mat at doors

Stop …

1. Hanging out with people who don’t appreciate you, or who suck all the energy out of your life.

2. Running from your problems and hiding from the truth

3. Acting as a door mat and putting yourself last.

4. Longing for the past and the way things used to be.

5. Beating yourself up for the stupid things you did

6. Looking to others to make you feel happy, or believing that “stuff” will bring you happiness.

7. Rejecting new relationships because you were hurt or disappointed in the past.

8. Being jealous of other people. It’s not a competition – sets some goals, and go for them.

9. Holding grudges. Forgive, let go – and then move on with your life.

10. Trying to be perfect. It’s not realistic so don’t waste your time.

things to remember when you move out

•always have bottled water in your house/apartment
•pay your bills on time
•wash your dishes everyday
•don’t tell anyone you don’t trust you live alone
•call your mom and tell her you love her
•make sure you have extra toilet paper
•remember to close the curtains when changing
•lock all the windows and doors at night/before leaving the house
•double check that the stove is off
•don’t leave lights on too much
•use real plates instead of throwaways
•have flashlights in every room
•fruits and veggies are important
•night lights aren’t just for babies and kids
•electric and water bill are more important than cable
•don’t eat out too much
•do your laundry
•it’s okay to ask for help
•own at least two recipe books
•never lock yourself out
•but don’t hide a spare under a mat/plant
•don’t open the door without knowing who it is
•wash your bed spread a lot
•make sure you always have food in the fridge
•if you feel unsafe call someone
•candy/snacks are not meals

cliche pynch college visit headcanon

•so Ronan left the barns and hopped in his car late at night out of habit cause that’s what he does when he can’t sleep

•as he’s driving, he thinks of Adam and how much he misses him and he just kinda ends up on the freeway, headed towards Adam’s college

•so it’s like midnight and he’s in Adam’s college town and he’s like “fuck it, I’m visiting my boyfriend right now, I haven’t seen him in three months, and I’m done waiting”

•but he knows how Adam overworks himself and ends up dead tired 24/7 so he stops for coffee first

•he pulls into the parking lot of Adam’s dorm building and immediately finds his room (he will never admit it, but he has the room number memorized, what a nerd)

•so he knocks and waits and finally Adam opens the door super hella fast and he’s wearing the classic coca cola t-shirt and blue pajama pants and his hair is perfectly mussed and his eyes are electric, even in the dim light, and Ronan doesn’t say a single thing because he’s lost in those eyes

•And Adam has the absolute most annoyed expression on his face and says super sternly “Ronan Lynch, it is too fucking early for this, and I have class in a few hours, let me sleep.” (Cause at this point it’s like 1:30 or something, idk, and he’s sleep deprived and it doesn’t register) and he shuts the door

•Ronan is kinda shocked for a minute so he just kinda sets the coffee down next to the door mat when he hears, muffled, through the door “wAIT THAT’S RONAN LYNCH”

•and Adam flings the door open even more hella fast than the first time and the door hits the wall really loud and he full on jumps on Ronan and wraps his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist and just clings on tight for a few moments and then just pulls back to look at Ronan’s face and then tries to kiss him but can’t cause he’s smiling too much for kissing to actually work

•and the whole ordeal was really loud so kids start peeking their heads out from behind their doors

•and Adam and Ronan both notice this but they’re too busy kissing to actually give a fuck

•also, Ronan is still holding Adam so he’s off the ground and it’s kinda top heavy so Ronan spills the coffee at some point

•bonus: Adam’s room mate comes up from behind the pair to walk out of the room to tell a kid across the hall “this is the angry-gay-Irish-catholic-tattooed-street-racing-farmer-dad boyfriend of his I told you about” and the other kid is like “oh wow he actually exists”


Inspired by Shawn’s recent Instagram story and this line:

“Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?”

She sighed, looking around the mess that is her new apartment. Her back hurt, her arms were burning and she was so exhausted, she felt like passing out.

“Where do these boxes go, hun?” her dad asked, holding up a box with “books” written on it.

“Just put those in my bedroom, thanks,” she replied, taking a sip from the beer her best friend had handed her.

Moving into your new fancy place in Toronto could be really awesome but also very tiring and she groaned, seeing all the boxes in her living room she had to unpack.

Her best friend put an arm around her shoulders and as if she could read her friend’s mind she said: “Hey, the view makes this bearable, don’t you think?”

She grinned at her friend, squinting her eyes a little because the sun is shining bright on the balcony. “Yeah, true. The view made me buy this!”

“So… when’s the housewarming party?” her friend asked, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

The girl shrugged. “I have to put actual furniture here first. And clean up. And decorate.”

“Yes, yes, Miss to-do-list, I get it. It has to be perfect, I know. As always,” her friend stated, rolling her eyes.

They laughed as they go back inside and she knew she’s nowhere near done yet but she already feels at home. It’s a warm feeling. And she knew this is where she belongs.

Three weeks later

She’s on her way to the elevator, carrying a bag with groceries and another shopping bag from H&M because she just couldn’t resist buying that cute dress and the sweater she really needed as the concierge calls her name.

“Excuse me, Miss!”

She turns around. “Yes?”

“Could I ask you for a favor, please?”

She smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

“I have a parcel for… um,” he looks at the box, “Mister Shawn Mendes. Your neighbor. I know he hasn’t been home for quite a while but could you just take this for me? I have no space to store this and I would have asked Mrs. Johnson from 310 c but she would just forget about it, you know how she is…”

He smiles at her apologetically and she nods again. “Yeah, I can take it. I mean… I haven’t seen my neighbor yet and I don’t know him but I guess it’s a nice way to say hello”

“He’s very nice. You’ll get along perfectly,” the concierge says with a smirk. “You are both young and so hardworking! And both charming young things.”

She smiles back. “Yeah, we’ll see about that and um… thanks!”

She takes the parcel, briefly looking at it in the elevator. It says “Armani headquarters” on it and it got sent all the way from Milan. She raises her eyebrows a little.

Must be nice being a superstar. Getting free designer stuff all the time.

She felt a bit insecure when she found out who her neighbor was. 

Living door to door with a teenage pop sensation slash superstar could be a bit frightening, knowing how famous he really was.

She dreaded the thought of having lunatic fangirls standing in front of her door, screaming and shouting Shawn’s name but so far it has been very quiet and she hasn’t seen him yet as he was probably busy being the good looking popstar he was, traveling the world, making girls scream wherever he went.

She didn’t really get the hype. 

Her best friend freaked out when she found out who the mysterious neighbor was, making her want to move in with her. 

Or camping on Shawn Mendes’ doormat.

But the girl living in the condo next to him, didn’t get too excited. Sure, he was good looking and talented and cute and all of that.

But she didn’t understand how people could scream and shout, seeing him, shoving phones into his face for a selfie when he was just a regular person who happened to sing and play the guitar.

She didn’t understand until she saw him. In person.

It was a Saturday and she knew he was home.

There were footsteps in the hall, male voices, sounds of a guitar and doors shutting and she took a deep breath, brushed her hair and ringed the bell.

She wasn’t wearing anything fancy, heck, she was in her gym shorts and a loose band shirt she got at a concert some time ago. And she was wearing fuzzy socks.

Not sexy at all.

And she regretted her outfit choice as soon as she saw him, standing in the doorframe, looking like a Greek God or something. A light stubble, messy brown curls sticking up slightly, wearing black pants and a white t shirt that fitted him well and as he looked at her, eyes a bit sleepy and a wry smile spreading across his plump lips, she had to swallow thickly.

He blinked twice.

She looked down at the parcel and up at him.

“Um… hi!”

“Hi,” he said in a deep, raspy voice, smiling down at her.

“I’m your new neighbor and I wanted to say hi and I have this parcel for you and um… yeah, hi…” she rambled, blushing a bit because he was looking at her in a way that made her nervous.

He was checking her out. Briefly looking her up and down and she squared her shoulders a little.
His gaze rested on her bare legs for a little bit too long and he bit his bottom lip in a way that made her heart flutter and race and she felt hot suddenly.

“Oh, thank you so much!” he smiled brightly, taking the parcel from her. It looked tiny in his hands. “And nice to meet you,” he added, stretching his hand out. “I’m Shawn”

She shook his hand, saying her name.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

He leaned against the doorframe, obviously not in a hurry to close the door.

“I just hope I don’t bother you with my music. I’m working on something right now and it can get a bit… loud,” he said with a smug grin, dipping his head a little, after nodding into the direction of his condo.

He was towering over her, playing with the parcel in his huge hands and she looked at his long fingers, noticing a silver ring on his middle finger. He was wearing a black watch that looked cool and expensive and she pressed her lips together. She understood it now. The hype. The fangirls.

He looked like a teenage dream. Almost as if he wasn’t real.

Too handsome for his own good.

She looked up at him. “No, um, all good. I don’t mind.”

He gives her a crooked smile, licking his sinfully plump lips. “Okay, good. Just tell me if it’s too loud… and if you need anything I’m right here,” he said in that soft voice of his she already found so endearing.

She awkwardly shifted her weight from one foot to another. “Yeah, thanks! Goes both ways… the if you need anything thing… not the music thing, obviously…”

She blushed and he smiled at her, running his fingers through his curls. “Yeah,” he replied, never breaking eye contact and she felt like dying on that door mat of his.

“Okay, so I should try this on, I guess,” he frowned, looking at the parcel and she nodded.

“Must be something nice… coming from Italy,” she smiled and suddenly regretted her words. “I only saw that it’s from Milan, I didn’t…”

He laughed and it sounded like the most beautiful thing she has ever heard.

“It’s okay! All good. Yeah, they send me awesome stuff now… it’s just really cool because I actually hate going shopping,” he chuckled, blushing himself.

She smiled at him. “Oh, I can’t relate. Shopping is my favorite hobby.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, well, that’s because you’re a girl… must be natural, eh?”

She laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. So cliché.”

He smirked and she looked down, avoiding his burning gaze. “Okay, um… I’ll leave you alone now… so you can try your new stuff on and yeah…”

He smiled. “Okay, yeah, see you.”

“See you,” she breathed and tried to walk gracefully back into her condo.

Don’t trip, don’t trip. Don’t mess up.

She exhaled loudly, closing the door after her and let out a little groan.
She reached for her phone because she really needed to talk to her best friend now and she quickly typed OMG CALL ME into her phone, pressing send.

Shawn sighed in frustration, looking into his empty fridge.

Living alone was not as cool as he thought it would be. His clothes were dirty and scattered on the floor in front of his washing machine, there was nothing to eat and he missed his mom.

Coming back from tour to his new posh place felt good at first but now all he wanted was to go back to Pickering to eat his mom’s roast and he started to feel jealous of his little sister who got to sleep in a freshly made bed and eat home cooked food all the time.

He groaned, looking at the stove. There was no salt. He had used everything his mom had given to him and he looked down at the chicken he was trying to make taste somewhat eatable.

He bit down on his bottom lip, turning down the John Mayer song he was listening to.
He could go to the supermarket and actually buy food – and get mobbed in the process.

Or he could ask her.

He was pretty positive that she had salt in her perfectly tidy condo with a full fridge and nice flowers everywhere. She looked like a girl who had flowers in her apartment.

And nice pillows.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Those long, lean legs. Her nice ass, he got a good look at when she walked back to her condo.

The outlines of her obviously nicely shaped breasts through that grey band shirt and he licked his lips again.

He was feeling frustrated, coming back from tour. He was needy, antsy somehow and he had felt hot and bothered, closing the door after receiving his parcel.

Leaning against the door he had to cup himself through his pants adjusting his cock that had started to stir against his boxers that were getting all tight around his dick as she had turned around and he had watched her hips sway slightly.

There were thoughts in his head. Thoughts he shouldn’t have about a girl he didn’t know.
Inappropriate thoughts crossing his mind. About her. Naked. Moaning his name. Panting. Legs spread and back arched.

He tugged at his hair in desperation. He shouldn’t feel like this about a girl he just met but the way she blushed and rambled made him want to be dominant with her. Be rather rough. Take her from behind maybe because he loved that position and she would feel him deep inside of her.

He felt guilty, thinking that. She probably had a boyfriend anyway. And Shawn would leave for Brazil soon. So that was that.

He hesitated a bit before knocking on her door. But he took a deep breath, fixed his hair and knocked.

His heart started to race, hearing footsteps.

She opened the door and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Hi!” he said, his voice cracking a little. “So this thing about needing something came sooner than expected,” he said with an amused huff and she smiled up at him.

“Yeah, I guess?”

“Well, I just came home from tour and the only thing that is in my fridge is some mustard and disgusting smelling milk and I wanted to cook something but I ran out of salt,” he frowned a little, his cheeks turning pink. “That’s why I was wondering if - um – if I could borrow some?”

She nodded, giving him a beautiful genuine smile and his heart did a stupid little jumpy thing he didn’t know it could make until then.

“Sure! I got you.”

She turned around and he was about to drool. He shamelessly stared at her ass and he didn’t want to be like this. Lusting over her like some horny teenager. But he couldn’t help himself.
He totally had the hottest neighbor in all of Canada.

She came back from the kitchen. “There you go,” she smiled and his fingertips brushed over hers as he took the small package from her.

“Thank you so much! You saved me from starving! I mean I could always order pizza but I’m trying to impress my mom.”

She let out a soft giggle. “Good luck with the cooking, it smells like you burned something though.”

He looked over his shoulder in an alarmed way. “Oh, fuck, yeah, I should go look after that! Thanks again!”

And with that he ran back into his apartment, trying to save his dinner.

She looks at her freshly baked cupcakes and knows that there is no way she would eat all of that. She had baked too many cupcakes and couldn’t stop thinking about knocking on his door.

She found it way too cute how he had nothing in his fridge and here she was, practically surrounded by food.

That’s why she takes two cupcakes, arranging them on a plate. This time she is prepared. With gloss on her lips, wearing her favorite bra and a nice t shirt, denim jeans and flip flops. All wavy hair and bare tanned legs. She knocks. And waits.

Maybe he isn’t home.

She is about to turn around as she hears footsteps. And there he is.


Fucking shirtless, only wearing some sweatpants he must have thrown over in a hurry.

“Hey,” he pants, looking at her, slightly confused.

“Hi! Oh. I’m sorry. Didn’t want to disturb!” she says, no, gasps.

He looks almost photoshopped. Ripped abs, defined v line, pecks and arms, defined and muscular. 

She swallows thickly, looking down.

He looks over his shoulder, an alarmed look on his face. “You aren’t! All good. Can I - er - help you?”

“No, no. I just baked those and have some left over and I thought you might like some?” she says tentatively, holding up the little plate.

He smiles in a genuine way, looking very grateful. But still tense.

“That’s so sweet. Thank you very much!”

He presses his lips together, hearing the high-pitched, female voice coming from his bedroom.

“Shawn? Who is that?”

A blonde girl comes up behind him, looking like she’s on the cover of Sport’s Illustrated or something, wearing nothing but a large men’s shirt.

And now she knows where his shirt is.

On some blonde bombshell with a D cup.

Silicone probably.

“Oh,” she squeals. “Cupcakes? Awesome!” the blonde girl grabs one, grinning at Shawn.

“Who’s that, Shawn? Your neighbor?”

Shawn looks flustered and his cheeks are red. As well as his ears.

“Yeah… that’s my neighbor.” He awkwardly introduces them and he shakes his head slightly - desperate -  at his pretty neighbor who looks shell shocked with her plate in hand.

As if he wanted to say no no she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just an one night stand. Meaningless. I swear. I was thinking about you all the time. Imagining you under me. Because you drive me crazy.

“Um-well,” she blurts out. “I should… leave, I’m sorry. Bye,” she hands Shawn the plate as if it had burned her and almost runs into her condo, leaving an embarassed Shawn behind.

He closes the door, groaning in frustration. That was not what he had planned. This shouldn’t have happened.

His one night stand should have left hours ago but she was clingy and annoying and Shawn was too polite to kick her out. But it was time now.

The blonde girl is nibbling on the icing of the cupcake and Shawn picks her clothes up, holding them up.

“Hun, I really should work now, sorry but… you know…” he says, sounding annoyed.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, I see,” she says, sounding ice cold. “I’ll leave. I get it.”

He sighs, turning around so that she could get dressed.

“Bye, Shawn! And don’t ever call me again! Asshole!” she spits out, leaving his place and he slams the door shut. 

“Yeah, bye” he snorts angrily. Just to huff a frustrated “fuck!” afterwards, letting himself fall onto his couch, hitting a pillow in frustration.

He slams his hand against her door. But she won’t open. Of course not.

“Hey! I know you’re home! Come on! Please! Open the door!” he yells.

He rings the bell again. Over and over until it starts to get annoying.

She opens the door with an annoyed huff.

“What?” she hisses. “I’m working on a paper and I need to concentrate. If you would stop ringing my doorbell- that would be nice. Thanks,” and she proceeds to slam the door into his face.

He’s quick, sliding a huge foot into the doorframe.

“No! Wait!”

She rolls her eyes at him, opening the door again.

“Your plate! Here!” he awkwardly holds it up, handing it over to her. “Tasted so good, really! Thank you!”

“Mhm,” she breathes out in an annoyed way. She isn’t exactly mad at him. She’s mad at herself. For believing that she would actually have the tiniest bit of a chance with this guy who looked like a young god and lived the superstar lifestyle. Fucking blonde bombshells included.

“She isn’t - that wasn’t - that girl is not my girlfriend,” he blurts out.

“I don’t care, Shawn”

“Okay. Just wanted to make that clear. I don’t have a girlfriend.”


“Okay?” he frowns, brows furrowed, curls messy and bopping a little.

“What do you want to hear? I don’t care about your love life or whatever… we don’t even know each other.”

She looks him in the eye, looking dead serious.

He licks his lip nervously and steps closer so that he towers over her, hands on either side of the doorframe. He looks down at her and gulps, tilting his head a little. 

“Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?” he asks, feeling his cheeks get bright red as well as the top of his ears and he shifts his weight from one foot to another.

She tilts her chin up a bit.

“I have to see about that - I actually am busy right now.”

She sounds distant and he sighs.

“Come on… please… I’d love to get to know you.”

She nibbles on her bottom lip. And he wants to kiss her so bad. Part those pretty lips with his and slip his tongue into her mouth. 

He wants, wants, wants her.

“Really?” she says, barely audible.

She knew there were girls out there who would sell their souls for this. A date with Shawn Mendes.

He nods. Eyes dark.

“I’m not who you think I am. I don’t have a different girl every night,” he says quickly.

“I know what you’re thinking. That I’m some stupid teenage star who has a lot of hook ups and gets drunk in fancy bars but I’m not!” he adds. “I’m a regular dude. Really.”

She shrugs. “I don’t really think ‘bout you so you’re good.”

His face falls. “O-okay, right, yeah. I shouldn’t have assumed that.”

His shoulders hang a bit as well as his head and he wants to turn around but she holds him back. “No wait! Sorry, that was kinda rude. I’m just- I mean… coffee would be nice,” she breathes out and his face lights up again.

It frustrates her how freaking adorable he looks like that, smiling, looking like a lovesick puppy.


“Yeah, I mean- it’s just coffee, right?”

“Just coffee,” he grins.

And he’s already so involved in this. He loves the chase. The thrill. And he can’t wait for what’s to come. 

Steal my groceries? I'll steal your mama's homemade tamales.

Buckle in kids, this is a long one, but well worth the ride. (TL;DR at the end)

This happened nearly 15 years ago, when I was in college renting a house with two other people. In order to understand the gravity of this situation you must first understand the dynamic between my female roommate (whom I’ll call Becky) and myself (also female). We had one guy roommate (I’ll call him Bob), and the three of us all worked together at a restaurant and lived in the same house for 2 years.

So the three of us were pretty close during that time, we shared a friend group, worked together, and had roomed together a year prior. However, to say Becky and I were friends would be a generous assessment of the true nature of our relationship. You see, Becky and I come from very different backgrounds and also have diametrically opposite personalities. She was from a lower socioeconomic group, a racial minority, and street-savvy. I am the WASPiest wasp of all wasps who ever wasped, come from middle class whiteville and am terribly naive. (I’ve learned a lot about my naiveté since then but I can still be a little dim to the true nature of people and have been hurt many times because of this.)

Keep reading


You’ve Fucked with the Wrong Witch jar. 

Recently someone stole personal items off of my patio within the night and it really irritated me. A few days ago in the morning I saw someone out of the corner of my eyes while I was making tea and they were wearing a grey hoodie, hood up where I couldn’t see their face. It looked weird to me but really when you are home alone all day you feel everyone is suspicious coming by your house (at least that is just me, note, I live in apartments and on top of that live right near a trail everyone walks on, so I get people passing by all the time.) The next day lighters were taken off my patio, and it isn’t like I can go to the police. “Oh, some person in a grey hoodie stole lighters from me.” They can’t and wouldn’t do anything, there isn’t anything to go off of. Plus there lighters, who cares? People might say let it go but I won’t. Honestly, no matter how big or small of what was taken the fact is I feel violated. Someone jumped my enclosed fence onto my patio, trespassing and took my shit. That isn’t okay with. 

By this incident I was inspired to make this jar and I hope that it can help you if you come across something similar within your life. Justice comes to those who yield the sword. 

A black candle
Dragon’s Blood incense ashes. 
Tobacco or tobacco ash (optional)
Coffee grounds 
Lily of the Valley (optional, warning, this herb is poisonous. If you use, use with care) 
A pinch of salt. 

Light your candle. Open your jar, place your ingredients one by one as you wish. You can say whatever you would like to set your intentions or say nothing at all, this is what I said though: 
                “No harm or thievery shall come to me because this is my home and I will protect it. With my power and my two hands I shield those away who want to cause harm and tricks and if you come across this threshold without permission then you shall feel my wrath that will cause a storm of unfortunate luck for you because I am not the person you should be fucking with.” 
Once you are finished, cap up your jar, and let it sit next to the candle as it burns out. (If you can, don’t leave a candle lit if you won’t be home) Once the candle is done, charge your jar as you’d like. (full moon, crystals, incense, etc.)

To Use: 
Sprinkle this powder under your front door mat or around your patio/balcony in the corners. Make sure it is where you won’t accidentally get any on you. I don’t recommend placing this on the bare ground either. There is salt in this and you don’t want to kill that spot of the earth. 

I do not recommend placing this powder inside the house. This is more for an external barrier to surround your home. Plus, there are toxic ingredients within spell and you don’t want any to harm you, others, or pets. 

superheroes - peter parker

Originally posted by magneteers

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader (Tony Stark friendship with reader and Peter as well)

Summary: Peter and Ned are keeping something from Y/N, and she is determined to find out what. But, can she without letting her secret slip through too?


Requested: Yes (anonymous)

Here’s another imagine for y'all! Hope you like it! It’s a little long lol. Some of y'all were asking about a masterlist and yes! Below:



It had been exactly six days, four hours, and forty-two minutes since you had spoken to Peter or Ned. You didn’t really know how to act like a normal human being without their obnoxious tactics ringing in your ears of every second of every day. Especially since your small crush on Peter was slightly creeping up on you as the days passed on. They were your best friends, always had been. But, this time, it wasn’t a delicate topic, apparently.

You had walked up to them at lunch almost a week ago, clutching your lunch tray with both hands, a smile plastered on your face  as you were excited as all to tell them your news about the algebra test getting pushed back to Thursday. All three of you stayed up so late the night before studying for that test, and by the end of the night, none of you had any idea what was going on, which was odd. You usually nailed math within three seconds. But not this time. So, your excitement was very evident on your face.

You approached them, Peter’s back slightly turned around as Ned followed the position, their eyes fixate don something clearly much more important than lunch. Your eyebrows furrowed on confusion as you set down your backpack next to you and your lunch tray in front of you, taking a seat at the gray lunch. Your stare becomes more intent, neither of the boys turning around to notice presence.

“Uh, hello?” you questioned, knocking your knuckles against the hard surface. All of the sudden, their ears perk at the the sudden noise, both heads turning around completely.

Eyebrows raised, you make direct eye contact with Peter, his brown orbs widening at the sight of your presence, “Oh! H-Hey, Y/N.”

Ned’s hair falls in front of his eyes, a guilty yet seemingly confused smile rolls over his lips, shoulders slouching a little, “Heyyyy,” he said, rolling out the ‘y’.

Your arms fold across your chest, suspiciously giving them a stare down, eyes narrowing as they slide from Peter to Ned, and back to Peter, “What are doing back there?” Your tone serious yet skeptical.

Peter shot you a weak smile, “Nothing!” he blurted out suddenly, eyes still widen at your suspicious glare. “We were just checking our work from Mrs. Smith’s lab yesterday.”

“Uh, no,” you interjected, shaking your head, looking at them as if they thought you were stupid, “We turned in our labs yesterday. They’re already graded, Peter.”

His mouth popped open and closed numerous times, looking like a gaping fish out of water, knowing he’d been caught so easily. You scooted up further on the sat, placing your folded arms on the table, “What were you really doing, Peter?” you questioned, your tension rising for the last time.

Ned shot up, belting out before Peter could say anything, “It’s nothing! We can’t tell you, Y/N. Like we really, can’t tell you.”

Peter looked from you to Ned multiple times before shaking his head up and down, signalling his agreement with Ned, “We just can’t.”

What was he hiding?

You felt your tension rise, ruining your previous thoughts, “I would never keep a secret from you two, ever,” you let out sternly, cracking your knuckles.

Lies. You’re such a liar.

Peter and Ned both looked at each other quickly before shooting you a guilty look for what felt like the thousandth time in a matter of five minutes. Your Y/E/C eyes pierced through Ned’s quickly, then shooting toward Peter’s gaze. Y/E/C pierced into his sparkling brown gaze and you felt disconnected with your best friend for the first time in your life. You share everything with each other, why not this.

You felt excluded and betrayed. Picking up your backpack, you roll your eyes in their direction once more before muttering, “Whatever. Guess we’re not as close as I had thought,” the words dripped like venom off your lips, anger bubbling deep inside you. You whisk away quickly, not looking back at what you had thought, your best friends faces.

The next few days, you felt the build up of tension between you and Peter. Every time he would see you in the hallway, he would give you a stern look before slamming his locker shut, ignoring your distant presence, and go to class. You began to realize your slight crush on him was fading, fast. You couldn’t believe how your two friends could keep anything from you, and Peter couldn’t believe you would be mad at him for something as little as an untold secret. He knew you would never keep anything from him, but this was just too big of a matter.

Or so he thought.

“Call Mr. Stark, Jane” you told your suit, yanking your mask off, revealing your sweaty face in the mirror gazing back at you.

“Calling Tony Stark..” Jane, as you liked to call her, initiated the call to Mr. Stark. You slumped down onto your bed, lying back on your pillow in complete exhaustion from this weeks past events.

“Miss Y/N, what can I do for you today?” Tony’s voice now evident in your ear.

You sat up immediately, wrapping your arm around your bedpost, “Yes, Mr. Stark, I was wondering if you had anything for me to possibly do? I’m very… bored,“ you said hesitantly but confidently, yearning for Tony to give you something to do to take your mind off everything going on around in your ‘normal’ life.

Tony’s breath was steady in the earpiece for a few moments before sighing heavily, "Okay, Miss Y/L/N, I have something, well someone I want you to meet. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, but haven’t gotten around to it. Another… project.”

Your eyes lit up and your heart quickened at the thought of another superhero, “Yes, Mr. Stark! I would love to! Anything I need to know about this other… project?” you questioned, arms bending down to take off your blue and yellow suit, preparing for the mission.

“Yes, actually. They’re around your age, kind of annoying. Rather… talkative,” he said with slight annoyance in his voice.

You chuckled lightly, “Bye, Mr. Stark see you soon!” you yelled a little too excitedly before ending the call as you quickly shoved your suit into your bag. As soon as your foot hit the door mat, your mind instantly began to wonder into thoughts of this other super-human.

What were they like? Were their powers similar to yours? Not many people can teleport and or telepathically communicate with one another. Were they a guy? Oh god, what if he’s hot? Well, may be nice to have some eye candy your age on missions. What if I know them? Oh, c'mon, that’s almost impossible.Th chances of that happening are like a billion to one.

When you arrived at Stark Tower, Tony leading you to your so called 'mission’, your excitement ran up and down your veins. Your stomach did somersaults ever second as your feet kept a steady pace behind Tony.

Interrupting your thoughts, Tony, turned around to speak to you, still walking, “So, Miss Y/L/N, I have had this in mind for quite some time now. I just thought with being the only two teenagers on the team, if you met someone similar to you, you’d feel more comfortable,” he continued, typing in a pass-code on a tablet as you approached a huge gray door.

“But, you know of Spider-Man, right?” he questioned, eyebrows raised at your nervous gaze. Your eyes widened as the name rolled off his tongue.

“O-Of course, I mean he’s a new legend here,” you attempted to let out calmly as Tony still looked at you. “I had no idea he was so young.”

“Oh yes, he’s your age. That’s who I wanted you to meet today, but not 'Spider-Man’. The character behind the mask.”

Your stomach’s somersaults picked up. Oh my god, Spider-Man is a legend. You were a new trainee, so you looked in awe at this young yet legendary person behind the red mask.

Tony opened one last door, turning to you and stopping once you were inside, “Okay, I’ll send him out here. You stay here,” he smiled slightly at you as your head nodded vigorously in his direction. He walked behind yet another large door to retrieve your new colleague.

Okay, act cool. He’s just someone who’s just like you. Tony may even send you on missions with these boy, so you got this. When he walks in, just stick your hand out politely and say to him, “Hello, I’m-”


Your ears instantly heard the familiar sounding voice echo into your ears like something so delicate it would hurt if you didn’t understand what was standing right in front of you. The scratchiness of the tone hit you like a bus, interrupting your thoughts. Slowly yet threateningly, you turned around, glistening brown was what hit you first as your best friend Peter Parker stood in front of you, holding the unrecognizable blue and red suit by his side.

“Oh my god. You’re a superhero?,” you let out, eyes widening at the boy standing in front of you.

Peter blinked rapidly, his mouth barely able to let out any words at your figure holding the blue and yellow suit, “I-I don’t even know what to say.”

You nodded your head in agreement, slowly walking towards him. Your heart rate sped up and your face turned a bright red, due to the fact Peter knew your secret and you know knew his. Your eyes captivated his in a gaze for what felt like years, your breaths now mingling at your close proximity.

You were surprised by your next set of actions. Lifting a hand towards his face, you set it on his face softly, your hands laying on top of his muscular jaw bone, your voice in awe, “I just can’t believe it’s you.”

He smiled softly at your actions, his eyes scanning your face, looking for some kind of explanation. You then realized you now knew what kept you two from talking for a week. Your lips curled into a sly smile, “So, this must have been one big lab Mrs. Smith had to grade.”

His expression switched to a joyful one, reaching forward to wrap his arms around you. You followed him, your arms enveloping him in a bone crushing hug as he muttered in your ear, “You have no idea.”

Drag Me Down (To Hell) | 01

Originally posted by jjks

↬ Summary: There’s a darkness to your city, a murderous underbelly filled with crime and deceit that you’ve sworn to avoid at all costs. But the universe has funny ways of forcing your involvement in the form of a notorious mob boss and his young daughter.
↬ Pairing: Jeongguk x reader
↬ Genre: mafia!au
↬ Rating: Mature (for themes; subject to change in later chapters)
↬ Word Count: 7.770

Part 02 - Part 03 - Part 04 - Part 05

Trapped on the cusp of dreams and reality, you can almost imagine your phone isn’t ringing beside you. In your dream, you’re running. Running away from something faceless, but large, and for a good second you’re able to think the ringing is your screaming, but when your screaming stops and the ringing does not, you force one eye open through the haze of sleep and reach for your phone.

It’s not on the table next to your bed, so when it stops ringing you think you’re in the clear, flopping back onto bed, but then it starts up again, and you curse loudly. The phone’s hidden in your sheets by your hip, and before you can even get the device to your ear, your brother is speaking.

Or rather, spitting, “What the fuck are you doing?

You snort, trying to bury your face into your pillow. “What a wakeup call, Taehyung.”

Sorry.” He sounds angry, but you pay it no mind. Taehyung leads with his emotions, acting first and thinking second. If something’s worked him up, he’ll confront the problem as quickly as possible, as is made evident by his call at- six in the goddam morning, what the hell? “Good morning, love. Sleep well?

“Until now? Yes.”

And you call me rude,” Taehyung laughs. “Happy now? What the hell are you doing?

You thank any lucky stars there may be that you don’t have any classes today, and can hopefully sleep again after you finally calm Taehyung down. “Elaborate.”

You’re getting a job?

Keep reading

Up to Fate

Request: reader meets Bill at a premier for It, He flirts with her, they hit off, she invites him back her place and fluffy sex ensues. Hope you enjoy! 💙

When the chaos inevitably becomes too much, you begin your search for a quieter place to rest before the film starts. You find refuge in a bar tucked into the corner of the building and order a double gin and tonic, two limes on the side. You weren’t exactly sure how you got yourself into this predicament but it definitely had something to do with your brother needing a plus-one to the Hollywood film premier of a movie he had little to no actual involvement in. He had already found your seats but the idea of sitting in a crowded theatre for more than fifteen minutes without anything actually occurring, made your skin crawl.

You’re about to order another cocktail when someone takes the seat next to you, gesturing to the bartender. “A stoli on the rocks and… whatever the lady wants.” You glance to the stranger sitting next to you, wide-eyed. He’s extremely tall and devastatingly handsome.   

Handle this properly, you remind yourself. “While the gesture is a appreciated, I don’t really need you to buy my next drink,”

“A thank you usually suffices in this instance.” He chuckles, sliding your drink over to you. Your cheeks burn hot, and you know that he’s right so you thank him for the gesture.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something else when someone in the distance calls out to him. You watch as he swills back the last of his vodka, slaps a hand on the counter and turns to you. “What would you say if I told you that you were the most beautiful woman here?” 

You take a decent swig of your gin and tonic, and set the almost empty glass down on the wooden counter in front of you. “I’d call you a bloody liar; and I’d tell you that you’re stepping on my dress.”

His gaze travels south, and he let’s an expletive fall from his mouth when he realizes he has indeed been standing on your dress. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, grinning. “Guess it’s a good thing it’s a rental, huh?”

The taller man scratches at the back of his head, smiling brightly at you. “It has been the greatest pleasure to be able to share a quick drink with you this evening.”

“What’s your name?” You shout out after him when you realize you never actually got it in the first place.
He turns back on his heel, beaming. “It’s Bill!” 

It’s Bill. 

And that’s all it takes; it’s funny how someone can waltz that easily into your life. You had woken up that morning completely oblivious to what was about to happen and here you are now, halfway through a film about a terrifying demon clown and all you can think of is Bill.   

It’s only at the close of the film that your brother turns to you and says, “I’d like to introduce you to someone.” You’re about to protest; you’ve got plenty of other things to be doing… but alas, your evening is wide open. You watch him stand up and wave to someone in the distance. “Come on!” He whispers excitedly.

You notice the shoes first; taught, shiny leather and as your eyes travel further and finally rest on his face, you can’t help but smile like an idiot. “We meet again.” 

Bill outstretches his hand for you to shake. “Fate has an interesting way of doing that, huh?”

“You guys know each other?” The comfortable silence is punctuated by your brother’s understandable confusion.

“Not really, no. We shared a drink at the bar before the premier.” Your brother nods slowly, the pieces falling together. “The film was incredible by the way,” you offer up to Bill. “Truly. Your acting was impeccable.”

A soft smile breaks across his face and he bows towards you. “Thank you very much. This uh… this film meant a lot for me to do and I almost can’t believe it’s out already. I kind of have to keep pinching myself.”

“Should we head to bar then? Celebrate a little? A few of the crew members are heading to a new spot downtown.” Your brothers tone is hopeful but you don’t think you can bare another few hours in these heels.

“I’m actually going to head to my car but you should definitely go out and have some fun.” You smile, poking him teasingly in the ribs. He’s about to protest, but decides against it and simply nods instead.

“I will walk you out to your car,” Bill offers and you fight to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. You watch as he throws a friendly arm around your brother’s shoulder. “Was great seeing you tonight, man. Thanks for showing up to support.”

Goosebumps rise in small patterns on your arms when you enter out into the balmy September evening and it takes only seconds before Bill’s offering up his navy suit jacket to you, which you accept graciously. “You came alone tonight?” You ask, trying to sound as in interested as possible.

Bill shakes his head. “No, I came with my two brothers and their dates. But they left pretty soon after the movie ended.”

“Would you like to come back to mine? I owe you a drink.” You’re at your car; It’s a long shot and probably somewhat inappropriate but you have this particular feeling about Bill that you couldn’t knock even if you tried.
“I’d love that.” He grins.

The car ride is uneventful, only broken by periods of small conversation. He’s from Sweden, is the third youngest in a family of eight children, and loves his mother dearly. At one point you can actually feel his gaze boring a hole into the side of your face and you smile shyly. “You’re just incredibly attractive.” He offers up when you confront him about it. You’re suddenly grateful that it’s dark in the car, the heat in your neck and cheeks is almost too intense.

“This is it,” You murmur once you’ve got the key in the lock and the door open. “Make yourself at home.” You kick off your heels and place them inside the coat closet of your apartment. Bill follows suit behind you, leaving his shoes by the mat at the front door. “What can I make you to drink?” You ask.

Bill shrugs his shoulders. “Anything, really. I’m not too particular with alcohol.”
You hang his suit jacket against the back of your kitchen chair and set to work making him a pisco sour. You’re trying in vain to remember the exact recipe when Bill simply says, “Come here.”

You do as you’re told and join him at the window in your living room. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you without hesitation, your arms circle his waist and this is actually happening. He pulls away, kisses just beneath your ear and simply says, “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you sitting at the bar tonight.”

“Do it again,” you whisper breathlessly. Bill grins at this and kisses you hard again, it’s so intense you’re worried for a second that you’ll pass out. Bill pulls away again though this time it’s to turn you around so that you’re facing the window.

“Lets get this beautiful thing off of you.” His long fingers brush the soft skin of your back as he slowly unzips the dress, pausing every now and then to press his lips to the skin there. You let the pleasant shivers wrack your body. He reaches around to your front to squeeze your breast and you involuntarily moan into the touch. You’re pretty sure you feel him smile into your shoulder, which turns you on even more. He unclasps your bra with near expert skill and slowly pulls your panties down your legs. “So fucking beautiful,” He groans into your neck and you feel weak. He turns you back around again so that you’re facing him, completely stark naked. He kneels down to the ground, slowly kissing down your body as he goes. Your heart is hammering so hard in your chest you’re almost wondering if he can hear it. He stops just above your vagina, placing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. “Place your leg over my shoulder, baby.” He says softly and again, you do as you’re told. He parts you with ease and begins to lap slowly at your tight, wet core.

“Oh my god,” you moan, throwing your head back a little too hard against the glass window pane. Your fingers find purchase in his hair and you fight the urge to grind yourself against his face. His ministrations are slow and deliberate at first and you’re in danger of coming too soon. You remember that he’s also doing all of this in a three-piece suit and you have to tell yourself to breathe. He sucks your clit into his mouth and you bring a hand to yours to keep from screaming out. It’s a constant pattern; deliberate laps against your folds and then your clit in his mouth. It’s only when his teeth scrape over the sensitive bundle of nerves that you actually do scream out into the air before you.

“You going to come for me baby?” he asks, and all you can do is nod soundlessly. He pulls away to insert two fingers into you and a few more slow, hard licks and you’re coming in overpowering waves against his face. His rides it out with you and places a kiss to your vagina when he’s finished. It’s only when he straightens up that you notice the tent form hard and tight against his trousers. Wordlessly, you take his hand and lead him to your bedroom down the hall.   

You’re both quiet as you set to work undressing him, taking time to marvel at the soft, alabaster skin beneath his shirt. He’s watching you intently, a small smile evident on his face. He pulls down his boxers and moves to the side of your bed, glancing at the drawer next to it. “They’re in there.” You nod and watch, amused as he reaches in, grabs a condom, rips open the foil packaging with his teeth and rolls it on. “I’d like you to ride me.” The confession is so quiet you almost don’t hear it. You swallow hard and watch as he positions himself on your bed, half sitting up, his back rests against your wooden headboard. “Come here, baby.”

You stumble over to him, legs still weak from your previous orgasm. You place both hands on top of his shoulders, one leg on either side of his and sink yourself onto his fully erect penis. “Holy fuck,” Bill gasps, dropping his head to your collarbone. You begin to bounce rhythmically on top of him, letting your head fall back as he begins to hit that one particular spot inside of you. He plants his hands firmly on top of your hips. “So fucking wet,” He groans loudly in pleasure.

“Just for you,” you whisper against the shell of his ear; this alone causes him to involuntarily buck his hips against yours and you cry out in pleasure.

“I need more,” Bill moans, and physically lifts you off of him. You know almost immediately that he wants to do it doggy style so you position yourself on all fours and wait for him to start. He positions himself behind you, placing chaste kisses down the length of your spine. “Here we go,” He murmurs, pushing himself inside of you. His thrusts are slow at first and then they begin to pick up tempo and it’s all you can do to keep from screaming out into thin air. You arch your back for him, and he taps your bottom lightly. “Not going to last much longer like this, y/n.” A few more finite thrusts into you and he’s tumbling over the edge, groaning your name into the damp skin of your back. “Oh my fucking god,” He gasps, pulling out and collapsing into the space next to you. He kisses the back of your head and pulls you into his embrace.

You take a deep breath and let it out, revelling in his touch. “Just so this is clear… I am not in the habit of sleeping with famous Swedish men the first night I meet them.”

Bill presses a soft kiss to your neck. “Just so you and I are clear… you were, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman there tonight.”

Steal my groceries? I'll steal your mama's homemade tamales.

TL;DR Bratty roommate steals more than just my groceries; I steal her mom’s homemade tamales. She suddenly learns to respect my stuff.

Buckle in kids, this is a long one, but well worth the ride.

This happened nearly 15 years ago, when I was in college renting a house with two other people. In order to understand the gravity of this situation you must first understand the dynamic between my female roommate (whom I’ll call Becky) and myself (also female). We had one guy roommate (I’ll call him Bob), and the three of us all worked together at a restaurant and lived in the same house for 2 years.

So the three of us were pretty close during that time, we shared a friend group, worked together, and had roomed together a year prior. However, to say Becky and I were friends would be a generous assessment of the true nature of our relationship. You see, Becky and I come from very different backgrounds and also have diametrically opposite personalities. She was from a lower socioeconomic group, a racial minority, and street-savvy. I am the WASPiest wasp of all wasps who ever wasped, come from middle class whiteville and am terribly naive.  (I’ve learned a lot about my naiveté since then but I can still be a little dim to the true nature of people and have been hurt many times because of this.)

Becky, being the scrappy hood rat she was, liked taking advantage of people. We couldn’t leave a store without her stealing something and then later bragging about the “five-finger discount” she got.  She stole things from me and our other roommate, she manipulated people in our friend group to try and make me an outsider, she used me for my car, and she bullied me constantly by making snide remarks about being spoiled and telling anyone and everyone who would listen that my parents paid my rent. Yes, my parents paid my $300 share of the monthly rent because I was going to school full time and working a thankless waitressing job, the horror.

Okay so enough background. In the second year of our time in the house, Becky lost her job at the restaurant and decided not to work anymore. She also wasn’t going to school, didn’t have a car, and so she’d sit in her room all day smoking and drinking pepsi. About this time she got herself a boyfriend with a full time, well-paying job, so he was able to provide her with all the cigarettes and pepsi her little heart desired. One thing her boyfriend didn’t do, however, was reimburse me for the groceries she ate that I bought.

Every time I bought groceries, Becky would help herself to whatever I bought and sometimes sheepishly offer to pay me back. Which you already know she never did. Because how would she? She had no job and no money and I don’t like pepsi.

So this goes on for months, because in addition to being woefully naive, I was also a giant wuss who wouldn’t stand up for myself. (This has thankfully changed in my 30s. IDGAF about calling people out on their shit and am good at protecting myself from being used by the Beckys of the world, but back then I was a total doormat. I’d get angry with people, but I couldn’t stand up for myself). I would buy $80 worth of groceries for myself, Becky would proceed to slowly leech off my stash and I would run out before I had more grocery money. She never paid me or offered any exchange of goods or services for this food, and I never demanded them, and she knew I was too scared to stand up to her, so she kept this cycle up for a very long time.

Finally fed up with having my food eaten without reimbursement, and reaching the limit of my own door-matness, I proposed that we implement private shelves in the pantry and fridge, so as to avoid confusion about who was eating whose food. Becky scoffed at this idea, saying it would be too easy to misplace things and it could lead to fighting in the house, so we just shouldn’t do it.

Fearing Becky’s wrath, I backed down and started hiding food in my room, which was useless because Becky broke into my room and stole from my stash anyway.

Now comes the revenge part.

Becky’s mom made the most mouth-wateringly delicious homemade tamales you’ve ever tasted. Like, no foolin’. They were a rare treat that she only made a couple of times a year, and Becky rarely got to have any because her parents lived several hours away. So one weekend Becky’s parents come to town, and mama made tamales. Their tantalizing aroma filled our house the moment she walked through the door, and we all knew this was her dankest batch yet. Becky, being the kind of person who liked bragging about anything and everything she could hold over people’s heads to make herself feel important, boasted all weekend about how her mom brought homemade tamales and they were all for her and I couldn’t have any.

So one night, after Becky’s parents have gone back home, Bob and I go out for some drinks. We head back home and decide to do it right and invite a couple of friends over and drink a little more, and smoke a little more, til we’re both nice and toasted. And hungry.

Since Becky and her now near live-in boyfriend have eaten most of my food, and because they never bother to buy groceries themselves or reimburse me for mine, there’s barely any food in the house. But there are tamales.

So Bob and I, in our drunken reverie, help ourselves to homemade tamales. And we eat And they are delicious. They were, without a doubt, the best homemade tamales I’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot because I’ve had a few.

Later that night, Becky emerges from her room, walks over to the fridge, opens the door, and after a moment asks, where are my tamales? Bob and I, full of tamale and booze and THC and not giving a fuck, tell her we ate them. Becky slams the refrigerator door shut, exclaims “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME”, stomps down the hall, slams the door to her room, and yells to her boyfriend “they fucking ate them!”.

You’re goddamn right.

A few days pass while Becky avoids me and is generally even more unpleasant than usual. Finally, one afternoon as I’m looking for food in the pantry, Becky and her bf come in with a few bags of groceries. As they’re unloading them she tells me she’s decided it would be a good idea if we had assigned shelves in the pantry and fridge to avoid any confusion about who’s eating what. She decided. Mmhmm, sure Becky.

And she never ate any of my groceries again.

And that, dear friends, is my tale of petty revenge. Thanks for reading :)

attitude check

AUTHOR: @wydobrien

WORD COUNT: a whopping 6,278

WARNINGS: descriptive violence, blood, roughness, choking, rough spanking, daddy kink, oral (m & f) and generally just hot mitch rapp overall. nsfw smut.

listen to me

i’m still rusty on writing smut and writing in general, since i’ve been on a writing hiatus for quite a while. but after watching both trailers for american assassin and reading some awesomeness from @writing-obrien​ and @sincerelystiles​ it has brought me out of my hiatus-hole !! i hope you all enjoy this as much as i did writing it. ;-) big thanks for @thelittlestkitsune​ for being the usual angel she is and helping me power through writing this. i also felt like i rushed the ending but :)))))). if you want a part two or anything, please please let me know !!

also, obv (y/n) = your name and (y/l/n) = your last name.

  It’s not like you had given up, everything you had worked for has been temporarily stolen from you. All because you had done the one thing that is most discouraged in your line of work. You had made things personal for you.

  All of the hard work, the sweat, the energy. Constant time in the training room, constant gun training, constant sleepless nights. You are always so doused in anger, so energized with the desire of vengeance, it has made you into this cold, killer machine no one had the power to turn on and off. Your instructor, especially, has been at her wits end trying to make sure you keep your ass out of trouble, being busy with her own conflicts. Recently you had broken one of her recruit’s wrists during a wrestling match in the training room, and your instructor had snapped. And that is what led you to your environment right now, being driven towards some random home in the middle of absolute nowhere.

  The deep green and brown colors surrounding you did little to ease you, and with your instructor being the one driving, it annoyingly erased the chance of turning around. You’re a soldier, an agent, an assassin; top of your classes, ruthless with a gun and merciless with its trigger. Not a child having to be driven to her babysitter because your agency can’t handle the insatiable fire roaring inside you.

  “You did this to yourself, (y/n).” Your instructor’s voice is stern, just how it always is, and you turn your head to look towards her, her own attention focused on the dirt-clad road ahead. “The only reason you’re not kicked out is because of me convincing them to do this.” You squint your eyes with a small scowl across your face, crossing one leg over the other as your eyes bore into your own window to your right. You feel like you’re being treated like a child. But, you still said nothing. All that was brewing in your mind was how long you had to stay wherever your instructor is taking you.

  The rest of the drive, fortunately, is short and quiet.

  Once she turns the last corner, the home is revealed. It appears to be like any other house, despite being surrounding by thick trees and dirt. You feel like you’ve been here before, but, you can’t seem to place when. Maybe it was just your head playing deja-vu on you.

  Your instructor exits the car first, with you following suit patiently, lugging your bag from where your feet had been onto your back. You shut the door with your calf before meeting your instructor at the steps of the home, the heavy smell of earth entering your nose quickly. “Who lives here?” You mumble, and your instructor turns towards you as soon as the sound of a doorknob wiggling to unlock itself. Immediately, your attention is pointed towards the door, watching the face that reveals itself when the door finally opens. It’s an older man, possibly in his mid-to-late 40s, but has a strong build and a seriously firm resting bitch face, looking towards your instructor. He looks like someone of big authority, however, so you made sure being polite was at high remembrance each time you saw this man.

  “This is the one, Irene?” He asks, and you tilt your head at his rude tone of surprise. Your instructor, Irene, visibly nods and he looks at you up and down, as if analyzing you in disbelief. “I’m Hurley. From what I heard, and what I’ve read from your records, you need an attitude check.” Attitude check. Seriously. You bottle up any irritation from the belittling phrase and simply lift your chin.

  “Yes, sir.” You speak monotonically, and Hurley scoffs. You grip onto your bag’s shoulder straps tighter and he moves to the side for you to step in, which you do. Once again, this looks just like any other, normal home. Framed pictures of family, the home is neat and organized, and there is even a clean smell of a candle somewhere in it.

  Irene and Hurley meet you on each of your sides before they step in front of you, wrapped up in their own small, private conversation clearly involving you at the hushed tone of voice they were using. “I know exactly what I need to do with you, (y/n).” Hurley speaks, and you gulp, but quickly brush off the sheepish gesture by rolling your shoulders and peering up at your, apparently, new instructor. “There’s rooms upstairs. Pick one, get dressed and get ready in ten. You’ll have time to unpack later.” You lick over your lips and brush past Hurley, walking towards the set of stairs. And, this time, you can hear their conversation from a few feet.

  “You know I’m not going to have proper time for this, Irene. They’re already sending that other one you were talking to me about, with a case just like this one, and I have the rest of the Orion group I’m training. I’m not a babysitter.” Hurley’s voice sounds evidently impatient, and as much as you want to listen more, you keep walking up the steps at a normal pace. Unfortunately, you are unable to listen to what your previous instructor has to say, something you wish had heard before your future.

  “But you’re what she needs, Stan. Trust me, when those two meet, they’ll be something you’ve never seen before. Put them with guns and they’ll definitely be something this agency hasn’t ever experienced before. Trust me when I say this, Stan, Rapp and (y/l/n) will be unstoppable.”


  With white, hot anger coursing through your body, you, once again, take another leap at your competitor, your mind flashing with images of much more violent, but similar, events that have happened to you.

  “(y/l/n), what did I just say?” The frustrated voice speaks through your ear-piece as you slip into the room with ease. The sleek, form-fitting gown that is draped over your body brings moderate attention towards you, with your target being only three feet away. Scum is what your target is, being no different than all the rest of the bastards you’re trained on killing. “Get your ass back out to your team outside. You’ll cause too much commotion. Listen to me, dammit. (y/ln)-” You brush some fallen strands of hair behind your ear, slyly turning off your cleverly hidden ear-piece in the process as you make your way to your target with a sickly sweet smile.

  Grabbing onto your competitor’s arm, your legs have his way of escape blocked as you yank it behind his back, slithering one of your legs from your lock-hold to his back, where you knock his knees in, with you pushing down on his back till the side of his face hits the sweaty mat.

  Once the door is locked, your target immediately goes for the thin shoulder straps of your dress. All that is buzzing through your mind is that one day, that one day, where your normal life was snatched away from you. Hand snaking to your back to reach for the tucked-in holster behind your bra strap, you manage to get good grip on the handle of the knife before swinging it out and immediately going for the throat. And with the close proximity, you were able to brush the blade clean across the midsection of his throat, unable to drive it right through like you had wanted. The target curses, holding the sliced skin with one hand while the other reaches behind him, ready to pull out his gun. You kick him square in the chest with your heel instead, slamming him up the wall and handling your knife once more, lifting it ever-so accordingly to your differentiating heights as your target’s blood splatters down your cheeks, neck and chest.

  “Release!” The sudden order goes over your head as you hold your competitor down with your foot, watching as his tightly shut eyes and tense body try to move against your hold. “Release (y/l/n)!” Once more, you numbly tilt your head to the side, bringing two hands to your competitor’s arm, the one pinned behind his back, getting a good opposing hold and gently lifting it from his back, grip tightening.

  The knife wedged in his throat, you reach for the gun he had recently tried to grab for, pulling it easily and cocking the pistol to ready the bullets in the small barrel. You point the barrel right between his eyes and pull the trigger, standing firm against the blast as his blood spews behind his head onto the silky white wallpaper. You pull the knife out of his throat with your free hand and dig the tip of it into the bullet-hole of his head, pulling the bullet out and smiling to see it drenched in hot, deep scarlet. Setting the gun in the same hand you have your knife in, you grab the bullet with numb fingers and stick it right between your target’s lips and into his mouth, before letting him fall to the floor. Loading the gun once more with the knife’s handle in-between your free fingers, you scowl down at the target and finally find it in yourself to turn your ear-piece back on with your free hand.

  “The job’s already done. Backup in ten, I can already hear more of them coming up the stairs.”

  You feel hands grab at you away from your competitor, hearing him gasp out in breath of relief as you blink rapidly. Hurley is the one holding you, but you quickly escape from his grasp and breathe heavily, looking at him with squinted eyes. “I told you to release. You’ve been here for a month and still can’t follow a simple order.” You huff, turning around to face him and being slightly surprised to see a new scruffy face standing next to him, the honey-golden eyes staring intently into your own. “Fucking unbelievable, (y/l/n). You need a leash? Or do I need to watch you train like the child you are?” Your mouth opens in frustration, ready to lash out at your instructor but finding last-minute control as you fall from your high.

  “No, sir.” Hurley rolls his eyes and gestures his head towards what you guessed to be the newest recruit. You can see the defined muscles easily of the new recruit in his jacket and shirt, his dark brown, almost black, messy hair complimenting his sharp features. You lick over your lips and wait for the introduction of this new person, suddenly really finding interest in hearing his name. Or- last name- considering first name’s are discouraged.

  Hurley folds his arms neatly across his chest. “Good. Because this is your new partner. Introduce yourselves, get acquainted, get friendly, because I’m tired of you almost breaking bones in my training room.” And he turns away, ready to leave us alone. Partner? Oh hell fucking no.

  “Sir, I don’t need a partner. I don’t need to be training with some newbie who probably references off of action movies for his own training.” Hurley snaps his head back with cold eyes, appearing stressed as all hell. “This is not necessary.”

  “Well, good thing I didn’t ask you.” And that is all it takes for you to shut your mouth after that, not looking forward to another month being added to your sentence for your back-talk. You sigh frustratedly and snap your head to your new ‘partner’, his looks now completely thrown out your head. He looks annoyed with you already, probably from the small diss you’ve already laid on him without even saying hello to him, but he drags his tongue along the skin inside his mouth below his bottom lips, the protruding bulge of it causing your eyes to follow its short path from right to left.

  Stretching your back some to pop some of the creaks you had, you peer up at him with a single eyebrow rose high-enough to show your sour attitude towards him. “Rapp.” Is all he says for his own introduction. He doesn’t hold out a hand or anything, which you didn’t expect him to, and you place your hands on your hips, lifting your chin almost arrogantly.

  “(y/l/n).” You retort back. “I suggest you get your gear… or else you’d like to train with your head pinned against the floor as well.” And with that settled, you turn around and sway your hips in a confident, but heated, stride. What you didn’t see is that his eyes raked your figure as you did so, but, that would be the least of the subtle things that would happen between you two. “Ridiculous.” You whisper inaudibly underneath your breath.

  Partner, you spat in your head, partner my ass.


  There is nothing but heavy, gruff breaths between the two of you, the drive back to the place you have become more accustomed to less than pleasant. “You just never listen to anyone but yourself, don’t you?” His harsh words are meant to be harsh, but you find no offense in them because they are right. Still, you’re pissed off, and Mitch knows better than to edge you in when you’re pissed off. “You had to jump on him. You had to ruin the game-plan because you can’t control yourself.”

  You turn your body towards him in your seat, crossing your arms. “That’s because I’m not a pussy, Rapp. Something you and I don’t have in common. You know I’m famous for going my own way. They fucking deserve to rot and I don’t wait for the right time to kill them when any given amount of free time is the right time.” Mitch tsks, one of the hands he had gripped on the steering wheel smacking against it.

 “Being ignorant is not ‘not being a pussy’, (y/n). You’re so desperate to get killed, why don’t you just go running straight into their fire like your some Goddamn Wonder Woman? Out of everything you have taught me, I’m just glad being a foolhardy idiot wasn’t on the list because that is just something you’ve learnt all on your own.” This time, something pangs into my chest at his rant, and I grip onto my seat, glaring directly onto the profile of his face, a sharp look of anger hitting my features. “We don’t have a lot of things in common, (y/n), but not being a pussy is not one of them. Just fucking- fucking- fuck!” The car suddenly goes to a stop, both of our bodies being yanked forwards. Mitch hits the wheel once more angrily, the veins popping out from the tops of his large hands and along his forearm easily.

  “What the fuck Mitch?” You sneer, and he turns his head towards you quickly, unbuckling himself.

  “It’s the damn car, bitch. Not my fault.” You chuckle with no humor in your voice, readjusting yourself in your seat. He yanks his door open and stands for a second, looking at the steam flowing out from the hood of the truck you two had borrowed from your agency for your guy’s mission - the same one you had apparently ‘almost ruined’.

  Running a hand through your hair, your glare still remains firm on Mitch. “It is your fault when your dumbass was so focused on arguing with me rather than your own driving-” Slam. He shuts his door on you before you can even finish, leaving you to slump back in your own seat and growl beneath your breath. “Such a cunt.” It seems like he can hear you through the thin glass as well because next thing you know he’s throwing a middle finger towards your way, and you roll your eyes. Fortunately, with the sky quickly darkening and the urgent task at hand he was busying himself with, Mitch couldn’t see the fact that you’re flipping him off back with both hands. And for a while, when your middle fingers curl back into your fists, you’re left to sit there while your grumpy partner tries to fix your only way of transportation back to the house.

  However, the short time period of silence left you to sit in your head for a while, which is something you usually either avoid doing or never had the time to. Your thoughts often open too many wounds for you to handle, but, your phone is dead and the one person you actually enjoyed talking to, believe it or not, is being an asshole by himself outside and doesn’t want to hear another word you say. Normally what clogs up your head is what if the attack hadn’t happened. You’d still be together with your boyfriend, you’d be more focused on your writing instead of guns, you’d be… whole. Not what you are now. Incomplete, still picking up the pieces of yourself, forever cracked. You’re sure your mentality will never be the same. Beforehand, you found yourself to be discomforted by the idea of guns. Now, you feel most safe and content with one loaded in your hand. If the incident hadn’t happened, you would’ve been a good person. Sweet, kind, like you used to be. You used to be sympathetic, a gentle breeze that people always welcomed.

  But that’s not what you are anymore.

  You gulp and wipe at your face, before shaking your head and gripping the door handle to open it, the sounds and smells of the night filling your senses. You slam your door shut and maneuver to where Mitch is, ignoring the short cold glare he spikes towards you. “Having fun?” He doesn’t answer. “What, cat got your tongue? Normally Mitchie is one for comebacks. Something only I have been able to bring fully out of you.” Though that last part is slightly bleak in truth, it seemed completely true and honest to you. Originally, you had thought Mitch to be a kiss-ass. An arrogant kiss-ass that the agency still favors over you because he knows how to listen and you don’t. Most people call that jealousy, you call it bullshit. “You’re so handy with guns, but you can’t handle a few nuts and bolts.” At this point, he’s still not amusing you with a retort back, so you turn your back to leave him, finding more enjoyment playing with the dirt if playing with his anger wasn’t getting you anywhere.

  “Oh my God, can you just shut the fuck up.” Instantly, your head snaps his direction, stopping mid-step to face the red-faced man yourself. Your eyebrows crinkle together, with your lips slightly tilted downwards and eyes squinted to exhibit your anger at his spat towards you. He stands in front of you, staring directly at you with his darkened eyes, fists tightly balled on each of his sides, skin glistening with sweat from all the steam from the hood hitting him and the humidity of the night from the woods surrounding you two. You act fast in your irritation, placing both hands flat on his hard chest and pushing threateningly.

  “Make me.” Your words are sharp and clear, but you are still unable to catch the smirk on his face. You move to push him again at his delayed response, but, he catches both of the small of your wrists, yanking you towards him till your chest hits his own. His nose bumps yours in the sudden movement, and he speaks before you can retaliate.

  His breath his hot against your face, the air between you and him thickening rather quicker than you would’ve ever expected. “Oh, trust me, babygirl.” He leans towards your ear, a shiver being coaxed out of your body from his breaths tickling the quickly sensitizing skin. “I will.” This is not a side you have seen Mitch show at all, and it leaves you, for once in your life, in shock. This new attitude he’s showing you and is about to show you knocks you clean off the pedestal you had spent months building. And judging from the smirk still on his lips, he likes it.

  His movements are fast, still gripping onto your wrists and using his torso to help push you backwards. For a split second, he releases one of them and diverts his line of sight off of you, but only to slam your waist against the side of the hood of the car. You had expected a sneer, a glare, a cold insult. Not this. Not any of this. You still aren’t sure how to react, you had never felt intimidated before. And as soon as that thought hits you, you feel another scowl hitting your lips. You’re a counter-terrorist operative, you aren’t some damn damsel who obeys when someone like Mitch, someone who you have never been scared of, suddenly decides to go into this random ass alpha-mode. You suddenly jolt forward, attempting to push out of his grip, but you are yet again surprised with the amount of strength his pushes back with, keeping you firm in place. Slowly, his head turns back towards you. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of your Goddamn attitude.”

  Before you know it, you’re spun around, front facing the side of the hood of the truck. But Mitch doesn’t stop there, he uses his free hand to harshly push your front flat onto the metal, the side of your face hitting the hood. A tiny moan slips from your lips, the roughness making things in you squirm that you never knew had been there. He notices the sound as soon as it leaves your lips. “You’ve never listened to anyone in your fucking life, but that’s not how things are going to work tonight. You listen to me, understand?” You can’t find it in yourself to answer right away, too caught up in the heat of the moment. You hear a low growl rumble behind you, and you feel him push against you even harder. “Say you do.”

  “I understand.”

  “Show some fucking respect.” You had never called anyone m’am or sir unless it was someone you considered of high authority. For Mitch, it had always been dumbass, cunt, Mitchie, because he never questioned what you called him, just for the fact that you pretty much treat everyone you didn’t like, which was a lot, like shit. Mitch must’ve just felt lucky you even acknowledged him enough to call him out. But, not tonight; tonight is full of surprises. The heat starting to pool between your legs being one of them.

  “I understand, sir.” He hums what you assume to be a dark laugh, and you seem to find relief in him being pleased with you. But, instead, he drags his free hand up your back and into your hair, wounding it around his fist.

  Pulling your head back, he leans his face forward, this time planting small kisses and bites below your ear. “That’s not good enough.” He pushes his hips forward into your ass, giving you the opportunity to feel the slowly growing erection pressed against you.

  “I understand…” He pauses his actions, seemingly anticipating for the next word that is about to leave your mouth. “Daddy.” Shivers, once more, attack your spine, now truly comprehending the situation you’re about to go head-on into. Part of you suspected he’d be into that kind of thing, but you, of course, would’ve never believed you would be able to experience the answer of your inquiries first-hand. He slips his hand out from your hair, and you sigh in slight sadness, enjoying the slight burn in your scalp it brought. Despite of how much dominance he’s already exhibited to you, there’s still that fire inside you. The one telling you to take charge back. Hell, if you two are going to get into this, you feel as if you might as well make it worth it. You didn’t want Mitch to think you’re easily submissive. You move against him once more, and this time you succeed to slither out of his hold. You grab his face to yank his lips down to yours, crashing into it with teeth and tongue. He growls into your mouth, firmly grasping the back of your thighs and lifting you off your feet, wrapping your thighs around his hips.

  You huff a breath of frustration through your nose, before all the air is knocked out from your lungs as he roughly brings your back down onto the side of the hood of the truck. “Disobey me like that again and expect much more. Now, scoot up some and open your legs more for me. Don’t grab onto anything; the only thing you’ll be grabbing onto is my hair when I get hands on you properly.” A shaky moan leaves your lips. Despite all the things in your head to do otherwise, you finally oblige to his orders entirely, which makes him hum another chuckle. “That’s what I thought.” You sit up on the car-hood, the slightly curved surface causing you to fear that you might slip. But Mitch’s firm hands tell you otherwise as he skillfully unbuttons your jeans and yanks them off in record time. With his eyes on your black thong you had chosen to wear, dropping your jeans on the dirt road next to his feet.

  And, just as he had told you, your hands found a home buried in his hair as soon as he crouched down, his hot breath fanning across your covered core. Leaning in even more, he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, tongue massaging into the wet spot that had formed on your thong at the top. Your back lifts instinctively up on the hood, the spike of pleasure it brings you from just that singular movement blowing your mind in all directions. He hums in appreciation, sending vibrations to your core. “Lay back, babygirl.” He tells you, and you stay still, feeling frozen. He then moves you for you, placing the palm of his hand flat on your stomach and pressing down. Your thighs tense against the sides of his head, his wild and long hairs tickling the insides of your thighs. The new position causes your hands to pull from his hair, leaving them to brace themselves atop the hood of the car. He looks up to you, making sure you’re watching him, before leaning up slightly so his teeth can snag the top of the material of your thong. A single eyebrow is risen on his face as he pulls the thong downward, one hand still on your stomach while the other is gripping one of your hips.

  Once he successfully brings your thong down to your ankles, he lets that, too, fall to the ground, baring you entirely. He is too engulfed with his own desires that he leaves your top and bra on, and dives right in, pressing multiple open kisses against your clit. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do this these past few weeks.” He mumbles, and you barely comprehend what he’s saying. “To bury my head in-between your legs, to be the one that makes you squirm and shake. Because I am the only one that can ever make you feel this way.” He kisses against you the way he would kiss your mouth, occasionally dipping his tongue and his lips brushing against your bundle of nerves. You inhale a sharp breath through your nose as he brings one of his hands down to you, the tips of his fingers gently tracing the edges of your entrance.

  “Oh, Daddy…” You breathe, fingers curling into the metal of the car.

  “That’s it, babygirl.” Mitch sighs against your clit, slipping a finger inside you and starting to pump. His pumps are in-sync with your sighs and moans, never once stopping, and he works his mouth against you, transferring from one technique to the next. From sucking against you to drawing shapes and impossible to decipher phrases onto your clit, letter by letter. His pumps start to become more rapid, which makes you feel utterly boneless, the hand that is not working inside you still holding you down. He adds another finger into the mix, twisting and turning his wrist to try out new angles, all while keeping his erratic pace. Your moans become more volumized and heavier as you reach your edge, leaning closer and closer over it as his movements only quicken. He curls his fingers as he buries them to the hilt inside you, his mouth moving back to pressing small kisses against your heat. “Come.” He demands, pushing a third finger in you, stretching you deliciously, and bringing them out only to slam them back in.

  It’s like your body is under his command because as soon as he curls his fingers once more, your orgasm rolls over you in waves. He doesn’t stop his fingers, but instead moves his face up to yours, slamming his lips atop of yours as his tongue explores every corner of your mouth, his teeth nibbling down on your bottom lip every now and then. You moan breathlessly into his mouth, which makes him only chuckle hoarsely in response, scissoring his fingers to reach newer places inside you. Your body is still shaking from the orgasm as he only built you up for a second one, milking every bit of you out onto his fingers. “I-I can’t, Daddy.” You whimper, breaking your kiss with him.

  “Yes you can.” He speaks firmly, his fingers reaching an unbelievable pace as he continuously slams his fingers inside you, all the while until his thumb reaches up to your clit, rubbing in a circular motion vigorously. “Come on babygirl, let go.” It takes a few seconds longer, but, you find yourself reaching another high and crashing down from it, coming all over his fingers once more. Slowly, he slips his fingers from you and wraps his lips around two of them, sucking graciously. He lifts the third finger up to your lips, the smirk returning to his features. “Taste yourself for me.” Mitch says, and you obey, allowing him to push his finger past your lips. He only growls in response to the feeling, pulling his finger from your mouth and pulling you to your feet.

  His hands are feisty and needy, clawing at any clothing you still had on. He lifts your shirt over your head and unclips your bra, while also stripping himself of his shirt, jeans and shoes. Fortunately, the ground is dry, so both Mitch’s and your clothes won’t be ruined.

  “Get on your knees.” He orders, already pushing down on your shoulders as he stares darkly down onto you, a slight tilt in his head - a motion only you had become famous for. You can only oblige, blinking numerously as your shaking hands move to the elastic of his boxers. Now, this is your chance. Your own smirk finds your face as you look up to meet his eyes as one of your hands move over to palm over his completely hardened erection, wrapping your fingers around the covered cock you had, secretly, wondered about. But, from the bulge straining against his boxers, you can tell he was bigger than you had thought. He sneers at you and tangles his hands in your hair, creating two fists. “You better get that mouth to work babygirl, before I do it for you. You aren’t allowed to tease me.” You don’t listen to his warning and continue your actions, planting gentle kisses against his hard-on.

  Mitch doesn’t tolerate it for another second, gripping onto your hair even tighter and bringing his hips closer to you, giving you a clear message that he meant business. You obey, tugging down his boxers enough to where his erection springs free. Mitch moans at the feeling of being unconfined, and your eyes widen at the size of him. You remember his words, but you toss them away for a handful of seconds, slowly sliding your tongue along the underside of his cock, right till the tip, where you kiss it once. You feel him shiver as you take just the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip and sucking in your cheeks, all while holding eye-contact with him. His own are shut for a split second, until he snaps them open, and you can see the darkened color of them.

  “What did I tell you?” He seethes, pushing your head further down on his length till his tip is brushing against the back of your throat. He even cants his hips forward, and his mouth hangs open as a empty moan flows right out through it. “Your mouth is only for my cock, got it?” You don’t say anything in response, but rather suck him hard as you bring your lips slowly up his cock. He licks his lips, already pushing you back down, right until it’s his hips doing most of the work. You still remember to use your tongue and even lightly brush your teeth against his cock each time he slips it out from your mouth, starting a punishing rhythm with his hips until it becomes increasingly erratic. “Oh, babygirl,” He moans, “that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock feels so good.” You simply continue on with your own actions, wanting to bring him to his own orgasm just as well as he brought you to yours.

  When he does, he pushes you down on his cock further than before, your nose buried in the hairs of his happy-trail, with his warm seed hitting the back of your throat. “C’mon babygirl, take it all like a good girl.” Mitch speaks, and you do as said, your own wishes of dominance diminishing by the second. For the first time since the incident, someone has put you in your place. You had no desires to disobey.

  You pull from his cock, a string of saliva following afterwards. He heaves for a split second, trying to recollect himself, and does it efficiently, already yanking you back up to your feet and turning you around. “There’s no time for me to be teasing you, no time at all. All I want to do is just fuck you.” He sighs, pushing your front flat back onto the side of the hood on the truck, kicking your legs apart till he thought it was good enough space for him. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, so good, you won’t be walking straight for weeks.” He promises, and you believe him. One thing he hasn’t made you do yet is beg, but, he knows that even with the state you are at right now, begging is what you will never do. With a gun to your head, or on the highest peak of pleasure, you don’t beg. “Now, scream my name.”

  He rams inside you, not allowing you to adjust. He starts a quick, punishing pace, hands gripping on your hips roughly. You’re assured there will be bruises in replacement of his fingertips, but, you’re loving every second of this. “Next time you decide to not listen to me,” He starts, leaning in to suck hickeys onto your neck, one after the other, “you remember me fucking you like this.” Mitch sinks his teeth into the hot skin of the crook of your neck, and you let out the loudest moan you have this entire time. His pace never quivers, and it remains hard and fast, his hips snapping against your ass mercilessly. His name leaves your lips like a prayer. A sudden slap causes you to jolt forward, followed by two more, blood rushing to your ass cheeks as his hands continue to take turns slapping your ass till the skin is as red as a cherry, maybe even till purple spots started to show. “Come babygirl. Come for me.” He huffs, a hand reaching around to cup your neck, squeezing firmly but not inflicting too much pain. His hips start to lose formation, now ramming into you sloppily, his tongue still working over your neck. And with a final thrust and slap against your ass, you come undone, and he does too soon after, pulling out and tugging rapidly over his cock till white spurts of his release paints your lower back.

  You’re both out of breath and out of energy, and he presses a hand on the car next to you, pulling himself together. “Holy fucking shit.” He says, beneath his breath, and you nod slightly, body trembling from the intensities it just endured. Mitch laughs tiredly, picking up his clothes and redressing himself, and soon helping you as well. His hands massage over the covered sore flesh of your ass, humming against your neck as he brings his lips back up to yours once more, this time more gently than before.

 “You still gonna fix the car?”

  “You know, after everything we just did, you still always go back to the same you.” Mitch retorts, removing himself from you and moving back to the hood of the truck, popping it open and sighing at the little progress he has made.

  “Ridiculous.” You mumble beneath your breath, a smile making its way onto your lips as you re-enter the car, waiting for Mitch to fix the truck and for the new changes about to come your way into your life. Maybe it was time to be a little nicer, a little more obedient. You shake your head as you peer back up at Mitch, still smiling. Never.

childhood in autumn

jumping into piles of raked dead leaves, pumpkin patches, wind chimes, “trick or treat, smell my feet”, corn field mazes, hay rides, scarecrows stuffed with straw, pom-pom hats, winnie the pooh sneakers, rainbow color-block jackets, a warm bright yellow kitchen, scents of cinnamon and apple, corduroy fabric, “it’s the great pumpkin, charlie brown”, a black sky by 5 pm, covered up in a baby blanket in my car seat, holiday crafts and decorations in school, candy corn and ghost window stickers, the aroma of hot turkey with crisp cold wind and strong perfume, a scruffy brown welcome mat by the front door, white thermals and footie pajamas, plastic orange pumpkin buckets, a costume witch hat, cold red cheeks and a runny red nose, drawing hearts and smiley faces on fogged car windows with my finger, frost on dead brown grass, a flu shot and a sticker at the doctor’s office, the stuffy warmth of thanksgiving dinner, a dark green and red plaid school skirt, gutting and carving pumpkins on sheets of newspaper, a cartoon turkey made from the outline of a small hand, goosebumps when stepping into a hot bath on a chilly evening, bare backyard trees against a dark blue sky.

I’ve been asked many times to share some of my deleted scenes from the Raven Cycle. The outtakes. Here’s the thing:

- they do exist. The Dream Thieves is 125k words long, give or take. My outtakes file for it — stuff that I cut out of the draft — is about 150k words long.

- they’re not exciting.

- they are either more boring versions of scenes that are in the book, bits of scenes that were going on for too long, or aborted plot lines. Sometimes they were me just writing my way around in circles while I figured out what I wanted out of life. Bits of book 2 ended up in book 3 and book 1 ended up in book 4, etc. etc. Timelines were always strange — The Dream Thieves used to begin with a prologue where Ronan lost the Camaro to Kavinsky in a drag race, and a lot of the outtakes involve me writing my way out of that. 

That said, here are some bits and bobs from the Dream Thieves outtakes file. Under a cut, because this is a lot of words. Still not even approaching the number of words in the outtakes file. But. A lot of words.

Keep reading

McHanzo Week: Day 6 - Domestic Life

McCree-Shimada House Rules 

See if you can guess who wrote which ones…

  • Noodles should not be encouraged to sleep in the bed. They have their own bed. That bed can be, in certain circumstances, Jesse’s nightshirt.
  • The Great Shimada Dragons should not be referred to as ‘noodles’ as much as possible. Some exceptions will be allowed.
  • Hanzo may not go grocery shopping while hungry. Not only because he is prone to ‘impulse purchases,’ but also because he is very mean when he is ‘hangry.’
  • Jesse can enter the kitchen for cleaning purposes, but any elaborate cooking plan must be supervised.
  • Hanzo can enter the bathroom for cleaning purposes, but has to clean the sink because his ‘meticulous grooming process’ leaves so much hair everywhere, how is it even possible.
  • The mat directly at the front door is not the appropriate place to leave cowboy boots.
  • Sonic arrows are not a better alternative to finding where each other is. Get up and look and stop leaving holes in the walls.
  • It is rude for one to throw their prosthetic limb when asked if they can ‘lend a hand’ on a given chore.
  • It’s even more rude to refuse to give back one’s prosthetic limb after a well-executed hand joke.
  • Both parties will never end the evening angry, even if they both must remain awake for some time to handle a disagreement.
  • Make-up sex is extremely encouraged, please and thank you.