Happy holiday season! May your days be smutty and bright!

“What did I tell you.”

“Shut up.”

Remus toed his shoes off, “No, what did I tell you?”

Sirius closed his eyes, the rain sounding more like hail on the windows, the cars with not-crappy tires whizzing past them from their place on the shoulder of the road, “Shut. Up.”

Remus put his feet up on the dashboard and popped a potato chip into his mouth, shrugging, “I said it was gonna rain, that’s all. I said it was going to rain, and what did you say again?”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose.

Remus cocked his head to the side, “What was that?”

“I said it wasn’t going to rain, okay? Shut up.”

Remus put his hands up, smirking, “Alright, alright.”

They listened to a clap of thunder roll across the sky.

“You know, any old person would be saying ‘I told you so’ right now.”

Sirius looked at Remus with a sarcastic smile, “Well, aren’t you valiant then.”

Remus grinned back, “A bit, yes.”

Sirius groaned, slumping in his seat until his knees were crunched up against the steering wheel, “We’re going to be here for hours. Fuck.”

“We have potato chips.”

Sirius rested his cheek against his knees, his voice coming out slightly muffled, “You’re eating all the potato chips.”

Remus rolled his eyes but smiled, crinkling the bag closed and throwing it at his feet, “Oh, come here.”

Sirius pressed his face fully into his knees, “No.”

Remus laughed, reaching cross the center console to try and tug Sirius towards him, “Come here.

Sirius groaned.

“Why?” Remus laughed.

Sirius took his face out from the fabric of his sweatpants just long enough to glower at Remus, “Because you’re just too valiant.”

“Jesus Christ Pads, come here.”

Sirius allowed himself to be pulled, rather uncomfortably, into Remus’ lap, glowering the entire time.

His stare only melted a little at the feeling of Remus’ warm fingers running under his layers of jacket, sweatshirt, and t-shirt, fingers sliding over his rib cage. Remus dug his fingers in slightly, pulling Sirius closer, “I know a way to pass the time.”

Sirius tried his best to keep his front up, “Do you?”

Remus leaned forward, taking Sirius’ bottom lip gently between his teeth. He grinned, “Uhuh…” Sirius’ breathing hitched as Remus’ teeth dug into his skin a little harder for a moment, before he released it, “You might want to loose the glower though… I think you might like it.”

Sirius gaze melted at the mischievous smile on Remus’ face, “Well, what did you have in mind?”

Remus grinned, and Sirius let out a yelp as they were jolted backwards. Remus had flattened the seat out.

“God-“ Sirius laughed, hands falling on either side of Remus’ head, supporting himself, “Little warning next timph-“

Remus’ kiss was hot and hard, lips working slowly over Sirius’ as his palms slid, warm and dry on his skin, and for a moment everything but the constant patter of rain on the windows was whited out. Sirius let himself fall into it, back arching against his hands and chests pressing together. Remus spread his legs suddenly, knocking Sirius’ knees out from under him so that they fell together.

“Jesus..” Sirius panted, eyes slipping closed as Remus’ mouth dragged from his pulse point, the place they had slipped to when Sirius had fallen, along his jawline. It left a cool trail when warm lips were replaced with chilly air. Remus laughed breathlessly, hand moving between them, fingers hooking over the elastic waist of Sirius’ sweatpants for a moment before slipping his hand inside.

Sirius opened his eyes. His chest tingled with each rapid beat of his heart, all sparked by RemusRemusRemus; the look on his face as he watched each of Sirius’ reactions to the movements of his hands, his touch.

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath, letting a small sound escape, and tucked his face into Remus’ neck at a particularly perfectly aimed stroke of Remus’ thumb, “Re..”


Sirius opened his mouth to speak but just ended up sucking gently on Remus’ pulse point instead. He pressed his hand to Remus’ lower stomach in place of words, just above the button of his jeans. His fingers felt too clumsy to ever get it undone— definitely not with Remus’ hand in his pants and breath on his neck— and he ended up just letting out a frustrated noise.

Remus laughed softly, “Having trouble?”

Sirius just shot him a look and roughly pushed up his thick, gray sweatshirt, still rain-speckled from their earlier run to the car. Remus’ white t-shirt came with it, and he threw the two clothing items into the drivers seat. His hands moved back to Remus’ pants but Remus captured both of Sirius’ palms in one of his.

He smirked, “First you.”

Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short with a gasp as Remus sat up suddenly, pushing Sirius’ jumper up, mouth instantly latching onto his chest. Sirius let his head loll back, his eyes slip shut, as Remus wound his arms around Sirius’ newly bared waist tightly. His lips were soft and slow against the dip in the middle space where Sirius’ ribcage met. Sirius allowed himself to revel in the touch for a moment before he started fidgeting, squirming to get out of the the sweatshirt that suddenly felt all too warm.

They laughed stupidly when Sirius got stuck for a moment, and Remus instantly tilted his chin up to capture Sirius’ lips, only they were almost smiling too much.

“Here,” Remus mumbled against his mouth. He held Sirius tightly with one arm, the other reaching forward to fiddle with the heat, “you warm enough?”

Sirius nodded, nose bumping Remus’, and guided his hand back around him, fingers tilting his chin back towards him.

“‘m warm.” He mumbled quietly, before kissing Remus like Remus had kissed him: hotly and fierce.

Remus’ response was almost instant, his body reacting like electricity to Sirius’. His hands were instantly in his hair, and then on his chest, then tugging at his pants. Sirius’ fingers finally accomplished undoing Remus’ jeans. They broke the kiss for only a moment, Sirius pushing Remus roughly backwards onto the flattened seat, Remus arching his hips off the seat so Sirius could slide the denim from his legs. Remus had an easier time removing the cotton sweatpants, groping Sirius’ bare arse while he was at it.

Sirius muffled a laugh against Remus’ neck and fell against his chest again, mouths colliding messily. He gasped as their bare skin touched, heat against heat, hips knocking together.


Sirius shuttered when Remus’ breath hit his neck as he muttered the curse. Remus’ hands dug into Sirius’ arse, pulling their bodies tighter together. Sirius spread his legs a little, knees against Remus’ hips, feet pressing against the center console and passenger door for leverage.

The moment he started rocking, the moment he saw Remus’ face, he thought he was a goner. The slide of their cocks was slightly awkward, bumping a little, but heaven. Sirius reached up to grab the shoulder of the passenger seat, needing something to hold onto, as he watched Remus’ eyes slip closed and draw his lip between his teeth.

“Jesus Pads…” The nickname sent sparks up Sirius’ spine. Remus’ hands tight on his hips sent jolts of static electricity through him. His hips jolted more sporadically now, slightly more desperate for the building friction. He mere image, the weight of their bodies moving together, was almost too much.

Sirius gripped the seat tighter when he felt Remus’ nails dig into the fragile skin of his hips. He let a small sound escape as Remus too started moving his hips, bucking up as Sirius pushed down, and nearly increasing the friction tenfold. Remus let out a soft noise at the same time he did at this revelation and was suddenly pushing himself onto his elbows, then all the way so their chests were pressed together, cocks held tight between them. Sirius let his head drop onto Remus’ shoulder, cheek to skin, breath fanning across Remus’ neck as he continued to hump his hips forward in time with their panting breaths. He felt Remus press kisses to his neck, his shoulder, anywhere he could reach without putting a single inch of distance between them.

“So fucking good, Pads…” He was breathless, arms tight around Sirius, “So good, c’mon, keep going… please..” He added the please like an after thought, like he didn’t know he was saying it out loud.

Remus’ pleas made Sirius’ breath catch in his throat, the soft murmurs of please and his name in his ear spurring him on to the point where his nails dug into Remus’ back and the tension was almost too much and not enough at the same time. He huffed into Remus’ neck and moved to pull back— only Remus got the message too quickly. Remus’ hand was between them in an instant, wrapping around both of them together and moving a little desperately.

“Re-“ Sirius’ hands went to his hair, threading his fingers through the tousled strands. He couldn’t seem to still his hips against Remus’ skin, “Remus, fuck- yes- God, yes-“

And Remus let out a choked moan and Sirius was finished, gone. He felt Remus’ forehead fall into his shoulder so that their bodies were almost completely intertwined, white heat painting their chests between them. He gasped for air and was only further surrounded by Remus, warm and musky and homehomehome.

Sirius’ breathing was shuddery as it slowed, his lungs and heart trying to match each other’s pace. He could feel Remus’ heart doing the exact same thing, fighting to matching his breaths. Sirius let all of his muscles relax into Remus’ chest, and Remus took the hint, laying them back down against the seat. Sirius let his eyes slip closed, re-opening one briefly when he felt Remus shift slightly, but it was only so he could pull both their sweatshirts of them as a sort of makeshift blanket.

“Good?” He asked quietly as he tried to cover Sirius’ quickly cooling body as best he could.

Sirius hummed contently, tracing his finger tips along Remus’ collar bone. Remus let his head rest back, pushing his fingers under the sweatshirts to rest on the warm skin of Sirius’ back.

“Pretty good idea I had then?”

Sirius hummed again.

“I mean, I know I said I wouldn’t say this but-”

Sirius didn’t open his eyes, “Don’t.”

“I told you-“

“You’re ruining a perfectly good moment.”

Remus pulled Sirius closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “This is still a perfectly good moment…”

Sirius didn’t have the energy to fight back and sunk back into to Remus’ chest with nothing but a light hit to his arm.

“…I just had to get it off my chest.”


NurseyWeek Prompt #1 - Silence/Mistake. Um, kind of. Got a bit off track.          ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Dex tromps into the Haus, slamming the door shut and tossing his bag haphazardly on the floor, kicking it out of the way as he passes. He’s scowling, which, frankly, isn’t that unusual, but his expression has an edge of something that tugs at Derek. Dex doesn’t even spare him a glance as he flops down at the other end of the couch with an exasperated growl, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Silence fills the space between them for a moment.

“So, how was your day?” Derek asks.

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah, mine was good, too.”

“Fuck. Off.”

Derek scans the defeated slope of Dex’s body as it’s sprawled over the couch, frowning to himself. Huh. He drops the fake cheer from his voice and puts his notebook down on the end table behind him.

“Dex, hey. What happened?” he asks, voice softer now, quiet even in the relative silence of the Haus mid-day. Dex cracks one amber eye open and gives him a look, squinting semi-suspiciously at him. Derek waits him out, tilting his head and trying to look open for conversation.

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Thicker than Water - Part 4

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)


Bucky x Reader series

Summary: Inspired by this post (x)
Being born and raised in a HYDRA family means you must be a devoted member to the organisation, carrying out orders with blind obedience. But after being assigned the suicide mission of being the Winter Soldier’s handler, you slowly start to question where your loyalties truly lie.

Warnings: angst, swearing, drugs 

Word count: 2556


Originally posted by digitalflux

“Y/N wake up.”

You were pulled out of your restless sleep by a pair of hands shaking your shoulders. Your head was blurry, yet you let out a wail when something—probably a finger— dug into the bullet wound on your left shoulders.

“Fuck- –once you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the room’s lack of illumination, but even in spite of it you managed to see the man pulling his hand away from your shoulder, fingers smeared with blood. “Come on, wake up.”

A set of keys clinked a few feet away from you, and you registered the sound of metal scraping against concrete—a door opening—right before you were hoisted up from your slumping position against a cool wall by yet another set of hands.

Memories of the past few days flashed behind your eyelids as you struggled to stay upright. There was a blank space, right after you’d gotten shot in the server room—or whatever the place with the strange files was called—but you were plagued with vague, new memories all the same.

The antiseptic smell of an infirmary, an interrogation room and the sound of engines running in a small hangar were some of the images and sensations planted in your brain, and yet you couldn’t quite remember being in any of those places, the memories floating around your mind like a handful of pieces of a much larger puzzle you couldn’t make sense of.

Not that you had a clear head anyways. Your vision was blurry and your senses dulled, and you were faintly aware of people coming in and out of the room—though given your state you couldn’t pinpoint how long ago that had been—to inject something in your arm that made you feel as if you were walking on a cloud.

“She’s high as a kite.” Said one of the men, pulling your focus back to the people unshackling you from the wall, “Just look at her; can’t even stand upright.” He was all but dragging you from your injured arm when the other man—the one who’d woken you up—stopped him.

“You’re hurting her.”

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What Do YOU Want? Pt. 7

A Kwon Jiyong series ft. Kim Jiwon

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Word count: 3,500+

Summary: The most important person in the world to you can appear most often when you least expect it. But through everything, you can’t forget about you and your own happiness. Who are you happy with? Who is the best for you?

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

(A/N: All right I lied. This one ended up being just as long as the last one, sorry!!! I’m so excited for where this is all going though and hope you guys will stick around to find out what happens! Enjoy!)

Originally posted by wangpxppy

“Jagi, come here, I want to show you something!” Jiyong’s voice called out to you from the bedroom as you sat up from your position on the couch. You set a stack of papers down on the coffee table and followed the sound of his voice with an exhale.

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okay so we didn't see the bottom half of Harry but it's safe to assume

he is shuffling around in baggy sweatpants or cotton jammie bottoms and socks

anonymous asked:

ahh!! i love love love this blog! ❤️ both of you write so well & i love coming on to see new posts from you both! could we please get some fluffy headcanons for the boys s/o insisting that they need to destress and insisting on a spa day at home to relax? facemasks, fuzzy PJs, bath bombs, the lot! i feel like they all need a break for once omg.

(A quick thank you to everybody who was so gloriously patient with me while I took a short hiatus to get caught up with school work! You all are so kind and supportive - I truly appreciate it 🌸)

Ahhh, anon thank you thank you thank you! People like you are the reason we have the privilege of being able to write for an audience everyday.

I’m so glad to hear you enjoy the blog 😊

With that said - YES! A spa day for our overworked chocobros is long overdue, don’t you think?

They really run themselves rampant. 

Song: “Don’t Worry Baby” by The Beach Boys


  • Convincing Iggy to take a load off and relax would undoutably be a difficult task, due to the fact that he always has something on the agenda
  • Once he’d commited to the idea, however, he’d be a total pro at pampering his s/o
  • DIY bath bombs made with pepermint and tea tree oils, face masks made with avocado and honey, and skin scrubs with rock salt and brown sugar are an aboslute must: everything homemade by chef Scientia himself
  • Even though the items are techinically not supposed to be eaten, this guy has gone to lengths to make sure that in the off chance his s/o gets some in their mouth, it’ll taste delicious
  • He loves being able to be affectionate in little ways, like softly spreading the mask on his s/o’s face with his fingers - his touch grazing their cheeks, cresting over their lips, and across the pillowy skin beneath their eyes
  • He may or may not just so happen to lick off extra product if it gets too close to their mouth - for strictly hygenic purposes, of course!

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No Body But You

Or, “Even Heroes Need Some Body Positivity”

Cut is for length. Some innuendo but mostly boyfriends being good boyfriends. And Garou being Garou.

‘Is Metal Bat Becoming Metal Fat?’

That was what it said in the tabloid, in large dramatic letters next to quite possibly the most unflattering picture of himself that Badd had ever seen. And ‘unflattering pictures’ included every baby album at home, photos from a hospital when a monster had essentially crushed half of his body, even his senior yearbook portrait that had been taken after an unfortunate incident with a hair product boasting “big sexy hair” (come on, he was seventeen at the time). No, this one was worse than any of them. Where the hell had someone even taken it?

“Big Bro?”

Snapping the magazine closed and stuffing it back into the rack facing the opposite direction, he turned a wide smile to Zenko, who had appeared with two boxes of Pocky. It was their tradition to go grocery shopping together Sunday morning, and Garou always stayed at home, giving them some sibling bonding time.

“What was that?” she asked, nodding at the crumpled magazine.

“Nothin.’ Just some garbage. What’s up?”

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// Note, request from steampunkchica//

It had been a tough day, Magneto had been ruthless as he sent his team against the X-Men. You were just fresh out of the shower, your skin showing signs of slight bruising and a few cuts, but nothing else was to be seen.

You were getting dressed, trying to put on a pair of sweatpants that were still slightly damp because they didn’t completely dry in the broken dryer from downstairs, the scent of laundry detergent overwhelmed you nose, making you cough slightly.

In fact, because of the headache you were getting from the smell, you were getting dizzy, which made you lose your footing and fall over with a loud yelp and crash as you knocked over your bedside table. 

You were just about to get back up when Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin, also known as Colossus, ran in, is hard features twisted in concern. “Y/N, are you…” He trailed off as he looked you over. You only ad a pair of cotton panties on, your sweatpants halfway up, sticking to your legs with a sticky feeling.

You couldn’t help the faint coloring on your cheeks as he continued to stare, but you couldn’t say you didn’t like it. You have had a crush on Piotr for such a long time, that this meeting had only embarrassed you because of how klutzy you were.

He cleared his throat after a few minutes and looked anywhere but at you, giving you the chance to get up and putt your pants up, as well as slip a shirt over your previously nude body.

“I, I am sorry.” He muttered, his Russian accent thick with emotion. You smile a little, a giggle trying to slip its way through your lips. “It’s okay, it was sweet you came to my rescue when you thought I was in distress." 

He stammered slightly, still apologizing for walking in on her changing, changing from broken English to Russian quickly.

You walk up to him, taking his hand. "Hey, its okay,” you start, “I wasn’t fully naked, was I?” Piotr turned red at the thought, his eyes traveling up and down her body as he imagined it.

She stepped back, smirking. “But, you know, if you want to see  that image come to life…” She giggled as he looked at her in shock. “You know, you’re cute when you blush, Piotr.”

Piotr smiled and pulled her close. “And you’re cute when you tease me, Y/N.”

The Cuddlist (1/3)

ProfessionalCuddling!AU. Maybe going to a professional snuggler was the craziest idea Emma ever had, but it certainly wasn’t her worst. In fact, weekly cuddling with Killian Jones could’ve been the best decision she ever made.

This AU idea popped into my head after I watched a video who is a professional cuddler and message therapist. I figured Killian Jones fit the role. I hope you enjoy this! Tagging some people who might like to read this at the end. ♥

(Rated T)   (3k words)   (AO3)   (Chapter 2)

Emma loved her mother, she really did, but Mary Margaret had to be the only person in the world who asked someone for a birthday wish list and then chose to completely ignore it. The list had been small. A fuzzy fleece blanket, some of those fancy scented candles, or maybe some hot chocolate in bulk with mini marshmallows.

“So, basically you just want some stuff to help you relax?” her mom asked slowly, peering down at the list in her hands.

“Nothing big,” Emma clarified. “Just some autumn necessities.”

Six sessions with a professional cuddler - a cuddlist, Emma remembered with an eyeroll - was not exactly what she would consider an autumn necessity. Or a necessity in general, for that matter.

“I just thought that since it’s been such a long time since you’ve seen anyone. Not since…” Emma also could’ve her entire life without hearing her mother hinting at her nasty breakup with Neal Cassidy. “I read online that human touch can help with dopamine release and help you relax! Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A blanket and some candles was what she wanted! Not having to pay eighty dollars an hour so some strange man could try to take advantage of the situation. Emma glanced down at the gift certificate and saw that Mary Margaret had spent more than four hundred dollars, and as much as she hated the gift, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“It’s perfect, Mom. Thanks.”  

The dread in Emma only got heavier as a grin split across her mom’s face.

“Great! Because your first appointment is tomorrow!”

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Insolence, Pt. 5 [Adam Cole]

Title: Insolence, Part Five of ? (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four)

Characters: Adam Cole/OC(Brenna, because it’s easier for me to write with names in stories)

Genre: Fluff. Some touchy-feely-touchy.

Length: ~3,400 words

Warnings: Cursing. Drinking buddies. Low-level physical things.

Summary: You had only wanted to make up with him, but somehow it had turned in to kiss and make up. Literally.

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okay but for real, i’ve heard enough of cold, quiet post-hydra bucky who boils his food and doesn’t stop reminiscing on the good ol’ days.
give me post-hydra bucky barnes who smokes weed to cope with his ptsd, drinks green tea with organic local honey and does yoga early in the morning.
give me post-hydra bucky barnes who wears his hair in messy buns, and dons soft cotton tank tops and sweatpants and adidas sneakers.
give me post-hydra bucky barnes who is an anti-war advocate, a BLM supporter, and an angry feminist.
give me post-hydra bucky barnes who reminisces on who he used to be to help himself heal but who knows well enough that he can’t bring back the jazz and the chivalry and the war, so he focuses on moving forward and drinking green smoothies and living his life to the fullest after being controlled for 70 years for god’s sake

sheloveskook  asked:

established relationship taegi in rainy sunday morning. cuddling together on a bed. taehyung wearing soft-cotton tee and sweatpants. yoongi wearing only boxers and loose tee that showcasing his collarbone.

This is such a cute idea omg;; Thank you for sending it in!

Pairing: Taegi
Rated T for tons of cuddling

The sound Taehyung wakes up to isn’t a usual one, something he hasn’t heard in a while and has frankly missed. He lets his senses wake up one by one, a slow process as his ears perk up to the distant sound of rain pitter pattering down on the glass panes, a slow rumble of angry clouds and he smiles at himself. It’s raining.

He barely cracks an eye open, forever thankful that the sun isn’t shinning in his face and disrupting the little sleep left in him, and stretches out his legs. At least he tries to, but the weight of a pair of legs tightly tangled with his own restricts him. Taehyung smiles to himself when he feels said culprit nuzzle into his neck, mouth open and hot breath fanning against his skin. There’s a slur of words from a still-very-much asleep Yoongi that sounds a lot like, “It’s still the middle of the night,”

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Twenty-four Hours Isn’t Nearly Enough

DISCLAIMER: I did not write this. The source is linked below :) Enjoy!


Mid-August weather wasn’t bad. But when it was almost midnight and the air still felt like you were breathing in liquid, then it was a problem.

Hauling a backpack over your tired shoulders, you waited for Jongin to pack up the rest of his things, his limbs slower than usual and skin sticky from the humidity in the practice room. Both of you had sweat soaking through your thin tank tops, and your sweatpants had long been shed for the shorts underneath. Jongin straightened up before slinging his bag over a lean shoulder and wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

Cringing your nose, you swat at said arm weakly, trying to loosen his suddenly strong grip. “Kim Jongin! Stop that, you feel gross.” Giving up trying to get him off of you, you tie up your hair into a loose ponytail at the top of your head. “Plus, I smell.”

“Like sex.” He replies breezily, ducking as you try to hit him by swinging your backpack around.

“You’re a pervert, Kai.” The stage name rolls off of your tongue easily, and you say it with only a slight tang of bitterness left over. You’re getting better at that.

Every since his debut, there’s been increasingly less time for you two to do this, ‘this’ being dancing until your limbs are about to fall off. It was a common occurrence when the both of you were trainees, but now almost two years since EXO’s debut, you barely even see each other anymore. That being said, it wasn’t like you were just sitting around being idle, either.

The past few years you had been acting as backup dancers for BoA and for SM Town Live. However within the past year your schedule had even full of recordings, dance practices, and trying out different concepts.

SM has finally set a tentative debut date for you.

They wanted you to follow in the footsteps of BoA, a sunbae you had worked with and become close to, but it also meant the difficult career of a solo artist.

His hands cup your face as you two stop just outside of the infamous cloud practive room. “Hey, you thinking about December?” Jongin asks, tenderly pushing sweat soaked hairs from your face. “You know, when you debut we can finally be seen together. You won’t be SM’s super secret mystery anymore, and that means we can go public wit–”

“No,” you reply automatically. “We can’t, Jongin. Your fans, they’d be heartbroken and it wouldn’t be good publicity for any of us.” He’s tried to bring this subject up a handful of times, more since you were given a deadline. Every time you tell him no, but you’ve been childhood sweethearts, he refuses to let you go, and Kim Jongin has always been stubborn.

You read the look on his face easily, and predicting the oncoming argument, you grab his hand and pull him into an empty conference room, keeping the lights turned off. The large windows let in enough lights from the street so that it only takes a few seconds before your eyes adjust. Jongin stares at you in the dark, eyes fierce and mouth set. It hurts you whenever there’s a disagreement, but this topic is something you’re not willing to bend to him.

Without thinking, you lock the door and drop your things. Crossing your arms, you lean against the closest wall, shaking your head, but steeling your shoulders. “This is not up for compromise. I’m just thinking about what’s best for the both of us.”

He steps closer, until he has to tilt his head down to make eye contact with you, Jongin’s body radiating heat and larger figure almost covering your’s. “Fuck that. You think too much about the business side of things.” Slamming his elbow against the wall near your head, his fist clenches as he gets even closer. “We’re people too, you know.”

His words are true, but there’s just too much at stake. All of the hard work he’s poured into his career…you don’t want to ruin that for him. And though he insists he would give it up for you, you don’t want to take that chance. “Jongin. I said no.”

Looking up, your eyes catch each other’s, his cast in his own shadow, while your’s are slightly illuminated by the light coming in through the windows. Bringing your hands up to the back of his head, you thread your fingers in his sweaty hair, massaging it just the way he likes, hoping it will calm him down.

But the turn of his lips makes it obvious it doesn’t.

“Why. Not.” His question comes out through lips that are frowning, and eyes that are angry. He presses a leg inbetween your’s, and Jongin’s other hand comes up to mimic your action, threading his long fingers into your locks. “I’m not compromising, either.” It’s a statement, and you want to slap him because of his sheer gall. Jongin is entirely too close right now, and you’re both still in the SM building.

Before you can even try to sort this out, he kisses you. It’s not sweet, or gentle, and your teeth clash at the initial contact, but it’s filled with passion and fervor. The hand in your hair starts to pull, tilting your head upwards so he has the advantage over you, and you lock your hands behind his neck, pulling on him as he supports your tired body.

Suddenly, like some switch has been turned on, Jongin uses the hand on the wall to lift you upwards so that the only thing keeping you up is his body. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you feel him through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, and already you’re both sweating due to the heat, the workout previously, and each other.

You reach down between you two, and just as he starts the nipping, you rub his groin, causing him to break the kiss and pant against your shoulder.

“No. ___-ah.” It’s commanded in a rough whisper, as he starts to fiddle with the elastic of your shorts. Jongin lets you on the floor for only a second as he yanks your shorts down, only leaving the thin lace of your underwear. Your shirt is discarded as fast as all your other clothing, and as he’s still on his knees, you pull his tank top up and over his head. Jongin stands, and you run your nails down the expanse of his chest, leaving temporary red marks.

You breathe your soul into your next kiss, surrendering everything to Jongin completely in this stolen time. The colour red blooms from behind your closed eyes, the color of the sun as it sets, the color of passon, devotion, and anger. Fingers come to flutter over his face, down strong cheekbones and lovely features, to rest on his shoulders as he once again lifts you up against the wall. A kiss to his shoulder turns into a bite as he starts to piston three fingers into you, not giving you any time to adjust.

He smirks at you, eyes moving over your features, memorizing every gasp you make and every flutter of your eyelashes. Your hips lift forward, legs still spread by his, and through your haze you realize that he still hasn’t taken off his pants.

This is remedied soon enough, as Jongin takes his hands out suddenly– you groan at the loss of the sensation– but quite suddenly he moved you down to your knees, loosening the elastic pull of the cotton before sliding the sweatpants down his hips. Just as you put your hands on the skin of his hips, he presses his erection to your mouth. Without pause you open your lips, and Jongin presses all of himself into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat.

Pinpricks of tears appear at the corner of your eyes as you try to suppress your gag reflex, but the action causes the muscles in your throat to contract, causing Jongin to throw his head back, a loud moan passing through his lips as he starts to fuck your mouth. With both hands in your hair, he thrusts quickly as you take his cock, slowly getting used to the rhythm of his movements.

Jongin starts to pull out of your mouth, but you stop, catching the base of his cock in your hand as you temporarily stop the brutal pace, using this time to make eye contact with him before licking a stripe up under his dick to the sensitive tip.

His eyes narrow, and squatting down so that you’re on the same level, the uses his thumb to wipe away some of the spit on your lips before forcing you onto your hands and knees. “No.” he says clearly, not giving you any leeway as he positions the dick against your entrance. Jongin grabs the fabric covering your center and tugs the soaked fabric to the side. “Spread your legs, love.” His command is clear, and there’s an edge to his voice.

Obeying, you start to do so, until a sharp pain blooms on your ass. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sharp against the silence of the room as you turn your head, astounded at the sensation.

“Not fast enough, sweetheart” The term of endearment is strange upon his lips as he slaps the other side with the same amount of force. Quickly, you part your legs so that he can continue the way he wants.

Finally content, Jongin grabs your hair, tugging it into a ponytail of sorts. He tightens his grip of your hips, stilling your movements as he draws back only to surge forward to roughly impale you. You cry out in pleasure and surprise at the movement, trembling as he repeats the action, hands tight on you, making sure you stayed where you were as he slammed into you with long strokes.

Knees feeling raw as he continues to fuck you at his own pace until you can’t handle it anymore, trying to go against his strength and push back against his cock. This action is punished as Jongin lets go of your hair before slapping both his hands onto your ass, leaving red prints into your skin. Grabbing at your arms, he forces you to bend backwards, solely on your knees now, as he wraps one arm around your neck, and the other goes to your clitoris.

Your lover stills, wanting to see your reaction, as you buck your hips again and again, trying to bring back the delicious friction of his cock thrusting in and out of you, but because of your position, the action does nothing to ease your lust.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jongin whispers into your ear, voice low and full of amusement. “You love getting fucked from behind.” He draws his hips back before shoving upwards, hitting you deeper than before. “I love it, seeing you opened up for me.” Slowly increasing the speed, the room was littered with moans and gasps as the constant sound of flesh slapping wetly against flesh as your plentiful juices continue to run down your inner thighs.

Raising your hands to reach behind, you surrender completely into his mercy as you feel your orgasm slowly building in the pit of your stomach. Sensing that you were close, Jongin fucks you even harder than before, hips colliding, and every thrust bringing you closer, making your back bow with the intensity.

“Jongin, Jongin, Jongin,” His name is a mantra on your tongue as you start to see spots in your vision, the lights from outside all blending into one as you start to cum, the muscles in your pussy contracting in random spasms.

The EXO member bites down into your shoulder, breaking the most superficial layer of skin and drawing a little blood as he pumps his cock faster, rushing towards his own release. You were shaking from head to toe, moaning and writing but he held you upright as he continued to pivot his hips, your body still responding to his movements.

Jongin only manages a few most thrusts before his body gave in, finishing in a broken rhythm as he spurted his cum.

There’s a moment of nothing, until Jongin pulls out of you, and sits his back against the wall, pulling you into him, back to his front. He clutches you to his chest before returning to the injury he inflicted on you, wiping the last remnants of blood away before pressing a tender kiss to the wound.

Sighing, content, you lean back into him, skin sticky with sex and sweat, and thoroughly exhausted. Muttering sweet nothings into your ear, Jongin continues to whisper promises and apologies until you stop him, turning your head and bringing your lips to his.

Tiredly, you trace his cheeks with a finger before starting to reach for your discarded clothing.

“We’ll talk about this. We’ll make it work.”

His answering kiss is full of smiles and possibilities, and you think that maybe compromises aren’t all that bad.

*Source check them out

For more Jongin smut click here.

For more Jongin Scenarios click here.  

Conflicting Emotions

Third installment of the Crowley imagine series Mr. Lonely. Please read both “Mr. Lonely” and “Forming Habits” before continuing here. You can also find the installments, complete with summaries, on the “The Story Continues…” page. Requested by anon. “You are probably the best imagines writer ever, especially with Crowley imagines. I absolutely loved Forming Habits.” THANK YOU “Do you think you could do a third one? One where the reader and Crowley first say I love you and the guys overhear it because they were coming to get her. And when Dean hears her say it back to Crowley he’s all like, Shit, how are we supposed to be against this now, they’re precious together” (or something like that) and Sam’s just like “gross” and then they leave the two alone.” Alright, this imagine has been edited for reposting to add a few details to my older writing here and there. I use a lot of symbolism in this one so I tried to make it as blatant as possible so as not to confuse. Hope you like it!

“No, Crowley, I saw you move my piece that time,” you argued, jabbing your finger with a calm aggravation in the direction of the chessboard, your other hand occupied with what little remained of a cookie, as most of the snack was already jammed into your cheeks. Your hands were carpet-bombing the gleaming figures with crumbs as you snatched at your demon’s suit sleeve, your fingers coaxing the kidnapped white pawn from the confines of his clothing. You returned the warrior to his designated plot of battlefield, brushing crumbs from the silk covering Crowley’s arm, a smirk tugging at your lips. You were victorious. It was becoming easier to catch his little mannerisms, his cheating hand swiping players in the corner of your eye… but his success rate was plummeting as you spent more and more time together. You shoved his bishop further away from your previously occupied square, fidgeting with your knight, twisting him to face Crowley’s king. “You were here, remember?” You whispered, your voice laced with sarcasm. The demon raised his palms in defeat, his lips slanted in a bemused grin. “Now, are you gonna play fairly? Or do I have to leave?” You threatened, wiping your hands on the thighs of your cotton sweatpants, your attire dull in comparison to the suave, if tattered, suit adorning the demon’s chest. You shoved the tray of chocolate-chip cookies towards the hardly hungry Crowley, who helped himself (mostly out of politeness, as demons were rarely hungry), his nimble fingers twirling the baked good over his knuckles, his casual agility unhindered by the chilling bands of metal closed around his wrists, though they reasserted their presence with his every move, jingling loudly.

“I’m a demon, darling. I don’t do fair,” he explained, biting a considerable chunk out of his dessert, the crumbs falling to settle in his stubble. You reached over the board, your fingers dashing the particles of food out of his facial hair, the demon rolling his eyes at your compassion, something you knew he understood but refused to accept. His time in Hell wore his patience thin when it came to caring gestures, but he endured this minor agony for your sake. “I must say, I enjoy your company. You don’t have to leave. What should you have me do to win back your trust?” he flirted, laying the remnants of his food on the shining surface of the dungeon’s only furnishing, excluding his throne, his fingers spread over the wood. “A pilgrimage? Flog myself until I repent? God, the Scots loved a good flogging. It’s in my blood, darling. You could always starve me…” he continued, nudging the half-eaten cookie in your direction. You took the hint, rolling your eyes as you snatched his peace offering, the chocolate melting in your mouth. You made your move, chewing all the while, directing both his and your attention back to the game at hand, your rook shifting along four squares to capture one of his beloved expendables, deftly replacing the fallen soldier with your own, carting the body off to your growing obsidian cemetery. Crowley tsked, his knight rushing in for the kill, your rook a mere monument nestled within the untidy pile of your players beside his end of the board. His disdain for your fallen warriors contrasted sharply your neat rows of his dead. Thus was the product of a demon and hunter playing chess. How civil.

“You know the cookie isn’t going to cover this, Crowley. You could always grovel for my forgiveness,” you joked, Crowley cracking a grin, his chest expanding as he chuckled. Your pawn attacked one of his, the conquered black grunt winking like polished ebony, falling into an organized line alongside his vanquished comrades.

“How’s about I let you take my other knight, we’ll call it even?” he bartered, gesturing with shackled hands to his last remaining cavalry charger. You shook your head, refusing his offer. You weren’t about to try to make a deal with the King of the Crossroads. Even you knew better than that. Your eyes fell on Crowley’s most valuable player, her jagged crown glowing in the harsh light of the naked bulb above. His eyes, glimmering in the blinding light, followed your intent stare, his mouth popping open in silent protest, his voice clinging to his vocal chords, his chocolate eyes locked on yours. When he found his voice, he spoke with an urgency reserved for hostage situations, his sincerity comical. “Come on, love, I can’t just march her out of the castle! Without the queen, there is no kingdom!” he argued, his voice strained, falling short of desperate. You sighed in contemplation, your fingers dancing along the perimeter of the polished wooden board, your nails tapping away like Dick Van Dyke on the rooftops in “Mary Poppins”, Crowley’s unsuccessful attempts to catch and hold your eye boring into your temple.

“I need that power player, babe. She has to die by my blade,” You expected him to laugh at your theatrical tone, at the flourish of your fist to your chest… but he remained quiet, his eyes taking on a somewhat dreamy glint, his mouth frozen in an almost smirk. He brought his hands to the table, chains rattling heavily, his eyes lifting to yours, holding your stare.

“I can’t do that, love,“ He leaned forward, his posture angled towards you, his movements slow, calculated. "You see, if you kill my queen, you lose the game. If you want to win, claim the life of the king,” he advised, pushing the coveted crown towards you, the pawns shielding the castle’s residents parting like the Red Sea to make way for their surrendering leader, his imaginary white flag fluttering in the wind. Your brow knotted, your confusion shifting to clarity. Damned demon and his charisma.

“Okay, hotshot, I get it. You’re good with your words, but you can’t talk me out this with a win. Just give me the queen-“ You began, Crowley’s voice overlapping yours.

“He loves her so much. It would break his heart to see her go! Come on, darling, you can’t separate them. He loves her,” Crowley insisted, his voice adopting your exuberant lilt, his hands on his heart as yours were, though his gesture lacked the sense of dramatization yours had, his palms pressed into his chest, his eyes honest. Your hands froze, finger bonded to the chest of the king, your act of shoving the cowardly ruler back into the sanctuary of his palace locked in time. His hand traveled to his king, his eyes on yours, the warmth of his stare staggering your breath without touch, his hand slowly shifting his king to lay on the ground, your hand following the ruler as he dropped. “Truly, he loves her. They may not have met on the brightest of terms, and it may not be the most convenient match, but he would rather let himself be locked away than live another day without her. She’s all he wants. Don’t split them up, love.”

You couldn’t help it; his speech rose the color in your cheeks to a vivid crimson, your lips parting in a smile that hopefully portrayed how deeply touched you were, for your words were hopelessly caged within your lungs, your bewilderment overpowering the strength necessary to voice your emotions as he had, though you felt the same. You plucked his king from the pristine oak earth of the battlefield, setting him behind enemy lines, your own king toppled in a pathetic heap. You dragged your ivory queen beside the inky king, finally finding your voice, Crowley beaming.

“I love you too.”



That suave son of a bitch loved her. He loved her. The King of Hell, tied up in our bunker, was crapping rainbows, he was so happy. This wasn’t supposed to go down like "The Notebook.” Hell, he was supposed to hate it here, but the sack of sulfur was on Cloud Nine.

“Sammy! Get in here!” I whispered, my voice serrated despite the volume, Sam’s heavy footsteps shifting to the quiet, stealthy crouch he adopted while on hunts, his form changing to the defense when he caught a glimpse of me squatting by the dungeon’s innermost door. I pressed my ear against the cabinet walls, the dialogue to a sickening soap opera unfolding just beyond the frigid metal gates. God, it made me sink just thinking about it, about Y/n locked in there with a killer, the worst of the worst, the man (or, well, the thing. He hardly deserved the word) responsible for too many deaths to count, all of them soaked in blood. Sam sunk beside me, his face pinched in confusion, his eyes harrowing in on the couple between the sliver separating the cabinets.

“What? Ugh, Dean, come on. We owe her a little trust. You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on their conversa-” he began, his voice scraping along the fine line between breathing and whispering, his argument difficult to catch even with his face inches away from mine. His voice trailed off as he witnessed the monstrosity beyond the closed doors.

“He said he loved her, damn it. She said she loved him too. What the Hell are we supposed to do now?” I whispered, willing myself to contain the undying urge to release my fury in the form of a scream. It took every last scrap of willpower not to storm in there, guns blazing… anything to get her away from that manipulative… that monster. Sam’s face went blank as the weight of my words sunk in, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped back the reply he had prepared, something about Y/n’s privacy and how wrong it was to discover the information that could get her killed.

“That’s…” he struggled for the proper wording, his mouth turned downwards in a grimace. He mimed the process of expelling a bad taste from his mouth, my eyes returning to the slit of light, the thin view of their romantic comedy visible only barely by a dent in the filing cabinet’s meeting point. “What, um, what do you think we should do? Should we…” his voice dropped off, his hands dragging an imaginary knife across his throat, his head tipping in the demon’s direction. I shook my head, pulling myself away from the gut-wrenching sight of my little sister, by choice if not by blood, joined at the hand with my enemy.

“She’s happy, Sammy. There’s nothing we can do, at least not now. We’ll figure something out. If he so much as scratches her, we take him out.”

Your hand swept the chessboard to the opposite end of the table, crawling closer to Crowley (as he was immobilized by the chains adhering him to his chair, your arms wrapping around his neck, his lips meeting yours with a passion you hadn’t known existed within him until that second. Your world was alight with freedom and fire, Crowley’s joined hands rattling as he struggled to cradle your cheeks, chuckling all the way.

A demon in love. Fancy that.


[per request]

(prompt for prayfordean domestic!dean and cas snuggling up on the couch after a difficult hunt. Congrats on completing high school, darling <3)

Dean collapses onto the couch, releasing a relieved sigh when his back hits the soft cushion. He reaches his arms above his head, the joints in his shoulders and arms popping wonderfully. His arms drop and his bruised and battered hands rest against the smooth cotton of his sweatpants. Dean relaxes back, grabbing the nearby remote and flicking the television on to some random western movie. He tries to pay attention to the plot for a grand total of five minutes before his eyes start to drift shut.

He normally isn’t this tired after a hunt, but this one had been a doozy. Dean and Cas originally thought that the group of vampires they were going after consisted of three or four. Once they got to the vamps hideout they realized a little too late that three or four was really nine or ten. It was a tough fight, but both men managed to come out of the hunt with only a few abrasions on their arms and legs. Dean has a large gash on his up left thigh, but that was bandaged easily enough. Dean is grateful that they managed to get out of their alive, let alone with only minor injuries.

Now Dean is extremely worn-out. He’s drifting off to sleep, hands limp on his thighs when Cas walks into the room carrying two steaming mugs. He pauses for a second, watching Dean with a little smile on his face. 

“Dean?” Cas tries, hoping that his presence won’t startle Dean too much.

“Hmm?” Dean mumbles after a few seconds, eyes blinking open.

“I made you some hot chocolate,” Cas states, holding out the mug to Dean. 

Dean’s awake now. He takes the mug from Cas’s hand, bringing the mug up to his lips and taking a sip of the warm, chocolaty liquid.

“Thanks Cas, you didn’t have to,” Dean says, smiling gratefully at Cas.

Cas plops down onto the couch next to Dean, curling his legs underneath himself.

“I know, but I made myself tea and I figured you would appreciate something warm,” Cas replies, taking a sip of his mug of tea. 

“Yeah, this is nice,” Dean agrees, taking another sip. Whip cream coats the top of his lip and Cas huffs out a laugh. 


Cas shakes his head, grinning. He leans forward brushing his lips against the top of Dean’s lips, licking away the sugary cream. 

“Oh, oops, Dean says in realization. 

"It was cute,” Cas says with a smirk, pressing his lips against Dean’s again. 

“How’s your leaf water?” Dean asks curiously when they pull away, peering at the dark liquid in Cas’s mug.

“Wonderful, would you like to try some?” Cas asks, holding his mug out to Dean.

“No, thanks,” Dean replies with an enthusiastic shake of his head, eyebrows pinching in disgust. 

Cas chuckles, scooting closer to Dean, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. Once they’ve both finished their drinks, Dean wraps his arm around Cas’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Cas’s nose presses against the crook of Dean’s neck and he presses a kiss against his skin. 

“I was so worried about you," Cas murmurs, raising his head to look at Dean.

"I know, but I’m fine, Cas. We’re both fine," Dean replies with a comforting smile, running his fingers lazily through Cas’s hair. 

They try to stay up to finish watching the movie, but being pressed close together and the warmth from the hot drinks made them sleepy. When Cas starts snoring against Dean’s neck, Dean flicks off the television. He moves onto his back, resting a pillow beneath his head. He attempts to not wake Cas, but fails and the other man clings to him like an octopus. Dean helps Cas move up so his head his resting on Dean’s chest, arms wrapped around Dean’s torso. 

Cas mumbles, "I love you,” into Dean’s t-shirt. 

“I love you too.”

Dean trails his fingers through Cas’s hair, listening to the other man’s soft snores until he drifts off to sleep.