Hey @death2thevirgin, Happy Birthday! Lots of love from your SPN Family!
“Come on Misha,” you said, holding your phone out. Misha stepped closer to you, so that his face was on the screen.
He laughed as he looked at himself, complete with dog ears and nose. As soon as his mouth opened in a smile, the tongue appeared, too.
You grinned, taking a picture, which you saved, before pressing the button down to record.
“I want everyone to know that it’s Y/N’s birthday today,” Misha said to your phone. “I hope she has the most wonderful day imaginable!” He looked toward you and you smiled up at him, loving every second of being next to him.
“Thanks, Misha,” you said genuinely. His arm wrapped around your shoulder to pull you close and then the two of you were both on the screen, complete with dog anatomy. You stopped the video from recording and saved it, before posting it to your snap story.
“Alright, now what do you want to do?” Misha asked you, looking around. “Food?”
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“Oh, it’s you.” You hold the door half open, not allowing Sam to step in. “And I see you brought your brother.” You nod to Dean.
“Hey!” Dean waves a little less enthusiast than Sam.
“Whatever. What is it now, another counter spell?” Rolling you eyes, you push the door all the way and step aside, indicating for them to get it.
“Actually, this time… I wanted to, um. Ask you out.”
“What?” You stop walking and turn around.
“And I brought you some presents. Here.” Sam hands you the bag he’s been holding. “There are some herbs and other hard to get ingredients you might like.”
“Err… Thanks, I guess. Wait,” you look at Dean. “Why are you here?”
“Moral support.” Dean shrugs. “You can do it, Sammy!
Here is my entry for @death2thevirgin’s Classic Movie Quotes challenge. My quote was “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” from Dirty Dancing (one of the best movies, like, ever).
Summary: Jensen and Y/N discuss whose car is truly better – the Impala or the Firebird.
Warnings: none
A/N: This is a sort of one-shot companion piece of my Firebird series that I wrote a loooonnng time ago. You don’t have to read it to like this, but it wouldn’t hurt!
word count: ~950
You pulled into the lot, parking next to Jensen’s trailer before grabbing the extra-large bag of sweets and treats you brought from your shop for the cast and crew to munch on. A few people waved at you as you walked over to stage 3, where Jensen had texted you to meet them.
Since the two of you had gotten together, when Jared had tricked you together, you had become a regular face to see on set. No matter how often Clif brought the boys by your shop in the morning, you were always getting a text order from one or the other of them mid-day, and you’d never say no to another reason to visit Jensen.
You waited until the red light on the stage door turned off, indicating the cameras were no longer rolling, before you opened the door. The stage was dim, and you saw the boys in one of the extra Impalas in between filming a scene, surrounded by the backdrops of a rainy night.
As quietly as you could, you walked to the food services table, clearing a spot in the middle for you to set up the things you had brought. You heard voices behind you indicating that the cameras were rolling once more, so once you were finished setting out the treats you turned to watch Jensen and Jared work.
You had finally gotten around to watching all the episodes of Supernatural up until the most recently aired ones, spending many weekends and evenings on your couch snuggling with ‘Dean’ in real life. You liked the show, sure, but you liked the actor more, and spent every moment watching making fun of Jensen.
You watched for just a few minutes before the director yelled, “CUT!” You watched the boys sigh, Jensen’s head leaning back against the seat. Deciding to give them a sugar boost, you grabbed a slutty brownie for each boy before tapping an AD on his shoulder, asking if you could take them the sweets.
“Hey, Y/N,” he said, nodding. “I actually think that was a wrap, but the director’s just looking over the footage to make sure. Go for it.”
You smiled, headed for the car. The instant Jensen saw you, his face lit up. Jared said something to him, earning a punch from Jensen in return, and you laughed. Jared always teased Jensen at the way he acted when you were around, but you know Jensen didn’t really mind.
You leaned into the window on Jensen’s side, holding out the dessert. “Hey boys, I brought you something sweet to keep you going,” you said, and Jared immediately grabbed the brownie, putting half of it in his mouth in one bite.
“I think I’ll take this instead,” Jensen said smoothly, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a kiss. You smiled against his lips at his dorky line, but kissed him back anyways. “Mmm, the sweetest of all,” he mumbled when he ended the kiss, making both you and Jared laugh.
“You’re a dork, Jen,” you replied, handing him the brownie. He took a bite, grinning.
The director chose that moment to speak. “That’s a wrap. We’ll meet back up at 8 for scene 3B.”
You stepped back so that Jensen could open the car door, grabbing your hand as the three of you walked toward the stage door. They saw that the crew had all descended upon your table of treats, and many yelled their thanks in your direction as you left.
“They love when you bring food, babe,” Jensen commented, and you nodded. You all walked out into the sunshine, the angle of the sun hitting your Firebird beautifully.
“They love when you bring your car, too,” Jared added, noting that there were a few crew members appreciating your car.
“Yeah, she’s the prettiest on the lot, isn’t she?” you replied, walking toward your car.
“Hey!” Jensen replied, his hand slipping from yours and putting his hands on his lips. “Not the prettiest! Baby’s the prettiest!”
You raised your eyebrow at your boyfriend, argument on your tongue. “I’m sorry that you’re intimidated by my beautiful car, Jensen, but I have to disagree. The Firebird is much prettier, runs better, and you know you can’t argue.”
Jensen looked toward Jared for help, but the taller man held his hands up to show that he was staying out of the argument. Jensen’s mouth opened and closed a few times, looking like a fish.
To prove your point, a few other crew members stepped out of the stage 3 door, one of them loudly saying, “Ah, yeah! Y/N brought her ‘bird!”
A defeated look crossed Jensen’s face and you watched him begin to pout. “It’s okay, babe,” you consoled him, patting him on the shoulder like he was a child. “It’s not your fault that people like my car better.”
Jensen grumbled, the only thing you could make out from his lips being, “Nobody puts baby in a corner…” which made you laugh. Jared joined you, pulling Jensen along as the three of you made your way toward Jensen’s trailer, ready to fill him with sweets and coffee (and maybe a few kisses when Jared wasn’t looking) to make him feel better.
Written for my dear @death2thevirgin for her Classic Movie Challenge. My prompt was “Carpe Diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.” from Dead Poets Society will be in bold. I altered the quote a bit to make it fit.
A/N: I am not going to lie, this challenge was a bitch for me and I almost didn’t write it. So if it sucks, I am so sorry. This is unbeta’d and all mistakes are mine.
Word Count: 3105
Warnings: Language, Death, so very minor
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dylan McKenna (OC), Robert, Maura and Seamus McKenna (OC’s), Crowley
There are no pairings in this story.
He had been watching her for weeks. Her habits, her mannerisms. He now knew the ins and outs of her life. As a trained hunter, she didn’t keep a normal routine, as most do not, to keep others off their tail. But she lived a fairly normal life. She still lived in her family home, the property was maintained and the lawn was well kept.
She trained and was vigilant like a hunter, but lived like a civilian.
“I found her,” he spoke quietly into the phone.
~*~
Her name was Dylan McKenna. Irish by birth, bad-ass by choice. This was not the life her family wanted for her, but by the time she had turned twenty-five, her father knew he had lost that battle.
Robert McKenna had trained his daughter, his only child, well. It was two years after his death on her twenty-third birthday that he could no longer control himself and she finally found the item that had been keeping him grounded to their family homestead; her mother’s wedding ring.
Maura McKenna had died in childbirth and left Robert to raise Dylan on his own. Robert had given the ring to Dylan when she turned thirteen, after wearing it around his neck all those years. She remembered that moment clear as day as she lit the small fire she has built in the fireplace.
“Daddy?” Dylan called quietly.
“I’m here Dyllie.” Robert McKenna answered his daughter.
“Dad, don’t call me that.” Dylan sighed.
“I only call you that when you call me Daddy, so I guess we’re even now.” He stood in front of the fire like he had done a hundred times before.
“Dad, I know what is keeping you here; it’s Mom’s ring.” Dylan stood by her father’s side, like she had done a hundred times before.
“I know, Dyl, but there is something I have to tell you before I go. Your grandfather was an important man, but he died young, younger than me. He left a box for me and now it is time for me to pass the box on to you. You’ll find it in my safe, along with a couple other special items. In that box, there are secrets, deep, dark secrets. Secrets about him, about me, about you, too. You’ll find a key in this box, go to the coordinates and discover your legacy, Dyl. But be careful, remember the way you were raised, remember what I taught you. And most importantly, trust your gut, Baby girl.” Robert spoke to her as he continued watching the fire.
“I will Dad. I promise I will never forget what you taught me. I love you Daddy.” Dylan turned to her father.
“I love you, too, Dyllie.” Robert whispered and wrapped his daughter in his arms one last time. It didn’t matter that he had been dead for two years, she now had to mourn him all over again.
Dylan tossed her mother’s wedding ring in the fire and gave her father one last kiss as he burst into flames before her. “Bye, Dad.”
~*~
Dylan cracked a beer and pulled the top off the dusty box she found in her father’s safe. She poured over the box for hours learning everything she could about her grandfather, Seamus McKenna. She memorized the coordinates and burned them. She knew what she had to do and within the week, the furniture was covered and her belongings, along with the few special items her entrusted her with, boxed and packed in the bed of her pick-up. She drove to the geographical center of the lower forty-eight states.
~*~
He had been following her since she left her hometown of Bloomington, Illinois. He had to admit, she made good time but he couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when she showed up at their door.
~*~
Dylan glanced at her watch as she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat of her truck. It was just after midnight.
“Sure doesn’t look like much from the outside. Certainly not what Grandpa Seamus eluded to in his journal.” Dylan talked to herself all the way to the door. She reached for the key she had stowed inside her jacket pocket and eased it into the lock on the ancient looking door. The lock turned easily, she pulled the steel handle and stepped over the threshold, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.
The lighting was dim, but she hadn’t expected any lights at all. She reached into the waistband of her jeans for her gun, dropped her bag and slowly made her way down the spiral staircase. Dylan stopped, eyeing the large, lighted map table in the middle of the cavernous room. She took note of what looked like a library and a hallway. She walked the extra steps up into the library but stopped suddenly when a gruff voice bellowed from behind her.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?!” She pivoted on one foot to come face to face with a large man and a pearl handled Colt gripped in his enormous hands.
“I could ask you the same thing Goliath!” Dylan shot back, her gun leveled at the large man’s chest.
“This is our home and you are trespassing. Whaddya say you get out now and we don’t kill you?” A second voice boomed from her right, another gun pointed in her direction, but she could only focus on the evergreen eyes now trained on her.
“Okay, boys, why don’t we all calm down just a little bit?” Dylan spoke calmly, uncocking her pistol and placing back in her pants slowly, then put her hands in the air.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? I am not asking a third time.” Goliath repeated, although he had lowered his gun slightly and she noted less anger in his hazel eyes.
“My name is Dylan McKenna, my father sent me here. Well, guided me here, I guess is more like it. My grandfather was Seamus McKenna, Man of Letters. I guess I belong here, now.” Dylan told them as she looked around.
The second man, with death glare, lowered his gun as well. “Sammy, check the records, see if this guy was a member. I’ll keep on eye on the leprechaun lady.”
“Dylan. My name is Dylan. What should I call you?” Dylan asked as she lowered herself into a sturdy wooden chair at the long table.
“Dean. I’m Dean Winchester. That, is my brother Sam. Our grandfather was also a Man Of Letters.” Dean took a seat across from you, laying his gun on the table and picking up a tumbler of amber liquid.
“Winchester…” Dylan pondered aloud, “Henry? Henry Winchester was your grandfather.”
“How could you know that?” Dean was on the defense once again.
“I told you, my grandfather. I read his journal. He mentioned Henry Winchester in his notes. But then they just stopped and I don’t know why.” Dylan pulled the journal from her jacket and slid it across the table to Dean.
Dean kept his eyes on her as he pulled the journal in front of him and opened its yellowed pages. Sure enough several pages in, Seamus makes mention of Henry and also Josie Sands. Dean was guessing that was before she became Abaddon.
“She seems legit, Dean. I found a record of a Seamus McKenna, from Bloomington, Illinois. Married, one son; he was initiated the year before Henry was to become a full member,” Sam recited from the file, stopping once he noticed Dean and Dylan sitting at the table.
“Yeah, basically same thing here in Grandpa Seamus’ journal.” Dean tossed it back on the table and took another sip of what Dylan guessed was scotch.
“You, ah, got any more of that scotch?” Dylan posed as she watched Dean wrap his full lips around the glass rim.
Without saying a word, he rose and took a couple of long strides to a serving cart, grabbed another glass and the bottle, bringing them back to the table. He poured two fingers for Dylan then refreshed his own and Sam’s before setting the bottle on the table and reclaiming his seat.
“So, can I get a tour or something? This place is huge and one is bound to get lost a time or two, huh?” Dylan looked pointedly at Sam.
“Um, Dylan, excuse us a moment, would you please? Dean?” Sam exchanged a look with his brother as Dean rose and they exited the room. Dylan wasn’t sure where the hall lead, but one thing was certain, sound really carried in this place. She sipped her scotch and listened as the brothers argued about her staying or going.
“You’re actually thinking about it, aren’t you?” Dean snapped at his brother.
“And you’re not? If she is who she says she is, Dean, she has just as much right to the Bunker as we do. There is more than enough space and it might be nice to have someone to talk to other than each other and Cas all the time!” Sam retorted.
“Whatever, but she can’t hunt with us, Sam, and that is final.” Dean argued.
“I never insinuated she would, Dean. But she does seem well trained.”
“You’re already thinking it! Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
“You guys argue about everything?” Dylan inquired as the brothers returned to the library.
“No,” Dean responded.
“Yes,” Sam offered at the same time as his brother.
“Dylan laughed, “I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.”
“Suffocating,” Sam admitted. “Dylan, what brought you here?”
“Well, a couple years ago, my dad died on my birthday. He was a hunter and he trained me well, but I have never hunted or killed anything in my life, other than my father.” Noting the concerned looks on their handsome faces, she clarified, “He died of natural causes at home. I salted and burned his body, but he never left. It took me two years, but I found the anchor and burned it last week. Now he is gone.
“He told me before he moved on about this box his father, Seamus, had left him. I read the journal a couple of times, discovered all the secrets he had hid away in the box. I packed what I could and here I am.” Dylan raised her arms out to the side, gesturing to her surroundings.
“Well, let’s give you a nickel tour and then you can get settled. We can show you everything tomorrow.” Sam offered and rose from his chair. Dean stayed put, rolling the scotch in his glass.
“Awesome!” Dylan grabbed her bag and followed Sam, eyeing Dean over her shoulder.
~*~
More than a few weeks had passed since Dylan’s arrival at the Men of Letters Bunker. She and Sam had become bosom buddies early on. She joined him on his morning runs, but prefered a real meal to rabbit food. She was an excellent marksman and proved herself time and again at the range against both Dean and Sam.
Dean appreciated Dylan for her feisty attitude and preparedness, not to mention, she was pretty easy on the eyes. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow himself to go down that path, but he admired her nonetheless. The tension in the Bunker seemed to be dissipating with her around and he and Sam both seemed lighter because of it, or maybe it was because of her.
Sam had found them a case, what appeared to be a vamp’s nest in Oklahoma. They were packed and ready to head out within the hour. The boys said their goodbyes to Dylan and headed for the garage.
“Listen, Dyl, don’t leave the Bunker, okay? It’s not safe out there. Where you are from, where you grew up, that was safe. Now that you are here, you may not be safe anymore if you go out alone.” Dean shifted his gaze between her piercing blue eyes and his boots.
“Dean, I appreciate your concern but I was trained as a hunter, I just don’t hunt. I can take care of myself and you know it, only maybe you blocked out the fact that I took you down just yesterday when we were sparring in the gym,” Dylan gave Dean a cheeky wink.
“Oh very funny, Dylan. I remember very well and so does my knee. Just...be careful, okay?” Dean’s moss green eyes pleaded with her.
“Please don’t worry about me, Dean. I will be fine. I have enough to keep me occupied and don’t plan on leaving,” Dylan finished, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder, before pulling him in for a quick hug. “Be safe, come back in one piece okay?”
“Always. We’ll check in later,” Dean released her and headed out to the garage.
~*~
Sam and Dean had checked in a couple of times over the last few days and said they should be done today and home tonight. She planned a nice dinner and even made a pie. While dinner was in the oven and the pie cooled, Dylan decided to take a quick shower. While singing softly to herself, she rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, thinking about the circumstances that brought her here.
Dylan finished her shower quickly and got dressed, letting her damp hair hang down her back to dry naturally. She checked on dinner, then returned to the library to finish the book she had been reading. After a couple chapters, she heard the heavy garage door slam shut and the thud of boots on the concrete floors.
“You’re right on time, boys!” Dylan yelled through the halls. “You have time for a quick shower before dinner.” Dylan rose and made her way back to the kitchen only to find someone already there.
“Who the hell are you?!” Dylan shouted at the intruder.
“Hello Darling,” the stranger practically cooed at her in his thick British accent. “I am the King, love. Crowley, King of Hell. I have been watching you for quite sometime. You have captured my attention, Ms. McKenna.”
“Well, now that we have been properly introduced, please, come in; would you like to stay for dinner?” Dylan rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front her and staring him down.
“Well, that was dramatic, dear.” Crowley retorted.
“Tell me what you want.” Dylan stood her ground.
“Look, I’ll make this expeditious; I know Moose and Squirrel have returned. You have piqued my interest and I wish to offer you a deal, no soul needed.” Crowley replied. “You have something I want.”
“And what exactly do I have that you want?” Dylan stood her ground against Crowley, staring him down.
“Something that was taken from us many years ago and I want it back. It will be very important in the near future,” Crowley told her.
“Listen, Crowley, I get that you’re miffed something was stolen from you, but I don’t have it. How could I?” Dylan questioned him.
“You probably don’t even know it’s value, Darling. It’s a ring, a very old ring. Just give it to me and I will go. Keep it from me and I will be forced to get creative in my methods of persuasion,” Crowley threatened.
Dylan heard the boys heading toward the kitchen, but before she could yell for them, Crowley was gone with a snap of his fingers.
“What the actual fuck was that?” Dylan murmured under her breath just as they entered the kitchen.
“What did you say, Dyl?” Dean asked as he came up beside her.
“Um, Crowley, King of Hell, apparently wants something from me.” Dylan mumbled.
“Did he hurt you?” Sam’s voice was filled with concern.
“No, he implied he may, if he doesn’t get what he wants, though.”
“What does he want Dyl?” Dean looked her straight in the eye.
“A ring. The only ring I have belonged to my grandmother, Seamus’ wife. What could he possibly want with a family heirloom?” Dylan wondered.
“Can I see it, Dylan?” Sam asked quietly.
“Um, yeah, I guess. It’s nothing special. It’s just an old signet ring she had that was passed on to my father when she died. I’ll go get it.” Dylan left the kitchen, but returned quickly with the ring in her hand and handed it to Sam.
“I don’t know why he would want that. Or this,” Dylan handed Sam another ring.
~*~
“Dylan!” Sam’s voice rang out through the Bunker as he searched for Dylan. “Dyl! WHere the hell are you?” Sam rounded the corner to the hall leading to the shooting range when he rang smack into Dean.
“Son of bitch, Sammy! Slow the fuck down!” Dean shouted at his brother.
“Where is Dylan?” Sam probed Dean for her whereabouts.
“She is just finishing up in the range. What’s the big rush?” Dean asked.
“The ring; I know why Crowley wants it. This is huge and it is how we are going to beat him, maybe Lucifer, too.” Sam told him excitedly.
~*~
“Crowley, we know you were here, Dylan told us. Now get your ass here now. We think we have what you are looking for.” Dean abruptly ended his call to Crowley. He turned his eyes on Sam, silently asking if he was ready, and Sam nodded in reply.
“Dyl? You got this, and we got you. Just breathe.” Dean reassured Dylan, rubbing his large hand down her arms to calm her.
“Yeah, totally. I’m fine.” Dylan said, more to convince herself than Dean or Sam.
Crowley arrived just as expected and immediately turned to Dylan expectedly, “Well, Love, where is my ring.”
“Oh, this ring?” Dylan held up her right hand, showing the simple silver ring on her finger.
“Yes, that ring. Your grandfather took that from off a demon he had exorcised and I want it back.” Crowley growled and lunged at Dylan, just as Sam shot him in the leg.
“Devil’s trap bullets, Jackass. Have a seat.” Dean grinned as Sam pushed Crowley into the chair.
“So Crowley,” Sam began, “We did some research on this little ring that Dylan had. The Seal of Solomon huh? Hey, Dean. Did you know that the Seal of Solomon is rumored to be able to imprison a demon with it’s power?”
“I did not know that, Sam! That is fascinating!” Dean quipped, turning to Dylan. “Carpe Diem, Dyl.”
“Seize the day, boys. Let’s make our lives extraordinary.” Dylan chuckled, harnessing the power of the ring and the three of them watched Crowley vanish as the ring absorbed his essence.
“Now, the real question is will it work on Lucifer?” Sam queried.
Can I get in on these Drabble?!? They sound so cool! I'll do Cassie, hitchhiking 2017
Killing Machine
It had been three days that Dean had been on the road, four since his last kill and he was still riding the high of it when he saw her.
Denim shorts, brown cowboy boots, white tank top, and purple streaks in her long honey blonde hair. Her thumb out and waiting as he slowed down to a stop next to her. She skipped over to the rolled down passenger window, black knapsack in hand as she leaned down to greet the kind stranger who stopped for her.
“Need a lift, sweetheart?” Dean flashed the girl a row of pearly whites and she nodded reaching for the handle.
“Yeah, thanks.” The door squeaked as she opened it and she slammed it hard enough to make Dean cringe. “I'm Cassie, thanks for stopping. No one's come for awhile and I thought I was gonna die out here.”
Dean put Baby back in drive, easing her back into the black top, his gaze appearing to be on the road but they were tracking Cassie's every move.
“I'm Dean, by the way. What's a pretty girl like you doing out here in the middle of nowhere.”
She laughs this tinkling bell of a laugh at his basic complement and turns sideways on the bucket seat to face him. “My boyfriend, EX boyfriend kicked me out of the car. Fucking asshole got pissed cause I didn't wanna go to some bullshit family thing where they camp out for like two weeks. Connecting with nature and shit.”
Dean smirks, both hands on the wheel, thumbs tapping out a Zeppelin tune that's stuck in his head. “Sounds like a dick.”
“Totally,” she owns forward, turning the dial on the radio till Judas Priest’s Killing Machine filtered in through the speakers.
Restraining himself from laughing at the irony of the song Dean drove on waiting until Cassie started mentioning needing to stop to pee.
“No rest stops for another 80 miles. Think you can hold it that long?” He peered at her out of the corner of his eye, watching her chew her lip while gazing out the window.
“Probably not. Look there's a place to pull over right there, I’ll go down into the bushes and be right back!”
Dean nodded, that feeling in the pit of his gut gnawing away and telling him to kill, his mouth filling with saliva at the thoughts of her blood running over his hands. “Yeah, we can stop. I gotta go too. Plenty of bushes.”He waits till she’d walks over the embankment before stalking up behind Cassie, the hunting blade he always has under his seat warming in his hands before he grabs her from behind, pulling her into his chest.
“I got no face, no name, I'm just a killing machine. I cut the population down, if you know what I mean,” he sang no louder than a whisper into Cassie’s ear before bringing his knife up and slitting her throat.
She gasped helplessly and Dean let her go, watching as she stumbled forward, hands pressing desperately at her gushing neck till she slumped to the ground, unmoving, the half dead grass around her turning burgundy as her life spilled over and onto the ground.
Dean smiled, a euphoric bliss filling him as he leaned down to wipe his blade clean on the back of Cassie’s white shirt, the ruddy color so stark against the fabric.
Before driving away and leaving Cassie’s body behind, Dean tossed out her bag out, making sure it went over the embankment before driving away. He wanted to be at least a state over before someone found the girl with purple streaks in her hair.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
So happy you’re doing these, I think I did this right lol
Gif submitted by @death2thevirgin
Euphemisms
“Why you always do stuff like that?” Still panting from the fighting scene you just filmed you ask, Jared. Hands on your hips, looking up at him.
“I want to turn you on.” He jokes and getting closer to you, crotch first.
You scoff. “You know that’s why they don’t give you real blades anymore, right?”
“Don’t care.” He shrugs. “I have a real blade.” Still wiggling his lower body he holds you by the side.
“Oh, you do?” You voice, hand on his chest.
“Uh-huh. And it’s all for you...” Jockingly he points the drop-point, sawn knife to your face. “Think you can handle it, Y/N.”
You keep his gaze as your hands take a hold of his wirst and lower the nike to your mouth. Your tongue darts out and you lick the blade from hadle to tip.
Adam’s apple bobbles and Jared drops his hand from you to adjust himself inside his pants. “Break is over. Everyone to your place. We’re taking from the top.” Bob shouts and you chuckle.
Oh my Chuck! Your hair looks so awesome! It looks really good on you!! So happy you got to treat yourself for your birthday!!!
Thanks hun. I know I had hoped to end up with your color but I’m beyond happy with the color effect my hair ended up with I just feel too pretty to care. I finally feel comfortable in my own skin. That’s an odd feeling for me but I’m happy to have it. I’m glad I treated myself too!
