking at the clothes on the floor I’d say things got pretty serious.” You say with a faint smile on your face, trying to conceal your true feelings once again.

“When is the last time you’ve seen him” Dabin asked sitting down next to you, you should have known those things don’t work on him. He knows you like the back of his hand.

You don’t respond biting your lip, looking to the floor.

He sighs. “You miss him, don’t you?” he asks fixing a piece of hair that was in front of your face.

You just nod, looking at Dabin. He gave you a warm smile, softy rubbing your back.

“Things will go back to normal in no time, you waited 2 years to actually be with him because both of you were too afraid to admit your feelings. Two more weeks won’t kill you right?” he says trying to make you feel better.

Oh Dabin. You know he means well.

“I guess.” You reply not knowing what else to say.

“At least you’ll see him tonight.” He says leaning back. “Maybe not in the way you want to but at least you’ll see him.”

Right. You almost forgot.  The first public appearance of the YuYu couple was tonight. Their couple name made you want to throw up, without exaggeration. Since everyone of DPR was going to be at the AOMG party tonight, so did you. It didn’t only mean you had to see Christian pretend to be in love with someone else, but it also meant that the chances of running into Hyung Suk quadrupled. You closed your eyes. You weren’t mentally ready for this.

“Hey” Dabin says squeezing your thigh. You look up to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to go If you don’t want to.”

Suddenly your mind flashes back to the letter Hyung Suk sent you.

If you, in any way or form talk Christian out of our little deal or form any type of threat, I will release the video online with a time stamp. Showing his disloyalty to Yura. Turning him into the bad guy. What a story that would be righ?

“No I have to go…It’d look to weird If I didn’t go. Especially since there will be a lot of people there who personally know Ian and me. Everyone thought something was going on between us, so if I’m not there I feel like I’ll make that more obvious” you say playing with your fingers.

Dabin pursed his lips together. “That’s damn smart of you to think off, but also very inconsiderate of your own feelings.”

“It’s not about me right now.” You say resting your face against your palm.

“Right, It’s about Yu-ra” Dabin says articulating Yura’s name extra strong, making you look up at him. He was mocking her.

“I still think her sudden change of heart is a little strange don’t you?” Dabin says looking at you, trying to read your facial expression.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess her whole story kind off makes sense?” you say not knowing where this is coming from.

“To me it kind off doesn’t.” he says.

“What do you mean?” you ask out of curiosity.

What is Dabin’s point of view to this exactly?

“I mean, even though things in her life are very unfortunate, she always manages to get what she wants.” He says shrugging.

You think about it for a second. She did admit she liked Christian.

Yura was being really nice to you. Maybe a little too nice? Would she have been nice to you if there was another way to solve her problems?

You shake the thoughts out of your head. You had enough to deal with as is.

“I don’t know Dabin. I really don’t. All I know is that Christian really wanted to help her out. He was the first one to notice that she was a descent human being.”

Dabin bites the inside of his cheek. “Whatever. I just hope it’ll be over soon so we can all get back to our regular grind. Christian has been so caught up in this whole fairy tale that he forgot to edit my latest video.”

You frown. “That’s so unlike him”

“Yeah, it’s also so unlike you to let this happen, but the day I figure out what’s going on in the both of your heads is the day world peace is declared I guess.”

You roll your eyes at Dabin. Getting up.

“Let’s do the whole music thing next time. I don’t think I could have picked worse timing.”

He jumps up smiling widely. “Finally! Something we agree on.” He says grabbing you by your shoulders, walking behind you to lead you to his front door.

He was desperately trying to get you out off here before Kang In Ah woke up.

“So, I’ll pick you up at 11.15 tonight”

“Eh okay” you agree as you were being rushed out of his apartment, quickly putting your shoes on.

He opened the door for you giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for the coffee y/n, see you tonight!” he says giving you one of his boyish smiles again as you step out of his house.

“…See ya, and next time I want to meet her!” you yell a little louder hoping it’d wake her up as he was already closing the door.

Dabin stuck his face through the little opening, giving you an angry look before closing the door on you.

You chuckle. Shaking your head at him.

                                                    - time jump -

You check yourself out in the mirror one last time. Dabin was already downstairs, waiting for you in the car. You take a deep breath. “You’ve got this” you encourage yourself looking at your attire.

You were wearing a black off the shoulder tight fitted midi dress that complimented your figure. You had minimum jewelry on so the attention would be drawn to your glammed up make-up. You put on your heels and grab your jacket just in case the weather would turn on you.

You rush down the stairs knowing Dabin was waiting for you. As you open the door to the passengers seat you were greeted by a whistle.

“Daaaaaamn girl, where you going?” Dabin says smiling, looking at you.

He knew how anxious you were about tonight, so he couldn’t help but lighten the mood. You chuckle smacking his arm. “Shut up.”

“Don’t forget I’m right beside you okay? He says starting the car. You nod at his words, feeling somewhat ensured with Dabin’s presence. You really don’t know what you would have done without him.

You talk about this and that, mostly about Dabin’s new music or gossip in the industry. After about 35 minutes you arrive at the club.

You got out of the car, smoothing down your dress leaving your jacket in the car.

“Are you sure you won’t need that tonight?” Dabin asks referring to your jacket putting out his arm for you to loop yours through. You start walking to the club shaking your head. “I’ll be fine.”

Your heart was beating super fast when you entered. Both of you avoided the red carpet, not feeling up to it. Dabin let go of your arm to hold your hand, squeezing it for reassurance. “Smile” he says through his teeth.

You do as he says as the man of the evening approaches.

“Ayee DPR gang wassup!” Jay Park says coming in for a kiss on your cheek and one of those ‘bro hugs’ with Dabin.

“Where’s the man of the hour?” he asks looking at you.

“I guess he’ll be here soon” you answer acting innocent to your best ability.

“He’s all up in online news lately though, did you guys know?” Jay asks leaning on a pillar looking into your eyes.

Dabin chuckled. “Of course we did. He’s family” he answers putting his hand over your shoulder.

Jay’s attention diverted to Dabin, giving him a nod. “Is he bringing her?” he asked.

Jay isn’t stupid. He was asking all of the important questions because he knew something was iffy about the situation. Jay had always seen you as Christian’s girl.

“Yes” you reply. “He told me he would.” You try to keep your facial expressions neutral. If you seemed just the slightest bit nervous or put off, you know the questions wouldn’t stop.

“Well I’ll anticipate their grand entrance. So many reporters are lined up outside because they found out they were both on the list. It’s crazy.” Jay says sniffing. “The rest of your crew is on the left side of the VIP area. I’ll let the staff bring some bottles to your table” he smiles winking at you.

Dabin was the first one to thank Jay with another one of their bro hugs. You do the same, giving him a quick hug, walking towards your table. The club wasn’t that packed yet, but a lot of eyes turned to the both of you when you walked to the VIP area.

“If this is what tonight is going to be like than I don’t know if I can handle it” you say to Dabin sitting down.

“People are nosey as fuck.” Dabin says annoyed. “We just have to act like we don’t know much. Let Christian deal with it. He wanted to do this so badly.” You bite your lip, somewhat agreeing with him.

You’ve never had this many people say Hi to you, trying to make small talk. Of course it was always about Christian and Yura. Your head hurt from all the fake smiles and fake story’s, so you decided to order something a little stronger than your usual virgin cocktail. The alcohol loosened you up a bit, so you started talking to people how you normally would, trying to forget the problem at hand.

It was now half past twelve. The YuYu couple still hadn’t arrived and it was making you more and more anxious as time went by.

Dabin was chatting it up with some Show Me The Money 6 contestants while you were seated beside a few female artists from AOMG and Club Eskimo who were gossiping away with each other. You didn’t really pay attention to what they were saying, too consumed with your own thoughts to actually hear what was going on. Suddenly all of their heads turned to the entrance of the club. People were talking louder and pictures were being taken. You just knew that had to be them.

You close your eyes for a second. Mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to see.

You look at them as they entered. Yura was smiling from ear to ear. Happily showing off her arm candy. She was dressed to impress, that was for sure. Christian’s facial expression was neutral. He looked good, maybe a little too good. He led her through the entrance. greeting Jay. You watched them as they said their hello’s. Your heart was beating like crazy, your eyes searching for Hyung Suk but he wasn’t there. You guess the universe seemed to be on your side just a little bit tonight.

Jay pointed to your table, probably telling him that the rest of us were seated over here and that’s when you made eye contact with Christian. He looked at you, and kept staring. Your heart dropped and you immediately look away, getting up.

“Excuse me girls, I have to pee” you smile at them as they let you through.

You struggle walking through the crowd as everyone’s attention was fixated on Ian and Yura. The alcohol in your blood didn’t make it any easier for you either.

You almost trip at least twice before you make it to the ladies’ room.

You open the door, happy to see it empty. You stare at yourself in the mirror suppressing the urge to cry and run away.

All of this has become too much. You close your eyes, only seeing the way Christian looked at you once you locked eyes. It’s like he forgot you were going to be there. He hadn’t even texted or called today either.

He’s slowly slipping away from you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Without your knowledge a tear escapes from your eye. As you feel it go down your cheek you look up. Immediately wiping it away, trying not to ruin your make-up.

“It’s fine. You’re okay” you encourage yourself taking a deep shaky breath. “Let’s just find some distraction”

                                                   - time jump –

Dabin had been looking for you for the past half hour. He knew he couldn’t ask people if they had seen you. It’d be too obvious because you went messing the second Christian and Yura walked in.

After his second round through the club, Dabin decided to tell Ian.

“Bro.” Dabin says coming up closer to him. He paused when he saw that Yura was listening as well.

“Have you seen y/n? I locked eyes with her when I came in but when I looked back she disappeared.” Christian says worried.

“I was just about to tell you that I can’t find her either.” Dabin says frowning. “She won’t answer her phone when I call.”

Yura stayed quiet until Christian was about get up to leave and look for you. She grabbed his arm, pulling him back down on the seat again. He gave her a confused look and so did Dabin “Don’t you think it would look a little weird if you would leave me alone to look for someone else?” she says giving him a sheepish smile.

Dabin squinted his eyes at her. Of course she’d say that.

“This is y/n we’re talking about.” Dabin says. “You know, his actual girlfriend.” He gave her a blank look.

Yura’s eyes widened. “Don’t speak so loud!” she says shocked. Dabin saw the annoyance in her eyes, but Christian was a blind man when it comes to things like that.

Christian frowned at the both of them, not knowing what to do or say. “Let me call her.” He says.

Yura rolled her eyes while Dabin sat down beside him, putting his arm over Christian’s shoulder while leaning in so he could hear the phone.

                                            - your point of view –

Your phone lit up “Christian?” you read out loud.

You lean your cheek on your palm contemplating on whether or not to answer the phone, but your alcohol controlled brain already pressed the ‘accept call’ icon.

“Y/n?” you hear his voice. It was muffled by the sound of the loud ass music on the background. But you could recognize his voice through anything.

“Y/n where are you?” he asked impatiently as you didn’t reply.

“At the club” you slur your words. Your elbow slipped off of the bar, losing the support you were giving your heavy head. You lose balance for a second but regain your composure, giggling at your own clumsiness.

“Are you drunk?” you hear his voice again.

“What? She never drinks” you hear Dabin this time.

“Dabinnie!” you say excited to hear his voice.

You hear rumbling on the other end of the line and raise your eyebrows.

“Y/n” you hear Dabin this time. “Where are you?”

“in the club” you answer again, a little annoyed this time. Why can’t they just leave you alone? For the first time in the past couple of days you feel fine.

“I get that you’re in the club, but where.” He says like an angry father.

You look around, inspecting your surroundings. “It’s like…open air? Jesus It’s cold up here.” You answer slurring your words again.

“She’s on the rooftop bar” you hear Dabin say to Christian.

“y/n don’t move; do you understand.” Dabin says in a stern tone.

You nod as if he’d be able to see it. “Aye-aye captain.” You giggle.

You hang up the phone, resting your head on your palm again.

                                                   - meanwhile –

Christian wanted to come with him but he told him no. Yura was constantly breathing down his neck and he didn’t know what your drunken state would do if you saw either of them. Dabin promised to call Christian once you were safe and out of the public’s eye.

Dabin rushed back to his car to grab your jacket before he went to get you. He opened the door to his passengers’ seat, lifting your jacket from the chair when suddenly a red card fell out of one of your pockets. He frowned, not thinking much of it as he quickly put it into his pocket, running back to the club to come and get you.

He ran up the stairs, seeing you chatting with the bartender. Dabin sighed walking up to you, putting your jacket over your shoulders. “Let’s go” he says removing your shot glass from your hand, returning the new bottle of Soju to the bartender. “She’s had enough” he says putting a 50,000 won bill on the table to pay for whatever you had consumed. The bartender nodded taking the money, giving him back the change.

“Dabin” you ask staring into his eyes. “Did they leave?” you ask trying to get up.

Dabin quickly got a hold of your upper arm, making sure you were stable enough to stand. Which you weren’t.

“No y/n they didn’t leave. You did.” he says trying to make you understand. He had never seen you like this before. It saddened him.

“Shit! Do you think people noticed?” you ask worried.

He just shook his head “No, y/n.” he answers. He only gave you short answers. He’ll talk to like an adult you when you’re sober.

“Come on.” He says linking arms with you to support you. You carefully walk down the stairs avoiding crowded places or people you may know. The both of you finally arrive at the hallway where back exit of the club was located.  You see Christian standing there. Waiting for you.

You squint your eyes, trying to make sure if it was really him.

“Babe are you okay? Why did you drink so much?” he asks putting you down on a random stool in the hallway, kneeling down in front of you.

“Who babe? Me babe?” you ask pointing at yourself with a fake confused expression on your face.

“Don’t be like this.” He says looking into your eyes.

“Where’s Yura?” you ask him, fixing a piece of his hair for him.

“Y/n come on.” Christian says a little tired of your childishness.

Dabin crosses his arms, waiting for things to kick off between the two of you.

“What? Don’t you think I have the right to feel this way?” you say stumbling over your own words a few times.

“No. You don’t. I have asked you a hundred times if you were okay with this, and you kept saying yes. You didn’t even care! And now you do?” he says angrily.

“I don’t have a fucking choice Ian!” you yell at him this time.

“Yes you did! What are you talking about!?” Christian says getting up.

“Guys calm down. If people hear us we’re in trouble.” Dabin says putting his hand on Christian’s shoulder. “Don’t take anything she says too serious right now okay. I’ll take her to my place and let her sleep it off.”

“I want to go to my own house” You say giving Dabin a look.

“You don’t get to want anything right now.” Dabin angrily says looking at you.

It was like they were both ganging up on you. Where Dabin was usually on your side with things like this, this time he was on Ian’s. You can’t really blame him though. Even you knew you were being unfair. You cross your arms and legs. Annoyed at the both of them.

Christian sighs after having calmed down a bit by Dabin’s words. He looks at you a little saddened.

“Just…sleep it off okay, we’ll talk tomorrow about all of this.” Christian says kneeling down in front of you again, putting his hand on your thigh, trying to comfort you.

You look at him. “I can’t talk to you about this” you say looking away again as if he was supposed to understand.

“What do you mean?” Christian asks a little hurt.

“I just can’t. I’m not allowed.” You say out loud, and immediately regret it. You curse at yourself and the alcohol for making you slip up.

Christian and Dabin both looked at each other, unable to understand what you were saying.

“I think it’s time to go.” Dabin says, helping you stand up.

“I have to stay here.” Christian says. “I’ll be at your place first thing in the morning.”

Dabin nods at Christian. “Thanks man” Christian says giving Dabin a hug.

You look at them, but when Christian looked at you, you look away.

He walked towards you, making you look at him with his thumb and index finger on your chin. “Try to sleep alright?” he says trying to get you to look into his eyes, but you wouldn’t.

He sighs, pulling you closer to him to kiss your forehead.

You look at him as he did, and look away again, not saying anything.

Dabin took you by the arm. “Let’s go.” he says pulling you away from Christian who was also reluctant to go back to Yura. He just stood there, watching you until you were out of sight. He sighed to himself. He walked back to his table to see Yura on her phone.

“I was just about to call you, how is y/n? What happened?” she asked worried.

Christian sat down beside her putting his arm over Yura’s shoulder. “Let’s not talk about it okay?”

Yura smiled at Christian, nodding at him.

The ride to Dabin’s home was silent. You fell asleep after 15 minutes of staring out the window, giving in to your heavy eyelids.

You made a fool out of yourself tonight, you knew you’d deeply regret your behavior tomorrow when you woke up. There’s a reason why you don’t drink.

Dabin carried your sleeping state into the house. He put you down on his bed, taking off your shoes and your earrings, putting the covers over you. He sighed looking at you. “You know better than this y/n” he says shaking his head.

He walked back to his living room, ready to get comfortable on the couch to go to sleep. He took his phone and money out of his pockets to put it on his coffee table when he suddenly feels that odd red piece of paper in his hands again.

He remembered how it fell from your jacket and put it back on the coffee table.

                                                    - time jump –

You woke up with a pounding head and a dry mouth. You groan at the throbbing pain in your head and turn over to lay on your stomach.

You open your eyes, looking at your surroundings. Why are you in Dabin’s bed? You look around again. You don’t see him.

You remove the covers off of yourself, seeing how you were still dressed in your dress from last night. Something clicked seeing your attire and suddenly all of your lost memories came rushing back.

You panic a little, not knowing if you did anything else that would get you in trouble.

You curse at yourself rubbing your forehead.

You walk out of Dabin’s room, into his light filled living room.

You squint your eyes at the attack of sunlight and walk to his kitchen for a glass of water.

“y/n?” you hear Dabin’s voice. You turn around slowly, feeling like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“What the fuck is this!?” he angrily says, throwing a red card down on his kitchen counter.

You stare at it. Unable to take your eyes off of it. You only needed a fraction of a second to understand what it was.

You close your eyes. Fuck.


Chapter 7 

Affable Stoner Jonathan Harker

Some time ago I commented that Keanu Reeves’ Jonathan Harker seemed perpetually stoned, and someone commented that, given the medicine of the time, that was entirely possible.  So here is this story.

***

After the accident, Jonathan feared he would never have use of his left leg again.  He had panicked too soon, it turned out- the feeling and the use came back, but at the price of great pain whenever he put pressure on the limb.  Mina wept to see him suffer, and because he did not want to see her weep at least as much as for his own seek, he sought out treatment from the best doctors he could find.  Laudanum was out of the question (one simply didn’t drink at work) as was morphine (Jonathan had a terrible fear of anything puncturing his skin), but at last an American doctor offered him a solution.

“They used this stuff in the War Between the States”, Dr. Morris told him.  “Before my time, of course, but if it’ll do for wounded soldiers, it’ll do for you.  And they make it in chocolate bonbon form, so you won’t even have an aftertaste.”

The doctor was right- the bonbons worked wondrously for Jonathan, at least as far as the pain was concerned.  When it came to allaying Mina’s anxieties, at least she no longer wept, though she did still seem worried.

“Are you alright, my love?” she asked him.  “You seem preoccupied.”

“What?” he asked, not entirely sure what that last word she’d said was.

“I said, you seem preoccupied.  Are you thinking of something?”

“No,” Jonathan said with partial honesty.  (He had been thinking of something, but could no longer remember what it had been.)  “I apologize.  It may be the medicine.”

And so she extracted from him a promise not to partake of the bonbons at work, where he would have to interact with Mr. Hawkins.  It was a promise he entirely intended to keep.

***

Mr. Hawkins was telling him about a new job…somewhere.  He would have to travel, was what he was getting from this.  And then Mr. Hawkins had stopped talking, and Jonathan had the horrible realization that he was expected to respond.

“I would be honored to accept this position,” he said.  It felt like there was a gap of a full minute between each word, and Jonathan prayed that his sense of time was being distorted.  It was imperative that his employer not sense any weakness in him, or know that he had partaken of strong medicine before drawing up legal contracts.

“Excellent, my boy!  I knew I could count on you!  So, what do you know about the land of thieves and ghosts?”

“Yes,” Jonathan responded.  It seemed like the right answer.

***

Dr. Morris gave Jonathan a good supply of the hashish bonbons before he left for (what turned out to be) Transylvania, and as the pain had been going down anyway- it was almost entirely gone by now- he swore to himself that he would not use them unless absolutely necessary.  But aside from pain relief, they had been providing an alleviation of his anxieties, and the long, jolty ride on a carriage driven by a suspicious character through a wolf-filled mountainside called for something to calm his nerves.

It was a testament to Jonathan’s strength of character that when he got off the carriage and finally met his host, he did not immediately demand to know what was wrong with the man’s hair.  He was thinking it.  In fact, he could not listen to a single word the man was saying to him because in his mind, every sentence had turned to “Look at my terrible hair.”

He was going to have to abstain while in this castle, it appeared.  The hair probably wasn’t that bad, when seen with a clear mind.  Under the influence of hashish, alas, it became a terrible monster, reaching out to grab at him with shadowy strands, attempting to pull him into the greater part and turn his body into yet more volume for the great and unknowable coif.

“Are you tired, my English friend?” asked Count something (Jonathan had temporarily forgotten the name.)

His client could not know he was being so unprofessional.  It would be a terrible disgrace.  It was a miracle that Jonathan still had enough control over his head to nod.

***

The she-monsters came upon him in the night, just when Jonathan had begun to think his mind was clearing.  Hashish bonbons had never yet caused him to see things that were not there, and he did not think such a thing was possible.  It turned out both of these assumptions were wrong.

Just what happened next was not entirely clear, but it appeared that Count something had given him to these creatures to feast upon, and a great panic swept Jonathan as it never had before.  There was fear and then there was this, the knowledge that everyone in the world, from these monsters to the people back in London, hated him and desired his death.

This panic was so great that he did not even notice the teeth puncturing his flesh.  He did, however, notice when the women ceased their feeding, sluggish, and began to sprawl on the ground.

Jonathan vaguely recalled the word “tolerance”, but was not sure how it applied to this situation.  It was something he contemplated as he climbed out the window and down the castle walls.  Castle-climbing seemed like a very good idea at the moment.

04. lullaby

prompt: the night we shared making love → vampire!jungkook

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader
genre: vampire au / soft angst, implied smut
word count: 1,616


He wasn’t much older than yourself when you had been turned.

The very youth in his eyes reminded you of a simpler time, when all you could think about was getting out of your provincial village, with opportunities just waiting for your departure. And yet, the last remnants of freedom had fallen short when your entrance into Europe was halted, all by the false promises of a new life and even bigger riches that, as you thought of them now, were not all that great. His doe-like eyes were wide and curious, attentive, if not nervous as his hands roamed every nook and cranny of your bare flesh.

Jungkook had been no one but a passing face at first. He didn’t imprint any particular thought in your mind or enact heinous acts against your character—he simply didn’t do anything to you. His nature was withdrawn, yours reserved. Yet somehow your union still surprised others in your shared friend groups, because out of all people, you two found one another without really trying. The thing with him that set him apart from all the others that came before him was the fact that he could make you feel anything at all.

Keep reading

Breathing Dreams Like Air + CS Neverland One Shot

So here’s a little smutty thing that’s been prodding me for a loooooong time :] set in Neverland post 3x05 when Emma learns that Hook hears the cries of the Lost Boys at night just like she does. Basically Lagoon smut with some of that season three UST.

Rating: M
Word Count: 6K


The voices echoed in her head as she shot up, allowing the dream - or rather, nightmare - to pull her from what had been a very uneasy sleep. The night was dense around the camp, only the sound of distant crickets and rippling water from the nearby lagoon to soothe her dizzied brain. Taking a deep breath, Emma glanced around the open space to notice her parents still soundly slumbering near the fire while Regina had finally succumbed to exhaustion beneath a blanket they’d brought from Hook’s ship.

Hook, she wondered as her frantic mind finally settled. Wait, where was he?

The question was curious at best, though there was and probably always had been more to her so called ‘casual’ thoughts about him. Her trust regarding the innuendo accompanied pirate captain had always been slightly off balance, but she knew he wouldn’t leave them to their own less than knowledgeable devices on this island. He’d come back for them when he didn’t have to. He’d opted to face his own apparent fear of this place to assist them - to help her and save Henry. That surely meant something.

She just didn’t know what.

Emma knew if he’d been present at the moment she’d been ripped from her unpleasant rest, he would have made sure she was alright, given her a possible explanation for her bout of island insomnia, and flirtatiously offered to accompany her back to her makeshift bed - probably in that order. She rolled her eyes at the idea of how his smoldering smirk and those deep cobalt eyes would likely be able to make her mind wander if he’d propositioned her in such a manner.

Not that it wasn’t partially her fault for letting him finally get the best of her in the heat of this damn jungle.

Keep reading

Summer Lovin’ (Mark Smut)

Author: Admin Honey 🍯
Pairing: Got7 Mark Tuan x Reader
Rating: 🥀💍💋
Warning: 18+, contains adult content.
Word Count: 2,817
Summary: Mark gets jealous. You get it on.
Request: Can I have an angst/smut where mark from got7 has feelings for his best friend but has a girlfriend already. Then one night mark confesses to her but she refuses because mark has a girlfriend. But mark doesn’t take no for an answer. Thank you! You change any aspect of it if you’d like.
—–

A/N: I changed it a lil bit, hope you don’t mind too much. Prepare yourself… Honestly. This is the longest thing I’ve ever written.

Originally posted by jypnior

——

Keep reading

Guests //part1/2

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine Loki being forced to live with you while Thor’s on a mission and someone has to watch him.” by @allthefandomloveandimagines

Word count: 2,640

[Masterlist]       [Part 2/2]

Originally posted by maryxglz

Killing people is not a solution. It really isn’t. It helps with the problem for a brief moment, but also creates many much more sizeable problems, such as finding a place to dump the body, hiding evidence, getting a believable alibi, answering to the police… It’s a lot of work. It’s not worth it.

You growled when the doorbell rang again, tearing you away from the pleasant comfort of the long-awaited sleep. You grabbed the gun from under your pillow and rushed to the door. You were an Avenger. You could deal with hiding a body.

“The hell is your probl-…!” you yelled, opening the door.

Keep reading

Nightmares (Stark!Reader x Pietro Maximoff)

Word Count: 1553

Summary: Pietro wakes up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, and his first instinct is to head towards the reader’s room.

Warnings: Nightmares 

A/N: AHHH Pietro! I love this so much, sigh. I love Pietro. You all know it. I hope you enjoy this!!


Keep reading

This Is Us- Chapter 22 The Three Ravens

The first time Jamie caught her in a lie he questioned his own hearing. He’d never expected it but, of course he should have. All children lie, he knew from personal experience. Faith told him she’d finished her chores and, per their agreement, he turned on her favorite show.

On his way to the kitchen, Jamie was attacked by the cat, wailing and carrying on, clearly unfed. Deciding the wee kitten shouldn’t suffer for Faith’s error, he’d dispatched relief as soon as he might and then decided to check her room. Her clothes sat neatly in the basket, not put away.

Jamie quietly crossed to the living room and shut the TV off. It didn’t stay quiet for long.

*********

Keep reading