but even reading it makes me throw up a little in my mouth

I still don't know if he ever got his coffee.

I’m not 100% sure this even belongs here and I’ve posted this story elsewhere so some of you might have read it already.

Some background: I work in a rather specialized area of Forensics. Officially I’m employed by Police Scotland but they tend to let other law enforcement agencies, universities, etc borrow us from time to time. A lot of the time it’s for consulting work or guest lecturing but sometimes we’re sent to teach training courses.

About 18 months ago I was asked to lecture at a training course for some of the CID higher-ups in an English Police force. It was the first time I’d done anything like it and I was crapping myself.

I met with the conveners and other officials for dinner the night before my first day, and after dinner and drinks, I was dropped back at my hotel.

So to set the scene; it’s about 10pm, I’m all dressed up in my evening wear and I’m sitting at the bar in the hotel lounge. The place is dead, it’s just me and the barman so I’ve taken off my heels and am unraveling my hair having just ordered a hot chocolate. The barman asks if I want mini marshmallows on my hot chocolate. Yes, of course I want mini marshmallows on my hot chocolate. No I don’t mind waiting while you run to the kitchen.

So I’m sit there trying to trick my phone into connecting to the hotels WiFi when Angry Man walks in.

He stomped into the room and slammed his fist down on the bar about 3 ft from me and barked out one word:

“COFFEE”

I didn’t know it but apparently that attempt at communication was aimed at me; a fact I learned a moment later when Angry Man moved right up next to me, bent over me so his face was practically in mine and barked out again;

“COFFEE”.

In an attempt to get away from the screaming coffee man I slipped off the bar stool, putting it between the two of us. Extremely confused and more than a little terrified, it didn’t immediately occur to me that he thought I worked there, hell it wasn’t even registering that he wanted a coffee. He was just repeating it the same way a toddler does when they learn a new word but don’t entirely know what it means.

I’m going to blame the confusion, fear and tiredness for my completely moronic response, which was to parrot the word back at him.

Me: “Coffee?”

Angry Man: “COFFEE”

Then he slammed his fist down on the bar again. This time I noticed that he was actually throwing down money.

My brain suddenly came back online.

Me: “Oh. Eh, the barman should be back in a sec. H-”

Angry Man: “Get me a coffee. Now.”

Ooooh four new words. Progress.

Me: “I’m sorry, mate, I don’t work here.”

Angry man (shouting now) “You fucking lazy liar!! Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

Yes, actually, but I’ll be keeping that to myself.

Angry Man: “Get off your fucking phone and get me a shitting coffee”

Me: “I really don’t-”

Cue rant about me being the only person in the lounge so of course I must work there and I was just being lazy and did I take him for an idiot. All while I’m slowly backing away from the bar so he can’t pin me between it and the bar stools. Then he throws in this:

Angry Man: “Do you have any idea who I am? Do you have any idea how important I am?”

I never got to find out how important this guy thought he was. Instead Angry Man’s Friend came wandering in.

He took one look at me; pretty much cornered by Angry Man who is now screaming about how he’ll make sure I never work again while I’m trying to calmly tell him to back off and he tries to intervene.

He took Angry Man by the shoulders and moved him back away from me while asking him what was going on.

Angry Man: “This stupid little whore is refusing to serve me”

Me: “I really don’t work here”

Angry Man’s Friend: “She doesn’t work here. Let’s just all try to calm down”

There was a few moments of Angry Man’s Friend trying to calm Angry Man while he ranted about getting me fired until two barman arrived, one of them with my hot chocolate. The presence of the three men distracted Angry Man enough for me to grab my shoes and escape with my chocolatey goodness.

As I left I could hear him demanding to speak to a manager.

The next day, after being introduced to a lecture theater full of high ranking CID Officers, I stood and walked to the podium only to be greeted by one guy in the audience laughing hysterically.

I just sort of froze trying to figure out the joke. Did I have food on my face? Was my shirt on inside out?

A quick check confirmed that, no. I’d managed to adult that morning.

A few other people began to chuckle as this guy struggled to get a hold of himself. As he regained control he pointed to his left.

Where a very red looking Angry Man was sitting.

I think it was the sheer relief that he wasn’t actually laughing at me that caused me to open my mouth and say to Angry Man;

“Oh did you get your coffee in the end?”

He walked out and I didn’t see him for the rest of the course.

Our Little Secret-Part One

Summary: After a hunt and quite a few drinks the boys learn that you aren’t as ‘experienced’ in one department as they thought you were. Dean thinks he can rectify that

Series Masterlist

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Square Filled/Kink: Oral Fixation for @spnkinkbingo

Word Count: 4700

Warnings: Smut, oral (male and female receiving), insecure reader, language

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. This is the first part of what I hope is a lengthy and smutty series. Any feedback is always appreciated. This is also for @emilywritesaboutdean and @wheresthekillswitch ‘s Do It Like TFW Challenge (The gif is near the bottom)

A thank you to my beta @ayeronda for betaing at an ungodly hour and being so wonderful.


It’s been a long ass day and an even longer hunt. You were more than happy to be sitting on Dean’s bed in the boys’ motel room, sipping on your second, or maybe it is the third beer. And that was just here, it wasn’t counting the four or five shots you had had down at the bar. So now you were here and Sam was riding Dean hard about his strikeout at the bar.

“Dude, you were never going home with her.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.”

You can’t help but chuckle, “What? Two whole minutes?”

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one more time (m)

genre: fuckboy au + smut

words: 5.5k

member: jimin 

you can’t resist jimin, even if he is a fuckboy.

Originally posted by 9taefox


You woke up to the sound of your ringtone blaring into your ear. You huffed, screwing your eyes shut and hoping it would stop; it didn’t. Reaching out, you grabbed your phone and squinted at the bright screen, your eyes needing time to adjust.

Jimin.

You sighed through your nostrils, closing your eyes and ignoring the impending headache that you could already feel starting in your temples. You debated not answering, and the call ended. You nearly let a smile form on your lips, but your phone began to vibrate in your hand again, Jimin’s name popping up once again as the sound of your ringtone kept you from sleeping.

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Closet Softie

Or, How Bucky Barnes Nearly Ruined His Tough-Guy Rep

(On AO3)


The trail mix was gone. 

The nice, expensive trail mix, with twelve kinds of nuts and the big sunflower seeds and dried fruits, the kind Tony only rarely left sitting on the common floors for everyone to get at, was gone. 

Clint had been looking forward to that stuff all morning

All the way through a hellish morning “jog” with Steve, all through Nat handing him his ass on the training mats, all through firing the same batch of misweighted arrows over and over so Tony could take scans and fix the design, he’d been thinking, when this is done I get to go upstairs and hang out on the couch and watch Dog Cops and eat the good trail mix, guilt-free. 

And it was gone.

Clint was gonna shoot somebody.

Just as soon as he figured out who’d taken the trail mix.


kingofmemes posted:

yesterday i saw a sad duck in the park who kept getting picked on by the other ducks so today i brought some trail mix and we had a nice lunch together. also i think he might be the duck who pooped on sam last week. if so, he is officially my new best friend. 

Posted at 3:29 PM, 24379 notes

(Read More Below)


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anonymous asked:

so, um. if you have any particular feelings about labyrinth--specifically Sarah--uh, go wild.

WILD PEACHES  [AO3]

.

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time. 

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid. 

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips. 

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

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Viral

Summary: The Ladyblog catches a private moment and Marinette is furious.

This story can also be found on FF.net and AO3.

The video was uploaded sometime after midnight early Saturday morning.  

As was usually the case after an akuma attack, Alya Cesaire had been running on a caffeine rush and adrenaline high that made sleep impossible.  The dedicated blogger would not see the back of her eyes until her copy was written, her files rendered, and her newest masterpiece was live for the entire world to see.

Or at least the majority of Paris.  She was young yet.

Fortunately for the aspiring journalist, the Ladyblog’s wide and devoted readership ensured that the hits would rack up quickly regardless of the time of posting.

What no one could have anticipated, however, was just how quickly.

It started with the local news.

Nadja Chamack’s bright-eyed good morning Paris grin punctuated the more somber news of floods, akumas, and politics with the light-hearted clip.  The segment usually reserved for heartwarming fluff pieces about eye-seeing dogs and neighborhood bake sales was instead taken over by the city’s most reliable ratings machine.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were television gold.

From there the clip hit the major news networks and was being broadcast to the whole of France. Then came the talk shows, the copycat blogs, the online articles, Buzzfeed, and more.  When the video hit the front page of Reddit there was no stopping the infection.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, less than three days after the akuma attack and the video going live, Chat Noir had become the laughing stock of Paris, the Internet, and the world.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng was absolutely furious.

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Slight Changes || Park Jimin

Originally posted by lonastic

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre: Angst/Fluff


“You can’t be serious Y/N, it wasn’t even my fault.” You ignored Jimin’s voice as you stormed away from him and walked into the kitchen. The only thing you wanted to do right now was get away from him, but it seemed that no matter how far you got from him he would just appear right behind you again.

“Yes, Jimin, I am serious. What would make you think otherwise?” Your tone was bitter, anger flooding through you and exiting in the form of words. There was no other way for you to release it so you just had to deal with trying your best to stay calm and not completely flip out on your boyfriend. Jimin sighed loudly before speaking again, causing you to turn around and look at him.

“She was just a fan, fan’s get close. It’s not my fault.” He argued. You rolled your eyes, feeling more anger rise at the fact that he was trying to defend himself over this. The picture had been all over twitter and it seemed that ARMY’s were going crazy over it. They had been tweeting it at you, waiting for some kind of reaction, but you held back until the moment he got home and you could confront him about it.

“It’s your fault that you didn’t try to ask her to move, and it’s your fault that you didn’t mention me, you know, your girlfriend.” You said.

“God you always get like this.” Jimin’s tone surprised you, and you couldn’t help but feel a little taken aback by his words. There wasn’t anything about it that was very different, just a slight undertone of frustration that you weren’t used to. Jimin was always calm with you, even now while you were practically yelling at you he was keeping his normal tone.

“What do you mean I always get like this?” You asked.

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Oh Sehun//Fast Lane

Summary: You finally find out how your big cousin earns her money - she’s the flag girl for the illegal street races in your neighborhood, and now she’s dragging you along. And that’s where you meet the Hawaii-shirt wearing, orange-headed Oh Sehun, ace street racer and smartass.
Scenario: street racer!au 
Word Count: 6,337

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The Holy Grail of Sam Wilson Fanfic Recs

A list of recommended Sam-positive fanfics and authors by @lunaaltare and @unclesteeb. For more information on how this list was created, click here. 

Just a special reminder to check out @samwilsonbirthdaybang! Let’s keep creating awesome works!

Thank you to everyone who contributed to this list in any way!! HAPPY READING!

Holy Grail of Sam FanFic Recs And Authors:

Dreadnought by lunaaltare [Sam/Steve/Bucky, 60k, Explicit]

It’s 2015. So when a Nazi organization bags and kidnaps a bisexual black man to be their next asset, he guesses they’re trying their hand at this whole progressive thing, too. 

Make Me Your Home by Unclesteeb [Sam/Steve, 3k, Teen]

Sometimes, things need more than dusting and cleaning. Sometimes, things just require a lot of hard work.

When There’s Rain Showers by AmarieMelody [Sam/Bucky, 12k, Explicit]

In which Sam and Bucky are married and have a certain code language.

Humor, fluff, more humor, and gratuitous smut at the end.

Keep reading

I don’t even know. I was taking a walk today and this idea popped into my head. I swear I’m still writing the bookstore AU, too. Also, *pops confetti*, I hit 2k followers today! Who ARE all you guys? Anyway, this fluff/ridiculousness is for you. ~1.6k words, rated G. Sterek, of course.

now also on AO3

The whole thing starts with Stiles really, really craving a meatball sub from the place across the street.

“God, someone shut him up,” Erica groans. They’re all kind of at their breaking point by now; they’ve been camped out in this meeting room all day, brainstorming. “He’s been talking about the same goddamn sandwich for seven and a half minutes now, and it’s making me hungry.”

“If only our ad campaign were about sandwiches, Stilinski would have it in the bag and we could all go home,” Isaac sighs.

From across the table, Derek rises abruptly to his feet and storms out. (Or maybe it’s just that Stiles always interprets everything Derek does as stormy. With those eyebrows, it’s hard not to.)

Stiles assumes he’s just gotten so fed up with them all that it’s either storm out or kill someone, and he’s just grateful Derek chose Door Number 1. It’s a good day not to get killed by Derek Hale.

Only, fifteen minutes later he comes back in. With a paper bag from the deli.

As soon as he gets within grabbing distance, Stiles practically collapses across the table in his haste to reach for it. “Oh my god, is that what I think it is?”

Derek holds it up over his head. “Who says this is for you? Maybe all your talk inspired me to go get a meatball sub of my own.”

“Oh, please. Like anyone with your abs eats meatball subs.” Stiles leaps to his feet on his swivel chair—because screw safety, Derek will catch him if he starts to topple over—and snatches the bag out of Derek’s grip. Derek doesn’t fight him for it very hard.

“Why don’t I get a meatball sub?” Erica whines, thumping her head down on her notebook. “Doesn’t anyone love me?”

Derek shrugs and takes his seat again. “You didn’t ask.”

“You just like Stilinski better,” she grumbles, and Derek just shrugs again.

Meanwhile, Stiles rips into the bag and takes a huge bite out of the gloriousness that is this sandwich. He can’t help throwing in a few theatrical moans just to taunt Erica, and she suitably rewards him with a glare of death across the table.

“Mmm,” Stiles says. “Derek, I love you so much, dude. Marry me.”

Instead of the grumpy eyebrows he expects, Derek meets his eye, leans back smugly in his chair, and says, “Okay.”

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Inner Vixen

Warnings: SMUT (Ages 18+)

 

Summary: You’re fed up with being the blushing, shy girl, usually too insecure to return any of Bucky’s flirtatious advances. But with a little help from liquid courage, your inner vixen makes an appearance.

 

Word Count: 3.6k

“Barnes. 6 o’clock.” Natasha whispered keeping her eyes focused on you standing right beside her at the bar. Tony’s latest rager had started approximately an hour ago and, though you would never admit to nervously awaiting his arrival, she noticed your eyes lingering on the entrance every now and again.

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He Has A Breakdown~BTS Scenario

Request are open!


Jin

Originally posted by bwiseoks

It wasn’t a good day from the start for Jin, he woke up an hour late to an empty bed. He wasn’t able to eat breakfast before practice or show from the dance practice the night before. So it was no surprise when you came home for a long day he was laying on the couch with a worried Namjoon standing above him. “What happened?” You mumble as he walks to you, grabbing his things as you kick your shoes off.


“Fainted, he hasn’t eaten all day and woke up late, and end up being late for practice.” His words made you frown and nod, as you open the door for him.


“Thank you Namjoon.” You smile making him bow.


“Take care of him,Noona.” You nod as he walks away, as you shut the door you hear a graon. Walking to the couch you bend down and cup his face. He looks at you with a frown, his eyes fluttering as he let out a breath. His hand leaning closer to the palm of you hand he starts to shake lightly.


“Oh baby.” You whisper as he rolls to his side. Grabbing onto your arm,your other one foing around him as you kiss the side of his head. “Warm bath?” You whisper making him nod, “Did Namjoon feed you anything?” Again a nod. “Okay, let me get the warm bath all ready for you.


"Thank you.” He whimpers as you let yous lips touch his, a smile spreading on his lips but falling once you left him.


“I’ll be back.” Your words seems to bring him peace as you start to fill the tub. A hum leaving your lips as you hear a groan. Turning around you see a half naked Jin leaning against the doorway. “I could’ve gotten you.”


“Not broken, just tried.” He whispers leaning against the counter of the bathroom. “Can you help me with my pants?” His question made you stand up as you untie them, slolwy pullung them and his boxers down. “Join me?” A amile spreeds across your face as you nod. Slipping out of your clothing you help him in, soon following. Your back pressed agains his chest as you take deep breaths. “I love you.”



Suga

Originally posted by sugaa

All day, everyday for the past month and half Yoongi has been sleeping at the stuido. Bearly coming home, the comback slolwy taking him from his human life. Of course you understood it, you had too when dating him, work will be number one at times. Most nights, well more like every night, you were with him. Alseep on the couch with Holly on your stomach. But one night you weren’t able to come till late. Which you see now wasn’t the best choice.


Min Yoongi is a patient, and claim guy. But with the stress of the comback, both musically and physically he didn’t think he could do it all. So having you there in the studio helped him. When he panicked or got frustrated he’d look to you. With you slightly parted lips and messy hair somehow helped him. But tonight when he panicked you weren’t there. So when you come in, food in hand and a smile on your face you see his body curled into a ball. His freashly died blue hair a tangled mess, and his eyes puffy and face read. Placing your food down you slolwy walk to him.


“Yoongi?” Your voice made his head snap up, a whimper leaving his body and he throws himself at you making you fall onto your back. His body ontop of yours as his head nuzzled into your neck. Yous hand gripping his sweater as he violently shakes in your arms.


“Yo-you weren’t here.” He whispers making you tighten your hold onto him, “I needed t-to talk to you an-”


“I know, and I’m sorry baby.” You whisper, lips touching the crown of his head. “But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”



J-Hope

Originally posted by hose0k

The slamming of the front door made you jump from your spot on the couch. Your eyes widen when you saw a pale looking Hoseok. His eyes met yours and tears begin to fall, making you quickly stand up and catch him before he falls to his knees. Somehow your body doesn’t give out as you hold his shaking body in your hands. Slolwy bringing him to the couch as you place him down he grips your shrit. His hand clinging to you as he shakes, making you fall into his lap.


“Shhh…I’ve got you.” You whisper, lips pressed to his temple as you hold him close to you. His hand resting on your back, gripping the fabric that covers you.


“Bad recording day.” He whispers after a few minutes, you nod as you went to move be he held onto you. Keeping you where you say. “Stay here for a little while longer.” He whispers as you look down at him, his chin resting on your chest aa you run your hand through his hair.


“As long as you want.”




Rap Monster

Originally posted by mn-yg

Being the leader of one of the biggest K-Pop groups is tough enough, but being Rap Monster and Namjoon at the same time as being BTS great leader was harder. He was a people pleasure, loved to make peple happy, to make thwm feel love. But sometimes he’d forget to love himself,leading to him breaking. So it was no surprise to you when walked into your bedroom to see him just laying there. Eyes looking the the ceiling, body wrapped in a sweatshirt you’ve stolen one to many time, and eyes puffy and red. Laying next ro him you two sit in silence, when he opens his mouth. “You know the ancient Egyptians believe in a better life after death and being mummified is the only way to get there. When they die, they would place all of their favorite things with them in their tomb so it would come with them. If an Emperor died it whole court would sacrifice their lives to join him.” He mumbles making you squint your eyebrow as you turn your head to him.


“What the fuck was that?”


“Something I remembered for school..” he sigh rolling onto his side to face you. You body follows as he reaches ovee and cups your face. “Greek God and Goddes-”


“Shut up.” You mumble pulling him into a kiss, “You always put out facts when you get like this.” You whisper making him frown, but a smile rises in his face a second later.


“You always give me back rubs wh-”


“Fine.”


Jimin

Originally posted by jjks

You woke up to his bare back, his eyes having bags under them as he let out deep breaths. You reached forward to touch his back only leading him to jump away from your touch. “Just.. please don’t touch me right now.” He whispers rushing to the bathroom slamming and locking the door.You were left there eyes wide, and your heart beating out of your chest. So you decide to get up out of bed, throwing one of his sweatshrit over you tangtop covered body. His smell wraps around you, walking to the kitcgen you couldn’t help but let your mind go as you cook. Different scenarios about what had gotten Jimin so upset run through your mind. A hand slids across your back making you jump, there Jimin stood, two plates in hand. He nods at you, as you place food on both, taking then to the table you move to sit with him. Sitting in silence, you eat toll his fork just drop as he pushes the food away.


“Jimin?” You question, his body was shaking, his eyes close as a tears fell down his face.


“I shouldn’t have eate-” You stop him by reaching over the table and taking his hand in yours. “Don-”


“Shut up, and tell me what going on?” He lets out a puff as air as he take his hand from me to cover his face.


“I weighed myself…” He whispered making you stand up and walk to him. Arms wrapping around his neck as he grips you arm. “I jusy don’t…I-” he stops as his brrathing becomes rapid as his grip tightens on you. His sobs made hus body shake as he let out small cries of pain. “I need to be a certain weig-”


“No you don’t. ” you mumble making him sigh, “You’re thinner then me….Do you want to do morning workouts togther, since if you need to lose weight then I clearly do t-.” His body jerks around and covers my mouth.


“Don’t even go there.” He grumble glaring at you, “You’re perfect.” He look up at you his hands going around you eaist as your whip the tears from hiss face.


“So are you….but I’m beeing seriou-”


“We are not working out togther.”


“Why?”


“You know why.”


V

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

Laughter filled the air of the studio, your body laying on a couch with your boyfriend Taehyung who has hus hed against your chest. Your hand was going through hus hair whne all of a sudden Suga came in and ask if he could record his part of the song again. Your bodyfriend sighed by got up anyway, his lip tocuing the bottom of your jaw before he left making you both smile as Jungkook gagged. About half hour later Suga came in wih a worried look, you body sitting up in a split second when you hear a slught cry the a crash. You rush past Suga Jungkook trailing behind you wheb you see it. Your boyfriend sitting on the ground, hair a mes and eyes puffy. Looking behind you to see Jungkook wide eyes, it made you break a little. “I got this.” You mumbled to the two boys, they bothe bodded and left. Your bent down to Taes leavel then brought you unto you chest. His body shaking as he hang onto you.


“Why cant I be like the other guy? They all have thrse soft voices then the-”


“Shut up."you mumbled pressing your lips to the side of his face "You make this band have an edge , giving them a base type voicw. Its sext too.” Your words made him smile as he nodded his face hiding in your neck when Suag and Kook come in veiw. “He’s all good.”


Jungkook

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

It was abnormal for you thing for you to go to seelp on your own. Jungkook hating you sleeping alone so he always found ways to sleep next to you. So waking up in the middle of the night to an empty bed was a surprise to you. Leaving the bedroom to find Jungkook leanning against the wall made you jump. Faced flushed, hair a tangled mess body shaking as his breath rapid as he let out small sobs. “Jungkook?!” You ask with a gasp as you bend down to touch him making him let out a cry. He falls into your arms as he holds onto you his muscles tense as your lips touch the side of his face. “Baby breath for me. Please.” You whisper as your hand wrap around his head. His hand hanging into your torso. As he slows his brething he starts to speak.


“I didn’t w-want you to sl-sleep alone.” He whimpers making your frown as you sigh.“I was so tried and I just paniced.”


“It’s okay baby if your to tired, and you can’t leave text me. I’ll come to you okay?” Feeling him nod you kiss his forehead making him sigh. “I love you.”

love letters ❥ peter parker

summary : peter, hopeless romantic that he is, has a cache of love letters, all addressed to you, hidden under his bed and expertly crafted. he never anticipated them being read, or the feelings he has for you being returned.

word count : 3.1k (holy fucking hell i’m sorry)

   Peter couldn’t help it, the way that he was. He was a romantic at a heart, though the awkwardness of him had a tendency to prevail rather than the confident, smooth talking, small part of him that had a desperate desire to reveal itself. Spider-man was as suave as a fifteen year old boy could be; Peter Parker was awkward, inept at participating in normal, human conversation and often incapable of forming coherent sentences more often than not. He wasn’t the best at talking to people besides Ned and Aunt May and- on occasion- Tony Stark. Especially not you. If there was one person that he turned into an absolute bumbling, ridiculous mess around, it was you. He loathed himself for it, sure that you thought that he was weird, annoying, the same way that anyone who didn’t know him assumed he was. 

   Ned, however, continuously insisted that you found Peter to be a sweetheart, like anyone who got to know him well enough did, and that you liked him very much- perhaps more than a friend, though Peter had immediately scoffed at the notion. It was out of the question, downright ludicrous. But, of course, Ned had implanted the idea in Peter’s head, and now the boy’s ever creative mind refused to stop constructing various scenarios in which you were Peter’s girlfriend and he was as happy as he had ever been. 

    While he had been a perfectly charming boyfriend in each and every one of those little dream sequences of his, he was hopelessly lost for words whenever you approached him, unable to even ask what class you had next, let alone reveal the pure adoration he had been holding on to ever since you had been placed beside him in Bio in your freshman year. You had always been the one to stick up for him and smile at him and treat him like a decent human being, and so of course he fell for you, and now he could barely look you in the eye without his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. So, he bottled his feelings and let them out in a way he had never known could help him.

    He wrote. 

    He wrote to you every single day and poured his heart out in every single letter and expressed every thought he knew, in his heart, he would never be able to say out loud. Writing what he felt was so much simpler than saying the words out loud. That was what he assumed, anyhow. He took his pen and placed it down on the paper, starting it the same way he always did. 

   Dear Y/N… As always, the words spilled over from his mind to the paper as if he wasn’t thinking, just writing and writing and writing until he had filled two pages without lifting his curly head from the paper once. When he finally finished, a yawn stretching across his mouth, he noticed Aunt May standing outside his door. He turned his chair around, raising his eyebrows at her. 

   “Writing to that pretty girl again?” She asked, hand on her hip but wearing a knowing, soft grin. Peter, not bothering to feign shock, nodded solemnly and placed his pen down the paper. “You should think about maybe, oh I don’t know, actually giving her one of the letters you’ve written?” 

    Adamantly, Peter shook his head. “May, I could never. You don’t get it.” He swiveled around in the chair, spinning it until he was dizzy. “These letters are embarrassing. They’re practically my whole heart and soul on a piece of paper. She’d scream and run away if she read how I felt about her.” He sighed, placing his elbow on the edge of the desk and resting his cheek in his hand. He stared up at his aunt, still craving her sage advice. May stared back at him thoughtfully. 

   “Well, in my personal experience,” she came over and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, eyeing the letter that was signed with Peter’s name, “girls are suckers for love letters. And you Parker men write the best ones out there. Trust me.” 

   Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, sure, I’m not an awful writer. But, I still can’t give them to her. I just can’t.” Before she could say anything else, he was folding it up and placing it on top of the shelf on his desk next to his books for English. “Uncle Ben was different. He was charming. You know that.” 

    May smiled wistfully. “I do.” 

    “And that’s one thing that I didn’t get from him,” Peter finished, shrugging his shoulders as he stood up from his swivel chair. “It’s fine.” He waved it off. “I’m happy suffering in silence. I’m gonna go to bed. Big English project starts tomorrow. Love you,” he kissed May on the cheek as she left his bedroom, switching the light off in her departure. He stared at the wall once he was situated in bed, mulling the conversation over in his head. Maybe May’s right. Maybe telling Y/N wouldn’t be as bad as I’m thinking. Maybe I’m overreacting. Actually, never mind. She probably hates me. Ugh. Life sucks. 


    That morning, when he arrived in his English class, you were sitting in the seat that had been previously occupied by Ned pretty much every class since the beginning of the school year. Sucking in a breath, Peter took his first step into the classroom. He knew he was a little late to today’s lesson, but he hadn’t realized he was a full fifteen minutes behind schedule. Ned was in the back with Michelle, giving Peter an encouraging thumbs up when he noticed his best friend finally arrive on the scene. Peter gave him the finger. 

   “Mr. Parker, lovely for you to join us!” Ms. Matthews declared when he decided to shove himself through the door, his heart jackhammering away in his chest and making its way up to his throat. He kind of wanted to throw up. 

   “Um, yeah, well, you know, sleep and whatnot- overslept, haha,” he coughed out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. The teacher nodded with faux sympathy, though he could tell she didn’t care that much for his explanation. “I’ll just, um, sit. Down.” 

    “Next to Y/N, please,” She instructed, waving her hand in your direction. “Since you were late and unable to choose your own partner, surprising since usually Ned is so eager to work with you, Y/N offered to be your partner.” The teacher gave you a fond smile, as every teacher did. “She can explain the details of the assignment.” 

    Peter gave her a stiff nod before sliding into his chair, and you noticed how rigid he was as he turned toward you with a slight frown. He seemed extremely upset to be working with you, but you wouldn’t let that get in the way. You liked Peter. Really, truly liked him. He was a sweetie whenever he actually talked to and different than the rest of the guys at Midtown. He was genuine.  

    Giving him your full attention, you beamed at him. “Hey, Peter,” you said cheerfully. He gave you a small smile in return, wringing his hands under the desk. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Your own smile dropped, which he noticed immediately and felt awful about. “Sorry you didn’t get paired up with Ned,” you continued, taking your books out of your shoulder bag. “I know you would’ve preferred it that way-” 

    “No!” He interrupted quickly, practically slamming his hands down on the desk so hard you jumped in your seat, eyes wide. “Sorry, sorry, I just, um,” he laughed a little, his cheeks burning, “I’m, um, happy to have you as a partner. Really, I am,” he added as an afterthought, just to make sure you knew. 

   Your shoulders relaxed as you looked at him. “You’re not just saying that, right? You seem awfully stiff,” you teased, poking his uncomfortably positioned arm as you quirked a brow. 

    “Do I?” He was practically sweating. 

     “I was just joking, Pete. It’s cute, anyway.” Peter’s eyes, a shade of brown that you had come to think of as warm as honey, went wide and he gaped at you, but you pretended not to notice. “So, for the assignment we have to write a short story based on one of the assigned reading books this year.” 

   She called me cute

   “Shit… I think I forgot all of mine,” you were mumbling, your head practically stuck in your bag. “Did your bring yours, Peter?” 

   Oh my god, she thinks I’m cute. She thinks I’m cute. I’m going to faint

   You snapped your fingers in front of his cherry red face, trying not to appear as amused as you felt. He blinked owlishly, an apologetic half smile, half grimace on his face. He was cute most of the time, but especially when he smiled, even if it was only a forced, awkward one. “Do you have your books, Peter?” You repeated kindly. 

    “Um, sorry, I’ll check,” he answered, embarrassed about his utterly obvious staring that had just occurred. He rummaged around in his backpack before realizing he had forgotten them, as well. He popped back up, curls in disarray as his head brushed against the fabric of his bag. “I forgot them, sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It was kind of adorable.

   “You need to stop apologizing for everything, Pete,” you laughed. “It’s fine. We can get started after school. My place or yours?” You were already packing your things, and before he could think about what he was about to do, he said, “Mine.”   

    “Cool,” you grinned again, a grin that made him want to smile for the rest of his life. “Which one of is doing the writing? Or do you want to split it?” 

    “You’re a, um, fantastic writer,” he told you, having read your submissions to the school newspaper more times than he could count. “If you wanna take over, you can. I can edit and stuff.” 

    “Aw, I’m not that good,” you shook your head abashedly, looking down at your lap. “But thank you, Peter. I’m sure you’re great, too, though. Are you sure you don’t wanna write some of it?”

    “I’m not much of a writer.”


    So, you were in Peter Parker’s room. He was having his third heart attack of the day, and was incredibly grateful that he had managed to keep his wits about him for majority of the day. He had only tripped over his words five times, tripped literally twice, and dropped his Metro card once, but it was fine. You helped him back each time he fell with your usual grace, barely acknowledging his multiple social faux pas and only laughing once because he fell over a small dog- which even he would admit was pretty funny. 

   Still, his palms were sweaty around you and he didn’t know how he was going to survive working so close to you for the next week while the English assignment was occurring. He lead you into his apartment and you noticed that his hands were shaking slightly as he twisted the keys in the lock. You walked into the apartment, the first thing crossing your mind was how cozy and homelike it was. You liked it very much. 

   “It’s really cute in here,” you said, smiling around the room as Peter busied himself with a glass of water. He downed it quickly. “Where’s your aunt?” 

   “Work,” he replied, catching his breath after the gulping down of his water. “Here, let’s go to my room.” He placed his glass of water on the counter and motioned for you to follow him, opening the door to his room and wincing at the mess in there. “It’s a mess, sorry about that.”  

   You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Didn’t I say stop apologizing?” You entered his room as if you had been there many times before, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door. You threw your bag on his bed and took a seat in his swivel chair, and he liked how natural it seemed for you to be in his room. He liked how comfortable you were, sitting there. Something about it made him happy. 

   “Yeah, my bad,” he shrugged. You tilted your head, pointing your finger at him while he raised his hands defensively. “It wasn’t technically an apology!” He took a step out of the room. He was finally being normal around you, he realized delightedly. He would still need more water, though. He could feel his mouth getting dry. “I’m gonna get more water. Want anything?” You shook your head, spinning around in the chair as he left. 

   Your eyes scanned over his desk, taking in every inch of Peter Parker’s life. He had bad books stacked everywhere, his desk was a mess, there were clothes thrown about the room. Star Wars posters, Avengers posters, notes scattered across the desk. You admired the artful messiness of it all. You leaned up to where his English books were, spotting the one you were most interested in and yanking it off the shelf. As you did, a folded piece of paper fluttered down off the shelf, just when Peter was walking back into the room. 

   “I thought you said you weren’t a writer, Pete,” you raised your eyebrows at him, holding the letter in your hand and waving it at him. 

   He almost threw up right there. “Um, I’m not, please give that back,” he reached for it, but you jumped out of the chair, raising the letter high in the air. “Y/N!” He whined, grabbing for it again. “C’mon, please,” he pleaded desperately, pouting at you with such intensity it almost made you want to give it to him. 

    “Can’t I just read a sentence, Peter?” You pushed out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes at him. 

     He almost gave in. “No, Y/N. Seriously, give it back.” He sounded scared now, upset as well. You pursed your lips, handing it back to him. He was so anxious about you reading it that it dropped on the floor, opening far enough so that you could see your name scrawled across the top in Peter’s defining chicken scratch handwriting. 

    “That says my name, so now I have to read it.” You stood directly in front of Peter, hands pressed together in a pleading motion, the expression on your face so genuinely interested that he had to give it to you. He picked it back up with a lump in his throat and handed it over, scared as ever. But this was what May had advised. Maybe she’d be right. 

    “Dear Y/N,” you read aloud in a loud, terrible accent, glancing back up at Peter as you read the line after that. He was staring down at the floor, preparing himself for what you were going to say when you read the letter, read his heart. You sat in his chair, realizing it’d be better if you didn’t read it so publicly. He sat down on his bed, waiting. 

   Dear Y/N. This is maybe the tenth letter I’ve written to you, and each time I say the same thing, so if one day you are reading this in proper succession, I’m sorry for being so utterly repetitive. You’ll probably never read this, though. And that’s why it’s so easy for me to write. I think you’re the only person to ever truly be interested in me when I’m talking about science. Not even Ned has an attention span that long. But you do. And you don’t know how much I want to thank you for that. You make it really difficult to not like you, to not be in love with you. I think that’s what it is… love. And if I’m not in love with you yet, then I’m certainly falling for you. Who wouldn’t? You’re a wonderful person without trying, you’re a beautiful hurricane, a sunset on the horizon of my bleakest hours, and you make me feel as if I’ve been standing in the sunshine for my entire life. 

   You put the letter down, smoothing it over your lap. You didn’t need to read the rest. That was enough. Peter gazed at you now, the way you’ve yearned to be looked at before, and you shamed yourself for being so blind these past two years. He wasn’t simply just staring. He was looking. Admiring. You slid next to Peter, placing the letter behind you. He moved his hand, curling his fingers around yours tentative as ever. Your free hand grazed up the side of his face, toying with the hair on the back of his neck before resting on his cheek. He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, you were so close that he was able to count each individual eyelash that you had, every single fleck of pure beauty in your deep eyes. 

   “I like you very much, Peter Parker,” you murmured. He felt his heart soar, and then, he felt himself kiss you. It was an out of body experience. He was there, he was the one kissing you, the one who had initiated it, but it felt like he wasn’t. He was up in the clouds, too far lost in the way it felt to run his hands through your hair as he had always dreamed of to notice Aunt May sneaking past the door, overjoyed to see Peter finally with the girl he had been loving in silence for far too long. You pulled away from each other, eyes opening slowly and hesitantly and your lips practically still connected. 

   He wanted to tell her that he adored her, but Aunt May’s voice flowed from the kitchen too loud to overpower his thoughts. “You read her the letter, didn’t you? I told you it’d work! Worked for your Uncle Ben and I was right as I always am!”

   He jumped up from the bed, sticking his head out of the doorway and pressing his finger to his lips. “Maaaayyyy, you’re embarrassing me,” he whispered-yelled, practically whined. “You were right, okay? Thank you, let me go get a girlfriend now. The girlfriend.” She beamed at him, but no one’s smile could shine brighter than Peter’s. 

    He retreated back into the room, and you were clutching the letter in your hands. You looked up at him hopefully. “I was thinking that maybe you could read me the other nine letters. If you’re up for it.” 

    Peter couldn’t possibly say no, taking a page out of his Uncle Ben’s book the way he should have done in the first place as he found the hiding spot for the stack of letters he had been writing for the past few months, sliding them over to you and feeling confident for the first time in a long time.

nefarious ❖ chanyeol

anon requested: Heyo could I request some step brother chanyeol smut where they don’t get along and are constantly teasing each other (in a sexy way?). One day chanyeol is going through the girls Phone and finds her daddy kink bdsm Tumblr and decides to punish her ;) in turn some kinky sex with spanking and bondage. (Lol sorry this is so detailed chanyeol has been fucking me up lately)


(gif not mine, credits to the owner)

7456 words | smut, daddy kink, stepbrother-stepsister relationship, light bondage (choking, thigh riding, spanking), don’t like=don’t read | velvet

✎ Nefarious: wicked, villanous, despicable or simply Park Chanyeol.


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i just made this announcement over on twitter, but like, let’s be real, i’ve been on this horrible blue hell site since i was 16 - and i’m turning 24 on sunday, so that’s essentially a third of my life, yikes - and you guys are wonderful and i love you and you deserve to hear it here first. so.

as most of you know, i finished my first manuscript earlier this year, and i’ve been reservedly liveblogging the absurdly nerve-wracking process of querying agents and throwing my novel out to the wolves. 

and i’m so happy to finally be able to tell you that i’ve accepted an offer of literary representation from brooks sherman of janklow & nesbit associates.

i first became aware of brooks a couple of years ago when my best friend lena, who was loyally and devotedly beta-reading one of my early drafts, suggested i check out becky albertalli’s “simon vs. the homo sapiens agenda.” she thought simon was an exemplary gay ya romance, exactly the kind of thing i was hoping to do. and she was right: simon instantly became one of my favourite books, and becky became one of my favourite authors. i pledged to myself that when i finally worked up the nerve to start talking to agents, i would talk to the guy who helped make simon happen.

but it took a long time. like, a long time. i started writing “teenage victory song” - the name of my novel, a contemporary gay YA love story, hopefully coming soon to a bookstore near you! - back in 2013. specifically, during an 11:30 PM gchat with grace on wednesday, december 11, 2013, which i have archived for historical preservation. so grace is getting the dedication when this thing goes out, naturally. but, yeah, i started writing it in 2013, and only just finished it this spring, and only with the help of some truly incredible people and loyal friends and family - way too many to name here, but you know who you are, and thank you. i love you. if i hadn’t had your love and your support to battle the little grey cloud of depression and trauma and persistent economic instability that hangs over me 24/7, i’d never have gotten this far. writing this book, and keeping myself mentally healthy and happy enough to finish it, is the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do. 

i also need to thank benjamin alire saenz, andre alexis, dennis bock, anne michaels, and mallory ortberg for reading various permutations of this manuscript and believing in it and giving me their writerly advice on it. i love all y’all. and, of course, major, major thanks to the lambda literary association, who do so much incredible work for so many lgbt authors, and to whom i will be forever in debt.

i just don’t have words for the fact that brooks read my manuscript and said yes, that he said wow, that he believes in me and in what i’m trying to do with my writing. he represents so many authors whose work i’ve been continually blown away by, and it is patently ridiculous and surreal that i get to stand next to them now? i’ve already mentioned becky albertalli, whose work has done so much to humanize young lgbt people and to normalize gay love for a mainstream audience. or adam silvera, who just put queer boys of colour on the new york times bestsellers list with “they both die at the end,” which i am presently reading and crying over and having my internal organs ripped out by. and last, but definitely not fucking least, angie thomas, who wrote “the hate u give,” very possibly the most important young adult novel of the last twenty years, a heartbreaking and compassionate and warmly funny complete and total masterwork that i inhaled in less than two days. like, i really don’t. have words. these are people who have been heroes of mine for so long. i just started actually crying so i’m going to have to wrap this up lmao.

i grew up in an intensely homophobic and conservative christian household, and when i was probably eleven or twelve i somehow came into possession of a copy of “a great and terrible beauty” by libba bray. i don’t remember anything about it except that it had a subplot involving two girls who kissed each other on the mouth, and when they kissed each other on the mouth, i was so viscerally horrified that i started bawling, and i stood up, walked upstairs to the garbage disposal, and tore the book apart with my bare hands. watched the pages filter down into the garbage. and i don’t, like. i don’t like to damage books. i don’t even fold corners because i don’t like to crease the pages. i still remember it all these years later because my first reaction upon recognizing myself in that kiss was to literally destroy it. and i had to keep that part of myself buried for so many years. reading lgbt ya and fanfiction was some of the only escape i had. i wasn’t able to come out until i was eighteen years old, and when i did, it ultimately meant becoming estranged from my mother forever.

i have so much love and tenderness and compassion for all those previous, wounded versions of me, who went through so much, who hated themselves so much, who spent so much of their teens and early twenties being depressed and closeted and suicidal and dreaming of the day when they might get to be an author. you fucking did it, buddy. i love you so much and i am so proud of everything you did to survive and keep creating.

in conclusion,

anonymous asked:

andreil pda around the foxes pleaseee my soul needs it

my marvelous anon, i am here to grant thine request, with a small side of accidental lowkey renison. enjoy <3. also on AO3.


He did it. He actually did it. After months of constant warnings and threats, Wymack finally followed through.

Neil can do nothing but stare at the flyer in his hand, mildly in fear and majorly in shock. A mere thirty seconds prior, Wymack had stormed out of his office brandishing this piece of paper like both a white flag and a declaration of war. He had paused just inside the lounge, making sure to gather everyone’s attention, before striding over to Neil and shoving the flyer in his face.

“This is for last weekend,” Wymack had said. “I already—don’t give me that look, you know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. I already signed you up. It starts at 8:00 AM on Saturday, and unless you want your ass glued to the bench for the rest of the season, I suggest you be there.” He had then turned back around and disappeared into the hallway, leaving a room full of confused and curious Foxes in his wake.

A full minute passes before chaos breaks out and everyone starts moving at once. Various forms of “What the hell?” can be heard from all corners of the room. Neil blinks as the flyer is yanked out of his hand. He looks up to see Andrew, his eyes scanning the paper. Andrew looks up at him, and Neil’s heart nearly explodes because this look on his face, it looks like the honest-to-god beginnings of a smile. And sure, it’s at Neil’s expense, but he would embarrass the fuck out of himself at every turn if this was his reward. Andrew moves to hand the paper back to Neil.

“Okay, seriously,” Kevin huffs out with impatience as he pushes through his teammates. He snags the flyer away from Andrew who couldn’t be bothered to stop him. Kevin reads aloud, “The Annual Hilton Head Island Marathon…a MARATHON? Really, Neil?! Is this a joke?”

“I don’t know, Kevin,” says Andrew, his voice taking on the persona of a kindergarten teacher. “Did it look like a joke to you?”

Kevin’s only response is to scowl and shove the flyer into Neil’s chest. “This better not affect your performance at our game on Friday. You don’t get to take it easy just because you have to run 26.2 miles the next day.”

By the time Kevin has stormed out of the building, the rest of the Foxes have commenced their team wide freak out.

“Seriously?! He actually came through on that threat?” Dan is caught halfway between being genuinely worried and dying of laughter.

“Neil…bro…what the fuck…” Matt says from somewhere on his left, placing a consoling hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Neil. We have to be there. I have to witness this historic moment. You finally get to put your insane running habits into practice,” Allison is rambling from across the room.

“Wait, what was Wymack talking about ‘last weekend’? What did you do?” Asks Nicky, unaccustomed to being out of the loop.

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Headlines - Peter Parker

request -  I LOVE YOU WRITINGS Can you PLEASE write a fic were peter takes his s/o on dates to the tops of buildings as spider man a lot to the point were people beging looking for spider-man girlfriend and pictures of them start showing up on websites and news broadcasts 

a/n - i’ve gotten multiple requests to write this kind of fic, and i hope it doesn’t disappoint and is a flop like me anyways don’t forget to request a fic if you’d like or follow! also peter looks like he’s listening to a pretty funky beat in the gif LMAOOOOO

The sun was setting over Queens after the clock struck seven in the evening. My back was pressed up against Peter’s chest, breathing in the view as he was holding me close by. His mask was in my lap as his chin rested on my shoulder, rocking me from side to side.

Sitting at the roof of a busy building in town was a bit of a risk, but somehow Peter and I were willing to make such an attempt. During times together like these, he would become so equipped and steady to grab him mask at any point and run off with me, keeping our affair a secret as best as he could.

I leaned back even more and look up at his face, only being able to see his cheeks. I chuckled as he looked down, pressing a kiss on my lips as a smile melted onto his face as well. Our hearts were both jumping from mile to mile until Peter broke the kiss, putting his mask on within a second.

“What happened?” I asked while he put my hood up.

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“Jack,” Bitty whines, throwing his head back. “I am so tired. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Come on, Bits. You’re almost there,” Jack says encouragingly.

“But I’m so sleepy,” Bitty complains. “My arms are heavy. My fning—ah!” Bitty huffs. “My fingers hurt. Listen, I’m slurrin’ all my words.”

“Look at me.”

Bitty spins the desk chair to look at Jack, and pouts.

“You do look tired.” Jack gazes at him, eyes narrowing.

So tired,” Bitty professes. “I’ll finish up tomorrow.”

Jack sighs. “That essay is due at nine am.”

Bitty bites his lip. He’s well aware of that. “Sleep though, Jack. Sleep.”

“You hate waking up early,” Jack points out with a raised eyebrow.

“Once every now and then is fine.” Bitty tries to say it with conviction.

Jack puts his bookmark in his paperback. “How long until you’re finished?” Jack asks. “Referenced and proof-read finished, not first draft finished,” he adds before Bitty can reply.

Bitty shuts his mouth against his automatic response of twenty minutes.

“Uh… Maybe an hour?”

Jack checks the time on his watch, which he’d placed on the bedside table earlier.

“Alright.” Jack stands up and stretches, then gestures for Bitty to come over to him.

“Thank god,” Bitty mutters under his breath, saving his document and shutting the laptop without powering down.

He drags his body over to Jack’s and falls into him. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend and presses his face into Jack’s chest, breathing deeply. He loves how Jack smells. Like soap, and his deodorant, and a little bit of sweat.

Jack’s hands crawl up Bitty’s back, under his shirt, and he rocks Bitty gently side-to-side. Bitty swears he could fall asleep just like this.

Then Jack’s hands start to wander; down to Bitty’s ass, slipping under the elastic of his track pants. Bitty shivers as Jack’s nails scratch the skin, and when he leans back to ask Jack what he’s doing, Jack kisses him.

Normally, when Jack initiates, it’s soft—he appreciates a slow build up. Tonight is different. Jack pushes against Bitty immediately, leaning into him and over him so that Bitty’s body curves back harshly, and Jack seems even taller than normal.

Jack kisses and kisses, his lips moving and sucking on Bitty’s with fervour. Bitty matches him, suddenly wide-awake, and his hands move to bury themselves in Jack’s hair as he attempts to meld his lips to Bitty’s.

“Oh my god. Jack,” Bitty pants and Jack moves on, kissing harshly down his jawline. Bitty’s lips feel swollen and tender when he bites down on one.

Jack pulls back and smiles down, flushed, eyes alight. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty confesses breathlessly, still reeling from the enthusiasm and spontaneity.

“Awake?” Jack asks.

Bitty nods frantically. “Oh yeah. Definitely. Yes.”

“Good.” Jack steps back from Bitty, and grabs his shoulders to turn him around. He leans in close, chest pressing against Bitty’s shoulders, and puts his lips against Bitty’s ear. “Now, go finish your essay.”

Jack shoves a speechless Bitty back toward the desk.

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Pleasure

Theo Raeken

Why does he look so damn hot in this gif? Like he’s getting head?

Summary- The reader is a hunter who’s had a crush on Theo for a while and takes him to her place to torture him with pleasure.

Idk if that make sense but I just got the idea from the gif lol.

In honor of teen wolf sunday.

Warning- Daddykink!Theo Sub!Theo(Begin half) Sub!Reader, Dom!Theo., Blowjobs, chocking, bitting, unprotected sex. That’s all I could think of

Word Count-2,553


Theo pulled on the zip ties groaning at the tightness around his wrist. He had been captured by an unknown hunter, Theo was in his truck hesitant on calling Scott from what he had discovered when he was at the clinic a spider that disappeared into thin air. When he was in his truck a flashlight came into his view, he thought it was the sheriffs department but it turned out to be a hunter by it’s lonesome who shot a dart into neck knocking him out.

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a love spell, or something like it

inspired by a post sara reblogged (this one, specifically) and the resulting conversation about different love spells, where she suggested i write the fic. i said no, go away, it’s late. then i stayed up and wrote the fic.

This doesn’t make any sense.

Though they’d never admit it—Dean especially would never admit it—they’re practically witches themselves at this point. Sam isn’t deluded enough to think otherwise. He has a fair share of spells up his sleeve that he knows by heart by now, a few more he’s working on remembering, and some he still struggles with the incantation, but at the end of the day they frequently speak Latin and throw herbs into flames, so, logically, they’re witches, or close enough to it.

And it’s because of this (and his own unfortunate experience that no one must ever speak of again, thanks) that Sam knows a love spell when he sees one.

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