but mark's face was a pain at this angle and still now I think it looks weird


Character(s): Reader X Changkyun, also a sassy medical examiner Hyungwon

Genre: fluff, borderline!crack/humor, also like there’s a dead person but i prOMISE THERES NO ANGST

Warning(s): rough sex, slight!exhibitionism, dirty talk

Length: 6k

Summary: In which lawyer Im Changkyun makes you want to spontaneously combust.

You like to think you have your life together.

Proud, reassured, confident. Not necessarily arrogant, but aware of your capabilities. You graduated at the top of your class from one of the best universities, an extremely successful lawyer, and you’ve already made a name for yourself in the field. Be it battling out cases in court, patching up negotiations over a mahogany table, or waking up at ungodly hours of the morning to sit in during police investigations, you’ve accomplished more than enough to have you more than satisfied with life.

Really, you shouldn’t have anything to complain about.

But a little thorn in your side goes by the name Im Changkyun, all cocky smirks and self-assured ease.

He gives you something to complain about.

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Life or Death (Hamilton x Male!Reader) 2

Words: 2200+

Warnings: blood, disapproval of same-sex relationships, sex mentions

A/N: by popular demand, i made a part two of this. i had no idea where the plot was going to go, but i guess this is okay? enjoy!

Part 1

You groaned, opening one eye. The sun was shining brightly down on you, burning your irises. You pulled yourself up off the fence, stretching your back from the awkward position that you were in all night. By the sun and the empty streets, it was probably around seven in the morning. You stumbled up, attempting to walk with your wobbly legs. You pulled your bag from the bench, and began proceeding in the direction of your house.

It took you a few minutes to get there, your grogginess getting the best of you. As you were walking down your block, you finally remembered why you were outside. “Hamilton!” You yelled, widening your eyes. You quickly touched your neck, feeling nothing but smooth skin. You looked at your clothes, blood staining them. “What the-ow!” You touched your face, the skin tender.

Oh right. Bruises.

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Word Count: 2566
Author’s Note: @outside-the-government requested: So here’s my idea. What if the reader was real tired of Bones wanting to look at every little injury, every little cough or sniffle they had? To pay him back, reader would turn his own medicine against him and come slinking into med bay for the tiniest of problems. Eventually he’d catch on and give them the benefit of the doubt and promise he’d let them be the judge of when they needed his expertise. It could be so much fun. :D So this got away from me completely, and I hope you like it…

There must have been something perplexing about the look on your face because when Uhura sat down across from you in the commissary, she tilted her head to one side, narrowing her eyes and just looked at you for a minute before she spoke.

“Something is bothering you.” She said it like she spent a lot of time reading emotions instead of hearing words. It wasn’t as weird as you initially thought, really. Ninety percent of communication was non-verbal, so she really needed the ability in order to be able to do her job. And figuring out what Spock was thinking on a day to day basis probably made reading human emotions a cake-walk.

“Is Doctor McCoy weird, or is he just,” you trailed off, your eyebrows knitting together as you searched for the word, “just weird?” Screw it. You couldn’t think of what you meant, but you trusted Nyota to decipher it. She just laughed.

“That depends on the kind of weird you’re asking about, I guess.”

“I went for my intake assessment and he wanted to know why I had a bandaid on my finger,” you started.

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A/N: Thank you @spinyfruit for your help with this fic <3 

Day 3: Surprise (Coffee Shop AU)

‘Glow’ was the warmest word. Glow released a perfume of connotation in the air; at once soft, bright, sweet, loving, cosy. ‘Glow’ sounded like the smell of coffee on a rainy night. And here, in this large coffee shop, with its windows framed with brown curtains, the numbers of customers steadily depleted, each returning to the glow of the lamp lights in their dorm rooms. Yellow lights glowed in Antonio’s vision as he yawned, blinking the wetness of sleep from his eyes.

The computer screen didn’t glow. It glared. Harsh whiteness and sharp black lettering. This essay was due tomorrow at eight. He hadn’t slept in two days. The other patrons of the cafe looked equally tired. It was almost midnight, and those who hung around were all stressed university students with untidy hair and fading makeup. Their laptops treated them cruelly too.

His cup was empty. Antonio stood and stretched. His knuckles cracked. Grabbing his wallet from the table, he went to the counter. He had this idea, born perhaps out of anxiety, that someone would steal his laptop if he wasn’t looking. It was why he kept glancing over his shoulder while giving his order to the barista. 

The boy behind his table had brown hair with a tint of auburn. It fell over his eyes as he worked, typing furiously at his laptop. A single curl went awry, shooting out at an almost forty-five degree angle. 

“T-thanks,” Antonio dropped change on the counter, grabbing his cappuccino with a hand shaking with sudden nerves. Hot milk spilled on his foot but he ignored the momentary pain. “Lovino Vargas?” he approached the boy. Why was his voice so high when he spoke? “Is that you?”

The boy’s gold eyes were unmistakable. He regarded Antonio with quiet curiosity, until his expression changed to something more unguarded. “Hey, you’re–”

“Antonio! From elementary school! Remember me?”

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  • Author: Moi
  • Imagine/Request: Imagine going out on your own because Dean was drunk, and when Cas finds out, he gets angry because Dean was supposed to be able to keep you safe.
  • Word Count:6638
  • Summary: The Mark of Cain still holds its power over Dean and he tries to deal with it in the only ways he knows how. By himself and drunk. You can’t take it anymore and leave but get hurt, only to be found by Castiel. When he takes you back to the bunker, Dean’s waiting for you.
  • Warnings: mentions of alcohol, some violence, feelings (like… a lot), ominous reader background, and it’s really super freaking long (I apologize).
  • AN: I’m really sorry that this is the first story in like two or three weeks but after spring break, instructors were showing no mercy. I’ve written this over the course of about a month and so if some parts don’t line up I apologize. Plus, I don’t feel like editing this so I’m hoping nothing is too horribly written. Oh, and another thing: I titled this Cold because when I was trying to think of the basic outline I wanted for the story, Cold by Five Finger Death Punch popped up on Pandora and it just kind of sounded good. So without further delay, ENJOY!

Cold, wet, and upset. That’s how one could describe you. It wasn’t bad enough that Dean was having a rather bad episode with the Mark tonight and trying to drink away his problems, but it also started raining as you walked to town. You were trying to get to the motel before becoming completely soaked to the bone, but that wasn’t really working. The rain was cutting through your hoodie like a perfectly sharpened knife. You knew that you would need a hot shower when you got the room; or at least as hot as the cheap shower could offer.

You saw headlights coming towards you, down the road and stepped over into the grass, off the road itself. As you stepped into the grass, though, you became aware of the slight decline that lead to a ditch running parallel to the road. Trying to avoid both obstacles, you tried your best to keep your footing on the slick grass. As you saw the headlights creeping closer to you, you adverted your attention to the car and regretted that decision immediately. You felt your feet slide out from under you and your butt hit the ground with a thump, pain immediately radiating from it. However, apparently that wasn’t the end of your pain. You then tumble down the decline straight into the other side of the ditch, colliding with the mushy, grimy, earth.

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anonymous asked:


take responsibility

pairing: jungkook/jimin
word count: 1730
genre: canon compliant, established relationship
summary: jungkook and jimin love movie nights. the other members… not so much.
notes: i haven’t posted anything in a while, i’m sorry. please enjoy this short thing in the meantime. warning for non-consensual voyeurism and implied sexual content.

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‘Stiles dislocates his shoulder in battle and Derek has to reset it’ au, written for @stiles-and-the-sourwolf based on her list of hurt!stiles prompts!

i did my research, but you should not fix a dislocated shoulder yourself except in an emergency, nor should you use this fic as any kind of medical guide

feat. scarred!Stiles, injured!Stiles, & full-shift!Derek


For a frightening moment, Stiles has no idea what happened.

All he knows is that the last hellhound the pack is fighting just tackled him, that his bat flew out of his hands, and that his shoulder made a terrifying sound as he hit the ground.

It’s not more than a few seconds before the weight of the hound is tackled off of him, but otherwise, no one comes to his rescue. The battle continues to rage around him, the cacophony of gunfire and howling and yelling all echoing through the preserve. The pack is spread everywhere, from behind the trees to in them, and all he can do is hope that someone notices him before he gets trampled.

He’s not sure how long the whole thing goes on. His head has been getting increasingly fuzzy, and he idly wonders how hard he banged it. The fuzziness quickly turns into a rush of panic when the face of a huge black canine suddenly appears right over his own, its muzzle covered in blood. It looks furious, and Stiles isn’t proud of the distressed sound he makes. The reading he’d done on hellhounds talked about how the beasts were known to tear out the throats of their victims before dragging them down to hell. Stiles isn’t sure if he believes in the whole eternal torture thing—and hey, that’s what living in Beacon Hills feels like half the time anyway—but he’s still not particularly keen on having his jugular ripped out.  The hound is off to his left and staring straight down at him, and hysterically, Stiles thinks of all the jokes he’s made about big bad wolves out in the preserve. Hounds are close enough.

In a fit of desperation, though it’s more likely to result in his hand being bitten off than anything else, he flings out an arm to shove the hulking hound away. Well, at least he tries to. What actually happens is that his hand and forearm barely make it six inches off the ground before weakly flopping back down, sending pain shooting up his arm.

Fuck, what did this thing do to his shoulder?

Stiles cries out incoherently, trying to get someone’s attention. No one else shows up, though, and a moment later the creature looms even closer, and looks Stiles right in the eyes. Oh, good. At least this whole thing is satisfying for someone.

Right as Stiles is about to tear his gaze away and try to come to terms with his own mortality in a matter of seconds, the monster’s eyes flash blue.

Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved in his life.

“Not a monster,” he slurs, mostly to himself. “J’st Derek. Thank fuck.”

He lets his eyes close, and promptly passes out.

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bistiles  asked:

Derek gets doped with something (magic, drugs, whatever) and who would have thought that high Derek is a very talkative Derek. Pack has a lot of fun, especially Stiles that ends up finding a lot of very interesting about Derek. Bonus of half of them are sexual aaaaYYY


“This was a bad idea,” Derek says, and that little, silly smile is still playing across his face. The one Stiles has already snuck about a dozen pictures of and still can’t get over.

“What was?”

Derek’s head lolls along the back of the couch to look at Isaac. He scrunches up his face a little, hand trailing idly over the leg of his own jeans.

“’Let’s regroup at the loft,’” he says, voice a little gruff in a truly terrible impression of Scott’s Alpha voice. “‘We can work out what’s wrong with Derek there.’ None of you,” he lifts his hand to point accusingly at each of the pack in turn, “is doing a single bit of research.”

His finger lands on Stiles last, actually poking into his chest before he pauses, looking a little surprised at himself. Or at Stiles’ chest, Stiles can’t be sure.

“We called Doctor Deaton,” Kira jumps in helpfully from her place by the table. “He should be getting back to us soon.”

“And until then,” Erica cuts in, leaning over the arm of the couch where Derek’s sitting, still staring, disgruntled, at Stiles’ chest, “we’ve really got nothing to do but try and entertain ourselves. How do you think we should do that, Derek?”

She’s clearly angling for another round of Awkward Personal Questions, which had started out back in the preserve, when a perfectly innocent inquiry about Derek’s wellbeing had resulted in: “A little unsettled. That spell hit me straight in the chest, right? I’m not in pain, though, which would be a lot easier to handle than some kind of mindwarping spell or body alterations. I’m not changing colors, am I? Or shrinking? Also I’m a little tired but I think that’s because I haven’t been sleeping much lately. Erica and Boyd have been being loud even though I asked them not to have sex anymore when I’m trying to sleep because there’s no way anyone can sleep through the noises Erica makes…”

Since then Erica’s been leading the charge on weirdly personal questions. It might just be her personality, but Stiles is pretty sure she’s working at getting back at Derek for his not-really-outting of hers and Boyd’s relationship (as if any of them hadn’t already known anyway.)

Derek just lets out a little, frustrated sigh at her question and says “It’d be a lot more entertaining if you all left,” which, you know, sounds perfectly in character, no surprises there. Until he lifts his gaze about six inches and adds pointedly: “except you.”

Stiles’ brows shoot up, which has absolutely no effect on Derek because Derek’s not staring at his eyebrows, or even his eyes for that matter. No, his attention is firmly set on Stiles’ mouth.

His tongue flits out, nervous, and Derek follows the movement with a predator’s focus.

“I hate it when you do that.”

His hand’s still on Stiles’ chest, now tracing odd little patterns. Almost a caress. Stiles glances to Scott, who just shrugs helplessly.

“Oh. Uh… sorry about that?”

“You should be,” Derek snaps, but most of the usual bite’s gone from his words. It sounds gruff with a whole other emotion. “It makes me want to…” He trails off. Stiles’ throat has gone dry.

“Want to what?”

Finally, the gaze moves away from Stiles’ mouth. Set free, it’s tracing all over him instead: up to his eyes, trailing down his neck and then going lower.

“You have no idea the things I’d do to you, Stiles,” he says easily, like he’s not thinking about it. He’s not, obviously, or he wouldn’t be saying it. “Take that mouth of yours and kiss you ‘til you don’t remember what words are. Bite my way across your skin, sucking in such sweet marks. You look like you’d bruise so pretty, show off my bites so everyone knew what I’d done to you, that you were mine.”

He seems to catch himself a little, blinking hard and dragging in a fast, sharp breath. Stiles should probably respond but he feels like he’s been kissed breathless already. Who the hell knew Derek Hale could pull off dirty talk?

Erica’s voice breaks in before they sit there staring at each other too long.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for Stiles.”

Derek snorts at that, finally breaking their gazes to scowl at her. Stiles can finally breathe again. He’s not sure if he’s happy about that.

Obviously. Not much of a secret if you all know about it, is it?”

Erica’s lips quirk, the words spilling out like blood in the water. Stiles would feel bad for Derek if he wasn’t so busy wondering whether he’s shocked, flattered, or aroused right now.

Probably all three.

“Oooh,” Erica intones. “It’s a secret crush, is it?”

“It’s not a crush.” Derek huffs disdainfully at the word. “Crush means you like them. Stiles is… infuriating. Completely annoying, hardheaded spaz…”

“Whoa, wait, hey,” Stiles is still sitting right here. “Why don’t we go back to all the things you want to do to me.”

‘Cause that had been embarrassing for Derek, not him. Not to mention weird. And hot.

Derek’s attention comes snapping back to him. He frowns, considering.

“I want to gag you.”

Stiles’ face falls, and across the room, Scott bursts into a fit of laughter. But dude, not fair. Derek had been all crazy hot and flirty ten seconds ago. Stiles had been having feelings. Mostly in the southerly region, sure, but also some in the parts of his chest where pride and self-confidence reside, and now all that ego boosting is getting knocked back down again.

But Derek’s teeth gleam bright and dangerous suddenly, and during whatever Erica turns to mutter to Isaac and Scott’s continued laughter, he fists Stiles’ shirt and leans in, murmuring:

“With my cock.”

That pride and something else come surging back to life. Stiles grins.

“Well, ok. That’s better then.”

Way better than some lame little secret crush, anyway.

To the Window

Wilford the assassin decides he hasn’t had enough of the interesting reflection. Antistache based off these headcanons by @marksandrec.

Part 1: X. Part 2: here. Part 3: X.

When Wilford said he would track Sean half way across the country to see his reflection, he didn’t expect the opportunity to come so easily to him. With his nose twisted ever so slightly, he balances on the rafters in a dark corner of the open convention hall, his eyes glued to his new playtoy. Sean is laughing loudly with his friend like just 2 weeks ago Wilford didn’t just threaten to take his life. He read the paper that next day, smirking happily to himself at the description of a ‘random break in’ that caused the house to be upturned.

The whole day Wilford keeps to the shadows of the giant room, always keeping Sean in sight, wondering if he can spy the distorted reflection. He pouts when he can’t see Anti from his angles. It doesn’t help that Sean tends to skirt around the windows, making himself be surrounded by his group of friends or simply going the long way around. Wilford gets bored and leaves the convention he snuck into, going to a warehouse close by and stealing the biggest mirror he can find.

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Don’t Bite - Jungkook - Pt 2

Aaaaand finally (after like a week or two oops) comes part two! This chapter does have smut and mentions of blood, so beware!! Thank you all for so much for the support on the first part too - it’s my most popular post since I started this blog ^^ I also want you guys to know (I know a lot of you are American) - I am aware the legal age in many states of America is 18 and I said that reader is 17, however in the UK the legal age is 16 and I am English. I am not promoting sex with minors. Just thought I’d clear that up in case anyone said something :)

PT 1

“What are you doing?” You whispered, a little bit of the original dread returning as his lips grazed your neck.

“It’s best if you relax. And don’t ask questions.” He replied, his equally hushed tone making shivers run through your spine. 

“But surely you’re not going to-”

“Yes. I’m hungry and you smell so freaking good.” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your skin in a strangely relaxing manner.

“Won’t that make me a vampire too?” you asked, shaking a little in his hold. His arms were tight around your waist, holding you as close to him as possible. You felt his low chuckle against your skin as he continued with the kisses, moving up and down as you only grew more and more apprehensive.

“You watch too many films. I won’t turn you unless I want to turn you. Now relax or his will hurt more than you want it to.” He stopped with the soft kisses and positioned his mouth over the vein over your neck, sinking down as you slowly relaxed in his arms. You felt a quick, sharp pain but that faded quickly, and you felt dizzy as the blood rushed to the sudden puncture. You felt it running up through you, and it was a strange sensation, but not painful. You felt warm and tingly but you could tell he was being as gentle as he could, one hand finding yours again and holding it as he pulled his teeth from you. He wiped the small dribble of blood from his chin with a goofy grin, not saying a word as he stared at you. Before you could process the situation his lips were on yours, him being careful not to snag you with his teeth as the kiss soon grew heated. His hands gripped your waist tighter than before as he led you to sit on the corner of a bed, more than likely his bed, and one of his hands came up to your neck. He held the back of it so he could angle your head perfectly, giving him full control of the kiss as he remained careful but increased the passion. He pulled away shortly, looking down at you through half lidded eyes. He smiled at your expression, suddenly lustful despite still being a little confused. One moment he was drinking your blood and the next he was kissing you with more fervor than expected. “I think I owe you one for letting me do that.” he whispered, voice husky as his hand left your waist and started running up your leg. You still wore your school skirt and so you were already rather exposed, his cold fingers gracing the skin with a ghost-like touch.

“So do I.” you responded, pulling on his shirt to reattach your lips. His tongue immediately entered your mouth as you leaned back against the headboard and he crawled over you, hands roaming your body as the atmosphere grew even more heated. “Right now.” He pulled away from your lips, smirking at how bruised they now looked, and moved down to kiss your jawline. His lips placed gentle kisses along your neck, lingering a little longer over the marks which showed where you’d been bitten. He got lower, kissing along the neckline of your shirt before sitting back and pulling your shirt open. Not a single button broke. “Wait.” You said, making him stop and look back up at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, looking suddenly concerned. You laughed slightly and pointed to your camera, which was long forgotten on the floor. He smirked again, licking his lips slightly. “Oh yeah, your friends wanted proof. Well, if that’s what they wanted. And if that’s what you want.” He bit his lip and stood up, picking up the camera and resting it on his bedside table. “Your friends are in for quite the show.” he raised his eyebrows and leaned down to connect his lips to your skin again, pulling your shirt completely off and leaving it discarded on the floor. His lips ghosted over your collarbone before he started suckling on the sensitive skin, making your breath hitch and a breathy moan escape your parted lips. He was cautious all the way, alternating between gentle kisses and sucks that left purple marks on your skin. He kissed along the lining of your bra before lifting your back and unclipping it, eyes snapping back up to meet yours. His were incredibly caring, and his whole demeanor confused you. One minute he was mischievous and bore that sexy smirk you grew increasingly fond of, and the next minute he was gentle and tender. “Are you sure this is what you want? I mean - isn’t it a bit weird to you? Coming into an old wrecked house everyone thought was abandoned and having sex with a vampire stranger?” he laughed as he sat back on his knees. You whined impatiently and nodded, shrugging your bra off and throwing it down.

“You can’t get me this worked up and then question my motives.” you groaned, blushing when you looked back up at him and found his gaze wondering your half naked body. “Don’t do that.”

“But you’re so beautiful.” He breathed in response, words barely audible as he pulled his own shirt over his head. You felt your face heat up as his eyes kept scanning you, your own drawn to his toned chest. He took your hands in his momentarily and kissed you again, still passionate but a lot sweeter this time. His fingers couldn’t keep still, running over your stomach and breasts. You moaned into the kiss as he did, which only spurred him on. You gasped as you felt him grow harder beneath you, the restraints of his trousers obviously bothering him.

“Pants.” You panted, hands moving down to fumble with his belt. He sat back again with a smirk.

“What about them?” He raised an eyebrow, eyes boring into yours.

“Take them off.” You growled, losing patience. He laughed at your eagerness and swiftly removed them leaving him in only his boxers. He hovered back over you, face close to yours but lips not touching. He lingered for a little before grabbing the sides of your skirt, throwing it to the floor and putting you in the same situation as him.

“Now…” he whispered, hand slipping under the waistband of your panties and one finger running over your wet folds teasingly. “I don’t know anything about foreplay or dirty talk, so-”

“You’re doing a good enough job.” You mumbled in response, your heated core showing him that you weren’t kidding - he was already turning you on enough. He chuckled and kissed you again, lips quickly moving back to your neck as his finger moved to your clit, rubbing in slow, gentle circles that made you whine. “Stop teasing me.” You murmured as he entered two fingers into you, only allowing to go them halfway in before he started pumping them. You ground down onto his hand so that his curling digits were all the way in, making him chuckle.

“Patience lady. You’re so needy all of a sudden.” He whispered against your skin and removed his fingers, quickly licking them clean. He didn’t seem to realize that every little thing he did only made you hungrier, your hands tugging the waistband of his boxers keenly. “Didn’t I say patience?” he frowned a little but reached down to remove his underwear nonetheless, yours joining them on the pile of clothes on the floor. “What are your friends gonna think when they see you like this for someone you’ve only just met?”

“You started this!” you cried, tugging on his hair earnestly and kissing him again. All reasoning and sensibility gone, your head was controlled by lust as you pulled back and looked him in the eye. “I want you. Now.” You grumbled, cheeks burning. He sighed and complied, reaching into his bedside drawer for a condom and pulling away from you to put it on. The loss of his close presence made you whimper; saying you were restless at this point would be an understatement. You still didn’t know how you’d gotten to this point, but you didn’t even care as he positioned himself at your entrance. He slid the head of his cock up and down at your core, tongue battling with yours in a series of sloppy, needy kisses. You were already losing your mind.

“It’s not too late to stop this.” he said quietly, eyes back on yours.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for you to be saying that.” you sighed against his lips as he kissed you deeply, pushing himself in with a small grunt. He opened his eyes to check your facial expression, which only displayed pleasure as you leaned up. The new position allowed him to slide even further in, both of you groaning in unison as his lips found yours. After getting you so worked up he could tell he didn’t have to let you adjust, your slick wetness letting him move with ease as his hands moved back to your hips for leverage. He started slow, too slow for your liking, and so you rocked your hips in time with his thrusts to feel as much pleasure as you could. You moaned gently, head spinning from the feeling of finally being filled by him. His mouth hovered next to your ear, breath hot.

“Don’t be so quiet. I want to hear you.” he whispered, his words alone eliciting a louder moan from you. He smirked triumphantly, quickening his pace as a dull heat began in the pit of your stomach. “You’re so tight.” he murmured, lifting your hips to angle himself better. You cried out at the new angle, which allowed him to hit unknown places deep within you that had your vision turning white. 

“Jungkook, I-” your orgasm was fast approaching with every thrust, leaving you breathless as it hit you. You didn’t need to finish your sentence as he could tell what you meant, his own orgasm imminent. He kissed you deeply as you clenched around him, body shaking as the pleasure became almost too much to handle and you came around him. He came moments after, cock twitching inside you as he spilled into the condom. He stayed within you as you both rode out your orgasms before pulling out, both of you panting heavily as he disposed of the condom and collapsed onto the bed next to your worn out body. You were both covered by a thin layer of sweat, still lost in your highs as your head spun. He pulled you to him, arms wrapping themselves around your waist as he pulled a blanket over your quickly cooling bodies.

“Your friends are never gonna speak to you again, are they?” he chortled, one hand moving up to brush your dampened hair away from your face. You smiled lazily, reaching over him and turning the camera off.

“Who cares? That was so worth it.” You breathed. This seemed to please him as he smiled fondly at you.

“You just had sex with a vampire. Not many people can say that.” he pointed out. “Too bad you only agreed to stay here one night.” You raised an eyebrow and shuffled closer, looking up into his eyes. 

“I’ll be coming back here, for sure. You can drink my blood any time.”

“It sounds so weird hearing you say that.” he laughed, kissing the top of your head. “But I’m glad. I thought you’d leave in the morning and I’d never see you again.” 

“Why would I do that? Giving up someone like you - I’d be crazy!” you gestured to him, his ego obviously boosted with every word.

“That makes me so happy, because I think I’m actually falling for you. Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked quietly. You shut your eyes, already giving in to the exhaustion, and rested your head on your chest.

“I didn’t before tonight.” you admitted. “But my view has changed.” He smiled down at you, planting another kiss on top of your head.

“You look absolutely beat. Get some rest.” he whispered. You didn’t answer, already taken over by sleep as he pulled the blanket further over you and joined you in slumber, one tangle of limbs on a bed you didn’t think you’d be spending the night on. You sighed blissfully and relaxed against him. This was by far the best dare you’d ever had to do.

Originally posted by dream-bts

Well for the blog’s first smut I am pleased xD 

-Admin Belle

Trying Something New

“Kakashi, what are you doing standing on the ceiling?”

“Nothing much, just hanging out.”

“Very funny.” Iruka crosses his arms and looks sternly up at the Jounin, who is indeed hanging upside-down from the ceiling, feet firmly planted next to the light-bulb fixture with his hands in his pockets like this is a perfectly normal thing to do. Maybe if he was twelve and still amazed at the wonders of chakra, but at his age, it’s a little ridiculous. “You’re leaving marks all over my ceiling.”

“I’ll clean them up later.” Kakashi’s teeth flash in a flirtatious smile. “But first I want to try something…new.”

“Dusting the fan while you’re up there?”


That makes Iruka pause, blinking in confusion.

“Kiss? You mean…like that? Upside-down?” The ceiling in Iruka’s apartment is higher than normal, ten feet or so, tall enough that he’s basically standing eye-to-eye with the other man. It could work, if he bends a little and finds the right angle. If he were actually considering it, that is.  “Where’d you get an idea like that? Your books?”

“Saw it in a film, actually.” Kakashi cocks his head, his usually messy hair now even crazier from hanging upside-down. “Looked pretty fun. Let’s try it.”

Kakashi, no.” Iruka flushes, rubbing his scar nervously. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Kakashi’s got a look on his face like he kicked one of the dogs. Iruka refuses to give in.

“How’s it even going to work? I’m going to strain my neck or something.”

“Nonsense! Here, I’ll show you-”

Kakashi’s head suddenly swings forward and he promptly cracks Iruka in the eye with his nose. The room is filled with twin hisses of pain and a slew of impressive swearwords.

“Well I’m completely turned off now,” Iruka mutters after running out of swears, his face burning with embarrassment and eye aching.

“Don’t give up so easily, Iruka!” Kakashi whines, rubbing his smarting nose.

 “I think you gave me a black eye.”

“Look, I’m sorry I hurt you, but we shouldn’t let it stop us. Let’s try again.”

“We’re taking it slow this time,” Iruka says, warningly.


“Don’t head-butt me again or I’ll stick you up there for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, yes.” Kakashi holds out his hands, beckoning. Iruka steps forward to meet him, Kakashi awkwardly taking his face in his hands and pulling him closer.


“Wait, turn your-”


“Okay, hold on, let me-”

“OW! Dammit- Kakashi, stop!” Iruka twists away, rubbing his twinging neck. His face is burning with humiliation. “This…isn’t going to work. I feel stupid.”

“Iruka, NO. You are beautiful. You are a GOD. Even when you’re yelling at me like right now.”

“…Is that supposed to make me feel better-”

“Yes but I’m horrible at it. Sue me. Just…one more try?” Kakashi is doing the eye thing again, and Iruka can feel his resolve weakening. “I’m getting a little light-headed here, I promise this will be the last attempt. Then I’ll never ask you again. I’ll even dust the fan. Please?”

Iruka hesitates a moment longer, then lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushes away his lingering embarrassment, and once again steps into Kakashi’s embrace.

This time the angle is perfect, their mouths slotting together seamlessly. It’s still a little confusing and weird, but after a couple seconds of fumbling, the kiss deepens into something more familiar, enough so that Iruka relaxes and even starts to enjoy himself a little. Kakashi nips at his lips, and Iruka responds, feeling frisky, by allowing him in and suddenly sucking on his tongue-

Which of course makes Kakashi lose his chakra control and plummet from the ceiling, slamming into him on the way down and taking them both to the floor, a tangle of limbs and bruises. More swears echo off the walls.

“I think I have two black eyes now,” Iruka groans out. “We are never doing this again.”

“How about an underwater kiss?” Kakashi asks hopefully, raising his head. His hair is now a lost cause. “We could try it in the hot-springs or the river or even the bathtub-”

“WE’D DROWN!” Iruka shoves him off and staggers to his feet, wincing as several bones pop. He starts for the fridge to get some ice, tossing over his shoulder, “Clean the ceiling and dust that damn fan or you’re not getting any more kisses, normal or otherwise!”

Kakashi has never cleaned anything faster or more thoroughly.

He still hasn’t given up on that underwater kiss, though.

You Draw Me?: A Spencer Reid Imagine

A/N: So I have 8, yes EIGHT, Criminal Minds/Reid ones to write, but my Mum is also making me get checked out at the hospital tonight. The story is that I had a large ovarian cyst a couple years back, and I’m prone to them, and I’ve been having a lot of pain and discomfort/multiple other symptoms recently and she’s worried. Anyway, I’ll get most of them done! - Fuckeree

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Nothin’ :) 


Most days of your life, you spent with some sort of smudge on the articles of clothing that you wore. Today it was graphite, yesterday was a deep black charcoal, tomorrow would probably be something exotic, like.. Ooh! Paint. 

But you didn’t mind, that was what you loved to do, look at things that had a meaning to you, and put them down on paper. Not with words, no, with your own form of art. 

You were a sketch artist sometimes, you dabbled in painting, ad multiple other things, but primarily you sketched things, and people. 

Your newest sketchbook, already a bit rumpled and covered in marks and notes of ideas, scribbled as you stared at something profound, had pages and pages of the most profound person you could think of. 

Doctor Spencer Reid, an agent, and an analyst at the BAU, was a very close friend and an even better subject to draw. 

He didn’t know, you were embarrassed to tell him, but there were multiple takes on his features, different angles, different shading, with or without glasses, setting. You loved to sketch him, it made you feel at peace with yourself, especially when you got lost in the angles of his jaw, or the proper shape of his eyes. 

Today you sat at your desk, across from his, and quietly worked on your newest drawing of his face. 

You did it as if you were always going to be stuck in the present moment, his hair was at its mid-length, swept back phase, and he was staring at a beige paper with an intensity in his eyes that was difficult to capture properly. 

With your tongue peeking out of the side of your mouth, you run your finger along one of the lines, smudging the lines and sending a light shade into the corner of his face, right under his orbital bone. 

You keep rubbing it softly, lighter in some areas and deep in the others, until it got the right tone. 

“What are you up to?” you ask, out of curiosity, and to make yourself sound as if you weren’t just staring at him for a weird reason. “The last case, there were some things I didn’t feel that I had right, but I got it now, just taking me a little while to process. What about you?”.

You tuck your pencil behind your ear, and smile at him, as he stares back. “Just a little drawing, nothing big, but I think it’s time for a bathroom break” he just nods, and goes back to his work. 

You carefully tuck the book behind your keyboard, near the edge of the desk, and make your way towards the washroom, the urge to pee was something you didn’t really pay attention to while you were in the zone, but this was something you couldn’t ignore.

The relief is wonderful, and so is the cold water splashing on your face. It was too humid in the office, and sometimes, even when it was nice inside, you just needed a refresher to clear your mind and get a new perspective. 

It was a habit to check in the mirror at how you looked, and wonder if it was appealing or not the Reid. 

Was your hair too frizzy? Your skin clear enough? Your smile too wide or too subtle? In the end you knew that he wasn’t that trivial or shallow to base his thoughts on you off of how you looked, but you still checked anyway.

Today you wiped at your eyes, and checked your teeth, looking for remnants of breakfast, but there wasn’t anything. 

With a deep sigh, you start back to your desk, and stop dead in your tracks as Spencer leans over your desk, peering at your artwork.

“Spencer, what are you doing?” your voice trembles as you hurriedly cover it up and hold the book to your chest, tight enough to take your breath away. “Just curious is all, you’re amazing, these are incredible pictures of me” his smile is genuine, and you try to calm down.

“Your blush suggests that you’re embarrassed, please don’t be, these are truly amazing and you have a real talent. I didn’t mean to upset you, are you okay?”. Feeling flustered, you blow out a slow breath and nod.

“Just worried that you would feel uncomfortable, I just didn’t think you would like them is all” he sets his hand on your shoulder and stares at you, catching your eyes. 

“The detail is incredible, right down to brand of my glasses, I can’t imagine the time it must have taken you to accomplish this, I’m not upset at all Y/N, I’m impressed and flattered”. 

You smile weakly at him, and nod, “I’m glad, I did try to make them as lifelike as possible, sometimes your emotion is hard for me to get a grasp of, but I really just wanted to do your face justice with these”. 

His laughter calms you even more, and you laugh alongside him. “You did, believe me, these are truly, truly excellent”. You turn away to take a deep breath, and when you turn back, your lips collide with his.

“Oh Spencer, I didn’t mean to.. I’m sorry!” you put your hand over your face, and he pulls it away. 

“I meant to, this was my thank you”

And here we are again! Apparently writing porn is a thing I do now, so, yeah! This was inspired by Bree’s “The Devil Won’t Let Me Be” (y'all should 100% read that), cause wow damn I’m so into the idea of these dudes jerking off thinking about each other. Also: bottom Derek. Soooo I decided that I should probably give it a try and write Derek thinking ‘bout Stiles. I don’t know. Sorry if it’s trash. And I should probably tell you guys that there’s no plot in this whatsoever, so, yeah. Enjoy, I guess!


It’s late. Almost late enough for it to actually be early, but moonlight is still coming through the huge glass windows of the loft, making it so the room isn’t completely dark. The clock on the bedside table marks 04:57, and Derek shifts on the bed, buries his face in the pillow and throws his leg off the edge of the mattress, trying to get comfortable. That’s a hard thing to do, these days. Getting comfortable.

It’s been almost three days and he still can’t stop thinking about the thing—see, the thing here is that Derek’s known Stiles for almost 4 years now, and yeah, ok, he’s very much aware that Stiles’s an objectively good-looking dude, but. Well, it’s not like he’d planned to get an eyeful of Stiles getting a sloppy blowjob from a hunky dude in the bathroom at Jungle, it just sort of happened. Like, you know, most things do in Beacon Hills: out of nowhere and triggering chain reactions left and right. Because this, this whatever-the-hell that he’s feeling right now—the weird warmth in his stomach, the way his entire body seems to wanna curl in on itself, the way he’s half hard just by remembering it, his mind going back to the way Stiles had looked with someone on his knees for him, the way his head had been thrown back against the unpainted wall, his huge hands gripping the guy’s hair and his mouth—fuck.

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Birthday Traditions [1/1]

Pairing: Misawa

Rating: Teen

Summary: Eijun’s had two birthdays since starting Seidou. A tradition develops from it.

A/N: -wheezes- Work is hard. Working on Marked in Your Mind still but I got sidetracked by an oneshot that I finished that I don’t know if I should post because it’s 5889 words of fluff and smut and wtf, how did that happen. Then I woke up today and realized it was almost Eijun’s birthday so I panic wrote something. Dedicated to @falsehero who is a sweetie who let me make a ‘written companion’ to her gorgeous artwork ( 1 | 2 ) for Eijun’s birthday!

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Any Other Name (46): Familiar

“I don’t fucking believe this.”

Izaya grins at the back of Shizuo’s shoulders. “I told you I was telling the truth.”

“That wasn’t going to make me listen to you,” Shizuo tells him, but he’s not turning around, and even the growl under his words is absentminded. “This is unbelievable.”

“Oh good,” Izaya says. Shizuo steps farther into his apartment and he follows by just enough to let the door shut behind him so he can slouch back against it. “If it’s the apartment you object to and not my own trustworthiness my injured feelings may someday recover.”

“As if you have feelings at all,” Shizuo fires back, but he’s wandering away across the span of the apartment and moving towards the sheet of glass that makes up an entire side of the space. “How do you keep these clean?”

“I pay someone,” Izaya says immediately. “Or I will. I’ve only been moved in for a day and a half, Shizuo, I haven’t yet managed to completely sully everything in sight.” That gets him a glance back, a flash of a grin as Shizuo huffs a laugh, and Izaya smirks back before Shizuo turns to continue pacing out the width of the apartment.

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After the Endgame: Part 2

With Trespasser quickly approaching, I figured I’d start writing about Isii’s life after the end of Inquisition. Obviously reading Part 1 will give you the proper context.

Post-Game Stories so far:
Still Hurting 
After the Endgame Part 1: Rough Night

Content Warning: sexual situations (not smut).

Part 2: The Bull

Dorian said this was fine.

He reassured her, this was fine.

He got annoyed when she kept asking if he really meant it.

“Kaffas, woman, yes. It’s fine. We’re all adults here. Do whatever you want.”

So why didn’t this feel right?

Bull’s hands were too big. His chest too broad. Muscles too hard, flesh too firm. Too tall. She wasn’t used to someone towering over her. It was strange to feel so small.

Isii tugged on his harness, pushing him to sit and he obeyed without a word, sinking down onto the end of the bed. Better, she thought. This was better, having him closer to her level, face-to-face as she stood between his legs. His hands went to her waist, gentle as he pulled her closer. “We’ll take this nice and easy.” His voice was low and reassuring, but she still felt a weird tension in her belly. She smirked over her nerves.

“What?” she laughed, straddling his lap, “Think I can’t handle the mighty Iron Bull?” His hands slipped lower, cradling the curve of her backside as she sat against him. She kissed his neck, tasting the strangeness of unfamiliar sweat as she trailed along his jaw. “Hmm. Are Qunari ears as sensitive as Elven ones?” she whispered teasingly before running her tongue along the pointed curve. He hummed approvingly, hissing as she bit him.

“Harder,” he grunted. She bit down, tugging roughly on his ear with her teeth and he let out a pleasured snarl. Alright. He likes pain. I can work with that. She bit along the column of his neck, hard enough to mark him, alternating the sharp sting of her teeth with the flick of her tongue. She could feel his hips shift beneath her, his hands tightening their grip as he let out a low, growling hum. She grabbed one of his horns, forcing his head to turn as she slated her mouth over his own.

And felt nothing.

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Olicity Drabble: Bearing It All

[This is fluff and more fluff–FUTURE fluff, at that! (Make up for my last story? ;P) There may be some medical/anatomy trickery here depending on what actually happens in 4x10 (and possible character facts I’m forgetting), but it’s all in the service of more fluff. Just a thought that occurred to me post 4x09. Hope you enjoy! :)]


It’s not that she’d hidden it before now, exactly, although looking back…

She hadn’t worn the black dress with the cutouts along the sides much even before it happened, and he didn’t notice that she hadn’t worn it since. On their honeymoon, she wore a bathing suit top that covered down to her belly button, but it still showed off plenty of cleavage and he can’t say he thought anything of it (well, he thought about it a lot, but mostly how soon he could peel the sodden fabric from her skin). She always wore a tank top over her sports bra whenever he finally convinced her to run with him, but so did plenty of other women they saw on the jogging trails.

He’d thought, with how many times she’d scolded him to see his scars in another light, that she saw hers in the same.

Now, though, as her face pales and she bunches the fabric of her billowing shirt over her stomach, he realizes he’d been missing the signs all along.

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A/N: Written for a request involving a reader with the booty and a Dean who loves it. 

Your name: submit What is this?

Sore. Sore and achy all over. Why did it have to hurt so badly after exercising? Yes yes, it was for a good reason and blah blah blah, but fuck were you so uncomfortable more often than not. You had begun pushing yourself more for two reasons. One, your own self improvement. It never hurt to be stronger or faster (especially as a hunter). Two, you wanted to impress your boyfriend. Mainly two actually.

However in your efforts to please him, you had started neglecting him a little. Nothing serious, you just hurt too much to be as… active… as you normally were in the bedroom. It had barely been a week, and yet with the way he was acting you would think it had been years. He always was needy in that regard. You didn’t mind it normally, but needy Dean quickly turned into annoying Dean. It had gotten to the point where he started to make an effort to only play songs with sexual lyrics whenever you were in the Impala with him. You knew it was particularly bad when he resorted to “Sexual Healing”…

You were on the phone at the time, trying to figure out more information about a possible case, when you felt a familiar hand palming your backside.

“Oh, Y/N. There’s about a hundred things I wanna do to you right now.” He sighed into your unoccupied ear. “Damn though, I swear your ass looks better and better.. every day.”

You flinched slightly as his breath tickled your neck, and it became increasingly more difficult to actually concentrate on listening and speaking coherently. What had you been talking about? Fuck.

A resounding smack filled the hotel room as his large hand collided mercilessly with your rear.

Any attempt to salvage the conversation now totally lost, you muttered something really awkward like “kgottagobye” and hung up. As bad as it sounded, you were really growing used to such treatment from him. He was always on you, always touching you somehow. And there was the obvious, of course.

“Dean, why are you so fixated on my butt?” You asked with a huff, turning to face your clearly turned on boyfriend.

“What can I say? I’m an ass man.” He said, his voice somehow both gruff and velvety smooth, pure ambrosia to your ears. “And you, you have got the perfect body, babe.”

“You think sweet talk will work on me? Cute.” You bluffed, trying your best to sound as nonchalant as possible. You would gladly go to bed with him, after all you had your needs too. But it was always fun to make him work for it.

“Think so? I know so.” He quipped back, a self assured smile dimpling his stubbled cheeks. “Actually I can tell it’s working already. You’re blushing, Y/N. Can’t hide that.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest stubbornly, not verifying or denying his words.

“Come on.. Please?” He asked, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “It’s been sooooo long. I can’t take much more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing you in spandex.. or whatever all the time. It’s killing me.”

“Hm.. Go on.” You gestured for him to continue, a slow smile tugging at your lips.

“Baby, I get hard just looking at you. It’s embarrassing.”

He had you with that. Whether it was an exaggeration or not, his honeyed words definitely caught you. The man had such a way with dirty talk, it was almost uncanny. Nevertheless, you certainly appreciated it. Your countless pairs of ruined panties decidedly did not appreciate it though… He tended to have that effect.

You chuckled softly, backing up from him and performing a mini striptease while he watched, enthralled. You stopped at your bra and panties and positioned yourself on the mostly clean bed. With near practised ease, you settled into a pose of sorts, arching your backside up to look as appetizing as possible while angling your torso down. You beckoned a wide eyed Dean forward, licking your lips.

Bam. His brawny body crashed into yours and he was on you hot and heavy and enthusiastic as always. You adored that about him. But immediately your muscles cried out in pain, and you tensed up.

“Babe?” He paused his assault on the tops of your breasts when he noticed your discomfort.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” You hissed, throbbing for more reasons than one. “I’m just really sore.”

“We don’t have to do this..” He started, though you could see the disappointment on his features.

He began to pull away from you, only to be stopped by you grabbing his hand.

“No! I want this too.” You assured him, “I have an idea actually.”

“Yeah? I’m game.” If he were a puppy, his ears would have pricked upwards excitedly. How was a man so powerful also able to be this cute?

“Would you pretty please give me a massage?” You requested, fluttering your eyelashes at him, though you were sure he wouldn’t need much convincing to touch you.

“Y-Yeah! Sure.” Dean agreed, “I could try.”

“Don’t overthink it, just.. do what feels right I guess.” You suggested, neither you nor he were experts at muscle relief. Well. Not this type at least.

He made a circular motion with his finger, motioning for you to lay down on your stomach. You did as he requested, sighing contentedly into the sheets that still smelled like him. You tried to allow yourself to relax as much as possible, and at the same time ignore the faint pulsing feeling in your core. Dean had settled into a straddling position on your thighs, and though he was heavy he wasn’t hurting you.

His calloused fingers started at your shoulders, applying pressure and rubbing circles into them. His rough fingers felt divine combined with your smooth skin, you groaned into a pillow. In response to his touch, your muscles unraveled from their tense state.

“That good?” He asked with a laugh.

“Yes!” You readily answered, “More. Please.”

He indulged you, applying more pressure now, eliciting more sighs from you. He undid your bra with ease, tracing a finger down your spine, your body breaking out in goosebumps. And then that bastard started kissing down your back, laying a myriad of wet kisses and sucks into your sensitive skin. You groaned wantonly now, trying to arch off the bed, grinding your hips against the mattress.

“Whoa, calm down, Y/N.” He teased, “What do you think this is?”

“Fuck. You.” You said into a pillow, all the nerves in your body alight and responding to his every touch much more readily than you wanted them to.

“That what you wanna do?” He asked, his voice growing even deeper than usual, making his arousal evident to you.

He raked his nails down your back, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper, awash with sensation. He settled at the swell of your ass, easing your panties off. He was on you again as soon as you felt the cool air against your skin. His fucking hands, his very capable hands gripping and kneading just so. The noises he was coaxing out of you were desperate and extremely lewd, they sounded strange even to your own ears. The intensity of what you were feeling had built up so much that it was near painful. You had never been this turned on.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone in that respect.

Dean made a weird strangled sound when you managed to arch yourself up against his hands. How you wished you had seen the look on his face.

“How’s the view?” You managed to say.

“Fucking fantastic.” He breathed, “You’ve got the finest bubble butt I’ve ever seen.”

On a particularly hard squeeze, you cried out his name, unsure if you were begging him to stop or begging him for more. This was it. No more. You wanted him, now.


The two of you moved fluidly, attune to one another. Within moments he was stripped naked and pushed back on the bed, you settling on top of him. You gripped his lengthy and thick cock and positioned yourself while he watched, breathing heavily.

In one quick motion, you impaled yourself on him, hissing as you stretched to accommodate him. Though it wasn’t too difficult to do that, given you were insanely aroused to begin with. His hands found your butt and clutched it with greedy fingers. His toned chest was shuddering, muscles twitching here and there. He looked so good like this.

“What are you waiting for, Y/N?” He panted out, an arrogant smirk lighting his full lips. “Fuck me.”

Oh, you would. You set a rough haphazard pace, not caring much for consistency, favoring gratification instead. In so fucking deep. Out almost all the way. In. Out. You had it so he was hitting you in just the right place every time now. And you could feel your inner walls clutching him so tightly. He was leaving bruises on your ass and hips, you could feel it, as he was making sure you slammed against him with each thrust. And you were leaving him marks as well, your fingernails marring his tanned skin.

You were so close now, it was torturously near.

All it took was Dean raising himself off the bed to meet your hips, eager to bury himself inside you. Maybe not that particularly, but instead the look of pure pleasure on his face, head thrown back, lips parted, sweat on his brow.

You came saying his name in what was some odd mixture of a moan and a growl, enveloped in complete bliss. He himself followed suit soon after, emptying himself in you, looking in your eyes as he did so. You were wobbly and unsteady, yet still experiencing that post orgasmic high.

You rose up off of him, and were immediately pulled into his slightly sweaty chest. As soon as the two of you had caught your breath, he captured your lips in a long, passionate kiss, stroking your hair gently. You were so happy you had him.

Even if he was a little annoying at times.