smut ficlets

Spoil Me Pretty

There wasn’t much Victor could do once Yuuri got like this. There wasn’t much Victor could think of that was better than this, either. Lying on Yuuri’s nearly too narrow bed where they both slept now, there was something so much more tangible about spending time in Yuuri’s room as opposed to that guest room.

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anonymous asked:

29 for the drabble prompts?

Duuuudddeee this was fun, thanks for the prompt. Here’s #29: “Come here and make me.”


“Hey Tara, Dad in the office?”

“No, he went out for backup on a 916 out in Hilly Valley. Feel free to wait in his office darling.”

Stiles smiled at the woman behind the desk and gave her an appreciative wave before he slipped passed. The station was void of a lot of officers, a few strung here and there but for the most part it was pretty empty. He weaved around desks before approaching his dad’s office, stepping in easily.

The first thing he noticed was the greasy odor of fast food. Stiles went wide eyed and looked at the desk seeing no evidence of the contraband. With a few steps he bent over and glanced in the trash seeing a burger wrapper, lettuce, and a fountain drink inside.

“You’re so dead, nothing but tofu for the next week I swear to God–”

“Stiles?” A familiar voice called out.

Instead of standing up like a normal person he just bent further over, looking through his legs upside down to see the office door. Derek stood there in his deputy uniform, looking all…badass and sexy. Seriously it’s like the department didn’t have a shirt big enough to fit his obscene biceps. The man paused, green-blue eyes darkening considerably in a certain way Stiles was very familiar with.

“Hey baby,” Stiles smiled, knowing exactly what Derek was looking at.

The man stood up straighter, clearing his throat, “mind standing up straight?”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty comfy. Plus you seem like you’re enjoying the view.”

Derek growled lowly, eyes flashing blue for a moment before shutting the office door, “don’t. Just stand up.”

“Come over here and make me,” Stiles teased, shaking his ass and the next thing he knows he suddenly sitting on his father’s desk with his hot boyfriend between his legs. This was a plan Stiles could totally get on board with. His hands rested on the sharp V of the man’s hips, pulling them closer until their groins were flush.

“You’re a menace, your father–” Derek started

“–is all the way down in Hill Valley on a 916 domestic call. Don’t worry,” Stiles finished, teeth nipping at Derek’s earlobe.

Derek shivered, neck tilting to the side to let Stiles continue his workings. He did just that, mouthing at the stubbled skin, teeth and tongue working on bruises that vanished a second or two after he pulled back. Regardless it had Derek all but panting in his ear and holding tight. Their hips ground together, their pace near insatiable.

“Hmm, fuck,” Stiles groaned, pulling back so there was a small bit of space between them. Derek’s face was flushed, pupils swallowed his irises, and it’s the best thing Stiles’ has seen all day.

“You’re wasting time,” Derek growled.

“Shh, I got you,” Stiles said and kissed Derek, his hands making quick work of the man’s utility belt and pants. They broke apart, foreheads against each other’s, as Stiles wormed his hand into Derek’s pants, cupping his hard-on. Derek moaned, arching into the touch and Stiles gave him a playful squeeze.

There was his name being gasped out but he didn’t register it as being a warning one rather than a sexy one. So when the door busted open and Stiles’ hand was still hidden in Derek’s pants…well it was quite the surprise.

Their heads swiveled to the the right, only to see the Sheriff standing there with a livid look on his face. Jeez, there was even a vein popping out of his neck.

“Whoa—hey Daddy, what’s…what’s hanging?” Stiles stuttered, embarrassment flooding his cheeks.

“Don’t say daddy with your hand in my pants,” Derek muttered.

Stiles looked at him, “not your thing?”

Boys!”

They both looked back at the Sheriff, and just beyond him Tara and Parish were laughing profusely. Stiles moved and let Derek fix his uniform. He stood and made his way to the trash and held up the fast food items.

His father paled.

“Oh yeah. First, we didn’t even get to the good part, I literally just got my hand in his pants–”

“Stiles, please shut up,” Derek said, face falling into his hands.

“–anyways…listen Pops. How about we forget this ever happened and you only are forced to eat tofu forrr…two days instead of a week?” Stiles bargained.

His father deflated, shoulders sagging, “out. Both of you out, I need to wipe down my desk.”


DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

There are some things Dean and Sam just don’t talk about. Things that would be weird or uncomfortable, things that can be ignored for the sake of keeping the peace. Sam never mentions the folder of kinky porn he found on Dean’s laptop. Dean never mentions the stress relieving facial mud mask and bath oils Sam keeps under his sink. And they never talk about Cas.

Sam doesn’t mention it the first time Dean makes a dirty joke, and Cas blinks at them in confusion.

“But Dean, last night you said you very much enjoyed when I-”

Dean starts talking over him, cutting him off, and Sam pretends not to have noticed anything strange.

Sam doesn’t say anything when he hears them through Dean’s closed door one night, relaxed laughter floating down the hallway into Sam’s room, followed soon by not-so-relaxed moaning. Sam just shuts his door, then invests in some noise canceling headphones.

Sam doesn’t tease them when Cas starts wearing Dean’s t-shirts around the bunker. The old faded cotton shits, with pictures of Dean’s favorite bands, are just a tiny bit too big for the angel, but he looks so happy in them that Sam can’t find the heart to even make a joke.

Sam keeps it to himself when he notices the two of them always sitting on the same side of the booth in diners and restaurants, their arms pressing against each other and disappearing under the table, where they are no doubt holding hands. Sam orders dessert so they can sit a little longer.

And Sam doesn’t say a word the morning Cas comes into the bunker kitchen, hair wild and mussed, a beaming smile on his face and a silver ring on his left hand. He just gets up, finds Dean in the garage where he is working on the Impala, and wraps his older brother in a hug. Dean’s cheeks flush, but he simply nods when Sam finally pulls away.

And that gesture is enough. There are some things they don’t need to talk about.

Reaction Ficlet Masterpost: How BTS would react to having an argument with you

Okay we’re doing these one at a time now instead of bulk posting because they’re so long, so as we finish them we’ll update this masterpost.

Oh and we finally made a Masterlist :)


 How Jin would react to having an argument with you

Originally posted by wintaeangel


How Rap Monster would react to having an argument with you

Originally posted by hopeatuuli


How Suga would react to having an argument with you 

Originally posted by ygnj


How J-Hope would react to having an argument with you  (coming soon)


How Jimin would react to having an argument with you  (coming soon)


How V would react to having an argument with you (coming soon)


How Jungkook would react to having an argument with you  (coming soon)

A loaded gun

In response to @clintbartonsdog‘s post “Lena finds out Kara is Supergirl when they are out walking downtown and someone tries to shoot Lena and Kara dives in front of her and the bullet just…bounces into the gutter.”

Sorry in advance, this got a bit angsty/smutty.

Kara and Lena hadn’t been together long. Sure, it’d been over two months, and the two had had more dates and movie nights than either cared to count, but Kara hadn’t even introduced Lena to her mother yet, let alone divulged her secret.

It was one of those famous National City evenings - pleasantly cool, the sun just barely still visible behind the city’s iconic skyline - when the two were out for yet another stroll in the park, a part of what had become the couple’s weekly routine. The park itself was mostly empty, allowing them a few much-needed moments of quiet after days packed full of irritating businessmen and Snapper’s harsh remarks.

A comfortable silence had fallen between them while they walked, their hands linked and swinging slightly with each stride. Lena looked over at Kara and smiled to herself. The past two months had been some of the best of her life; for what felt like (and may have been) the first time, she had someone who cared about her selflessly, someone with whom she could afford to take moments like this to just… be.

It took a moment for Kara to notice that Lena’s eyes were no longer on their surroundings. She turned beaming to her girlfriend, watched her smile grow to take up residence in the almost-nonexistent lines beside her beautiful green eyes, a smile that Kara had learned was reserved for her. She heard her Lena’s heart flutter in her chest before it settled back down.

“Kara, I hope you know how special you are to me,” she said, her eyes growing misty at the corners. “You’re so passionate, and smart, and by god you have such a beautiful heart and I just-”

“Shh…” Kara held up a hand, a look of concentration and concern on her face as she looked away from Lena.

“I’m sorry,” Lena started, “did I overstep or-”

Kara shook her head, still pensive, before her head whipped around to their other side, looking worried. Lena turned to see where it was the blonde was looking when suddenly the glint of metal shone from behind a group of bushes, and it all clicked into place.

It all happened so quickly. As the gun cocked, Lena pushed Kara behind her, a terrified “Kara, I’m sorry,” on her lips as the shot rang out, and then -

Clink

She didn’t remember Kara stepping in front of her, nor did she register the gunman disappearing as soon as he had appeared. All she noticed was the fact that she wasn’t, well, dead and the harmless tinkling of the bullet as it rolled across the sidewalk and into a nearby gutter.

Her first thought was Kara, and she immediately rushed around to her front to see…nothing. Lena’s hands traced Kara’s torso looking for something, anything, but there was no blood, no bullet hole, not a trace of what probably would’ve cost anyone else their life. She did, however, feel the dulled ridges of embroidery beneath Kara’s button-down, the friction of fabric on fabric, the outline of a symbol over Kara’s chest.

Lena’s hands fell to Kara’s arms as she pulled back to look at the reporter’s face, now bright red and panicky for a completely different reason than before.

“Kara,” Lena said, one eyebrow tweaking upward at the corner, “take me home.”

Ten minutes later, they step out of the elevator and into Lena’s penthouse apartment, the cold tile clicking with each fall of Lena’s heels. They make their way to the kitchen, to the marble island on which Lena sets down her bag as Kara stands beside her, nervously wringing her hands together and tugging on the sleeves of her cardigan.

“Lena, I-I c-can explain…” she starts, but is soon cut off by Lena’s hands on her hips, pinning her with her back to the island as she leaned in, lips just brushing Kara’s ear.

“You know, we would’ve gotten here a lot faster if you’d flown.”

Kara shudders and stammers before Lena’s red-painted lips are on hers, hungry and demanding and desperate while her hands push the cardigan from Kara’s shoulders and deftly unbuttons the blonde’s baby blue button-down. She growls against her girlfriend as her fingers find sturdy blue material beneath.

Clothes - suits included - are torn from their bodies and thrown about haphazardly as they make their way to Lena’s bedroom, collapsing on the bed in a tangle of limbs and lips and teeth and shaky breaths. Lena situates herself on top of Kara and kisses and licks and bites at every inch of skin she can find because she’s alive and Kara is Supergirl and Kara is gasping and moaning because of her fingers, because of her tongue, and by god she swears she knows what flying feels like.

And when Kara emerges from the bedroom the next morning to find a messy-haired, post-sex-glowing Lena in the kitchen wearing her suit like an oversized t-shirt she just about melts because nothing has ever felt this right.

They don’t talk about it until later, huddled on the couch under a crimson-red blanket while watching some ridiculous cooking competition on Food Network; when they do, it’s an apology and a thank-you and they’re crying because they realize that they were both ready and willing to quite literally die for one another when the time came.

Lena keeps one hand on Kara’s chest, over where the bullet would’ve pierced her skin, because “I was so afraid that I had lost you.”

And when Kara pulls Lena to her chest and presses a kiss into raven hair with a whispered “don’t worry, I won’t let that happen,” they both know that she means it.

Dean and Sam haven’t spoken since they woke up. The sun is setting now as they drive west, both of them squinting against the blaze of orange light flooding the Impala, and they haven’t spoken in fourteen hours.

They’ll be back at the bunker soon, and they probably won’t talk then either.

They don’t really need to anymore.

When Dean woke up that morning, he had stumbled his way into the bathroom where Sam was shaving, leaned against the doorway and just watched him. Their eyes had met in the mirror briefly before Dean let his eyes follow a rogue water droplet down Sam’s jaw to where it settled in the hollow of his neck. He had swallowed hard at that lucky water drop, before joining Sam at the sink, where they brushed their teeth in unison, both trying not to grin.

Getting dressed had been a battle of self-control as Sam dropped his towel and Dean shrugged out of yesterday’s underwear, both of them bare for a few moments as they dug out fresh clothes. Fingers itched to touch, mouths burned with kisses they didn’t give, and they both stayed silent, enjoying watching the other’s cock swell slightly before it was covered up.

And then there was no need to talk while they had packed and loaded the Impala. It was a routine they knew as well as they knew each other. Sam threw their duffels in the backseat and made sure the cooler was stocked. Dean put the weapons they’d kept with them in the room back in the trunk, checking that everything was in its proper place. Simultaneously, they dropped their long bodies into the front seat, Sam sitting so close that Dean could feel the heat of him.

An hour later, they had their hands down each other’s pants as Dean drove, lazily rubbing and palming at each other, enough to get each other so hard it hurt, but not enough to get them anywhere near coming.

Still, they hadn’t spoken.

They’d both hidden their erections the best they could when they stopped to stretch their legs, letting them fade away over lunch. They’d spoken to the waitress, but not to each other. Knowing smiles, flushed cheeks, and legs that couldn’t stop nudging at the other’s were better than words.

They’d both known the whole day that they were planning their arrival at the bunker, planning what they were going to do to each other like it was a game to make the miles pass faster. Now, after all that silence, they are wondering what plans the other one’s made.

They are already pawing at each other in the garage, the second they get out of the car, still not speaking.

Because between the two of them, silence speaks volumes.

The Rebel and the Rose. Part 3. Chapter 6

It’s wedding night week! Thank you all for being so patient, and for all of your wonderful comments, I do read them all. Happy Weekend all…

…and major thanks to @outlandishchridhe for quickly editing this new bit that I randomly decided I needed to add in. Legend. As is @lenny9987 who did all the rest. Mwah.

Other parts found: HERE.


“Your turn.” She gasped, her fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. Claire was less practiced at disrobing a man, but after numerous attempts she finally got him out of his kilt. Jamie buried his head against her chest, his tongue begging to taste her, to have her beneath him once more. They’d promised each other that they wouldn’t lie together until they’d said those sacred vows, and now that they had he ached for her. Claire felt the same, her pulse was racing as they removed their final layers and gazed upon each other naked for the first time as husband and wife.


Claire was nervous, her heart thrumming in her chest faster than she even thought possible. Tipping her head to the side she blinked slowly, running her eyes over every uncovered inch of him.

“Do ye still wish to take me to yer bed, Mrs Fraser? Ye havena changed yer mind at seeing me bare as a bairn?” Jamie joked, taking one step towards her.

“Not a chance, Mr Fraser,” she whispered back, her tongue wetting her bottom lip as she spoke. It was a surprise she’d managed to speak at all, as dry as her mouth was.

Moving slowly, Jamie ran his fingers, gently, along the soft expanse of her neck, and up into her hair. The sound of his exposed feet echoed around the room as he leant in, meaning to kiss his bride.

Claire, however, smiled coyly and dipped her head.

“It’s like that, is it?” he teased, pulling her head back up as carefully as he was able before taking her lips against his. “I thought ye hadna changed yer mind,” he mumbled against her between nips.

“I haven’t,” she sighed, the taste of him coursing through her veins as she nuzzled her nose against his, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t make you work for it.”

Beginning a delicate dance, Jamie led Claire in the direction of the bed, running his free hand along her back, and down to cup her arse as they went.

The floorboards creaked in protest as the pair, intertwined as they were, crept slowly in the general direction of their bed. Jamie peeled an eye open, glancing over Claire’s shoulder as to steer them in the right direction.

“Is yer back still sore, mo nighean?” he asked, breathlessly, “I dinna want to hurt ye…”

“You won’t,” she returned, her voice barely a whisper in the calm quiet of the evening. “I don’t think you ever could, James Fraser.”

Now it was her turn to run a lone finger along the length of his side. His flesh was heated from the warmth emanating from the fire in the corner. Pliable and creamy, she could feel the tense set of muscle beneath skin.

Jamie waited patiently, watching under hooded lids as Claire re-explored every peak and trough. His skin prickled where she ran her hands, growing bolder now. A few times during her rehabilitation he’d woken, aching and needy, desperate to have her in his arms once more; eager to have her beneath him, writhing in pleasure. But up until now, she hadn’t been ready.

Once he’d turned her down, knowing how close to the edge she’d been at the time. Waking from her nightmares, she’d always sought him out, needing his close company to ease her back into the present. But as her touch had turned from the need of comfort to the need for physical affection, he’d stopped her. The first time, she’d fled from their quarters, tears streaming down her cheeks as she’d thought herself damaged goods. Murtagh had returned later, Claire in tow, and Jamie had sat down with her, alone, and explained his reasons. That hadn’t stopped her from trying again afterwards, but it had begun a healing process, one they needed to shatter and rebuild before they could reach this point.

“Come back to me, Jamie, please,” Claire begged, her voice barely audible as she ran her palm over his lower belly, the fine hairs there tickling her as she went. “I need you here with me. I need you, Jamie. Just you.”

“Aye,” he returned, taking her hand and placing it over his groin.

Claire gulped, her mouth suddenly filling with moisture at the feel of him against her palm. He was so very hot, the silky smoothness of him beneath her radiating such humidity that she immediately felt as if she might catch fire with it.

Jamie, his whole body ignited with lust, forged forward with their increased contact, twisting them onto the bed so that Claire was sat atop him now. Shocked by the sudden movement, she wrapped her arms under his armpits and gripped his shoulders as she slid her thighs either side of his, bringing them flush with one another.

“Ye do wi’ me as you wish, my Claire. I’m yours, and always will be, ken? Always.”

“Mhmm…” she mumbled, her chest vibrating with the noise of it, causing her back to arch forwards. Gasping, she held herself steady as her nipples ran across the coarse hairs of his chest, the sensation pulsed through her in the most desirous way and she clenched her legs in pleasure. “Oh God…” she whispered as she elevated her hips enough to bring him in line with her. She only needed to inch back down a tiny bit, and they’d be joined.

Jamie was drowning; half engrossed in lascivious thoughts, hoping and praying that Claire would move that final wee bit and take him inside her, half focused on his hammering heart. Not only was she only just recovering from her hideous physical assault, but they’d not really had the time, before that, to get to know one another intimately.

In a twist of fate (a fate that came in the guise of Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser), they’d be brought back together. Jamie had managed to pull Claire from the dark depths that had sucked her under after her swift rescue from the noose. But Jamie had another reason for his initial hesitance to initiate sexual contact with Claire. Moving his upper body forward, he managed to keep his arse still as he bent over to kiss her softly, pushing the thoughts of inadequacy aside.  

“I love you, Jamie. You saved me, you did. Don’t blame yourself, please. Just show me,” Claire spoke up, swivelling her hips in a move so ornate and delicate that Jamie could hardly believe she’d done it. His fingers twitched, his whole body vibrating as her words penetrated him to the core. He’d worked so hard to develop his skill of being unreadable, but their combined horror had bonded them in a way he couldn’t truly understand.

“I love ye too, Claire Fraser. Ye have my name, my clan, and the protection of my body. I wish I hadna had to prove that to ye so soon, but I’d gladly do it again. I’m wi’ ye now. You’re the light, Claire, dinna wait, aye? I want ye so badly…”

Claire smiled, sliding herself down, moulding them together, making them one and the same. Jamie shook as she pushed, his eyes squeezed shut as he zeroed in on the sensation of her heated flesh surround him.

“Oh…J-Jamie,” she cried out, her nails digging into the balmy skin of his shoulders. Their teeth collided as she thrust forward with her knees and hips, causing her to automatically fall towards his mouth. The wet sounds of their lips meeting hit her ears soon after her moan and she began to move faster, pushing herself higher and higher.

She was intoxicated, glowing and desperate for the throbbing ecstasy of the abyss that his pliant flesh afforded her. Memories of their first time flooded her subconscious, the rapturous bliss that saturated every fibre of her as he brought her to the brink over and over.

With his mouth.

With his body.

Jamie watched her through the same haze, his vision blurred as he panted into her open mouth, tasting her.

In the midst of the aphrodisia that coated them both, Jamie lay back, taking Claire with him. With one twitch of her hips, she rolled over, bringing Jamie over her as she slipped her hands downwards, placing them over the squishy sinews of his bottom. Rearing up on his knees, Jamie took back control at her behest, brushing his forehead against hers as they rode the waves of carnal pleasure together, both taking comfort in the steady heat of the other.

“Are ye…?” Jamie sighed, feeling the beginnings of his orgasm as it palpated in the bases of his feet, the muscles in his legs flexing as they tried to contain it.

“Y-yes, just keep going, Jamie. N-not long. I’m…it’s…” Claire could no longer speak as her chin rose, her head flopping backwards as a blinding flash of avidity lit her every nerve. Her knees drew up, her thighs clenching tighter as she squeaked and whimpered, trying her best to contain her keening - all to no avail, of course.

Jaggedly inhaling as much air as possible, the clouds that covered Claire began to dissipate as she slowly regained feeling throughout her body, just in time to watch Jamie shatter above her.

Gripping his fingers into the bedlinens, Jamie held steady, waiting for Claire to reawaken before allowing himself to roll his hips for the final time. He felt her fall, her flesh pulsating around his as she did. It had taken all of his effort not to simply let go at the same time, but he wanted to watch her. He wanted to see the emotions flit across her face as he brought her to her peak.

Now, as she opened her eyes and gazed up at him, a drowsy smile plastered over her face, Jamie finally let himself go.


Sweat covered them head to toe and Jamie pulled the thick fur over him and Claire. Wiping the damp hair from her her brow, he kissed her lightly, sighing in contentment.

Mo chridhe, Tha gaol agam ort…” he whispered, his breath causing her hair to flutter around her head like a dark brown halo.

“What does that mean?” Claire returned, sleep hovering on the periphery as she pried her eyes open. The gentle puffs of air that floated over her face felt nice as she grinned and shifted her head closer still.

“It means, I love ye, Claire.”

“…and mo chr…” she began, unable to finish the unpronounceable word.

“Ach,” Jamie chuckled, running his nose against hers before kissing her softly, “mo chridhe, that means my heart.”

“Will you teach me?” She asked, yawning as she nuzzled into him, burying her face against his neck as she burrowed down, seeking any warmth he was prepared to lend to her. “How to speak in Gaelic. I want to learn.”

“Ye ha’ my word, Claire. Of course I’ll teach ye.”

The wee puffs of her breath indicated to Jamie that she’d fallen asleep during his response, and his lips lifted in a slight smile as he blinked, sleepily and then, finally, closed his eyes and joined her in slumber.

Muttering ‘Tha gaol agam ort, a ghràdh…” Jamie drifted off, the start of the rain pattering against the windowpane lulling him into a calm, quiet slumber.

“I love you too, Jamie Fraser.” Claire sighed, her dreams filled with him and their sweet little wedding, her heart finally free of the shackles she’d been slowly dismantling. “I love you so much.

he’s been waiting for this all day, and scully can see it in his eyes when he opens the door. she sees the thousand times he’s imagined pushing her shoulder gently down onto the bed. she hears him whisper how much he’s missed her. so when he touches her shoulder now, in the square of light from the hallway, she pulls him inside and shuts the door.

mulder leads her, his hand on her lower back, and all she can think about is how tight her clothes are. with every breath the buttons of her shirt strain to keep her in it.

finally, for once he does exactly what he’s fantasized about, his hand careful to make it clear this is a request. lie down for me, scully. right here. trust me. you can get up at any time if you want to, but please. please don’t. not yet.

she listens, goosebumps on her thighs as he pulls her skirt up and her underwear down. she hears the sounds she makes as his tongue moves, and they don’t sound real.

we were suppose to paint the canvas (smut) Clexa

@hailhedaleksa

there you go!


It was the night before the Ascension Day ceremony. Lexa was sitting with her legs crossed on the hard, stone floor just staring at the large blank piece of parchment. She had to think of something to paint that would serve as her backdrop when she greeted the crowds. 

“Are you coming to bed?” Clarke peeked in the door at Lexa who had her chin resting in her hands. 

“I have to finish this before tomorrow.” Lexa sighed, she reached for the tray of paints that had been brought to her earlier. “Do you want to help?” 

“Is that allowed?” Clarke asked as she slowly walked into the room and took a seat next to Lexa. 

“I’m Heda.” Lexa replied with a sly smile. “This tradition was started by the first Commander, Becca. She designed the flag we now use for Trikru and the other clans now have their own. Each year the reigning Heda creates the symbol that will be used for that year of rule.” 

Keep reading

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Carl asked you seriously.

He was your boyfriend of the past couple of months and you recently told him you wanted to take your relationship a step further. You were both virgins. He was reluctant because he didn’t want to hurt you, but after hours of you convincing him, he was persuaded. 

Keep reading

You and Daryl were out on a supply run. It was nothing new, especially because the two of you were recently always finding excuses to run off and be alone together. It was no secret that you and Daryl were into each other, but the two of you never put a label on it. Hell, you never even really spoke about it. What was the point anyway, what with the world being full of the undead?

Keep reading

Reaction Ficlet: How Yoongi would react to having an argument with you

Masterpost: How BTS would react to having an argument with you

Our Masterlist :)


Originally posted by ygnj

“My dear,” your aunt says, lifting a hand to adjust her shawl and causing a cloud of her expensive perfume to waft towards you. “Don’t take this the wrong way but we all knew your relationship with that young man of yours would not last.”

“Okay,” you say, unsure how else to reply. “I mean, we haven’t broken up. We’re just going through a thing.”

“He was incredibly good-looking and intelligent,” your aunt continues, ignoring you. “And the two of you just had so very little in common .”

Ouch, you think, torn between taking offence and marvelling at your aunt’s masterful dig at you.

“Too true, aunt,” you say, standing up from your chair and giving her a pat on the shoulder. “But, you know, plenty of fish in the sea and all that.”

Your aunt nods. “Yes, take comfort in that, my child. I, myself have never found that saying to be accurate but maybe you are the exception .”

Keep reading

how about wall slamming sex? like, cas and dean just got in a huge fight and they’re yelling at each other until dean slams cas up against the wall, and soon enough he’s fucking growling, kissing cas hotly and opened mouthed while cas just squeaks at the mere surprise of it

but then cas gets into it, and then their hips are rocking together and the two are moaning and cas just needs more as dean presses him harder into the wall, and then the two are fumbling with clothes, practically ripping them off of each other as they slowly become pools of fabric on the ground

and dean is desperately searching for lube before he finds it and he pins cas to the wall again, cas who wraps his legs around dean, and dean wastes no time shoving his fingers inside of cas until castiel is whimpering and panting

and dean is fucking breathless when cas slides down on his cock, and castiel just makes this little noise of bliss before they’re back to where they started and everything is rough as dean bites into cas’ skin, as he growls and cas just claws at him desperately, feeling every single punctuated thrust dean has to offer until he can’t take it anymore and he’s coming, and dean is doing the same, muffling loud groans into cas’ shoulder before they breath heavily, slowly sliding back down to the floor where the kiss each other languidly, offering begrudging apologies and shy smiles as they interlace their fingers.

CS ff: “When Time Decides” (ficlet)

Summary: Emma and Killian finally find their moment alone, but it’s not what either of them ever expected it to be. The first time for CS is exactly where they didn’t think it would be.

Rating: M to be safe? But there’s very little actual description.

A/N: Liz wanted me to title this “Pain No One Asked Me to Write”…. That’s a very accurate title. Sorry? Set in the space after the scene on the docks, because those crazy kids have got to have it off eventually, yeah? Whether you’re in camp haven’t-banged-yet or camp go-at-it-like-rabbits, this is my take on it. Feel free to yell at me as much as necessary if this makes you sad, because it made me sad. Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine alone.


The first time isn’t in the spacious bed that Emma carefully made that morning to keep up some sense of normality. It isn’t on the couch where, admittedly, they nearly had sex the first time before that fucking dirigible interrupted them, and where they have also spent quite a bit of time since doing what falls under the “heavy petting” category.

It’s not in the shower, or in the Bug, or on the kitchen counter or table or floor. It’s not in any of the places where Emma would’ve assumed they would fully consummate their relationship for the first time (a million years overdue, according to both of them), or any of the places she figured they would eventually mark as theirs.

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“You okay?” You asked your boyfriend, Rick Grimes, after he stepped through the front door of the house you shared in Alexandria.

He sighed and his jaw clenched in a way that showed you he was angry or stressed about something. “Yeah.”

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Reaction Ficlet: How Jimin would react to your first time together

Reaction Ficlets Masterpost: How BTS would react to your first time together


Originally posted by 9taefox

The truth was, you think to yourself as you stand elbows-deep in soapy water, you should be commended for the restraint you’ve shown this evening.

It had taken an inhuman amount of strength to calmly open the front door to Jimin earlier in the evening. Instead of grabbing him and ripping his clothes off, you had returned his shy greeting with one of your own. And when he had pulled you in a hug, you had silently congratulated yourself for keeping your hands pressed to one spot on his back, and not hungrily moving over it.

Part of the reason why your hands had been frozen on his back was the heady fragrance you had inhaled from his as he had pulled you close. The smell had sent your senses into overdrive and all you could do was turn your head slightly to bury your nose into his neck.

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anonymous asked:

Spite Prompt-a-Thon: Teacher!Gold helps Teacher!Belle with grading her students' assignments at her house. They make-out while Gold fingers her until they hear Belle's husband pulling up in the drive-way.

Lesson Plans

[AO3]

Notes: So… yeah. Things just keep happening. IDK. Warnings for infidelity, if that’s not your cake. Hope this meets with your approval, Anon. Thanks for the prompt! Unbeta’d so it’s probably a hot mess.


The pile of essays lay scattered across the coffee table along with a box of red pens. A few stapled pages had slipped off onto the floor, one sliding half under a chair. Most of them were done, but grading the remaining forty or so would have to wait because Belle French was otherwise occupied.

She arched her back and moaned as Gold broken their kiss. A thin trail of saliva dripped between their wet, open mouths for a moment before he nipped and licked his way along her jaw to her neck. One minute they’d been elbow deep in her eighth grade English literature essays, the next they were inches apart having a heated argument about the shooting of Lennie in Of Mice and Men. She’d run out of breath and paused, and found herself staring into his soulful brown eyes.

Then he’d closed the distance and crushed his mouth against hers. And she’d kissed him back. As much as she wanted it to feel wrong, because she had a husband and it really was so very wrong, it didn’t. It felt right.

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“Cas.” Dean’s voice is low and dangerous, and Cas is actually trembling, staring at the ground. He’s faced armies of angels and fought his way through Hell, but nothing has ever been as terrifying as the growl in Dean’s throat at this moment. “What. The. Hell. Did. You. Do.”

Cas keeps his head bowed apologetically. “I wanted to do something nice for you.” He braves looking up slightly, sees Dean’s shaking hands, and feels that twist in his gut again.

“So you. You… What did you do?”

“I took the Impala to a car wash.”

“And you sent it through the wash. Without rolling up the windows. My car, and everything in it. Is soaked.”

Cas wonders how long Dean is going to speak in these halting, broken sentences. “I’m sorry,” he pleads. “It was an honest mistake. I truly thought I was doing something you would appreciate.”

Dean’s pinching the bridge of his nose now, silently taking deep breaths, shoulders still tense. Cas wants to reach out and rub that stress away, but he’s no longer sure he’s allowed.

And then Dean finally looks up, green eyes burning, chest heaving.

Minutes later, Cas is on his stomach in the backseat, naked, pushing his hard and aching cock into wet leather as Dean fucks into him. The whole car is damp, smelling of industrial soap, but Cas barely notices the mess he’s made.

All he’s noticing is the stretch and burn of Dean inside him. The only dampness he feels is Dean’s sweat dripping onto his back.

Dean grunts and growls into his ear about punishing him, about teaching Cas his lesson, and Cas absently thinks that this is absolutely not an effective punishment. Dean sinks his teeth into Cas’ shoulder blade and pushes even deeper, and Cas wants to run out and commit the crime all over again just to feel this over and over.

Dean’s hand smacks Cas’ ass, then curls around and underneath him to grab his dick, stroking only twice before Cas is coming, making an even bigger mess of the Impala.

“Gonna have to clean that, too,” Dean huffs, voice hoarse and broken because he’s close.

And then Cas can feel Dean coming, can feel the hot pulses as Dean curls around and into him, muscles tensing the relaxing, pushing both of them down into the wet mess Cas has made.

Dean nibbles lightly at Cas’ ear, and Cas knows he’s forgiven.

“Next time, just let me take care of the Impala,okay? Just buy me porn. Or a pie.”

Cas grins, relief adding to his orgasmic high. “Okay. I can do that.”