and the thought that he gets to do that all the time for a job

anonymous asked:

Top ten times Viktor caught Yuuri doing something embarrassing.

Top Ten Times Viktor Caught Yuuri Doing Something Embarrassing:

10) Putting a medal around Vicchan’s neck and saying ‘now you look like a proper Viktor’ when he thought Viktor was out

9) Singing Fergalicious loudly in the shower when he assumed Viktor was on his morning run

8) Dancing the Single Ladies dance perfectly while making breakfast when he thought Viktor was asleep

7)  Crying loudly at Marley and Me when the dog died (although in Yuuri’s defence, Viktor was sobbing too)

6)  Having an impassioned argument with Makkachin about what to buy Viktor for his birthday while also acting out Makkachin’s side, voice and all

5) Covered in eggs and flour with Phichit after a food fight. Phichit had come to visit Viktor and him in St Petersburg and Yuuri had insisted Viktor take the dogs out while he and Phichit made the dinner. One challenge of ‘cooking like we used to do back in Detroit’ later and Viktor walked in to them both covered head to toe in flour and eggs after an all out food war

4) Accidentally walking into a lamp post because he saw a cute dog and forgot to look where he was going

3)  Slipping and falling on the ice outside their skating rink despite being a professional ice skater where not falling on ice was kind of in their job description

2) Getting drunk and crying when he saw Viktor’s ring and thought he’d gotten engaged to someone else (followed by a lot of happy kisses when Viktor reminded Yuuri that it was Yuuri he was engaged to)

1) Stripping half-naked and pole dancing with Chris at the banquet 

(side note - Viktor loved every single one of these things)

Steve/Tony Fic Recs - Possessive Steve

I got an ask for possessive Steve, which is one of my fave tropes <3 Bring on the fics :) I tried to focus specifically on possessive Steve, and not really jealous Steve, although I would totally be up for doing a Jealous Steve rec, haha. Check out my A/B/O reclist, since I imagine possessive Steve overlaps in some of those fics too, and @sabrecmc‘s possessive Steve recs :D

Please kudos and leave comments for your hardworking authors who love feedback!

Tony Stark On The Rocks by copperbadge (@copperbadge): Tony can’t figure out why his dates keep bolting. It’s okay, though, because Steve’s always around to keep him entertained.

As Long As You’re Mine by orphan_account: Tony goes to a bar, meets a girl and gets a person thrown at his head, none of which is his fault. Then he comes home and talks to Steve. The couch will never be the same.

Love a Man in Uniform by orphan_account: Nothing but an authentic Captain America uniform will do for Tony’s Halloween costume, and luckily for Tony, he knows exactly where he can find one. Steve’s reaction to finding out that his uniform has been appropriated is a little different than Tony expects, though.

Exclusive Rights by onewayfreak (five_ht): A possessive Steve fucks Tony in a public bathroom.

But With a Whimper by theappleppielifestyle (@theappleppielifestyle): Steve fucks Tony against a wall.

Aesthetic Appreciation by theappleppielifestyle (@theappleppielifestyle): Tony wears a crop top. Steve, among other people, notices.

Thank You for Your Consideration by windscryer: Sometimes Tony likes to handle his more forward fans on his own, but sometimes? Sometimes it’s better to sit back and just enjoy the show.

Unwrapped by nightwalker (@onemuseleft): Tony and Steve each have a surprise for the other. Turns out they were thinking along similar lines.

His Mark on Your Skin by nightwalker (@onemuseleft): So he gets the tattoo. For Steve, who likes to see Tony marked. But also for Tony who likes to be marked, to be reminded in that visceral, physical way that he’s Steve’s now.

His For All The World by queerlyobscure (softestpunk): As a drunken 21-year-old, Tony got a tattoo. As a sober 42-year-old, he’s finally in a position to show it to the person it was in honour of. Or, how Steve discovered that Tony has a tattoo of his shield on his butt, and what he did about it.

Captain America’s Stamp of Approval by Neurotoxia (@neurotoxia): Tony Stark, rampant Captain America fanboy that he is, got a tramp stamp of Cap’s shield during a drunken night out at university. It’s been there for so long he kind of forgets he has it until decades later when he finally has a chance to get frisky with Steve. Right there, Tony remembers that he’s the once proud owner of a Captain America tramp stamp.

Mine by Raikishi (@rai-kishi): Don’t people learn? Steve’s kicked faces in for less.

Push by zams: Tony likes to push. Steve really thought Tony would be the possessive one. 

But Steve found himself constantly wanting Tony near so he could reach out an arm and remind himself that Tony was still there. Constantly wanting to keep Tony in bed so Steve could hear more of the beautiful noises that he pulled from Tony’s throat as Steve moved inside him. Constantly wanting to see Tony in nothing but Steve’s too-big shirts so that Tony would always smell like him.

Sing the Body Electric by georgygirl (@georgygirl-247): When a well-meaning nutcase from the cosmos determines that Steve and Tony have one of the strongest soul bonds she’s ever sensed, she takes it into her own hands to ensure that Steve and Tony are able to have what she believes every soul-bonded couple wishes — and is made — for. 

Too bad she doesn’t tell Steve and Tony about this before she weaves her little magic spell. Now, Steve and Tony are forced to come to terms with the fact that the week Tony spent as a woman was not as harmless an exercise as they’d originally thought. And there’s no easy way to fix it. (Mpreg)

Party girls don’t get hurt by sirona: Steve never slept under the ice. Howard found him, and got him back, and Steve married Peggy, and Howard married Maria, and then there was Tony. This is the story of Tony growing up with Steve very much present in his life, and everything that changed because of it - and some things that didn’t.

Catechism by manic_intent: Inspired by fanart seen on tumblr, this is an End of Days story, with all the Avengers as Archangels. Tony had always known that he was a special snowflake. He just hadn’t realized exactly how special.

As We Dream By the Fire by laudatenium: It’s Christmas in Malibu, Crew 91 has taken over, and people are assholes. But Steve loves Tony, and is wearing his dress uniform. Things aren’t so bad.

Nobody Panic, Everything’s Fine by itsallAvengers (@itsallavengers): Steve doesn’t get jealous. He doesn’t. Honestly.It’s just…well- Tony’s been spending an awful lot of time with a new employee. Who’s smarter than him. And funnier. And more interesting and generally a better match for Tony than he ever would be. But he’s not jealous. Honestly.

Tony likes to wear Steve’s clothes by itsallAvengers (@itsallavengers)

wear it like a message by starvels (dinosaur) (@starvels​): Steve and Tony have some negotiations about how to wear rings and dog tags on your person when you’re a superhero badass wearing skin tight body armor. Also, they kiss a lot.

Dare To Tease by XtaticPearl (@xtaticpearl): Steve thought he was doing an excellent job of teasing Tony and riling him up into a mess of want. It would be only days before he would finally give in. What he didn’t expect is for Tony to turn the tables on him and Natasha to help Tony. One Truth or Dare game is all it takes for Tony to completely wreck him. In the good way, of course

5 Times Steve Marked Tony + 1 Time Tony Marked Steve byParkerStark: Five times Steve is a possessive boyfriend, and one time Tony finally finds a way to mark Steve (having a super soldier for a boyfriend means he heals too damn fast). 

What about us? by gottalovev (@gottalovev​): Don’t get Steve wrong: he is grateful Star-Lord and his crew joined the fight against Thanos. The blatant flirting with Tony, though? He doesn’t like it at all. (post CA:CW future-fic)

The Possessive Kiss by @inukagome15

Jealous and possessive Steve fill by @starspangledsprocket

If anyone wants a themed rec list, hit me up in my inbox! Previous rec lists are here.


Summary: You are a well known female hunter who has always butted heads with the Winchesters in the past, especially Dean. Will this case go a different way when you see him in a more holy attire?

Pairing: Dean x Reader


language, sassy!reader, mentions of sex, smidgen of angst, is kissing a warning?

Song Insp; Steady as She Goes- The Raconteurs

*gifs are not mine*

Find yourself a girl and settle down

Live a simple life in a quiet town

Steady as she goes

Steady as she goes,’

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean groaned as he set eyes on you sat at the bar, glass of whiskey in hand as you laughed at some poor unsuspecting guys chat up line. Of course you were wearing those damn tight jeans along with that black leather jacket you had on last time him and Sam had bumped into you in another town a few years back. Now, that was definitely a memorable weekend.

“Earth to Dean?” Sam cleared his throat, pulling him out of his brother’s thoughts.

Dean rubbed a hand across the back of neck, turning his body away from the direction of the bar, silently praying that you hadn’t seen them. “Let’s just go somewhere else, there’s another bar just out of town.”

“Oh come on, she’s not that bad,” Sam countered and Dean threw him a blunt look.

“Yeah, she’s a ray of sunshine,” he let out a short unimpressed scoff, rolling his eyes at his brother. “Up until she takes over our hunts and then steals the damn credit for ganking whatever it is,” he grumbled, the distaste clear on his face.

Sam tried to hold in his laugh as you appeared behind Dean, a smug grin across your face having heard a good amount of what he’d just said.

“Damn, Dean-o. Way to break a girl’s heart,” you held a hand over your chest in mock hurt as Dean turned to face you, his jaw clenched in frustration. 

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The Joker Report

This is for @aeiflegonphoenix  

Request:   Can i request a Joker(J.Leto)x reader, non-con story? The reader is an investigative journalist, who tries to uncover his illegal actions and isn’t afraid to cross the line. Joker is being Joker and he decides to take the matter into his own hands.

The Joker is today’s muse for Kinktober! Combining day 10/11 prompts:  

    Gags | Gun Play

Warnings: Noncon/Rape (PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU).  Kinky prompts, smut, oral, gun play, gags, creampie

A/N: Non-cannon (no mention of Harley Quinn).    I labeled the parts that go with the kinktober prompts 

Words: 4k

Tags: @thecynicalnerd @marauderice @mac5323 @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @negan-is-god @kellyn1604 @roschelesworld @taintedgenre @screeching-pterodactyl-fangirl @purplemuse89 @blondesouthsquad @buckyscrystalqueen @kawaiirepublic  

Originally posted by bebhemmo

  This was it, your big break.  You spotted Monster T coming through the side door and recognized the gangster right away.  Sources told you the Joker owned this strip club and you had a feeling they were about to be confirmed.  

  “Her Pixie.” The bartender started snapping her fingers at you. “Get these drinks to table five.”

  You tucked the hair on your pink wig behind your ear and lifted up the tray. When you applied for a cocktail waitressing job here you never thought they would hire you, but Mr. Frost looked you up and down and didn’t even make you fill out an application.  Fake names encouraged, everything under the table. It was perfect for you to get the scoop you need.  

  “Hey Doll.” Someone grabbed your ass. “How about a private show?”

  “Not a dancer Sir.” You smiled at him, trying to control the urge to toss the drinks all over him. “Only a server.”

  “I’d love for you to serve me.” He winked.  

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Not My Wife

Characters: Danneel Ackles, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki

Pairing: Danneel x Jensen, Jared x Gen

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Nesnej (yep that’s a warning - ask Jared :P)     

Word Count: 1200ish

A/N: I blame Gen and her livestream for this, but also @mysupernaturalfics who is an enabler! She is also the gem that betaed this for me.

Side note this is my first time writing a Padackles fic with no reader, but I can promise you it won’t be the last time. I love these guys so much and I wanna show them some love without inserting third of fifth parties into their lives cause they are perfect as is.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***


A night like this what exactly what they all needed. It wasn’t that neither of them didn’t love their jobs, their lives, and kids, but sometimes parents needs to take a breather to be husband and wife again. This weekend every year was exactly what Jensen and Danneel needed, as well as Jared and Gen. ACL was an event they aways attended together.

Jared and Jensen were best friends. More than that, they were brothers and even though every day was spent together on set 4 days of the week, 9 months out of the year, a huge chunk of their free time was spent in each other’s company as well. Very much helped by the fact that their wives had become as much like sisters as Jared and Jensen were brothers.

Tonight wasn’t about Supernatural, opening of a brewery or even their kids. It was simply about having fun and enjoying each other’s company. The music was loud and the alcohol was flowing. Everyone was laughing and having a great time, dancing and laughing, never wanting the night to come to an end.  

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Trust nobody | Pt. 1

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader, feat. all of BTS 
Genre: Smut/ Angst
Words: 5,4k
Summary: The first thing someone should know about you is that you’re an escort. Yes, you have fucked for money. One day your boss made you an offer you couldn’t say no to. One year - seven boys. One rule: never fall in love.

The air felt heavy, filled with loneliness on a cold december morning. Sometimes you dont even remember who you were before you came here. Who you were before you took on this job, this life, this world – but this was you now. Your heels clicked on the sidewalk as you rushed through the winter morning in Seoul. You were on your way to get a coffee before you headed off to your meeting. A meeting – was that even the right word to describe it? You laughed to yourself, letting your warm breath hit the cold air forming a cloud of vapour.

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klaraneedsanotherseason  asked:

Sherlolly, 17 :)

meeting up at a party whilst drunk AU - Awesome! Thanks, sweetness! There are a few bad words in this one, nothing awful. Hope you like! ~Lil~

The room was spinning. Those last two (or four) vodka shots were a really bad idea. Molly tried to look normal and not at all wobbly as she made her way outside, hoping the fresh air would clear her head and hold off the nausea. 

Unfortunately, her vision blurred just as she stepped onto the terrace and she ran directly into a brick wall. “Fuckin’ wall!” Wait… brick walls don’t wear clothes. Slowly raising her head, she saw that the wall was actually a tall angry looking man. “Sorry,” she said or at least tried too.

“No harm done,” the wall… man said.

Molly tried to step around him to find a place to sit down but he took her by the elbow, stopping her progress. 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, especially blind drunk.” He led her to a stone bench and guided her to sit.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not, actually. You came with two other females, where are they?” he demanded.


“Immaterial. Did they leave? How are you supposed to get home in this condition?”

The wall-man asked a lot of questions. She couldn’t really keep up.

“Damnit,” he cursed under his breath as he pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket. “John, where are you? You dragged me to this blasted party then disappeared!”

Wall-man was pissed at John; Molly felt bad for him. 

“I’ve found a girl… NO! Not like that, you idiot! She’s been abandoned and I need to get her home.” He paused and looked at her for a second. “NOT LIKE THAT! You know what, forget it! I’ll deal with this myself.” He put away the device and studied her. “The leggy brunette you came with left twenty minutes after you arrived. I lost track of the blonde but she wasn’t inside last time I was in there.” 


“Do you know where you live?”

Molly nodded. 

“Can you tell me?”

She shook her head. “You might be a killer, wall-man.”

He smirked. “Indeed. At least you still have some good sense.” He hauled her up by her arm. “You need water and carbs. I know an all-night diner close by that’s nice and public. There’ll be no wall-man killings tonight. Let’s get you sobered up.”

Two hours later, Molly sat across from the man (no longer wall-man), sipping water and finishing up her French toast. She felt better, though she knew that she’d be paying for her overindulgence for the next twenty-four hours. 

Sherlock, he had told her his name shortly after they’d sat down in the booth (he also kept repeating it whilst she ate because he said she wouldn’t remember it! How would she forget a name like Sherlock?), was drinking coffee and watching her closely. 

“I’m not going to die of alcohol poisoning now, thank you,” she said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. 

“Perhaps not.” He didn’t look like he believed her.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” she argued. 

“You thought I was a wall. Then a wall-man. Then your primary school boyfriend.”

She was glad that she hadn’t mentioned that, for a moment, she also thought he was the reincarnation of her dead Uncle Calvin. 

“You didn’t go to that party to drink, why were you there?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“I was drinking, however, I can hold my liquor unlike you. And I went to support a friend.” He looked away. “I’ve never had one before, I didn’t know they were so much work.”

“Never had what?”

“A friend,” he replied.

She must have looked confused because he went on. 

“John, my flatmate, he made me come with him because there was this girl there that he wanted to chat up. I don’t see the point of trying to talk to a woman when she’s downing Jello shots. If you’re really interested in getting to know them, wouldn’t you want to do it when they’re sober?”

Molly shrugged. She was still stuck on the ‘never had a friend before’ bit, but asked, “Who was the girl?”

“I don’t know. I never got to see her. Not a single deduction,” he said absently. “That was clearly deliberate. He’s hiding this one, for some reason.”

He seemed to slip into deep thought so Molly contented herself with drinking the rest of her water.

A few moments later he emerged from…wherever he’d been and went right back to bitching about this ‘John’. “Anyway, I did it. I went there and proved that I care about his interests. He says I’m a selfish wanker.” He huffed. “Would a selfish wanker make sure you weren't abducted by some sex-obsessed meat head?”

Molly shook her head.

“Exactly! Would a selfish wanker bring you to a restaurant instead of letting you pass out in an alley to choke on your own vomit?”

She shook her head again.

“See! You get it!” He looked across the room, once again, seemingly lost in thought for several minutes before he spoke again. “This is why I don’t like people, Molly, they make you look at yourself and evaluate your life. I was perfectly fine not caring about those around me until John sodding Watson dropped into my world, telling me that I could be better. Saying stupid shit like, ‘people make you stronger, Sherlock! Your friends you define you and keep you grounded’.” Taking an aggressive drink of his coffee, he continued on his diatribe, “Now, look at me! Sitting across from a pretty girl, eating a meal like a normal bloke! He’s ruining me!”

Though much more sober, Molly was still having a hard time keeping up with his rapid-fire speech. She’d caught most of it, but then got hung up on the bit at the end. Pretty girl? Before she could comment, however, he was back to it.

“I wouldn’t have even noticed you if it hadn’t been for him. The arsehole! He pointed you out the minute you walked through the door. Can’t deduce to save his life but somehow he knows my type even though I’ve never once mentioned my preference for petite, brainy, brunettes. Do you know him?”

The question caught her off guard. She shook her head as she tried to think if she knew someone named John. “I don’t believe…”

He waved his hand. “I already know the answer to that.”


“Just like I know by the way you hold your fork that you’re a medical student. You don’t go to Barts, though. St. Mary’s, I’d say.”

“That’s spooky.”

“No, it’s deduction. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help us with our problem. I’ll need more information for that.”

“What’s our problem?”

“How, Molly? How did he do that? How did he know I’d be interested in you out of all the girls at that party?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he went on…

“It must be his superpower, or something,” he said dismissively. He was clearly kidding. It had taken the better part of two hours and more breakfast food than she’d ever eaten at one sitting, but she’d started to get accustomed to his biting wit.

“He failed organic chemistry twice but he can spot an attractive, available woman at a hundred yards.” He leant forward. “That’s what we have to find out, Molly. How did he know I’d be interested in you?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know either, but I intend to find out.” He looked down at her plate then back to her face. “Are you done?”

“Yes.” She’d been finished for fifteen minutes, but he was on a roll and she didn’t want to be rude.

“I’ll go take care of the cheque and get us a cab.”

She started to speak up and offer to pay her half, but he was gone. What a strange man, she thought. Gorgeous, but strange. And he seemed to like her. Though he also seemed angry about it for some reason. Maybe the night hadn’t been a total bust after all. If things went well she’d really owe her new friend Mary for dragging her to that party. 

Sherlock returned, holding her jacket. “Come along, Molly. We have a mystery to solve.” He helped her put it on.


“Actually, I have a mystery to solve. Your job is to be impressed and try not to distract me with your attractiveness.”

She smiled and bit her lip.

“Well, don’t do that! Lip biting is strictly forbidden!”


With a roll of his eyes, he said, “Because it makes me want to kiss you senseless, obviously.” Then he stormed out of the restaurant. 

Molly followed, though she wasn’t sure if she should. The man was either unstable or a genius… or both. But she was intrigued, she couldn’t deny that. It was the most fun she’d had in ages and she was sort of invested this ‘John’ situation. 

“Where are we going?” she asked as she sat next to him in the cab.

He turned and smiled mischievously at her. “Would you like to watch me break into my flatmate’s room and search through his things. I’ll teach you how to look for clues and make deductions. We’ll find out loads of embarrassing things about him. His porn collection alone should be enough blackmail for about a year.”

God help her, but that did sound like fun! 

Thanks, love! Hope you liked it! ~Lil~

candywii666  asked:

you know what i’m looking for? a taakitz proposal. give me some tres horny bois shenanigans leading up to kravits popping the question (merle and magnus are totally in on and and it was their job to keep taako busy for a while while kravits, lup, and barry get stuff ready)

Like everything else he does, Kravitz has the entire proposal planned to the dot. And given, he’s well aware that more than half the plans he makes end up just being plans and go haywire almost instantly, he still makes them, and he’s learned. He’s viewed the situation from all angles and took every measure necessary to prevent any mistakes or interruptions or anything that could possibly go wrong with these damned adventurers.

It was a tough string of decisions to make, but he’s confident in it now. The only way to make sure Magnus, Merle, Lup and all of them don’t interrupt today to is to make them apart of it. So, sure, they’re in on it. That’s a ton of helpers on his side. Next was choosing a closed environment with the least possible factors that could trip him up or go wrong–with his new help, the new house in Neverwinter was the best choice.

He fixed everything up before they left for a date today, with roses and candles and all sorts of cheesy atmosphere covering the house with the help of Magnus and Merle. Lup had to keep Taako distracted and nowhere near the scene until it was time for their date.

Naturally, the date is as lovely as the company, just as it always is. They go out for lunch, end up leaving early to get fast food instead, nearly cause a scene on the streets of Neverwinter, and end up walking through a park locked in arms. It’s become a habit for Kravitz to stick out his arm for Taako before the elf can clear his throat, and he’s become much better at remembering.

Though his mind is racing with everything that could go wrong, by his side, Taako is entirely oblivious. What if someone can’t show up? Taako rubs his gloved hands together. What if someone extra shows up? Taako blows warm air from his mouth in a cloudy fog and shuffles closer. What if Kravitz messes up his lines? “Hey, Kravvy boy?”

“Yes, dear?” he responds, only half paying attention to Taako as he runs through another error in his head. And–wait, they’re not even on the right path to head back home. Taako pulled them down a different road.

“Let’s get married.”


Taako nods, reaching into his pocket without stopping their walk.

It takes a minute for Kravitz’s mind to catch up, and he immediately stops, yanking Taako back. “Wait–no, no, hold on–I mean, yes, still, but, I was going to–uh, you know, I wanted to–”

As he sputters, a smile spreads over Taako’s face, all crooked teeth and freckled cheeks as he finally pulls the small bag from his pocket. It’s not even a box. “You got everyone in on it, didn’t you? Well, Taako’s not one for any big public proposal, my boy.” He fiddles with the bag for a moment, gloved fingers too clunky to grab what’s inside, before he makes it out.

The damn elf already has a ring and everything.

“Babe, you know I wasn’t gonna let those chucklefucks near this,” he explains while grabbing Kravitz’s hand in his to slide the ring on. He can hear his true intentions in the spaces between his words: I want it to be private. “You know they ruin everything they touch.” This is just for us. “So leave it to me to ruin all your dumb plans.” Only you get this.

Miraculously, the gold band actually fits on his finger, showing more insight than Kravitz thought Taako would have. There’s some sick engravings on the sides that he’ll have to look at later, but for now, he just reaches into his cloak to grab the bejeweled ring that’s been sitting heavy with him all day.

“You always do,” he says, but he’s smiling too wide to appear anything but delighted.

New Beginnings Part 10

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 5,881

Warnings:  Swearing, Fluff and Smut (Unprotected Sex, wrap it before tap it)

Ratings: NC-17 (Explicit)

Summary: After your grandparents pass away, you find out they leave everything to you, including a large sum of money.  Deciding to take the advice of your grandparents, you live your life to the fullest; which means moving to Boston and bumping into Chris Evans.

The grand opening of “Bean There, Read That” could only be described as one word: successful.  You knew, deep down that it really helped bring in more people since Chris was on hand for autographs and photographs; but you didn’t care.  He was your loving, compassionate, caring boyfriend who honestly did you a favor, and you loved him even more.

The achievement that you accomplished with your shop was something you would never forget.  Little kids came up to hug at your legs; parents stopped by to shake your hand and congratulate your new business, saying how excited they were to have a new book and coffee shop in town.  

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Livin The Dream

Summary: A slow day at work turns interesting when an unexpected customer needs some help, and the two of you hit it off right away.

Pairing: Soldier!Benny x Reader

Word Count: 1,700

Warnings: Language, flirting, fluff, mention of deployment, minor altercation with a drunk man

A/N: My new baby is here: Soldier Benny! This fic is a companion to @deanssweetheart23‘s fic Cross My Heart - you don’t have to read it to understand this story but I’d highly recommend it because it’s beautiful. Thank you twin for asking me to write it, and for helping me struggle through, well, everything. This part’s a bit on the short side, but the rest (five parts total) will be longer! Let me know what you guys think of my first ever Benny AU! 

(Images are not mine, found on pinterest)

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She’s waiting.

So it’s probably already been done but i’m wallowing deep in the Wish hook junkyard and this attacked me out of nowhere. 

So I thought i’d share lol. Tagging @queen-mabs-revenge cos she’s mah Santiago. 

Detective Rogers has a lot of things on his mind that he can’t explain. 

He’s great at zoning out. He’s not sure if it’s something he’s learnt to do with the job or if he’s just always been a patient man, but it certainly comes in handy at times like this.

There’s an irritating fellow in front of him doing his best to order the most complicated of drinks, possibly only to get the satisfaction of making the barista’s life a misery. He seems the type of arrogant man that would sue the poor lad for getting the wrong texture of foam on his drink but… he doesn’t want to assume.

He stands with his arms meeting neatly behind his back, a firm and upright stance that resembles something out of the military. He’s not sure if it was something taught at the academy or if it again is just something that came naturally to him over the years.

As the arse in front who’s most certainly suffering from ‘little man syndrome’ continues to dictate to the young barista, he finds his gaze wandering aimlessly around the establishment.

Light wood chairs with the barest hint of fabric on the seat to make them at least appear comfortable to sit on. Plain walls with a mixture of painted stripes in shades of cream and brown he’s sure have names like ‘cream tea’, ‘hazelnut’ and ‘mocha’.

The display cooler is a mix of bottled sodas and plastic wrapped sandwiches that look both unappetising and stone cold. He’s sure they’ve been sitting there a while.

His eyes then land on the glass display that acts half as the service counter. An array of sweet treats litter the glowing glass container. Walnut cake, brownies, apple tarts, iced buns.

Iced buns.

He hasn’t seen one of those in-

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Time for a story - If I didn’t have you

Originally posted by feilcityqueen

Felicity closed the door behind herself as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake up the kids. The house seemed to be dark apart from the light that came from the living room and she smiled quietly at the thought that she wasn’t alone or the only one awake. She dropped her keys in the bowl on the small table next to the door, put her purse to the topmost shelf of the wardrobe and her high heels to the bottommost step of the stairs, so she would remember taking them upstairs when she went to bed.

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A Meeting to Remember

Prompt: Time and Place ( Grangers’ Dental Practice, anytime)
Author: @azaleablueme 
Description: Hermione’s father calls Ron for a dental checkup.
Rating: G (mild swearing, thanks to Ron and his nervousness) 
Words: 2.7K words (approx)

“What do you think of the new clinic?” she asked beaming, and Ron glanced around the pristine white lobby.

“It’s nice, you know, very -um- sterile.” He regretted his choice of word immediately as Hermione’s brows furrowed.

“That’s wasn’t possibly the best way to describe it, was it?”

She bit her lip in the fashion he knew too well and he relaxed, risking a grin. Her eyes softened further although Hermione was still trying hard to bite back her smile.

“But it is a little too clean, isn’t it?” he chuckled, “Look at all the patients- they’re actually spoiling the perfect decor!”

“Ron!” she admonished, looking around to ensure they hadn’t been overheard, and then shook her head, laughing softly. He loved that smile. In fact, he loved every little thing about her, even stuff that his eleven-year-old self would consider annoying. And he was crazy enough about her to agree with her father. His stomach flipped at the thought and Ron’s smile faltered.

Blimey, he must’ve been absolutely mental to agree to this.

Hermione had missed his sudden change in demeanour as she was busy reading a Muggle magazine. Ron glanced at the cover. It had plenty of big and complicated looking words on it along with a family of three, who from their unnatural smile, appeared to have had their teeth whitewashed. He would have brought that to Hermione’s notice, but who knew what happened during the dental checkups anyway? He decided ignorance was best for the sake of his mental well-being.

The immaculate clinic with its crisp and classy furniture was located in a posh and busy section of Muggle London. Hermione and her parents were proud of it, and Ron supposed it went very well with the Grangers’ personality. The family was extremely orderly and perfect. When he thought of it, it was pretty surprising that Hermione had fallen in love with him. He was nowhere close to being orderly, and not exactly perfect, although Hermione always told him that he was perfect for her. The thought never failed to make him happy. He watched the oblivious witch next to him and smiled at himself. Man, he was one lucky bloke!

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A gift for @thebananafrappe

This is a little drabble thing I just finished writing to sort of get my feet wet in this kind of style. The set-up is of a self-insert (with more specific details thrown in for @thebananafrappe‘s description since it’s for them mostly but feel free to mentally alter it) taking care of the illustrious Banana Cabana, a brothel that is home to nearly, if not all, of the skeleton brothers from every AU imaginable. But, while everyone else has their fun, what of the owner and gracious hostess?

The loud click of the deadbolt echoed in the now settled building, the workers put to their chambers for a well-earned rest after a buy day of entertaining the patrons. It was a difficult business and not many were well-equipped to handle it, but that never made you shy away from making others happy.

Besides, it paid well and kept the hunger for contact satiated for your clients.

Tucking a troublesome curl behind your ear, you pivoted to head back to the office and count to today’s profits. It wasn’t the most glamorous part of the job but it had to be done. As you walked the hall quietly, not wanting to disturb the rest of the skeletons under your care, you flicked the key into the knob and entered to close the door quietly with the money box awaiting on your desk.

As the hours passed, eyes burning behind your rectangular glasses that kept sliding down the bridge of your nose from leaning too far forward as you wrote, you leaned back in silent victory. Just finished, thank the stars.

“Even after paying them, it still turned out to be a good day. Not as good as last Thursday but I don’t think anything will top that… What made them so clingy on a Thursday of all days?” you mused, snorting at the absurdity of blaming it on a full moon. Even after working with the more beastial males, it still sounded far-fetched.

Closing the box and locking it away in the safe beneath the medium-sized wood desk at the head of your office, you took off your glasses to massage your temples. A small headache had been forming ever since someone decided to ask twice about having their way with every single one of them at once.

You couldn’t help but wonder if they had a death wish and figured death by sex was the better alternative. While the thought was morbid, and you rightfully declined the idea, a bit of fun did sound nice. Watching everyone else have their way and time with the boys was both rewarding… and making you all the more susceptible to jealousy.

Especially when there was one in particular that seemed incredibly popular.

Not that anyone, or yourself, could blame them.

They always say that the best version of something is the original and with Sans, that was no different. He treated his patrons with the utmost care, tailoring his approach to suit their desires and his own with expert precision. It was almost laughable when someone would be surprised at how easily he could turn from kind and body-worshiping to domineering and provocative. His soothing low baritone was always a nice bonus and to hear him murmur sweet words of praise and admiration right into the ear of a lonesome soul, it was enough to make a girl’s heart melt.

It wasn’t until your mind started wandering into the slightly more private territory did you realize your wandering hand on your lap, flinching it away with a deep-red flush on your cheeks. One could even make the observation that your hair came straight from your face given how they matched in rich color.

Swallowing down your racing heart, you stood from your chair shakily and snatched up your glasses.

“you okay, boss?”

The voice startled you, wide green eyes darting to the door to see one of the skeletons casually leaned against the door with his hands stuffed into his large blue jacket.

Trying to pull yourself together with a nod, tugging at the bottom hem of your “I make jokes periodically” t-shirt, you gazed right at him. “Yes, I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be in bed, Comic? Aren’t you tired?”

His lazy shrug spoke just how tired he was but his tone was as laid-back as ever. “nah. can’t sleep with Pap snorin’ up a storm, ya know?”

“Right. I’ll figure something out.”

“don’t sweat it. heh, i’m used to it anyway.” His bright white eyelights slanted over to you, appraising your awkward shift of weight in the silence. “listen, if you wanna stop this, ya can. no one would stop ya.”

The change in topic was both welcome yet jarring. “What?”

“this can’t make ya happy, not all the way like what your searching for.” Crossing the room to sit down in one of the chairs that faced your desk, he sighed. “we appreciate what you’re doing, givin’ us a chance to interact with our admirers and show ‘em a good time… but you’re not really gettin’ much outta this.”

A frown, scratching your forearm. “I am, though. Making other people happy? That’s how I’m happy.” You turn on the easy-going smile you were so used to putting on. “To see the smiles on their faces to see you guys are free for a bit of fun; that’s all the reward I need. Don’t get me wrong, the G is nice too but it’s their satisfaction and moment of bliss that does it for me.”

Sans studied your expression for a moment, perma-grin tight as the silence stretched between you two.

“i don’t like it when people lie to me, boss.”

Before it could be really processed, he had you pinned to the left-hand wall of your office; your back prodded by picture frames of each skeleton who resided at the Banana Lounge, his ribs pressing against your sensitive chest. You could almost swear that his soulbeat was felt through the fabric between you. With your hands clasped together by one of his own above your head, you were completely at his mercy as his left iris sparked with cyan magic.

You quaked in his grasp, caged like a pet bird, and while your fight-or-flight instinct wanted you to run… you didn’t really have much of anywhere to go. Well, not that his teleporting would let you get far, besides.

His free hand raked against your waist, bringing you out of your own mind and back to him.

“why would you lie to me? i thought we were close friends and all.” he purred softly, head bowed into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

You could faintly hear his breathing hitch as his teeth parted, allowing a glowing tongue to slither out and lap at the flushed skin.

“so, let’s try this again, hm? what would actually make you happy~?” His low, almost predatory, tone made shivers run down to your core.

All this time, you had watched someone else have their fun with him, wishing it were you but now? It was apparently your turn.

Extra PE Lesson


“Come on Chee You push yourself, don’t give up”

Chee You was shaking, gathering all his energy for that one last push. The voice of his PE teacher Mr Goh was the only thing keeping him motivated. After much struggling, Chee You managed to make it for that last push before collapsing on the floor.

“Good Job Chee You! Just keep training and you will pass your NAPFA test soon” Mr Goh said while giving Chee You a pat on his back.

Chee You remained on the floor while recovering. A few minutes passed before he got up looking at the score sheet on the board. He needed 10 more push ups to pass. Chee You wanted to pass his NAPFA test badly so that he won’t have to enlist early for his national service.

“Gentlemen gather here. Ok guys well done for those who passed but for those who did not, don’t give up training. I will be conducting another NAPFA test next month so keep pushing. Go and join the girls for games now.” Mr Goh said as he dismissed the boys.

The guys cheered and make their way to the field. Chee You on the other hand didn’t really have any mood for games, he’s been training for the past few months but still didn’t managed to pass. Feeling dishearten he let his head down and walked away.

“Hey Chee You !“ Chee You felt a pat on his shoulder, it was he’s PE teacher.

“Yes Mr Goh?” Chee You said

“Don’t be so dishearten! Actually I noticed earlier your form is kind of wrong. Want to pick up some tips from me ?” Mr Goh said.

Mr Goh is probably the fittest teacher in school, this young man was in his early twenties and he was from the elite naval diving unit before joins MOE as a PE teacher. His well defined body is visible to anyone, as his muscles were huge and often bulging underneath that thin dry fit shirt he wears. Blessed by good looks and with a body like his, he was the crush of many in school.

“Yeah sure ..” Chee You said. This must be a blessing in disguise. Mr Goh had always been Chee You’s crush, many female students had been eyeing on Mr Goh too, let alone for this gay boy.

“Alright I am going to do a demo for you, watch me and pay attention to my form” Mr Goh went down and demonstrated a perfect push up for Chee You. Instead of focusing on Mr Goh’s form, Chee You was staring at his PE teacher’s well toned bubble butt, the tight butt was squeezing the shorts revealing the white underwear he was wearing underneath.

“Got it ? Chee You… ?” Mr Goh asked.

“Ermm yes..” Chee You replied as he snapped out of his fantasy.

“Great, now you show me.” Mr Goh got back on his feet while dusting away the dirt on his hands.

Chee You got down on his knees and stretched his arms across before lifting his knees up and started pumping.

“Hey no… no, you got it wrong, your butt should go higher. Come, let me help you.” Mr Goh said as he went over to Chee You and held Chee You’s body holding his abs and back in a sandwich motion.

That intimate body contact was sending adrenaline down Chee You as he felt a twitch underneath his shorts. His underwear got tighter and tighter, he was getting an erection! With Mr Goh’s hands so close to his crotch, Chee You was worried that his teacher would notice his erection and what will he think about him.

Chee You froze there, unwilling to make any movement. He was afraid that any movement will make his erection known to Mr Goh.

“Come on, go down. Don’t worry I will support you, push yourself…” Mr Goh instructed.  

Chee You closed his eyes and went down hoping that Mr Goh won’t notice his erected member but things went out of control. Chee You’s arms were weak from the push ups he did earlier, he collapsed along the way. Mr Goh saw his arms giving way, he tighten his grip around Chee You’s body in an attempt to support him but ended up coming in contact with Chee You’s erected dick.

A period of silence broke out, as the both of them went into deep thoughts. Chee You was blushing from embarrassment, he was worried about what will Mr Goh think about him. Will he be exposed and reported? Mr Goh on the other hand was pretty sure that he felt an erection coming from Chee You and he was puzzled. ‘Why is he having an erection? Could he be gay…’ Mr Goh started questioning himself.

“Alright thats enough for now.” Mr Goh broke the silence before helping Chee You to get up. Chee You was already soft but he’s face was flushing from embarrassment. He wasn’t able to look at Mr Goh in the eyes. He excused himself before making his way to the field and away from this embarrassment.

“Come and find me after your lesson ends today.” Mr Goh said

Chee You nodded his head before he left in a hurry. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

That day went by as usual, Chee You went back to his lessons while Mr Goh was thinking about the incident that took place earlier. He was very sure that Chee You was having an erection and according to his analysis, Chee You could be gay. He wasn’t sure if he should make a move on Chee You, there was too much at stake. He could very well lose his job if Chee You turned out to be straight and reports him. Mr Goh is a closeted bisexual man. Despite having a girlfriend, he still enjoys searching for fun with other guys. He wants Chee You but he needed to be sure that Chee You shares the same desire as him. He came up with a plan to test Chee You.

That evening, Chee You’s classes ended at 5pm. Most of the students were exhausted from the boring chemistry lecture and wanted to leave the school as soon as possible.

Chee You bid goodbye to his friends while excusing himself from them. He knew what was about to come. He prepared a countless amount of excuses should Mr Goh asked about his erection. He was hoping that he will not get into any trouble. He was rehearsing in his head while he made his way to the staff room.

Upon arriving, Chee You punched in the extension number on the phone outside the staff room and dailed for Mr Goh.

“Ermm… Hello… Is this Mr Goh…, I am Chee You.. I’m here …” Chee You said

“Alright, I will be with you shortly” Mr Goh replied, it was time to carry out his plan.

Mr Goh stepped out greeting Chee You upon seeing him.

“Ah ha! Are we ready for some extra training? But first we need to get you into something comfortable. You can’t do push ups in these.” Mr Goh said while pointing down to Chee You’s school pants. Chee You had already changed out of his PE attire and into his school uniform. He agrees with Mr Goh and started making his way to the toilet.

“Wait a minute. Here, wear these. I don’t want to be smelling a stinky boy. Meet me at level 4 once you are done.” Mr Goh said as he passed a fresh set of PE uniform to Chee You.

“Ermm … Thank you” Chee You said as he grabbed the PE attire from Mr Goh and made his way to the toilet.

Chee You went into a toilet nearby and started changing out of his school uniform. He unbuckled his school pants and pulled them down, he was wondering if Mr Goh had already forgotten about the embarrassing incident that happened earlier. He tried to assure himself that everything is going to be ok as he stepped out of his school pants and reached out for the PE shorts Mr Goh passed him just now.

As he pulled up the PE shorts, he noticed that it was much tighter than his usual PE shorts. It was in fact a size smaller, after a bit of struggling he managed to pull the shorts up his waist and carried on changing. Once he’s done changing, Chee You can’t help but to notice how tight the shorts were, his crotch was made visible underneath that tight shorts despite him not even having an erection. Chee You covered his crotch area with his hands and make his way out to meet Mr Goh.

‘Perfect! Just like what I’ve planned. I am gonna have this boy today.’ Mr Goh thought to himself as he saw Chee You approaching from a distant. He notice how skimpy the shorts was and it made Chee You’s smooth toned thighs visible. There’s no way for Chee You to hide his erection should he have one to come. Mr Goh wants Chee You so badly.

“Alright! Let’s get started!” Mr Goh said as he can’t wait to carry out his plan.

Chee You placed his school bag aside and awaits for more instructions.

“Ok, first let’s start with some warm up, spread your arms and legs apart “ Mr Goh instructed.

Chee You stretches his arms wide apart but when it comes to his legs he wasn’t able to stretch them much due the restriction by the tight shorts he was wearing. All of these were part of Mr Goh’s plan to get Chee You.

“You have to spread your legs wider, come let me help you.” Mr Goh said as he went to the back of Chee You and reached out for his thighs. He placed both hands on Chee You’s thighs and attempt to spread them apart. He increased the grip around Chee You’s toned thighs, coaxing shivers out of Chee You. Chee You was blushing hotly as he shuts his eyes, heat seemed to travel through his veins warming him, pulse after pulse of adrenaline rushed down to his crotch as his dick starts to get bigger and harder.

Chee You’s hard erected dick was fully visible underneath that tight shorts he was wearing. Mr Goh saw Chee You’s erected dick with delight, that was the green light he was waiting for. He knew that Chee You was all his now. He moved his hands up to Chee You’s waist before moving it in front, towards his crotch. He reaches out for Chee You’s erected dick and grabbed hold onto it. Chee You stifled a surprised gasp as he let out a moan. He was shocked by the sudden move from Mr Goh.

Before Chee You could respond or react, Mr Goh grabbed onto one of Chee You’s hands and guided his hand to his crotch. Chee You’s hands was on Mr Goh’s crotch. Mr Goh was rock hard as well, he guided Chee You’s hands to feel his erection and whispered into his ear. “You want this, don’t you?” At that moment, everything seems so clear now. There wasn’t much explanation needed from either one of them. In that silence all of their secrets were laid bare. Chee You turned backwards, facing Mr Goh. Their body was so close in contact that they can feel each other’s heat emitting.

Mr Goh moved his head closer to Chee You. Chee You stood frozen, from both fear and excitement. He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads touching and the next thing he knew, Mr Goh had slammed his lips to his. Chee You hardly had a moment to react as Mr Goh delved inside his mouth. Chee You pushed him away and hesitantly looked up at Mr Goh. The swirls of emotion made him gasp. However, before he could ponder about it further, Mr Goh yanked Chee You forward and covered his mouth with his in a hungry kiss. Their lips crushed together, sending shivers down each of their back, The intoxicating boyish smell of Chee You’s sweat was driving Mr Goh crazy. Lust took over him, he was like an animal out of the cage, increasing pressure against Chee You’s lips  grabbing him desperately, arms around his waist, Chee You sank into Mr Goh’s muscular chest while his hands fonder around that muscular body.

The entire level 4 was filled with their kissing and moaning sound as they continued in a battle of their tongue.

Mr Goh started to move his lips down towards Chee You’s neck. He leaned down and softly kissed the tender area at the base of Chee You’s neck. Chee You’s body went rigid with surprise as trembles shook his body and the euphoric warmth blossomed within him once more.

Mr Goh playfully uses his tongue to swirl around Chee You’s neck before making his way up to Chee You’s ear.

“Want to suck me?” He whispered into Chee You’s ear.

With his cheeks still blushing hotly, Chee You glanced back up into Mr Goh’s captivating eyes. He nodded his head. It was a request many had been waiting for and Chee You is not going to let this chance slip by.

Mr Goh grabbed Chee You’s hand and entered an empty classroom together. Once inside, Mr Goh glanced around the corridors making sure that there was no one around before he closed the door shut leaving the room just to the two of them.

Mr Goh held Chee You gently, cupping his face with one hand pulling him closer. He reached out to Chee You’s crotch with the other hand, grabbing his erected dick. He stared straight into Chee You’s eyes and said to him “ You’re mine” He instructed Chee You to kneel down in front of him as he guided his hands to his waist. Chee You hands were on the the waistband of Mr Goh’s Under Armour shorts. He was kneeling down and looking up at Mr Goh awaiting for his approval to access his manhood. Once approval was given he pulled down the Under Armour shorts Mr Goh was wearing and revealed a white Calvin Klein underwear underneath. The front of the underwear was wet with precum and a raging member was screaming to be released. Just when Chee You was about to pull down the Calvin Klein underwear, Mr Goh stopped him.

“Use your mouth boy.” Mr Goh said while giving the cheeky look on his face.

Chee You nodded his head before opening his mouth wide as he reaches for the waistband of that Calvin Klein underwear. Using his teeth, he carefully bit onto the rubber waistband before attempting to pull it down. The smell of the worn underwear was invading Chee You’s nose. The mixture of sweat and urine stench was amazing. With a bit of an effort he managed to get the undies out of the way for the prize underneath.

Mr Goh watched as Chee You pulled down his undies, his length sprigged up. A thick 7 inch uncut dick greeted Chee You. Chee You immediately grabbed it, Mr Goh let out a moan as Chee You pumped slowly, base to tip, the pad of his thumb swiping over Mr Goh’s slit, collecting the pre cum as lube.

Chee You lowered his mouth to Mr Goh’s shaft, flicking his tongue around the tip. He started to bob his mouth around Mr Goh’s length, hollowing his cheeks and sucked harder. He flickered his wrist around the base of Mr Goh’s length. Mr Goh started to moan louder than ever, his hips bucking against Chee You. Mr Goh was humping Chee You’s mouth. Chee You gagged a few times while choking onto Mr Goh’s huge 7inch dick.

Mr Goh took his shaft out, allowing Chee You to catch his breath. He hold onto his shaft as he slapped Chee You’s face with his hard 7 inch dick.

“You want this so badly don’t you?”  Mr Goh said as he slapped his dick in a repetitive manner onto Chee You’s face.  

“Yes Mr Goh I want your dick.” Chee You replied while opening his mouth wide, awaiting for Mr Goh’s shaft to be in again.

“Start calling me sir, and who’s my little slut? “ Mr Goh said

“Me sir, I am your little slut. Feed me your dick sir” Chee You said. His mouth was watering

Mr Goh looked down at Chee You, he was pleased with how slutty Chee You was now, desperately begging to suck his dick. He reached out for Chee You’s, cupping his head with both hands. Chee You knew what was about to come as he opened his mouth wide in anticipation. Mr Goh jammed his 7 inch dick straight into Chee You’s mouth as Chee You wrapped his lips tightly around Mr Goh’s shaft.

Thrust after thrust, Mr Goh was mouth fucking Chee You, gagging him a few times along the way. Soon Chee You got used to the sucking motion and managed to sucked Mr Goh to a point of no return. It didn’t take long for this ex naval diver to cum. Mr Goh tighten his grip around Chee You’s head as he increased the thrusting motion. His breathing increased as he was letting out loud moans.

“Ah… ah… fuck….. I am cumming ahhh….” Mr Goh moaned at the pleasure he was getting. Chee You felt the twitched from Mr Goh’s dick in his mouth, he knew what was about to come. He sucked harder as Mr Goh’s moaning became louder.

He was about to shoot his hot load down Chee You’s throat before pulling out at the crucial moment. Shocked by the sudden move from Mr Goh, Chee you was puzzled he wondered why did he pulled out at such moment. Mr Goh had something else in mind .

“You want my man load don’t you ? “ Mr Goh teased while jerking his dick.

“Yes sir please cum on me” Chee You begged like a little slutty boy.

Mr Goh was turned on by how slutty Chee You had became as he started to moan louder than ever. He was jerking aggressively, as he positioned his dick onto Chee You’s face. Within seconds he let out a loud moan before shooting shots after shots of his man load onto Chee You’s face.

Chee You closed his eyes as he felt the warm liquid hitting his face. Soon his entire face was covered with Mr Goh’s man load. Some of the shots flew out of control and landed onto Chee You’s PE shirt.

While regulating his breath, Mr Goh admire his masterpiece. He just turned Chee You into his little slut. Wiping the cum of his hand, he reached out for his phone. He took out his phone and went straight into camera mode. He pointed his camera at Chee You before pressing the record button.

“Cum for me boy” Mr Goh instructed.

Chee You nodded his head as he reached down for his shorts, he pulled down his PE shorts and underwear revealing his 5.5 inch dick. He was leaking precum. Using his own precum as lube, Chee You started jerking himself while looking at Mr Goh. Within seconds Chee You was near.

“I am cumming soon sir” Chee You said as his breath increased.

“Ahh.. ahh.. cumming cumming!” Chee You screamed as he unload massive shots of cum spraying all over himself. Chee You cum was flying everywhere, some of them landed onto Mr Goh’s leg while most of them landed onto Chee You’s body.

Mr Goh ended the recording on his phone and helped Chee You to get up. 

A month later, Chee You finally managed to passed his NAFPA test but his extra PE lessons never ends…

I hope you enjoyed my story. A little introduction about myself, I am a local JC student who likes writing notti school related stories. Writing alone is a lonely journey, if you enjoyed my stories please help to reblog and share them. Feel free to give me any feedback or ideas for future stories to cum. I do hope to reach out to students who are currently studying too. If you are a student and enjoys reading my stories, send me a picture of you in school, it could be a notti image of you in school uniform or any photos taken in school and who knows you might receive something special in your inbox. Be with me in my journey to cum. Also, if you enjoyed reading my stories and would like to show a token of appreciation$$, pm me to find out how you can do so. Happy cumming :)

Ricochet Part 21


Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10

Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19

Part 20   

A/N: I felt like this talk would need to happen before Bucky could feel happy about going back into the ice. Lets hear it for the penultimate chapter!

Any comments or feedback you have is always welcome!

Warnings: Some revelations about Simon? Is that a warning? Swearing as standard, nothing else really.

Word Count: 2644

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Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes

by Stephen King
(reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)

I. The First Introduction

THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn.  It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction.  But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.

II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write

When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do.  I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit.  In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction.  These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel

Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.

I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editor’s approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.

He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.

I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.

Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”

I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2¢ per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.

I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:

(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)

Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….

(after edit marks)

Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….

When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.

“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”

“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.

And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.

III. The Second Introduction

All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.

I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.

So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away…if you listen.

IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

This, of course, is the killer.  What is talent?  I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness.  For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money.  If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

Now some of you are really hollering.  Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep.  And some of you are calling me bad names.  Are you calling Harold Robbins talented?  someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching.  V.C. Andrews?  Theodore Dreiser?  Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?

Nonsense.  Worse than nonsense, off the subject.  We’re not talking about good or bad here.  I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad.  As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway.  I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself.  People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have.  Ergo, they are communicating.  Ergo, they are talented.  The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid.  If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed.  And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit.

When is that?  I don’t know.  It’s different for each writer.  Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty.  But after six hundred?  Maybe.  After six thousand?  My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming.

Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters…maybe a commiserating phone call.  It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices…unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement.  I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible.  If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go…or when to turn back.

Type.  Double-space.  Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff.  If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.

If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job.  Only God gets things right the first time.  Don’t be a slob.

You want to get up on a soapbox and preach?  Fine.  Get one and try your local park.  You want to write for money?  Get to the point.  And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again…or try something new.

5.  NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story?  Fine.  Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus.  Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket.  The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time.  Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  You think you might have misspelled a word?  O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later.  Why not?  Did you think it was going to go somewhere?  And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland?  You can check it…but laterWhen you sit down to write, write.  Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.

Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s.  Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy…but people do it all the time.  I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines.  If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion?  Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top?  If you like science fiction, read the magazines.  If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines.  And so on.  It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant.  Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.

Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”?  It does not.  Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap.  This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others.  But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around.  I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.

The answer needn’t always be yes.  But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.

Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say.  Listen carefully to what they tell you.  Smile and nod a lot.  Then review what was said very carefully.  If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet.  It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is.  If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it.  But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.

Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.

Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients.  10% of nothing is nothing.  Agents also have to pay the rent.  Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life.  Flog your stories around yourself.  If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete.  And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal…and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.

When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law.  When it comes to fiction, it is the law.

That’s everything you need to know.  And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want.  Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.

My ten minutes are up.

anonymous asked:

Okey but i am a sucker for angst and well i was thinking what do you think would happen if lotor wouldn't "save" keith and keith actually killed himself to save the mission... What do you think shiro would do and feel? Cause i have no idea... Well i can imagine him screaming at keith not to do it to find another way but what would he do after ?

You know the really awful thing about this? At first, Shiro would be congratulating him, saying good job. Because Team Voltron had no idea what was happening on the other end, they just knew Keith was going to try and stop the ship. And it stopped. So, mission success, right? Shiro commends him for his efforts, but the cruel irony there is that, if it was actually Keith who stopped the ship, he’d be dead. Shiro would be there smiling and telling Keith how proud he was and hearing–nothing. Dead silence. 

Keith’s comms are completely down. It could be nothing, just some interference, the others reason. But Shiro tenses, and his stomach drops. Something’s not right here, he can feel it in his gut. The few seconds between when Coran’s call is received and they open up comms are the longest of his life. It’s childish and cowardly, but he doesn’t want to answer. Doesn’t want to hear the words. And even as Coran speaks, relays Keith’s world shattering decision–Shiro hardly listens. The words are there, punctuated by sharp breaths and wretched sobs, but Shiro doesn’t need to hear. He already knows what happened, can feel it in his bones.

Keith always gave back more than the universe deserved. 

The flight back to the castle is a streak of stars and warbled static. Shiro doesn’t know how long it takes. Shiro isn’t sure when they made it back. Shiro hardly remembers sitting down until Hunk is already offering him a blanket and Allura insists he eat some food. He’s glassy-eyed and numb when everyone offers their condolences, hands reflexively clenching every now and again. The light that shoots up his galra tech arm is sheer impulse, but the flare is still enough to startle. Lance walks him back to his room and tells him he should rest. 

For the longest time, Shiro wonders why he did it. How did he do it? Was he calm and composed right up until the very end? Did he scream? Did he cry? Did he break down and steel himself with some sacred oath of duty before he blasted himself to pieces? Did he ever think about how the others would feel? How he would feel? Did he ever believe his life was worth anything at all?

And you know what else is cruel? Keith didn’t even get to say his goodbyes. Not even so much as another, “It was an honor flying with you.” He was going to die without telling his team one last time how much they mean to him, without telling Shiro. He couldn’t bare to say his goodbyes, there wasn’t time, they would’ve tried to stop him–there are a number of reasons not to, so he didn’t. It’s for the best, he must’ve told himself. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t speak the words aloud, then this can’t be real. Just close your eyes and it’ll all be over soon. It’s a thought Shiro can’t cut loose, and he lets it close around his throat with every shaky breath. 

And it isn’t until the horrible sinking sensation creeps up on him in the midst of another sleepless night, slicing right through him like a knife–that he realizes, choking back a sob that devolves into a mindless scream. “It was always meant to be yours.”

Had Keith kept piloting Black instead, he would’ve been saved. 

Just know that we’re here for you whenever you need us.” “I know you are. And I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

He can’t bare to set foot in Black for a long time after that.

Okay, okay, okay, but I CANNOT get this AU idea out of my head:

Castiel, as a Reaper instead of an Angel.

Castiel, meeting Dean for the first time when Dean is four years old, standing in front of his burning home with the flames reflecting in the tear tracks on his face. Castiel revealing himself to Dean, gently prompting Dean to mind Sammy’s head as the infant cries and squirms, because he really doesn’t want to reap more than one soul tonight. Laying a sorrowful, sheltering hand on Dean’s head and staring down into pleading green eyes and whispering, “I’m sorry,” before walking slowly up the burning porch to reap Mary Winchester’s soul (who refuses to go with him anyways).

Castiel, as the Reaper who appears to Dean after the car accident while Dean is in a coma, shocked when Dean remembers him from that night so many years ago. Dean jokingly asking, “Are my guardian angel or something?” and Castiel sadly telling him, “No. Rather the opposite, I’m afraid,” and having to explain to Dean about the existence of Reapers. Castiel wishing to himself that he didn’t have to reap this vibrant young man, who is brave and frustrating and stubborn and obviously so full of life, and then realizing he should be careful about what he wishes for, because Dean is spared but Castiel is forced to reap Dean’s father instead, and he hates that he’s causing Dean more pain.

Castiel, meeting Dean again less than a year later. And then meeting him again. And again. And again, as Dean and Sam work the Trickster case, and Dean dies every day. They get to know each other pretty well, and it becomes something of a running joke: “We’ve got to stop meeting this way, Cas,” Dean teases, and each day Dean bemoans the ridiculous new way that he’s just been killed, and Castiel commiserates sympathetically and helpfully points out that at least Dean didn’t pee himself this time. And he hates that Dean has to die every day, but he hates himself even more because he can’t help dreading the day they catch the Trickster and it all stops, because then he won’t have an excuse to keep seeing Dean and listen to his laugh and hear about his favorite bands and watch the fond way he looks at his brother.

Castiel, appearing when Sam is stabbed by Jake, sick to death with the thought of reaping the soul from Dean’s brother. He doesn’t reveal himself to Dean in the real world this time, even though he could, because he can’t bear to have Dean turn those stricken green eyes on him, he’s a coward, a coward, a coward - but it doesn’t stop Dean, kneeling in the dirt and clutching the lifeless body of his brother tight in his arms, from screaming out, “I know you’re out there, Cas! Don’t you dare take him! I’ll never forgive you!” And he thinks it’s a cruel, cruel joke that he’s destined to continually reap the souls of the people Dean loves most, one by one, and when Castiel leads away the soul of Sam Winchester, there are tears on both their faces as they tell Dean ‘goodbye’, even though he can’t hear them.

Castiel, being summoned one year later, unsure of what’s happening, suddenly finding himself staring down at Dean’s shredded body on the floor at his feet - but Dean’s soul is still here, obstinate and unyielding, circled by snapping hellhounds but refusing to let them drag him away because “I said I’d go to Hell and I will, but I don’t need hand-fucking-delivered by these fleabags, I’ll take my own way there, goddammit! I’m allowed a Reaper! Bring Castiel the Reaper!” And Castiel raises his eyes and meets Dean’s gaze, and it’s gentle, and resigned, and frightened, and forgiving, and Castiel doesn’t deserve it, he’s never deserved anything less than the understanding in those eyes, and he’d rather be anywhere else, he’d rather be dead himself, than here to take away Dean’s soul to Hell. But he does his job and he leads Dean to the gates of Hell, except then he can’t go, he can’t leave Dean here, he can’t - until Dean kisses him, sudden and fleeting, and tells him, “It’s okay, Cas,” and pushes him away.

Castiel, blindly turning away for only the briefest span of time - the blink of an eye, the pulse of a human heartbeat - before he realizes he can’t do this. Screw the job, screw the deals, and screw the laws of nature, he will not leave Dean here…except when he turns around, Dean is already gone. 

Castiel, spending the next forty years breaking into Hell, laying waste to horde after horde of demons with the fatal touch of his ghastly true form. The memory of Dean’s kiss burns a brand against his lips, and when he finally, finally finds Dean, the touch of Castiel’s spectral hand burns its own brand on Dean’s soul as he grips him tight - the touch of death claiming a soul already dead, because Dean is his. Dean looking up at Castiel, and his soul is messy and tortured and broken, but he still manages a smile as he chokes out: “See? Told ya you were my guardian angel,” and Castiel carries Dean’s soul out of Hell and chooses life.