#i am so god awfully sorry about the amount of tags here oh my days

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 |  Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards.  And the press are having a field day.  Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt.  An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning.  Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem.  All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

-

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

-

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

-

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

-

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #accidently married

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Teenage Fantasy

Pairing: Henry Cavill x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, NSFW guys! Henry Cavill being a flirt

Summary: Your day couldn’t get any worse. Your plane was late, baggage lost, your phone dead and you get lost. But thankfully a hot stranger decides to help you out and make the night of this awful day a little bit better.

A/N: I am slowly coming back from my writer’s block so please be patient with me. @idjitmonkey​ I thought you make like it :) Comments and reblogs always welcomed. Please do not use my work without my concent!

I got lost in who wanted to be tagged in what, so please send me a message or an ask and I’ll make a list <3

TAGS are opened

You exhaled heavily and looked at your phone, coursing your law battery. You have been trying to find your hotel but it seems you got lost. Like really lost, and you weren’t sure if it was due to your lack of road finding or just the mere fact that the universe just seem to hate you today.

The whole day seemed to be awful. Firstly your plane was late, then you lost your baggage, which was thankfully found, and now you lost yourself. How fun! All you wanted was just to sit down and cry. It was cold, windy and all you wanted was a nice beer some onion rings or wings and the bed. 

Of course, you could ask someone for directions, but well of course no one seemed to be around. Now when you really needed someone. Like its London, for crying out loud, how is that possible there was no one around. 

Oh! And let’s not forget about your battery completely and utterly dead in your phone. Yes. The Universe definitely hates you. 

You had two options just keep on walking, hoping to find a bar or something and ask for help, or come back the same way you came, and well… yeah… hope for the best. 

“You look lost!” You squealed and jumped hearing a low voice behind you. Dropping your backpack you turned around meeting the eyes of the stranger. “Forgive me! Did not want to scare you”, he chuckled and lifted your bag from the snowy sidewalk. “You seem to be staring at your dead phone for a long time, so I thought I’d come and maybe help?” You quietly thanked the man and took your bag. You gave him the piece of paper with the address of the hotel and sighed. 

“I haven’t noticed my battery was dying before like 5 minutes ago, and well I don’t really have a map and it’s cold and…” You sighed and dropped your head completely defeated. 

“This is London for you!” He chuckled, looking around. “Have you tried to ask people around?” You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms around your chest. 

“Oh, why haven’t I thought about it. Oh, but wait!” You turned around in a circle, your hands spread. “No people around! I’m not an idiot, you know?!” He frowned and raised his brow. 

“Sorry, that was a stupid question.” He awkwardly shrugged, biting his lips in a cute boyish way.

"No. You have been nothing but a star. I'm sorry I'm being emotional." You took a deep breath to relax.. "It's been a shitty day really and getting lost in a city I have never been before is a great way to end it." He frowned and smiled softly. "I'm sorry, you're so nice helping me out and here I am acting like a spoiled brat!"

"It's fine, really. How about we'll go have a beer and then I'll call you a cab?" You opened your mouth to say yes, but then you reminded yourself that you don't know that man at all. But on the other hand you really needed that beer. Or two, eventually five. 

"Promise me you won't kidnap me and slit my throat?" There was a pause and then a booming laugh, which made you laugh as well. 

"Yeah, this coat was pretty expensive and blood is hard to clean. You're safe!" He send you a wink, going the other way, what you assumed to the pub. 

"I would tell you a good way to get rid of it, but I'll wait till we’re in a public place." He laughed again and you followed this strange, nice man. Oh and not to mention. Incredibly hot man! Well, you only live once, right?

**

"Oh gosh he's adorable!" You squealed gazing at the picture of the 'stranger's dog on his phone. You both went into the pub which was ironically close to where you were. You were able to charge your phone, that gave Henry, as he introduced himself, a possibility to buy you a drink. You ordered a beer, some onion rings and now you were on your second bowl and glass and the topic of your conversation turned into animals. On how you'd love to adopt a dog but your landlord is a dick and doesn't let you. And he told you about his best friend Kal and was showing you some photos and videos of him. 

"He's the best dog ever!" He smiled softly seeing your hyped expression whenever you were seeing another and another of the pictures. 

"Oh I bet he is!" You exclaimed happily, chuckling at the video of Kal and Henry playing around. You gave him back the phone when you noticed some personal pictures of his without Kal. He frowned and looked down, and could help but smile softly at your will to keep his personal life just his. "Oh I hope if I move I will be able to get one of those." You took a sip of your beer and sigh. "My dad hated dogs so we never got one. But now I wish my next landlord will not be such a… well…" 

"Dick?" You laughed and nodded. "So what brings you to London?" 

"Job interview actually. I got a job offer at the university as a second world war lecturer." He raised his brow and you smirked. "What? I don't look smart enough to be a lecturer?"

"Well, your road  reading skills didn't give a great first hand impression", you slapped him playfully in the shoulder and laughed. "I'm joking. You just look too young to be a professor." 

"Oh so you go from insults to flirting?" You bit your lip, giving him a playful stare. He widened his eyes and smirked at you, finishing his Guineas. He pointed at your almost empty glass and you nodded. Your job interview wasn't until 4 PM so you could get a little drink. And well who says you can't get flirty with a very handsome stranger, who also seems to be intelligent, charming and funny? "Thank you", you smiled at the waiter who brought another beer for you. 

"My trainer will kill me if I get another bowl of those rings" he sighed, visibly wanting another one. You chuckled and ordered another one, sending a flirty wink his way. "If you'll hear news of death on the gym, know it's your fault!" You bit your lip chuckling. 

"Life is too short to say no to a good beer and onion rings!" He raised his brow and shook his head in disbelief. 

"You're one of a kind, Y/N", you liked the way your name sounded from his lips. It shoot a jilt down your spine. The nice and very sinful one. The one you should not be feeling towards a stranger that you met just two hours ago. 

"Oh I'm missing the insult this time" he opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't as he laughed again. "But do tell me, Henry," you whispered his name in the same way he said yours. "Why am I one of a kind?" 

"Most women I meet are too focused on the aspect of a perfect body to eat whatever they want. And here you are, eating a third bowl of onion rings and enjoying yet another glass of beer. If you tell me you watch soccer I will have to marry you!" 

"Well get a ring then, because I do enjoy some sport in my life, including football", he rolled his eyes the way you corrected him in terms of the soccer term. "And did you just call me fat for not caring of my body?" His eyes widened and he made the most adorable impression of a fish. You put the most serious expression for as long as you could, which was about 10 seconds, before you burst into a fit of laughter. 

"You scared the shit out of me!" 

"That was fucking precious!" Boldly you put a hand on his, oh God, big thigh. "Relax, I know I don't have a body of a supermodel.  But hey, I do enjoy my life too much to be a masochist." He watched you in amusement when you tried to contain your laughter. "Plus", you licked your lip seductively, enjoying the way his Adam's apple uncontrollably bulged. "What's a woman without some curves, right?" Henry swallowed harder and his eyes lowered to your hand on his thigh. You weren't normally so bald but there was something about this man that made you less shy and more flirty than you normally were with guys. 

"You truly are perfect Y/N", he whispered in you ear making you blush just a little bit. Trying to blame it on the amount of alcohol, rather than the nice sensation of his breath on your neck. "Really one of a kind!" Your everyday you would probably scream at you for not stopping his hand that started to venture from your knee to your thigh. But today you had an awfully long day and every girl needed a good one night stand once in a while. And something told you that the man in front of you, knew how to make that awful day into a much better night. 

"I think I'd like some whisky…" he pulled away and smiled softly. You were sure you heard him whisper 'fucking perfect' before straightening. 

"I do have some of it back in my apartment" your heart skipped a bit. How was it possible that this perfect, incredibly handsome man wanted you? No. You wouldn't let your anxiety kill tonight. With no words you unplugged your phone and put it back into your bag. You took your purse out and asked for a receipt feeling Henry's eyes on you. "Y/N, listen if I read the situation wrongly…"

"We need to pay before we leave right?" You sent him a wink and noticed how he exhaled deeply. 

"In that occasion, there is no fucking way I'll let you pay. Don't fight me on it!" You left a quick peck on his lips, thanking him quietly, before standing up and putting a coat on. You chuckled hearing his hitched breath and quiet 'fuck' under his nose. 

**

You were standing in the middle of the living room gazing around his 'flat', as he was so kind to call it. It was huge. Your last flat could fit in that living room and that made you swallow hard. Just as you were about to say something you heard scratching on the floor and as you turned around to see what that was, a ball of fur jumped at you, making you land on your ass. A booming laugh escaped your lips, feeling a wet tongue traveling through your face. 

"Fuck, Kal get away!" You opened your eyes to see Henry standing above you, holding the dog by his collar. "I'm so sorry. I forgot to close the doors to his room when I left… are you ok?" He pulled you up but you only shook your head and kneaded in front of the dog. 

"Are you kidding me? This is the best way anyone has ever welcomed me", you started to pet Kal, smiling and giggling at his happy expression. "Aren't you the cutest? Yes… yes you are!!" You didn't care that you sounded mental. Dogs were the most amazing animals and if someone didn't like the fact well they don't have to be in your life. 

"Here!" You looked up seeing two glasses of Scotch in Henry's hand and you got up on your feet thanking him quietly. "Normally the girls don't give him that much attention," he smiled at you and looked down at you lips. You raised your brow and took a step closer, completely ignoring the personal space. 

"Oh, is someone jealous?" Your free hand landed on his chest, admiring how hard it was. Was this man fucking perfect? Now you really wanted to see him naked. 

"What if I am?" His husky, lowered voice made you involuntary close your thighs. You looked up into his darkened eyes. Your hand moving down, slowly. Until it stopped at his belt and without a word you lowered it a bit more and gripped where his, what you assumed and hoped, impressive cock was. You smiled when he groaned quietly at your action. With one sip he drunk all his whisky and closed his eyes when you started to unbutton his belt and Jeans. You followed his lead and finished the drink, handling the empty glass to him. He raised his brow, ready to ask, but shut his mouth, when you kneeled in front of him opening his trousers. Looking up you lowered his boxers, and couldn't help but lick your lips seeing him already semi-erect. Fuck he was so beautiful! He was big, but not too big, but what was more impressive was his girth. Oh yeah, you are going to have fun with the man. You smirked at him and not breaking the eye contact you licked the top of his penis, going from up to the base like a kitten enjoying the best of snacks.

"Holy fuck!" He growled when you swallowed him as slowly as possible, bobbing your head up and down, enjoying the sounds living his mouth. You closed your eyes and swirled you tongue around his clock, drinking up the precum that appeared on the top. "Fuck, sweetheart, baby you gotta stop!" He pulled you away and you looked up at his flashed face, smirking in the most flirty way. Yo stood up and smiled widely, when he pulled you close to him. "You are fucking amazing. Jesus I haven't felt that good in a while, but", you screamed when he took you over his shoulders and started walking to his bed. You giggled when he softly threw you on the bed and laid down towering over you. "Now sweetheart I will make sure you will forget about this awful day you had." You looked up and whined seeing him undressing himself. This man was perfection, and you weren't sure which God you were supposed to thank for this, but yes, for some bizarre reason you got lucky today. His sculpture body was something you only seen on the covers of magazines and not to mention that chest hair. Fuck. Yeah ok, you may have a weird kink for men with chest hair, but who wouldn't seeing the man in front of you? 

"You see something you like?" He hovered over you, planting his hands on both sides of your head. It was just now you noticed how beautiful his eyes were. Darkened by the lust they still held the beautiful blueness in them.

"You have this adorable patch of brown in the top of your left eye." He stilled and raised his brow in amusement. He leaned and captured your lips with his. 

"No one has ever described it as adorable before", he chuckled and you smiled shyly, embarrassed one of a sudden. 

"I like being your first", you sassed winking at him. And it was then when he lost it. He leaned down and covered his face in the crook of your neck laughing. You joined seconds later. It was the first time for you to have so much fun during sex. Even when you were in a relationship sex was always serious and not always something you practically enjoyed. But at this moment you were both excited and amused. 

"I'm so fucking happy I decided to take a walk tonight", you moaned when his lips attached themselves on the sensitive spot on your neck. You could feel a smirk on his lips, proud of himself for the sounds you were making. "You really are one of a kind", you jumped a little when he bit you under the ear, smirking at you. Oh this will definitely leave a mark. 

"I'll get you back for that!"  You hissed playfully. He shook his head and you raised a brow in question.

"I don't even want to know media's reaction if someone noticed a hickey on me!" This made you freeze and you pulled yourself on your arm to a sitting position. Confusion written on your face. 

"What do you mean?" You asked, hoping he was making some weird ass joke. At the same time trying to put his face to anyone you know. He sat down opposite you with the same confusion on his face. 

"You really have no fucking clue who I am right?" A sly smirked appeared on his handsome face. 

"You're scaring me now! Please tell me I'm not about to fuck some politician…" he widened his eyes and then laughed so hard that the tears appeared in his eyes. 

"I think I should blame myself for that. Haven't introduced myself properly. Henry Cavill." He extended his hand playfully and you frowned. You did recognise that name from somewhere. He grinned when your eyes widened. 

"Fuck! You’re the Witcher!" It was his turn to look surprised. He was expecting Superman. "Hallelujah. I'm about to fuck my teenage fantasy!" You leaned in and kissed him hard, turning him around and pushing on the bed, sitting on his hips. Enjoying the bulge you were feeling beneath you. 

"Your teenage fantasy?" He asked, putting his large hands on your hips, apparently enjoying his new position. You took a deep, happy breath when his hands started to move up your thighs. You stood up and undressed yourself. You sat back and captured his lips, your hands on his chest, admiring the Adonis under you. 

"I was a geeky kid. My nose was always stuck in books, mostly fantasies. My grandma is Polish and she once gave me Sapkowski's books and well let's say that you should not put a 16 years old horny teenager alone with a book about a broody, strong man, that wields his sword better than anyone else." You kissed his chest, shamefully nipping at his nipple, making his hip raise and a hiss leave his lips. 

"Don't tell me you got yourself laid with the Witcher!!" He couldn't control the laugh and looked up smirking, seductively licking your lips. 

"Not to the book itself but to the fantasies that my brain made." He shook his head in amusement. "But now that I actually have a really Geralt, let me tell you, kind sir, I will use that opportunity to the maximum." Your tongue traveled through his abdomen and kissed him right above his throbbing cock. 

You squealed when he turned, once again towering over you. The blue in his eyes was gone. Oh God, you will get properly fucked. And you couldn't wait for it. 

"You are a teaser, you know that?" You moaned when he bit on your sensitive nipple. "Don't want to destroy you fantasy, but I will be the one fucking you brainless, not Geralt", you sobbed when he pushed a finger inside your wet pussy. "Fuck you're tight! Yes baby, I will fuck you till you'll see the stars!" Another and another finger pushed inside you, twirling in a way that it touched this special place and you screamed his name. "Yes, sweety, that's right. I'll be your new fantasy!" 

"Henry I'm… fuck Henry… please don't stop!" He increased his pace and you moaned almost pornograpically, when the knot broke and you came like you never came before. 

"If that's what I can do with just fingers imagine how you're gonna feel when I'm finally inside of you." He smiled and kissed you softly on your lips. Your hands and legs circled him, getting him as close as possible. 

"Condom?" Your voice raspy and low almost as not yours. You could not believe he was able to bring you to that state with just his fingers. how are you supposed to find a man better than him? No, now was not a place nor time to think about that. "Give me that" you took the foil from him and opened it with your teeth. You pushed him off you and strangled him once again, sitting between his thighs. You looked up and smirked, putting a condom on his cock and with no words you lowered your mouth on him, putting the protection perfectly.

"Fuck!" He moaned when your lips left his cock. “That was the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen!" You chuckled and slowly positioned yourself on him.

"Can I ride you, Henry?" you felt his cock twitch at your words and you couldn't help but giggle. 

"You little minx… you'll pay for that" he joked and pushed inside of you with one harsh push. You screamed and fell on his chest to muffle the sound. "Fuck baby you're really tight…" he stopped and there was fear in his eyes. "Fuck please tell me…"

"Jesus no!" You laughed and kissed him softly. "It's just been a while. 2 years if I'm being precise." 

"I'm sorry." He whispered kissing your shoulders softly, apologetically. "I didn't want to hurt you. I'll go slow." You shook your head and moved up only to lay back down. 

"I'm not a glass doll, Henry. I won't break. You're just bigger than anyone I had and I needed to get used to it. Plus…" you straightened and smiled at him. He could swear it was the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. "You did promise to fuck me brainless!" There was nothing more you had to say. His hips moved in synchrony with your, pounding at you sensensly. It stunk for a bit but the pleasure tool from it really quickly. 

"Go on your knees. I wanna see that beautiful ass while I fuck you." You smiled and obeyed his order, enjoying his tone. Before you were able to get ready he shoved himself inside you. He squeezed your hip, for sure leaving yet another bruise on your body. But you didn't care. You felt your walls clenching second time this night. "Yes baby, come for me. Squeeze my dick!" And you once again obeyed him, feeling all the energy leaving you. You moaned when he didn't stop moving. Your sensitive pussy was still concluding from the orgasm and probably the upcoming one as well. "One more baby. Give me one more." The praise from him made you feel something you haven't felt for a while and you came, feeling something dripping down your thighs. 

"Fuck!" He whispered after coming inside the condom. He left you with a hiss and removed the foil from his softening penis.  "I don't think I have ever made a woman squirt." Out of any power in you, you fall on the pillow. You whined pathetically when he moved away. "I'm back. Come on spread for me a bit." You once again obeyed him and felt a wet towel between your folds. And you smiled and his softness. 

"I really, really like being your first" you whispered when he came back and laid down, inviting you to use his chest as a pillow. The soft movement of his chest put you to sleep before you even noticed. 

**

You looked at your vibrating phone and couldn't help but beam in happiness. When you woke up, Henry was still asleep. You knew it was just a one night stand, so to avoid awkwardness you decided to leave earlier. You did, however, felt compelled to leave a letter. You told him how much you enjoyed the night and how the media will never find out about it. And also you left him you number. In case he wanted to call. You wrote him that you didn't expect anything from him but you were open to see each other again. 

You really didn't expect anything. So that little text just made your day even better. 

'How was the interview?' H.C. 

'I will be staying in London for a bit longer', you answered, happy both about the text and your next job. 

'I know some good places to eat if you're not too tired.'

Your heart skipped a bit and you beamed at the prospect of spending some time with him. 

'How about we order pizza and watch Netflix at yours?'

'Netflix and chill? Yeah I'm in. I'll see you in a bit, baby!'  

#henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #Witcher #the witcher #henry cavill smut #Smut #my poor attempt of flirty story #my awful joking #fanfiction #real life #real life fanfiction #real life actors #actors fanfics

[huntertales]

Part Two: You Can Bet on It. (What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?)

Episode Summary: Kevin Tran talks the Winchesters and the reader in checking on his mother. When they arrive and discover Crowley has surrounded her with demons, they rescue her and take her along their quest to find the demon tablet. However, they soon discover Mrs. Tran is a mother not to be tested after she tries to go up against the king of hell herself. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,097.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

It wasn't too hard to find the location of the pawn shop Dean threatened out of Clem to find out where he sold off the tablet he wrongfully stole, along with whatever else he managed to grab from those lockers. The shop was nestled into a row of others in town not too far from where the bus station was located. Dean parked the Impala against the sidewalk and right behind a fancy looking sports car that was probably worth way more than the house you hadn’t been to in years now that you thought about it. Personally, you were more of a fan to older model cars, but you had to admit the cherry red Ferrari was a sight to see. Especially in a small town like this one in Wyoming when one would expect to see them more in the Hollywood hills.

You let out a low whistle in appreciation at the model as Kevin found himself pulled into a trance at the sight of the car. He took a few steps forward to take a closer inspection out of it, Mrs. Tran called out to her son, pulling him back into reality as she nodded her head to the pawn shop. A car like this was like a beautiful woman; you could look all you want, but if you dare so touch it, there would be consequences. All of you headed into the pawn shop to see a man behind the counter. He was playing on his phone with his feet up on the counter, obviously hard at work.

“Hello, sir. Agents Neil, Sixx and Hill. FBI.” Sam introduced the three of you as he pulled out his fake badge to show the kid behind the counter. “We’re looking for a tablet.”

"About, uh, yea big," Dean gestured with his hands the rough size of the tablet to give the kid some idea of what all of you were looking for. "Got some hieroglyphic crap on it."

“Sold to you by a thief named Clem.” Sam added. “Ring a bell?”

The kid shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Nope.”

You rolled your eyes from his nonchalant behavior and how quick he was to answer you. It was obvious he didn’t want to think too much about giving all of you some information, thinking he could attempt and cover his ass. But Dean wasn’t in the mood. “Hey, Lyle, I’m had a really, really bad day today, so I’m not in the mood to dilly dally.” Dean said. He leaned forward and pressed his hand against the glass to appear somewhat threatening. “If you want to do this the rough way, I am happy to oblige.”

“Sure. We can do it that way, if you want to get famous.” The kid said. You furrowed your brow from what he meant. When he looked over his shoulder and nodded his head to the two security cameras around the store, you knew exactly what he was trying to do.

“That your car outside?” Mrs. Tran spoke up, asking the kid a simple question.

“What’s it to you, mail-order?” The kid’s response made your blood boil in anger.

"Hey, scumbag!" You slapped your palm against the glass counter, directing his attention over to you. "A few security cameras don't scare me. I'll break right them right after I break your jaw and arms. I mean, it would be kinda hard to tell the cops a girl beat your sexist and racist ass with your mouth wired shut.”

"I got it." Mrs. Tran said, stopping you from fulfilling your promise. She walked up to the counter, showing you and the boys that not every situation required threats to get what you wanted. Sometimes brains won in this kind of situation. "I noticed you're driving with expired tags, maybe because you just acquired it in a trade, and I'm guessing that means you haven't registered it yet, which means you haven't paid the tax. Is that correct?"

The kid kicked his feet off the table and pushed himself up to a standing position. You noticed he seemed surprised at what she said, even a little bit afraid  about how spot on she was. “None of your business.”

"Kevin," Mrs. Tran looked over her shoulder and asked her son a question. "Average blue book on a 2010 Ferrari F430 Spider?"

"Two hundred and seventeen thousand dollars." Kevin answered.

“And the five percent Wyoming tax?” She asked.

"Ten thousand and eight hundred fifty." Sam somehow made the calculation in his hand in the matter of seconds, answering the woman before her son could. You found yourself wincing at the intimidating amount of numbers flying around here, making you feel sorry for the reality the poor sucker was about to face if any of this spilled to the real FBI.

“Ten thousand dollars. Something tells me you’re the type of person who might balk at a tax bill that big.” Mrs. Tran said, the ends of her lips curling into a smirk.

“W-What is this,” The kid asked. “An FBI audit?”

“No. But my brother, who happens to work for the Wyoming tax assessor's office could arrange that if he thought something untoward was happening here.” Mrs. Tran said. She continued on speaking, not missing a beat to drag out the information from the kid from the question she asked him. “So what’s it going to be—the tablet or that piece of euro trash crap you call a car?”

You crossed your arms over your chest when the kid fell awfully silent. You raised your brow as he contemplated the choices he had that you given him, and what he could do to get out of them for the spite of it. But you could tell from the look on his face that he knew he was cornered with no way out.

“You heard the woman.” You said. “Cough up the location, punk.”

The kid unwillingly did so to save his ass from paying a fine you knew he couldn’t pay. You left the pawn shop with a friendly smile after you snatched the receipt out of his hands. Maybe having Mrs. Tran around wouldn't be so bad, after all. She didn't cower at the sight of that kid being a jerk to her, and she sure was smart enough to think quick on her toes. Not to mention, she saved you and the boys from getting yourselves in trouble from doing things the illegal way. All of you piled back into the Impala and headed to the location written on the receipt. You were getting a little bit more hopeful with the idea that you were getting closer to the tablet. And one step closer to closing the gates of hell forever.

+ + +

Motel room number one-twenty six. You stood on the parking lot with your arms crossed over your chest as you waited while Sam knocked on the front door of the room where the tablet was supposed to be located. You looked around the place to see it was fairly quiet for the afternoon, there was nobody around except for the five of you. Sam waited for a moment to see if he could hear any movement in the room as your attention lingered over to the window to see if you could spot a pair of eyes peeking out the curtain to see who was disturbing them. But all remained still and silent.

“Sure this is the right place?” Sam asked, seeming a bit skeptical at location the kid gave you.

“It’s what the pawn slip says.” You told him.

Sam still wasn't too sure about that being true, so he decided to see for himself what was inside the motel room. He slipped his hand inside his pocket to pull out his lock pick to grant all of you access inside. However before he could even get it out of his jacket pocket, you heard an unfamiliar voice speak from behind, grabbing your attention. "Kevin?"

You turned around in your spot to see an older gentleman wearing an ensemble that looked a little out of place for this kind of scenery. You narrowed your eyes on him when you noticed his pinstripe gray suit was paired with a matching colored top hat and wooden cane he used to talk with. You dropped your arms to your hips, placing them where you kept the demon knife tucked away, just in case if you might need it use it on him. The boys seemed just as cautious at the sight of a stranger showing up out of nowhere.

“Who wants to know?” Dean asked, stepping down from the sidewalk and to the parking lot.

“Oh, relax, Dean. I’m not going to steal your prophet.” The stranger reassured the man. But you had your doubts on that. He turned his attention away from the older Winchester and the woman standing next to Kevin. The man’s lips stretched into a smile at the sight of her. “Ah. And you must be Kevin’s mother. Beau. And it is my absolute pleasure.”

"God," You rolled your eyes in annoyance when you saw Beau introduced himself to Mrs. Tran in the most over the top way possible. He reached out to lift up her hand to give the top of her hand a light kiss. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"And Kevin, imagine my luck. Here I was, working so hard to look for you that I never stopped to think you might be looking for me."  Beau said. You narrowed your eyes when you saw him slip a hand inside his suit pocket, making you fear for the worst. You found yourself reaching for the demon knife out of habit. You asked him what it was. He pulled out what appeared to be a crisp white invitation with the prophet’s name written on it. “An invitation, dear lady, to an exclusive auction.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said. “Where you’ll be selling the tablet?”

“Well, when we acquire an item as hot as the word of God, it’s smart to unload it as fast a possible.” Beau explained himself to you and the boys’ judging glares “And we are in such desperate need of a headliner for tonight’s gala.”

“Well, I hope you have four extra tickets to your little eBay party, ‘cause the prophet’s with us.” Dean said, stopping the stranger from taking Kevin anywhere.

“Oh if you’re worried about the safety of your prophet, rest assured we have a strict ‘no casting, no cursing, no supernaturally flicking the three of you against the wall for the fun of it.’ policy” Beau reassured you and the boys.

“Is that right?” Sam asked. “How’d you manage that?”

"Well, I am the right hand of a God, after all—Plutus, specifically." Beau said, his lips stretching into a smirk as he bragged about his title to the five of you humans.

“Is that even a planet anymore?” Dean let out a scoff, thinking it was something much different from the sound of a name.

“It’s the god of greed.” Beau corrected the man. It seemed from the expression on his face he wasn’t the least bit amused. “And my liege has warned these premises against hell, heaven and beyond—quite necessary with some of the players we see. And incidentally, quite possibly the safest place your precious prophet could be. Mm. Well, since time is of the essence, perhaps I’ll just go ahead and add a plus-four to the prophet’s invitation. Copacetic?”

Beau flung the invitation straight into the air, letting his trick distract all of you long enough for him to vanish into sight before the envelope fell to the ground. You quickly looked up when you noticed that he was gone. He was a smooth talker, you'd give him that. "Well, thank you, Mr. Peanut!" Dean yelled out in frustration. You dropped your hands to your side and let out a sigh. "All right. What do we have to bid?"

"Let me brush off the other word of God I've got in the trunk." You said, pointing a finger over your shoulder. "Along with the other precious artifacts we don’t have.”

“We can’t just show up there empty-handed.” Dean said, his tone of voice showing you he wasn’t in the mood for your sarcasm right now.

“Dean, all we have to our names ia few hacked gold cards.” Sam said, bursting his brother’s idea of trying to go up against a few heavy hitters that were bound to have some items that were well worth the trade for the tablet.

“All right. Well, then, we’re gonna have to get creative.” Dean suggested. You thought to yourself for a moment about what could possibly be worth bidding. You thought about possibly bidding off the demon knife, as it was a one of a kind piece. However Sam had a suggestion for an item that was meaningful to all of you. The very thing that had been through a lot of things in her decades of existence. You noticed that he was staring at the Impala, prompting you to realize that he was about to suggest about auctioning the car. Dean promptly shook his head as he went straight over to Baby, defending her. “Nope. Mnh-mnh. Say it and I will kill you, your children and your grandchildren.”

"Okay, okay. Before you two idiots murder each other, I got an idea. Don't these auctions display the items to the bidders beforehand, right?" You wondered, Dean nodded his head. "So all we got to do is get Kevin close enough to memorize the spell."

“What do you think, Brainiac?” Dean asked the kid. “Think you can swing it?”

“Of course he can swing it.” Mrs. Tran said with confidence. “If the bumper stickers on my previa mean anything.”

The plan was worth a shot to try, as it was really the only one you had anymore at this point. Dean turned his attention over to the Impala as he rubbed his hand across the hood, as if he was trying to comfort the emotions of an inanimate object. "They didn't mean it, Baby."

"You know, sometimes I wonder if you love that car more than me." You said. Dean looked over at you to see that you were standing right next to him with an arched brow, waiting for him to say that you were being crazy. However Dean remained silent for a moment, prompting you to let out a sigh. "You know what—Don't answer that. Let's just go."

+ + +

You weren't sure what you were expecting the location of the supernatural bidding of the tablet would be held. Maybe something fancy, maybe even a decent space where you didn’t have to worry about what was crawling around the place or what kind of mold was growing between the cracks of the stones. Of course it had to be just that, downtown in an abandoned warehouse from the looks of it. Nothing could ever be nice and clean. You stepped into the warehouse after a man dressed in a black suit opened up the door for you.

It was then you discovered the metal detector all of you needed to step through in order to be granted access to the auction. You knew if you wanted to be apart of this you needed to come here without a single weapon on you. Not that you were exactly pleased with the idea. You were a little more concerned about setting it off with the metal pieces in your body. You still had the faint scar from the surgery you had to put your arm back together. All though Cas put you back together into one piece, you weren't sure if he got out everything. There was one way to find out. You stepped through the metal detector after Sam, waiting to hear the thing go off. But when you stepped out the other side, it beeped once, making you let out a sigh of relief.

Dean wasn’t lucky as you were. When the older Winchester stepped into the detector, he went with a slow and cautious step, as if doing so would help his case. But as he stepped out to the other side, the alarm went off, making you and the others realize he made the dumb decision of coming here with some extra accessories that weren't allowed. You let out a sigh of frustration as you shot him annoyed glare. Dean smiled slightly as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Now, now, Dean.” Beau stepped forward to greet the older Winchester and remind him of the rules that applied to all of you as well. “The system only works when everyone participates.”

Dean wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of playing along with the rules of this place. Being stuck in a place crawling with monsters and no weapon to defend himself felt wrong. But if he wanted to stick around, he would have to give everything up. He unwillingly placed his pistol into the bin with other confiscated weapons and took out the demon knife from his jacket pocket. He held it for a moment, knowing out of all of the weapons you owned, this was the most powerful one. The guard grew impatient and reached out a hand to grab it from the man. Dean drew it back to give the man a warning that it was his, and his to keep.

“I’ll be back for this.” Dean told the man. And with those words, he set the knife into the bin with the rest of the weapons where it would remain until the end of the auction.

All of you headed into the auction now that you were cleared to do so. You looked around the place to see it was filled with all sorts of artifacts and items from mythology. People of all kinds gawked at the items at what soon would be up for grabs. You scanned the people with a bit of curiosity, wondering what kind of creatures you were surrounded with. Most of the time you were trying to kill them, it was sort of a nicer pace to be able to be in a place where they were fighting against each other for whatever item they were willing to get their greedy hands on. All you knew was that the tablet was yours. No matter how much it cost, you needed to get it back.

“How the hell are we supposed to know who’s who?” Dean quietly asked, looking around the room himself to see all sorts of people that appeared to be harmless. But there was more than meets the eye with these kind of folks.

“It’s pretty simple, Dean.” You said. “They’re all monsters.”

You focused less on the people you were surrounded with and now trying to find the tablet. You walked around the place and mindlessly spotted all sorts of different objects you would have loved to examine if the situation was different. Now you were focused on trying to find the tablet before time ran out. Dean was the one who spotted it. You saw the tablet in a glass display for anyone to see. However someone was one step ahead of you. You could feel your fist clench in anger when you noticed a black piece of board was covering each side of the tablet, making it near impossible for Kevin to read. There went your brilliant plan.

“I guess we’re not as original as we thought.” Kevin muttered in a defeated tone.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Sam said. “We just got to come up with a plan ‘b.’”

“And what, pray tell, could possibly have been plan ‘a’?” As if you thought this moment couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse, it could have. You flinched at the familiar accent ring into your ears and right behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see it was the king of hell himself, Crowley. Your lips stretched into a frown at the sight of him alone. “Bring the prophet to the most dangerous place on earth, memorize the tablet and then va-moose?”

"Crowley." You greeted the demon, speaking his name as if it was poison on your tongue. "Look what the cat dragged in."

The demon barely made an effort to acknowledge your presence before turning his attention over to the person he most wanted to see. "Kevin. What a pleasure to see you. Sorry about your little playdate. Her name...Well, if you're gonna make an omelet, sometimes you have to break some spines." Crowley said, excusing his previous behavior with a shrug of the shoulder. You scoffed at how easy it was for someone like him to wash the blood off his hands after killing an innocent person. But you didn't expect much out of something like him. Crowley turned his attention to Mrs. Tran, as she was a face he had never got to formally meet before. "And who is this lovely young thing? Must be your sister."

Mrs. Tran might have been a tiny woman for her height, but she sure knew how to pack a punch. You didn't realize what she had done until you saw Crowley's head turn into an unpleasant angle and he let out what sounded to be a bit of a groan. Your lips stretched into a smirk when you saw him tend to his bloody lip the woman had given the king of hell. "Stay away from my son." She warned him.

“Charming. Defiling he corpse has just made number one of my to-do list.” Crowley said. You narrowed your eyes on the demon at his subtle threat while Dean took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to give Crowley more than just a punch. But before he could do such a thing, his brother held him back. “Don’t mind a little love tap, but anything more, and our mookie pals here might just throw you out, and that would be a shame.”

"He's right, Dean." Sam unwillingly agreed with the demon. "It's not worth it."

“Listen to Moose, Squirrel.” Crowley said. You rolled your eyes from his remark alone as your attention was pulled away from him and to the front door when you heard it open and close. You noticed an older looking man wearing what seemed to be a white tracksuit passed you by. “Ah. Here comes our host.”

“That’s Plutus?” Dean asked, watching the man pass by all of you to take his spot at the front of the room. “What is he, God of the candy aisle?”

You had to admit he wasn’t what you were expecting to be when you heard he was the god of greed. You were thinking he’d be a little bit more flashy in flaunting his wealth and greed. Guess you were wrong on that one. Beau followed behind the man. “Gentlemen,” He reminded the five of you. “The auction is starting.”

“Good luck with the bidding.” Crowley said.

You forced yourself to give him a sarcastic smile before turning on your heels to walk over to the auction before things got started. When you saw the demon was far enough away from you, you looked over at Mrs. Tran and gave her a genuine smile at what she managed to do.

“Nice right hook.” You whispered.

Mrs. Tran seemed proud of herself at the compliment you gave her. The both of you headed off with Sam and Kevin to find a spot for all of you to take. You managed to find an empty row of chairs for all of you to take. However you noticed that Dean wasn't anywhere near all of you. You leaned over slightly while you stood over the chair you claimed as your own next to Sam, wondering where his brother was. You looked through the thinning crowd of people and spotted him talking to some kid wearing a red and white striped uniform. You furrowed your brow slightly at who he was talking to, wondering who it was.

The conversation seemed to drift to an end a moment later. You watched as the kid walked over to where the rest of the crowd to take a seat in the very back, but Dean remained where he was. You let out a sigh when you saw him lose himself into focusing on a spot in the room. The same look you had seen before in the interrogation room fell over his face, making you wonder if he was thinking about purgatory again.

[Next Part]

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[sickdaysofficial]

Cracks in the surface

A story by xxx-cat-xxx.

Submitted for 12th of August, Bodily Fluids

Fandom: Marvel

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Tony is badly injured on a mission with only Peter there to take care of him.

Tags/Warnings: Injury, blood, vomiting, a bit of PTSD and anxiety.

———-

When Peter had wished for an adventurous weekend, he definitely hadn´t meant it in a way that included a building collapsing on him.

 Everything happened awfully fast. One minute he and Tony were duelling a pair of rather stupid criminals in a broken-down office building at the edge of the city, which was fun, all considered. Nat was somewhere outside chasing a third guy that had managed to escape. The next moment one of the suspects fired a blast at Tony that was deflected by his armour and instead hit the ceiling, and then everything dissolved into noisiness and rubble.

 When the dust had settled, the first thing Peter noticed was that his ear-piece was missing. Then he realized that he was buried chest-deep in a heap of rubble.

“Mr Stark?” he shouted as loud as he could, the dusty air making him cough. “Mr Stark, are you there?”

 The response came late and somewhat slurred, but Peter attributed this to the blood still rushing in his ears.

 "What happened, kid? You injured?“

 "No, I´m okay, just pretty sore….” Peter was already making his way out of the mess, looking around for his mentor.

 "So, Parker, to continue with our afternoon lesson of fight strategies,” Tony´s voice said from the far corner of the room, “this is a perfect example of what you should try to avoid. Don´t let a building drop on you…just don´t…” He broke off coughing.

 "Mr Stark, are you alright?“ Peter asked, walking towards him as fast as he could, aware of the deep cracks in the floor that were growing with each of his steps.

 "Don´t worry kid, just a scratch. Might´a hit my head, though. Believe it or not, I´m actually glad that I took you out for a Kindergarden trip today. I´m kinda stuck here, to be honest. Looks like Friday decided to break up with me today of all days. I´m completely out of charge. You don´t happen to have a working communication device, do you?”

“No, it got lost in the crash….”

Peter frowned as the Iron Man armour came into view, most of it buried under what looked like at least half of a story. He started to remove the pieces of debris and worriedly bit his cheek when he saw what was lying below. The suit had taken heavy hits. The faceplate was bent beyond repair, and when Tony tried to remove it while Peter was shifting the last pieces of rubble, he couldn´t help but realize that the older man´s fingers were trembling. When he had finally managed to get rid of the plate, Tony´s face came into view, heavily bruised and definitely a few shades paler than usually.

 "Mr Stark, what happened? You really don´t look fine.“

 Instead of a reply, Tony yanked the helmet from his sweaty curls with a curse, ripped something out of it and started to chew on it.

“You - you are eating your tech?” Peter asks incredulously. Was this a sign of concussion?

“Sure kid. You know, I’m about to turn into a cyborg so that we can contact the mothership to beam us up,” Tony said between trying to crash whatever was in his mouth with his teeth. Peter just stared at him.

“No, genius, I am trying to access the communicator to get us help.“

Something in his mouth gave and audible crack and he smiled, though it quickly turned into a grimace.

“Ah, here we have the little baby,” he said, spitting out a mess of wires and metal. He connected the pieces to some cables sticking from his suit, causing a few sparks to singe the hairs on his forearm.

“I knew you had some reserves stored somewhere, old friend…”, he said while absent-mindedly patting the armour.

It took only a few minutes and an admiring glance by Peter till the device came alive with static.

“-you can… me…Tony? Pet…“

It was extremely distorted, but it was Nat´s voice.

“Hey, Romanov, you good?”

“Stark? God, what took you so long?”

“Ya, got a little tech problem here. Where are the suspects?”

“Mine is straight on his way to jail. Can´t locate the others right now, but since they were in the building when it collapsed, I doubt they made it far.”

“One thing less to worry about… Listen, I´m running on some pretty volatile current right now, and I don´t know how much longer this thing´s gonna work. We’re trapped in the eighth floor, West side, the office with the largest window front – “

“Figured that, genius, I saw the building coming down on you. The problem is, it will take a butterfly coughing and the whole thing´s going to collapse for good. I’m not joking here. Just try to literally not move from your position or you might bring everything down. Nobody´s allowed to enter right now, but we’ll figure out a way to get you outta there. Just give us some time.” Then, after some more static: “The kid’s alright?”

“I’m good,” Peter cut in, “but Mr Stark is-“

“Okay dokey, we’ll make ourselved comfortable,” Tony cut him off “See you in a-“

“Hello? Stark, you there? Shit, I think I lost you-”

There was a loud crackle of static, and then no noise at all.

———-

“I´m never going to eat canned seafood ever again. What an awful feeling to be peeled out of a metal box.” Tony complained while trying in vain to remove the shoulder piece of his armour. He had been talking even more than usual, and Peter had been wondering what he was trying to distract him from. He kneeled down to help Tony with the armour when he noticed something wet soaking the fabric of his jeans. He looked down and nearly jumped at what he saw. There was blood on the ground, lots of it. He traced it back to its origin and discovered a metal shard, at least as long as his forearm, halfway concealed by the rubble, that had pierced deeply into Tony´s body just at the height of his hips. It must have come down with an incredible force, considering that it had managed to penetrate the armour.

“Mr Stark, there’s a hole in your side!” he gasped.

Tony tried and failed to act surprised. “Oh fuck, did it cut my armour? It’s gonna take a week to fix the circuits, dammit.” His voice was shaking, sweat beading his brow despite the coldness of the air.

“This is what you’re worried about right now? Your suit?”

“Can we at least pretend that my distraction tactics work on you?”

Peter just looked at him.

“No? Fine.” Tony sighed, clenching his jaw. “Then get this piece of metal out of here before it turns rusty.”

Peter bent closer to inspect the way the shard was pierced into Tony, but all he could see was blood, way too much of it. He could feel panic rising in his throat, the reality of it all crushing down on him. He had wanted real missions, adventures, but not this. He wanted to be an Avenger, and he did know that this involved seeing people get hurt. But it wasn´t supposed to be the people on his side, and definitely not the one person whose guidance he relied most on. He wasn´t made for this, for pulling a metal shard out of the man who had always seemed invulnerably to him - it was Mr Stark, after all, and he just couldn´t bleed out here in front of him -

“Pete, breathe. Just breathe, come on. You can do that, it´s not so hard, I promise.”

He tried, but he felt like the oxygen wasn´t reaching his brain. Black spots were appearing at the edge of his vision.  

“Spiderman! Look at me!”

The sharpness of the voice pulled him out of it. He glanced at Tony´s brown eyes that were radiating confidence, but he couldn´t help to notice the pain set in the wrinkles around them. He realized that both of them were shaking. Iron Man needed help, what was he doing sitting here and panicking?

“I- I´m so sorry, I-“

"It´s alright kid. Happens to the best of us, believe me. Just calm down and then give me a hand here, will ya? I kinda think I really shouldn´t lose any more blood, or we´ll start attracting vampires….” he trailed off, face rigid from the pain he was trying not to let show.

“Okay.” Peter breathed. “Okay, what exactly should I do?”

“Just remove that damn thing. Try to do it in one go, if you can. If I pass out-“

"You´re gonna pass out?” his voice was an octave higher than usually.

“Of course I won´t do it intentionally, idiot. But if I do, just stem the blood flow, I don´t wanna end up like a god-damn Jack the Ripper victim…

Peter took a deep breathe. He tried to steady his hands, and then gripped the shard and pulled. The metal piece came out with a wet and ugly noise that nearly made Peter gag. Tony was desperately trying to keep blank expression on, but then his face screwed up in agony and he let out a whimper that turned into a gasp when the pain hit fully. The amount of blood flowing from the wound increased rapidly, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“No, no, no,” Peter whispered frantically, “Stay here, Mr Stark, please.”

“Don’ worry,” Tony mumbled, his eyelids fluttering, “You´re not getting rid of me that easily.”

———-

“Mr Stark?”

There was no reply. Tony was lying on the ground where Peter had tried to make him comfortable, his arm cradling the injured side that was now covered with a makeshift bandage from the button-down he´d been wearing above his T-shirt.

He looked like a wreck, and not only because he was drenched in blood and dust. Everything about him was radiating a deep-bone exhaustion, and he suddenly looked years older than usually, vulnerable and tired in a way Peter had never seen before. The dark shadows under his eyes were definitely not just a result of today´s unfortunate episode, but suggested that the last time Tony had gotten a full night´s sleep lay a long time back.

And Peter could understand why. Eyes shut tight against the pain, Tony´s pupils were moving frantically behind his eyelids, his lips forming unintelligible words that could only belong to a nightmare. Peter had tried to cover him with parts of the room´s original carpet, but Tony was still shivering hard, the blood loss taking its toll. He shifted a little and moaned quietly, something he would never allow himself in front of Peter in a less-delirious non-concussed state. Peter had been debating whether or not to wake him up, but he knew that Tony definitely wouldn´t want him to witness one of his PTSD dreams.

“Mr Stark?” He prompted again. Tony stirred.

“Yinsen? No, don’t…” His eyes were darting across the rooms, his whole body tense and ready to fight.

“No, it´s – it´s Peter. Who on earth is Yinsen?”

“Huh?” Tony´s confused gaze found the boy, settled on him. “Where…?”

“We’re trapped in a building, Mr Stark, part of it fell on top of you. You got hurt and I think you have a concussion, you’re pretty out of it.”

“Well, that explains why I feel like puking all the time…” His eyes drifted close.

“No, please, I´m not supposed to let you sleep!”

Tony glanced at Peter again, seeming a little more lucid this time.

“Who told you that?”

“You, last time I got hit by that guy in the bee costume.”

“Well, that was valid for you, boy, not for me.” Peter was happy to have him talking, even if it was nonsense.

“And why is that?”

“Because I say so.” Tony sighed. He started to inspect himself, pushing the makeshift-blanket aside and frowning at what he discovered beneath.

“You know you aren’t making sense, right?”

“You know that you are a smart-ass?”

Tony coughed, and a few spots of blood appeared on the bandage. Peter swallowed nervously. If help didn´t come soon…Then they heard a faint rumbling from the heap of debris piled up where the windows were supposed to be. Peter desperately wished for it to be someone who had come to rescue them, not a sign of the house going down for good.

He looked at Tony, who was now pulling himself up on the wall, apparently trying to stand. Once he had reached a sitting position, his face paled even further, and he sagged against the wall.

“Give me some privacy, kid”, he groaned, before suddenly turning to the side with a wince and heaving remainders of his breakfast onto the broken floor.

“God,” he gasped and wiped his mouth, but more came up, and he seemed about to lose his balance. Peter was there in an instant, supporting him while the man was retching miserably, one hand pressed to the injured side and his face grimacing from the pain.

“This… sucks…,” he managed when he was finally done, and Peter could only agree. Tony was shivering hard under his hands.

“Let´s get you lying down?”, he suggested, unsure of how to help.

“Just…give me a moment, kid.” Tony panted, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. He was still trying to get his nausea under control when the pile of debris at the other side of the room burst with a loud explosion that made both of them jump.

“What a glorious sight!” Nat shouted at them from the open door of a helicopter that was hovering outside what had once been a window. The afternoon sun that gleamed behind her gave her an otherworldly appearance. There was a cut on her cheek and her hair looked like she had just fallen out of her bed, but else she seemed unharmed.

“You definitely know how to make an entrance, Widow” Tony grinned weakly. “But we really need to work on your timing. What took you so long?”

“Told you, the building´s unstable as fuck. Took us ages to figure out how to blow a hole into it without everything collapsing immediately. Ok, no time for small-talk. I´m gonna throw these harnesses over to your side, they are meant to secure you in case you fall. You wear them and then you slowly walk over here, one by one. Is that clear?”

“Don´t you think you´re exaggerating?” Peter intermitted, scared at the thought of Tony having to walk unsupported. “I mean, there´s a few cracks in the floor, but it should be fine, right?”

“Pete, the ground you are standing on is literally being held by a single glass window front one floor below. Trust me if I tell you that you don’t want to try your luck.”

“Which luck is she talking about?” Tony mumbled, then looked at Peter who was already wearing the harness and had started to pull Tony upright.

The mere act of wearing the thing left Tony breathless and dizzy, Peter could tell from the way he was swaying lightly and clinging to him for support. He bit his lip in worry.

“Go slowly, ok?”, he told him, “Just try not to faint.”

Tony ignored him. “You go first, kid.”

“No, Mr Stark! You´re injured, you – “ Tony cut him off with a glance that managed to be intimidating despite the fact that he could barely keep himself upright.

“Peter, this is non-debatable. You can argue about this as long as you want, I´m not gonna change my mind. But time is kind of a critical factor right now, so please, just get moving.”

Peter gave the slumped figure a last concerned look, then proceeded to cross the room as fast as he could, willing his weight to actually equal that of a spider for once. He made it to the helicopter unharmed, but some of the cracks in the floor had started to spread, and he could practically feel the structure shaking.

“Mr Stark, your turn!”, he called as soon as Nat had pulled him into the vehicle. Tony didn´t acknowledge him, but started to drag himself into their direction, heavily leaning onto the wall for support.

“What´s wrong with him?” Nat asked when Tony stopped after a few steps and hunched over, gagging into the dirt.

Peter replied without turning his eyes away even for a second.

“He got hit by, like, half a floor or something. A metal shard cut open his whole side, and I think he´s got a concussion.” he informed her, trying not to let his voice shake.

“Oh.” Nat said, carefully taking in the man who was now upright again, moving towards them with painfully slow steps, and then “Looks pretty bad.”

Peter agreed silently. Tony had nearly made it, but he was swaying dangerously now, blood trickling down from his side and marking his walk over the ever-growing cracks in the floor. The way he was desperately trying to remain upright was agonizing to watch, and Peter didn´t even want to imagine how it must be feeling.

“Come on, Mr Stark, just a few more steps, you are nearly there!”

Tony looked at him for a second, panic written all over his face, and Peter´s spidey senses went into overload when a part of the floor broke away under his legs, causing him to collapse into a heap. It was enough to break the delicate balance of the building, and the whole thing seemed to give a moan when it started to crash down.

Peter saw it happening in as if in slow motion, and he had a split second to take a decision. Webbing himself to the ceiling of the helicopter, he swung out of its open door, Nat´s protest lost in the noise of the blood pounding in his ears. He caught Tony just when the rest of the floor under him carved in, grabbed him tight and maneuvered them back to the vehicle. Not a second too early, the whole building was coming down for good now. He landed hard, prompting a whimper from Tony, and just sat there for a few seconds while the helicopter gained speed, waiting for his adrenaline rush to die down.

“Dramatic last-second rescue,” Natasha smirked and pulled Peter up, “kind of reminds me of someone else… What did you teach him, Iron Man?” she teased while supporting Tony towards one of the helicopter´s seats.

But Tony was so out of it that he couldn´t even muster a grin, apparently having used up all his strength during the past few minutes. When she deposited him into a seat, he gagged weakly, not even bothering to lean forward, and brought up a slim stream of vomit that mixed with the blood on his shirt. His head rolled limply to the side, sweaty curls sticking to his forehead.

“Hold tight, Stark, it´s less than ten minutes to the hospital.  Just don´t pass out on us yet”. Nat urged, already fiddling with a first-aid box she had taken from under the seat.

But Peter knew that wasn´t what was happening. He recognized the fear and fogginess in the older man´s eyes just before he shut them close, and he could feel that his breathing speed had doubled. He rested a hand on Tony´s shoulder, who flinched away.

“Mr Stark, it´s me, Peter. We´re save, we´re in a helicopter, it´s all good now.”

Peter´s fingers found Tony´s, squeezed them tight to make him understand that this was reality. He knew that in any situation other than this, it would be a clear overstepping of boundaries, but right now he didn´t care. Tony needed to know that he wasn´t alone in this world full of agony. Whatever the noise of the rotor blades and the movement of the helicopter were leading him to believe was happening, Peter was determined not to let him go through on his own. 

He pressed his hand, and Tony didn´t pull it back. Instead, after a minute, his breathing slowed down, and he opened his eyes a tiny bit, taking in Peter, acknowledging his presence. And when he whispered, “Good job, Spiderman”, beneath all the panic and exhaustion and pain, Peter could glimpse a spark of gratefulness in the eyes of his mentor.

#injury tw #blood tw #building collapse #vomit tw #passing out #12 august 2018 #submission

[freezingwintah]

Beer and Chocolate

Chapter 1: Different, but in a good way 

It has been a few rough weeks. College was kicking his butt, assignments made it impossible to hang out with his friends. Instead, he buried himself in work, work and even more work.

His only time of solace was when he visited a café not far from his shitty apartment. They made incredible coffee there, not to mention all waitresses (and waiters) were eye candy. Especially one guy stood out. He had bleached fluffy wavy hair to his shoulders, he wore fashionable clothes, his shoes were stylish and trendy, not the regular employees shoes his colleagues wore. And for some reason, he was painting his nails, also let’s not forget the amount of rings he wore. It was a wonder to Smitty how the man used his hands with such elegance and grace.

In words of his nosey friend Craig, he was ‘smitten’ by that man and it wasn’t simple quiet artist’s appreciation, but something more. Smitty wasn’t sure he liked what Craig was implying. That guy just stood out so much. He was different, but in a good way, like he didn’t give a shit about what other people might think of him. In a sense, he was what Smitty wished to be one day – able to express himself without caring what others might say about it.

Smitty wanted to talk to him; he would lie if he told himself he didn’t have hidden ulterior motives, but he had the urge to draw him whenever he saw him, just walking around the café or delivering the orders to customers. He knew his name. John. So simple, he liked it. Smitty saw his name tag when they first met approximately three months ago. It was shameful to admit, but in that moment when their eyes met – greenish blue stared into chocolate brown; he felt a deep connection. Everything on John stood out, even that beauty mark above his lip.

After first month of silently ogling John from distance, on one stormy afternoon after classes he brought out his sharpie and notebook and began sketching him. Smitty made sure no one from staff (and especially not John) saw him and after several such ‘secret drawing sessions’ he got five sketches properly redrawn on a tablet and shaded. He did them between classes and when he was sleepy, but couldn’t sleep due to insomnia. Drawing John was a challenge he welcomed with an open mind, since he never really drew men before in art or design classes.

More than ever, he wanted to just sit and talk with John, about anything really. He was his inspiration (his muse even) and he looked forward to going to that café every Thursday, knowing John will be there, with that stoic, strangely professional expression.

On a windy Wednesday on his day off, Smitty wandered into the café, taking a look behind the counter. The man was there, currently as cashier. Becoming self conscious when he felt those eyes upon him, he picked a vacant booth and sat down. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he had shifts mostly on Thursdays and Saturdays. The fact he knew when John was working and when he wasn’t made it out to be like he was quite a stalker, but in truth he passed by the café every day and simply stared across the glass to the interior.

Seeing as he was already there, he could order a nice cup of coffee or perhaps latte to warm him up. He glanced over at the counter, where John was making a conversation with another guy, his only features standing out were those baby blue eyes and slight scruffy beard. From what he gathered, he and John were close friends, not just co-workers. Their casual banter was out -shadowed by the jazzy bass drop, drowning out their last words, but Smitty saw the look and head gesture directed at him. He quickly looked at his phone, pretending he was busy.

Long steps shortened the distance and with peripheral vision, he saw the man with baby blue eyes standing next to him, bearing somewhat of a cheeky smile. Smitty noticed his name tag. Scotty, huh. “Hello and good afternoon. What can I get you?”

Before Scotty could give him the overhaul of their drinks, Smitty who had it memorized spat out his order without thinking. “A latte please.”

“Alright. It’ll be done in a jiffy.” He said, walking away. Relieved that it wasn’t John who came up to him, he let out a sigh. He wanted to talk with him, but at the same time he didn’t want to ruin it. Behind their waiter/customer relation they had nothing. If John knew he used him as his model for drawing, he’d be most likely be disgusted. And he wouldn’t be able to visit this café any longer. But then again, they never talked.

His train of thought was interrupted by soles tapping on the floor near him. Thinking it was Scotty who brought him the latte, he looked up with a faint smile, that froze in a semi – worried frown. John raised a brow at him. “Your latte, sir.” He set it down, all the time his greenish blue eyes were darted on him. Smitty shifted on the cushioned seat under John’s gaze.

After setting down his cup, he didn’t go back. John glimpsed at the counter where Scotty winked and pretended to polish some glasses. John knew he was spying on him, that ‘polish & shine’ move won’t fool him. Diverting his attention back to the man sitting in front of him. He looked awfully stressed out, to some extent also... hopeful? That spark of hope in those brown eyes as he silently waited was alluring. “Can I see them?”

“S-See what?” He stuttered, thinking that maybe his drawing technique wasn’t so sneaky at all. “I mean the drawings. I know you were drawing me. You weren’t exactly subtle dude.”

Now for sure he was sweating, being caught wasn’t on his To Do List today. His eyes dropped onto his lap. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Let’s not dwell on that, okay? I just wanna see those pictures before Scotty gets yelled at by the manager for stalling. So, do you have them with you?” John asked again and Smitty nodded, his hands went inside his bag, where he fished for his graphic tablet. He pulled up the pictures and an unfamiliar heat pooled into his face. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with the way how close they were, head to head as John silently evaluated his works.

After gruesome twenty or so seconds (but it seemed so much longer to him), John chuckled. “Your style is flattering, I like how everything is so pastel. Also...,” he paused, turning head directly to his Smitty’s ear. “I absolutely like bold and cute guys like you. Do you want to go on a date? I’m free this Friday.”

John said he was bold, but he just asked him on a date, didn’t he? Smitty stashed away his tablet and drank some of the delicious latte to calm his nerves. Meanwhile, John waited for a reply, seemingly collected and calm on the outside, but he was itching for a positive reply. He found him interesting, just like he was interesting enough to be drawn.

He downed half the cup in two gulps and set it back down on the table. “I’m free on that day, too. By the way, my name’s Smitty.” He acted it out cool, like he wasn’t emotionally overwhelmed by the moment. “And my name is John, but you already knew that.”

Smitty might have fooled a lesser man, but John was anything but ordinary. He widely grinned, showing off his smile. “Alright, then it’s a date. Now gimme quickly your phone, Scotty is reliable, but I have to go back to work.”

Oh. John can’t stay and chat. He handed him his phone and the man simply typed in his phone number and saved it under name John ;)

With one last wink, he strut back to the counter, back to preparing beverages, leaving rather flustered Smitty behind.

He still couldn’t believe this was happening. A date with John. He had a date. The imminent truth of it began to seep in. From the corner of eye he caught a glimpse of John’s bleached mane floating in air as he served other customers.

Maybe he shouldn’t linger. Smitty realized his presence in café might mess up John’s concentration. He chugged down the remnants of his latte and paid the bill (this time a middle aged woman came up to his table) and he stood up, gathering his things.

Before he left they shared a look and he left the café, the bell above chimed and he was outside on the street. Like in a haze, he walked back to his shitty apartment.

                                                  ~♦~

When he got back, he went immediately to studying, leaving his phone to charge. Sometime around 10 pm he got a text. He suspected it to be from a teacher or classmate. Smitty’s eyes hovered above the name. He must be tired, why is he messaging at this late hour?

John ;) – ‘sup babe, I’m tired and about to expire. Idk where I’m going with this message, I just hope my direct approach didn’t scare you off. I’m not one to dance around the fire. You like me, I like you so why not give it – give us a chance.

Smitty – Damb. I’m at loss of words. I can’t say I dislike direct people like you. Saves us both time if one party is assertive. I’m glad you asked me out on a date. I hope to learn more about you.

John ;) –  And I’m glad you agreed. Fuck I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. Sorry to cut this short.

Smitty – It’s alright. We can talk more tomorrow, rest up. Also John?

John ;) – Yeah?

Smitty – Goodnight ♥

John ;) – omg so gay, jk xD nighty night Smitty <3

With a chuckle, he locked his phone screen and placed it on the bedside table, laying down. Splayed on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, smiling to himself.

He was looking forward to this Friday.

Chapter 2:  If you’ll have me

Telling Craig was a bad idea. His friend nearly spat all of the soda he was drinking on Smitty’s face. He missed the fruity water fountain sprout by ducking.

Lucky they weren’t inside, but out in the open. It was after classes.

“What the fuck, Smit. You’ve been swooning and day dreaming for three months and he just waltzes up to you and asks you on a date. Am I getting this right?”

He sighed, internally wishing this topic was over and done with. “You heard me, you cucklord. I’m still in awe because of tomorrow. I’ve got a date. That’s a first in... a while. God, I’m beginning to get anxious just thinking about tomorrow.”

Craig rolled eyes. “Boo – hoo. Poor you going on a date with a hot guy that you’ve been ogling. Chin up, it’ll be alright.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the school fuckboy, you have no problems with relationships. I on the other hand...”

His friend patted him a few times, winking. “Well, if that’s what’s troubling you, let me help you. As the infamous school playboy, I can relay my wisdom and pass it on.” He said ceremonially to which Smitty grunted, but didn’t turn down the offer. At this point he’d take any tips. For a reason unknown to him, Smitty really wanted this thing with John to work out.

Seeing as he didn’t outright decline, Craig smirked and threw away the empty can in the trash bin, then threw his arm around Smitty’s shoulder, dragging him away. “Well then, let’s get started.”

In that moment as he was being abducted to his own apartment, he realized how much he cared about John. And how crazy it all was.

                                                 ~♦~

“I don’t know. This hoodie is so plain.” Smitty commented, standing before mirror in his room. Craig’s voice boomed from the phone on his nightstand, he had him on speaker. “Did you really call me for that? I am about to fu--- have a dinner with that upperclassman Tyler.”

Caught up by in his own little world, he missed on the hint his friend dropped, too occupied with spinning and doing poses. “Hm... yeah... Craig I need your opinion. The plain grey hoodie together with the skinny ass black pants or dark navy skinny tight pants with pink, flashy hoodie?”

“Seriously, go for the flashy pink gay hoodie and black pants. Trust me on this. Also, don’t drink too much, it’s better to remember furious makeout on the couch than to wake up the next day naked with a hangover. Speaking from personal experience.”

“I swear to god, if you tell me to ---“ Smitty got cut off, his cheeky friend couldn’t resist poking fun at him. “Don’t forget to use a condom! Practice safe sex!”

He rolled eyes, his mirror reflection expressed how absurd it was. Getting sex advice from a well known playboy. “Yes, mom.”

Craig chuckled, albeit his voice sounded strained as if he was holding back from laughing. “If that’s how you perceive me as, then I await you home by midnight, young man. And your date better be a gentleman. Now if you'll excuse me, I got something to do.” He chuckled some more on the side, while Smitty quickly changed clothes, as per suggestion he donned the pink and black. It was a good combination, it also brought out some other assets.

Satisfied with his attire after gruesome twelve minutes of matching up different outfits, he smiled to himself. Oddly enough, suspicious small moans filled the room and he had to double check his TV and computer screens if he didn’t leave them on. His only logical conclusion was the sounds came from his phone.

...He didn’t need to know this about his friend, who supposedly hung up, but didn’t. But first, he’ll teach him a lesson for teasing him so much. “Hello there, mysterious upperclassman Tyler! Be sure to practice safe sex! Byee!”  Before he hung up, he heard exasperated gasps, ‘oh shit, I left it on!’ and ‘fuck!’.

Alright, that’s that. Now onto the matter at hand... He dialled up John’s number for the first time, sitting down on his bed to calm his anxiety. He picked up soon, as if he was waiting for a call. “Hey, good thing you called. I was worried you changed your mind.”

“And miss on a date with such a handsome man?” John softly chuckled.

“If your aim is to flatter me all day, then please by all means, continue. Anyhow, I am not one for traditional dates in some fancy restaurant, you’ll be crashing by my place if that’s okay with you.”

Smitty knew John could be forward, but they skipped date one all the way to date four, where they hang out at home. This was risky. Too dumbstruck to reply, he stayed quiet revaluating his next words. “Smit? Did I go overboard, I know it’s our first date and –“

“No, no. John, it’s a wonderful idea. We’re hardly conventional. I’d like to come over to your place. If you’ll have me.” He didn’t want to make it sound too eager ( like a desperate teenage girl for instance who just wanted to get laid), meanwhile from the other side he heard barely audible little cute snicker. “We can meet up by the café. I don’t live so far away, it’s within walking distance of twenty minutes. Are you ready? No need to dress up fancily for my sake dude, but I won’t lie; you’re good on eyes Smitty.”

“I’m supposed to be flattering you John, you’re undermining my scheme to make you flustered.”

“Aw, my bad.”

His lips curled up in a smile. “Are you heading out?” Distant doors closing made Smitty stand up and head towards the front entrance, where he left his keys and wallet. “Yep, I’m en route. See you there.”

“Can’t wait.” He replied with mirth and John hung up. The Canadian jovially put on shoes and left his apartment, locking it up. Smitty took a deep breath. “You can do this, it’s just a date.” He psyched himself up, bravely walking forward.

                                                    ~♦~

John was already there, skulking in front of the café he worked at, casually strolling back and forth, checking his phone every two minutes. He was a bit antsy. It’s been some time from the last time he went out with someone.

In a way, his work fulfilled him. Until a few months back, when he noticed a cute guy staring at him, even went ahead to draw him. Gradually, the guy came in almost every day, looking like he wanted to say something to him badly, but just couldn’t. Of course, his colleagues caught on. Scotty was the first and teased him about the ‘cute guy who comes to see him’ and how they totally would make a good looking couple.

He gave it some thought. Maybe he should try going out with him. One bad experience can’t deter him from trying dating again. He asked Scotty for little help (his friend wore that smug, knowing grin as he agreed to step in and set his bro up) and now, here they were. About to meet up and have their first date.

John pulled out his phone for the twelfth time, when he saw Smitty ran up to him. He stopped to catch his breath and then he grinned. “Running late is my specialty, I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”

“I’m usually the one arriving late, it’s refreshing to see someone else be late for a change. But I digress, you’re here. Ready to head out?”

“I was born ready.” Smitty replied, while John turned and waited for him so they could walk side by side. They passed by crowds of people, but neither paid attention to the stream of faces around them.

They walked past two streets and finally reached the resident area of tall buildings. The younger man eyed the complex before them as John strut towards the stairs. “We’re here. My apartment is on the far left side, over there.” He pointed and Smitty’s mind only came up with ‘nice place’ as he walked up behind John who was pulling out his keys.

He stiffly walked after John, trying to clear his head of dirty thoughts. No, he wouldn’t. As straightforward as John was towards him, he didn’t seem the type to have sex so soon. Not to mention Smitty wasn’t mentally prepared for that yet.

Becoming aware of their impending closeness, Smitty saw John turn the key and opened the door for him. He traipsed in, his heart was caught up somewhere in his throat. Standing at the entrance mat, he quickly took off his shoes, waiting on John.

“We can go to living room if you’d like.” John propositioned, taking off his shoes. Stiffly, Smitty’s body moved on its own, he shuffled to the living room, his eyes taking in everything. The shelves full of games and DVD’s that lined up against the end of one wall, the couch placed in the center of room, alongside with a decent sized TV. He even spotted some old school consoles.

“Alright...”  John said, standing beside him all of sudden. His heart picked the pace considerably, feeling the blood rush to his face.

This was a bit too soon, he wasn’t ready for anything beyond a kiss... and it was just them in one room. Unknowing of the thoughts racing through Smitty’s mind, John approached him and the younger man instinctively took a few steps back, now blushing furiously, ducking from his reach.

A bit confused, John looked down at him, pressing the light switch. “What? Is something on my face?”

Snapping his head, the Canadian gaped at the hand still on the light switch. “Oh...”

John knelt down, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you so nervous?”

Smitty put a hand up in his hair and laughed anxiously to hide his transparent embarrassment. “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

Flabbergasted by the words that left John’s lips, he was rendered speechless. “Don’t worry! I’ll lead. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Flushed and still very much flustered, he just gaped at John like a gold fish. His other hand was slowly reaching, and he himself was coming closer, closer, closer... Smitty’s eyes were fixed on his lips. He closed his eyes, ready to surrender to whatever John wanted.

But then John made him stand up again. He walked to the couch and turned on the TV, along with an old Playstation One console.

Smitty was none wiser what just transpired, approaching the couch. John plopped down, palpating a spot next to him.

Oh. So he meant to play an old school game together...

“You meant gaming...”

“Huh, yeah what else? We talked yesterday about games, figured you’d enjoy playing something together. Was it a bad idea?”

The Canadian shook head, a huge smile crept on his face. “Quite the opposite.”

“Good, now sit down and join me. First up we’ll play good ‘ol Gran Turismo, then Crash Team Racing and then maybe Tekken 3.”

Smitty shook off the embarrassment and sat down, taking the second controller.

The game booted up and their long gaming session began.

                                                     ~♦~

Spent after playing for over four hours, they only stopped because they were getting hungry. John ordered some pizza for them and while they waited, he brought out beer from the fridge.

Smitty was somewhat relaxed now, but still he couldn’t shake off the previous awkward moment from his mind. He stood up and paced along the carpet, stretching his legs.

From the kitchen John’s voice called out to him. “Smit, you want some chocolate? Scotty gave me some expensive brand, said he's got lots more. He got it from a... very close friend.”

Frowning, Smitty glanced at the beers on the coffee table. Beer and chocolate? That’s a rather odd combination.

Now that he thought about it more, the beer and chocolate were like them. An odd combination.

“Sure, why not.”

John came back, sat down ridiculously close to him as Smitty held back from scooting a bit away. No need to be shy around John, he’ll be his boyfriend soon. Or maybe is already. This inner chitchat was hurting his brain, so he stopped fretting and tried to appear relaxed.

He got a huge chunk of dark chocolate from the blond. “Thanks.” Smitty said.

The older man tentatively bit into the chocolate and then took a sip from the beer bottle. His face immediately scrunched up in a semi – disgusted grimace.

“Oh my god, this wasn’t probably a good idea. Don’t try what I just did.”

But he already biting into the chocolate, appreciating the taste on his tongue as he bathed his taste buds in beer. It was... an experience to say the least. “Oh my god.” He gasped, putting down the beer bottle. John followed suit shortly after, but his gaze lingered on the bottles, pondering.

Smitty felt the mood shift considerably. “Sweet and bitter.” He murmured, locking gaze with the Canadian. “I haven’t dated since I started my job. It’s not the lack of time, but I had no interest to invest time into a person. There was simply no one of substance... until you. This will sound so fucking cheesy, but you’re the chocolate to my beer.”

He couldn’t stop it, he laughed out loud, eventually tears came out at some point. Smitty smacked his knees, wiping the tears away. John waited until he stopped laughing, a bit red in the face. “Oh, I don’t know if you’ll laugh after this...” His voice trailed off as he slanted, placing both his hands on his waist.

Smitty was mesmerized, he was waiting for this...

His own hands snaked on John’s back, wrapping around him. Their lips touched, the bitterness was drowned out in the sweetness.

It was nothing like they ever experienced. Smitty withdrew as first, his cheeks were positively burning up from blushing so madly. “That was...hot.”

John’s fingers ruffled his hair, which brought new sensations to him as his stomach did flips. “I knew if I kept on searching, I’d find you. My sweet half.”

Smitty cackled. “This is too gay even for me, just say you love me and kiss me some more.”

John’s smirk could rival that of Cheshire Cat. The blond held his hands, looking him in the eyes. “I love you, Smitty.”

“Damb, I love you, too John.”

Both men laughed, as John was pushed down and Smitty kissed him.

Suffice to say, the pizza delivery guy had his fill for today after he saw John and Smitty looking as if they battled a long, merciless war against each other. Which they did and they called it a tie.

#bbs #bbs squad #krii7y #barista John #graphic design student Smitty #fluff and feelings #cute meet #blunt John and shy Smitty

[isa-ly]

OH MY, WHAT’S THIS?

TW: mental health, therapy

Golly gosh, has she really gone and made yet another god damn blog? Yes. Yes she has.

Let me explain myself. I know this is probably like what, my tenth or eleventh online blog that I’ve made now? You would think that I would have a huge and dedicated reader base by the rate and ferocity I create these blogs with, but well, since I forget about every .tumblr.com and .wordpress.com after about a month or two, it comes to no surprise that these unattended digital corpse-pages don’t really have many readers. Should maybe give them a proper burial by hitting that delete button and letting them move on to the afterlife of 1′s and 0′s. But since I don’t even remember half the URLs I came up with, they’re probably just gonna keep peacefully existing in the graveyard that is the the forgotten blog section of the internet.

So. Why another one? Why add onto the pile of aesthetic yet virtually empty “personal” websites?

I’m just going to tell you what my therapist told me: “It seems like you have so many thoughts in your head, it probably feels like exploding.”

Don’t worry, I’m not saying that I’m Miss Big Juicy Brain and too smart for my own good – that’s not what my lovely therapist meant either. The reason she said that to me was because in our latest session, she had asked me to give her a quick rundown of what goes through my head whenever anything emotionally triggering happens to me. I had then proceeded to talk for twenty whole minutes (there go twenty whole bucks, thanks a lot, non-existing public mental healthcare system) about what happened in my old noggin whenever ~A Feeling~ occurred. And I described it in such excruciating detail that I think she stopped taking notes halfway through and just zoned out. Can’t blame ya, Kerstin, twenty minutes of incohesive rambling doesn’t really meet the expectation of a “quick rundown”. Sorry for that.

Anyway, we then proceeded to talk about overthinking, as we have done a million times before. And, as we have also done a million times before, we came to the conclusion that my inner monologue resembles a thirty-meter death-ride water slide, when it comes to the velocity and severity of how fast and far I tend to spiral with my own thoughts.

Now, don’t worry, by now I’ve been in therapy for long enough to know how to safely land back on the floor. However, I did agree with my therapist that my intense introspection does sometimes compromise me in my day to day life, as I will spend days on end in my own head rather than in the world that lies outside of it. That then usually leads to self-isolation and that, in return, leads to even more introspection. Hooray, to unhealthy processing mechanisms!

Alright, enough self-deprication. Basically, the conclusion I came to in that session, was that I’m pretty much the exact opposite of the “no thoughts, head empty” meme. For me, it’s more like “all thoughts, head explode”. And while I’ve been trying to get better at sharing face-to-face what’s going on in my head, I don’t always have the energy to text, call or meet friends and make my brain form words that my mouth then says out loud (which, I realize, is also known as talking). 

I have made progress in that direction but ironically, these thought spirals tend to be the exact reason why I sometimes get into the bad mindset of thinking “Ugh, why even bother sharing? It’s already exhausting enough to just think it. Talking and explaining will be even harder.” And I know that that is not entirely true but listen, change comes in waves and you can’t battle all your inner demons at once. It is important to choose your battles accordingly to your strengths.

So, that is what I’m doing. I am choosing a battle by making a compromise. And making a blog. 

God, how awfully millenial of me. What’s next? A TikTok account where I ironically document my panic attacks over the sounds of Jason Deulos’ ‘Savage Love’? (Hold on, just gonna note that idea down for later...)

Seriously, I realize that this has a certain bobo-esque, self-absorbed cringe vibe to it (did I really just say vibe, this is worse than I thought). However, I also care for and know myself well enough that I tend to downplay and ridicule the fact that I really do have a massive stick up my ass when it comes to talking about my emotions, my traumas and all those pesky, invasive thoughts. And that’s why Kerstin and me came up with the idea of me simply making a blog where I can dump all my thoughts whenever it feels like they are getting too much.

This is obviously not the first time that someone thought of jutting down what’s going through their head. I am self-aware enough to know that I didn’t invent the concept of writing about my life and inner turmoil. YouTubers and ex-Vine stars already did that before me, just look at the list of New York Times Bestselling Authors and you’ll see it for yourself. And if Gabbie Hannah can publish her own poetry book (never forget “Link ... in Bio”), I can damn well make another unknown blog where I share what seems to have gotten stuck somewhere on the way from my brain to my mouth.

Sorry, by the way, if nobody got those weird references. Whenever I’m not busy bashing my overthinking head against the metaphorical wall of fear of my sharing emotions, I spend most of my time watching drama channels explain why yet another book published by yet another unproportionally famous vlogger is yet again unsurprisingly shit. But that’s not the point of this first blog entry, so let’s let the money-hungry world of YouTubers performing figurative self-fellatio rest.

Bottom line: I need to get better at talking. To people other than my therapist, that is. Because frankly, if that poor woman has to listen to even more twenty minute rants of me dissecting my own broken psyche, she’s probably gonna quit her job and then I officially have no one left to chew through my issues with. And that would be quite unfortunate for everyone involved.

So, I want to practice. Try out the whole brain-to-mouth thing, but in a less confrontational way, by making it a brain-to-keyboard thing first. And not just that, I want to make an active effort in setting myself reminders that no matter how deep and lost I am in my own overthinking patterns, I can always put a stop to it and just spew it out onto virtual paper. To get it out of my system, manifest it into something more physical, read through it, recognize what’s lacking and what I need to change and lastly, editing it into something that makes more sense to me and also others. 

In summary, this is kind of just me making my own “How To Talk About Emotions – For Dummies” guide. I expect no one to read all of what me and my sore yet hyperactive mind come up with, but I still gladly invite you to, should you care to see what that looks like. I apologize in advance though, I do tend to over-dramatize and under-estimate the way and amount I write about most things, including my own feelings. 

But hey, maybe by writing this blog somewhat close to regularly, I’ll also figure out a way to talk about my emotions in a way that isn’t filled with unnecessarily smart-assy Big Dictionary Words and pop culture references barely anyone understands. Let’s hope for the best.

After it now took me exactly 1.291 words to explain what could have been explained in about two sentences, I’m finally gonna shut up. “Thank the Lord”, I hear you say. Or ... maybe that’s just my overthinker voice and fear of vulnerability that heard you say that? Kerstin would probably smile and nod proudly now. Gold star for me, yay. Just kidding, I never get any cool stickers for my achievements. Honestly, that whole therapy thing is way less fun than I thought it would be, I just want a stamp that says “Great job!” or “Super cool!” every now and then. Is that too much to ask? Okay, I think I see now what she meant when she said that I seem to secretly rely on the approval of others for personal successes so I can compensate the fact that I never give myself any credit for them.

Phew, that whole writing things down idea seems to already pay off. But okay, enough self-revelations for today. I have no idea how often I will actually write on here and even less of an idea what the topics will be. However, I will always include tags and trigger warnings, so that if there actually is someone who reads through it, they can know what each post is about.

So, yeah. That’s it for now. Brain-to-keyboard to you soon. (Get it, that’s my way of saying talk to you soon, because– okay, yeah, you got it. Right.)

P.S.: Yes, the name of the blog is a pun, let me live a little.

#about #introduction