the right amount of muscle

so @tayegi and i were just talking about how jimin has changed and we came up with some interesting points.

Originally posted by minblush

firstly, he’s matured. he used to clown around a lot during their debut days. but now hes more quiet. he’s still soft and laughs at everything but he is more control with his emotions. like before he would get angry really easily and it would show on his face. 

Originally posted by jiyoongis

secondly, he’s always been really seductive but his method of seduction seems to have changed, he used to exaggerate sexual gestures e.g. the excessive running his fingers through his hair, the excessive tongue, the abs. the muscle shirts, now, he uses just the right amount to make everyone swerve. he just has to look someone in the eyes and smile and they’re gone. his sexiness has become more subtle now with side glances instead of the abs in your face. also his voice.. according to lu, “the man learned how to growl!”

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

thirdly, his physical appearance has changed a lot. his baby features have matured, his make-up has become more modest (he used to go crazy for eyeliner lol remember guys good times), his foundation matches his skin tone, they dont use concealer on his lips anymore. remember when he considered himself the ugliest of bts, i feel like now he’s comfortable in his skin. he knows that he’s attractive, not to everyone but to a lot of people, and tbh, confidence is very sexy.

Originally posted by 9taefox

this being said, as a jimin stan, i love both sides of jimin. the man that he was and the man that he is becoming.

Girls Like You (Philip Hamilton x Reader)


Request Queue

Free Prompts

Warnings: unnecessarily slow build up to smut, smut underneath last line break 

Requests- “teacher!Philip smut 👀”


A/N-( I wrote this with Philip as played by Jordan Fisher because we’ve had a lot of Anthony on this blog lately

Tags- @adothoe @coololdsoulpoetlove

Song - Guys My Age – Hey Violet (Spotify Youtube)

Words- 4,433

You rang the tiny bell on the counter and served yet another red-eyed college student. You were only two hours into your shift at The Brewhouse, campus’ student-run coffeehouse, but you’d guess that upwards of fifty cups of caffeine paradise had passed from your hands already. At least it wasn’t exam week. Quite the opposite, it was the first day of classes for the majority of students, including you.

“Hey, Y/N?” Your coworker Tyler tapped you on the shoulder. You tilted your head towards him but kept your eye on the latte you were making. First rule of being a barista, always keep your eye on the latte. “Can we switch, and you take over register for a bit? There’s a line now. You know how they make me anxious,” he said softly.

You smiled and handed him the finished drink. “Sure thing buddy.”  You turned around and wiped your hands on your apron quickly before greeting the next customer.  Several students behind her, a younger man caught your eye. He was staring at his phone with his other hand tucked into his pocket. It was a stance most people took when waiting in line. This boy had dark skin and even darker hair. In the suit he was wearing, he looked incredibly attractive. The fact that he was even wearing a suit while at college probably meant he was on his way to an internship of some kind, meaning he was successful, meaning triple the attractiveness points.

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You Make Me Better

BASED ON THIS POST by @bleebug and subsequent comments from @thesschesthair and @seethelovelyintheworld Thanks ladies for this inspirational prompt, I had a great time writing this.  Thanks to @laschatzi and @xhookswenchx for read through and beta services!

Also on ao3 and ffnet

CS Neighbors AU where Emma is a nurse and Killian is her definitely-faking-it hypochondriac neighbor who uses illnesses and injuries as an excuse to talk to her.


Emma had just put her dinner together and sat down on her couch with a nice glass of red wine, and Netflix ready to go. The upside to working in a small private practice was for the first time since attending college, Emma Swan had a somewhat normal schedule. It allowed her peaceful evenings to herself to do what she pleased. Tonight she’d been home from another long day for a mere half an hour and was beyond ready to relax.


“I should have turned off the goddamn lights,” she muttered.

“Swaaaan!” the interloper persisted, pounding on her door again.

The downside meant a certain pesky neighbor soliciting free medical advice on the regular. Rolling her eyes, she put the television remote and her glass of wine on the coffee table, knowing he wasn’t going to let up.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t be neighborly, but Killian Jones was a menace. The man was a hypochondriac of the worst kind - a fake hypochondriac - some new illness ailing him weekly. She flung her door open just as he was poised to knock again. The breeze it caused carried in his scent, and Emma was olfactorily assaulted by just one of the real reasons Killian Jones drove her crazy.  The next havoc he wreaked on her was the sight waiting before her. Killian Jones, shirtless… again, gingerly propped up against the frame of her door. Last time he’d shown up shirtless he’d insisted that a tiny mosquito bite on his back was a case of the shingles. She wondered if his shirtless visits were nothing more than a chance for him to flaunt his altogether delicious chest: just the right amount of definition and muscle covered by taut skin that pulled as he gesticulated his every word, all overlaid with beautiful black chest hair that descended into a thin trail disappearing under the waistband of his pajama pants.

“Swan, thank the gods you’re here, lass. I need medical assistance.”

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lookintoyourgalaxyheart  asked:

Okay I have a headcanon that Alex plays the drums/ukulele/both because Drums = punk rock phase Ukulele = badass DEO agent with tiny ukulele? Yes. Plus they'd give her thousands of gay points, I mean, Alex with a bandana on her head, sweating, playing drums? Maggie would spontaneously combust

Maggie knows that Winn can sing. 

She knows that Kara can sing.

Hell, she knows that Alex can sing.

What she doesn’t know?

What she doesn’t know is that Vasquez is wicked on an electric guitar, and that Alex?

Alex is just as intense, just as singularly focused, slamming on a set of drums as she is taking shots at bad guys during the day, as she is fucking Maggie during the night.

So when Winn tells Maggie she absolutely has to show up at the bar on Friday night because who wouldn’t want to see a bunch of secret agents in a band, Maggie expects some cute little duets from Winn and Kara and some dorky, adorable harmonies from her girlfriend.

She doesn’t expect to find Alex with a red bandanna on her head, eyes fixed and focused, ribbed tank top fitted and showing off just the right amount of skin, just the right amount of twitching, corded arm muscles, banging out intricate rhythms behind Winn’s voice, behind Kara’s voice, in tandem with Vasquez’s guitar and Yve’s bass. 

Her jaw hits the floor and she thinks vaguely that she might be in danger of drooling –  she’s a little late to the show, and Alex has already started to sweat, staining the edges of her bandanna, highlighting the contours of her arms just right – and she hears Brian chuckling next to her.

“Not every day you get to see a fine woman like that lose control while keeping perfect control on a drum set, is it, Detective?” he asks, his eyes just as fixed on Alex as hers.

“Would you like to see this fine woman lose control while keeping perfect control on your face, Brian?” Maggie asks, without so much as turning to look at him, and he laughs. Maggie has protected him too many times, gotten him out of too many scrapes, to be intimidated by her tough stance, her dismissive words.

“Enjoy, Detective,” he grins as he heads back to the bar for another drink, and god, for once, she listens to him.

Because she’s forgotten about Kara and she’s forgotten about Winn, and she’ll have to pay attention to them, Vasquez, and Yve later – because everyone will want to know what she thought – but all she can think right now is Alex, Alex, fuck, fuck, fuck me, Alex.

And apparently, Alex is thinking along the same lines. Because when they finish their set with a perfect, sexy as all hell flourish from their drummer – god, god, her woman is a fucking drummer – Alex hops down from the makeshift stage right to Maggie, right to slinging her arm around her, right to a slightly breathless grin, a very breathless kiss.

“What’d you think?” she wants to know, but her eyes tell Maggie that Alex already knows.

“I think I need you to take me home as soon as humanly possible,” Maggie breathes, and Alex grins, because that’s exactly what she’s been planning on doing.

firebyfire  asked:

Newt giving Percival massage using fancy oils from the other side of the world? Percival had a very long, tiring day at work and seeing how tense he is, Newt asked if Percival wouldn't like a massage - Percival simply melts under Newt's hands.

Oh, this is dangerously bordering on smut, but I’ll leave that for another time *winks*

A bit deviated, because they’re not in an established relationship there, oops. And second oops, have another one-shot lengthy thing.

Graves was dead tired. Not your usual type of tired. He simply had a torturing day at MACUSA’s headquarters that day, and he questioned himself: why didn’t Grindelwald use this type of torture instead of his plain Cruciatus? Because Graves was sure, if Grindelwald gave him tons of paperwork and told him that the American wizarding community depended on how he succeeds, then he’d exhaust himself to the point of dying.

And as if to torture him some more, Seraphina ordered him to check up on the junior aurors, who investigated a banal thievery case. Thing which resulted with a caught niffler, an injured junior, and with Graves’ back almost being broken. Because Cooper didn’t know if you point your wand at a desk and Accio it, then it will fly directly in your face. Even if it happened while trying to stop the niffler.

Graves, naturally, being responsible of his subordinates’ well-being, - Mercy Lewis, give him strength - rushed to get the unfortunate idiot from under the desk, which unceremoniously squashed the guy under itself. It was a massive desk, made of hard wood, and it was heavy as hell. He did try to use wandless magic, even a verbal spell with his wand, but as he will find out moments later, the surprises didn’t finish.

The desk was spelled, the magic didn’t work on it. Graves groaned and used all of his physical strength to get the poor guy out. He had at least three broken ribs and his chest was heavily raising and falling. Obviously he had difficulties with his respiration, so by the time the other newbies ran back and forth after the little thief, Graves took the guy in his hands and apparated them directly to MACUSA’s hospital.

Leaving junior auror Cooper in the care of experienced hands, he went back to his office, back to his new prison cell, back to the pile of never ending documents. He shrugged off his coat and just when he wanted to finally sit, to relax a goddamned second, Tina barged in and Graves let out a sigh, rubbing a hand down his face.

“What is it, Goldstein?“ he hissed at her.

“Mr. Graves, sir, Mr. Scamander wants to talk to you about one of his beasts-“

“Tell him to come in.“ he cut her blabbering by raising a hand.

“Sure.“ she disappeared through the door of his office and after a moment of stretched silence - while he still was standing - a hesitant knock on his door made him roll his eyes in annoyance.

“Come in, Scamander.”

“Mr. Graves?“ A ginger head peeked inside and then a full body, wrapped in that blue coat with a case dragged after, made its appearance as well.

“Scamander,“ Graves started carefully, eyeing the slumped shoulders and ducked head of the Brit. He knew it. Somewhere, deep inside, he fucking knew it. “don’t tell me that bloody niffler is yours.“

Newt’s head snapped up “Did you find him? Where is he? You didn’t treat him badly, did you?“

Graves didn’t like that accusatory tone. Like he was evil, and killed or maltreated everyone- every magical beast he crossed paths with.

He clicked his tongue “Scamander, your niffler caused such a disaster, you’ll have to use Reparo over and over for some hours straight.“ Newt ducked his head again, but watched Graves intently from under that messy fringe of his. Graves could feel those eyes burning holes in his chest. “Your niffler was captured, and is safe.“

Newt relaxed visibly “Can I…?“ he asked uncertain.

“Yeah, of course you can. But-“ Graves stopped, eyeing the brown leather case “for Lewis’ sake, Scamander, repair those latches and make sure no one escapes anymore.“

“Oh, s-sure, Mr. Graves, thank you very much.“ Newt beamed, holding onto his case with both hands and ready to dash out any moment.

Graves waved a hand in a dismissing gesture and sat down on his chair.

All the bloody nifflers and spelled desks in the world, what the fuck.

A pain shot right through his spine and he growled. Or yelled. Or started cursing loudly. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, because holy shit, the pain dulled all of other senses, shooting through him whenever he moved a goddamn muscle.

Perhaps he was older than he thought of himself.

Newt hurried over, holding his head in those hands and Graves tried to blink the tears out of his eyes before focusing on the man in front of him.

“Mr. Graves, what happened? Mr. Graves, where hurts?“

Graves swatted his hands in annoyance “Scamander,“ he hissed and groaned as another wave of hellish pain washed over him “fuck you.“

He paid no attention to Newt’s baffled look, and continued cursing “You, your bloody niffler, Picquery, Cooper - that imbecile, the freaking spelled desk and my age. Fuck everything.“ he finished and tried to stand up, only to fall back into his chair and howl in pain, this time he was sure.

“Mr. Graves.“

Probably Scamander didn’t understand just how much he suffered, probably he wanted to make him suffer some more-

“Let’s get you home and I’ll take care of… everything.“ Newt said, and when Graves looked at him, glared at him, his glare was met with nothing but determination.

Scamander was determined to kill him completely.

Newt helped him up and Accio’ed his case before grabbing firmly onto his hand.

“Lead the way, Mr. Graves.“ Newt told him and Graves pondered for a moment there, that it was much better to die at home, on his comfortable bed than in this office, in this gigantic pile of papers.

Graves apparated both of them into his appartment and supported himself off a wall. Newt propped him up and dragged into his bedroom. Graves was kind of taken aback by the strength in those hands.

Newt put him carefully on the bed and easing himself out of his coat, vest and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he demanded “Take off your clothes, Mr. Graves.“

Graves sputtered and looked up at him as if Newt grew another head. What the fuck, Scamander?

“Scamander, if you want to kill me, I prefer to die clothed, thank you very much.“

“W-what?“ Newt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise “What made you think so, h-how even-?“

“I don’t know.“ Graves said and winced. His body surely wanted him dead, for example.”Because we caught your niffler and all that.“

“That little bugger deserved to be caught, I wanted to catch him myself, but you were faster, I suppose.” Newt explained as his hand worked on Graves’ vest and only when he took it off and started unbuttoning Graves’ shirt, that snapped out of his haze.

“Scamander, what the hell. I’m capable of undressing myself.“ he said and tried to shrug off his shirt. Another wave of pain abused the muscles of his back. He shuddered and grimaced at the feeling.

“Mr. Graves, Percival, please.“ Newt said softly “Let me take care of it. Okay?“

Graves nodded absentminded, and let Newt push him gently onto his bed.

“I’ll be right back in a minute.“ Graves heard Newt say through the increasing pulse beating in his ears. The pain was insufferable. Not as that one caused by the Cruciatus curse, obviously, but really close.

In what seemed to be like eternity, - in fact only two or so minutes - Newt was back and holding a lot of small colorful bottles. He made Graves lie on his stomach, helping him to flip carefully, then poured something on Graves back and after that, Graves legit thought he died, because this was heaven, for sure.

The pain slowly  was reduced and Graves could finally breathe properly and not suffocate because of it. He felt Newt’s hands roaming all over his back, rubbing oils into his skin, massaging his sore muscles using just the right amount of pressure.

Another bottle opened and the room was filled with a sweet scent. Graves found himself humming in contentment as his limbs became all mushy.

Newt chuckled and it was such a pretty sound, Graves wanted to hear more of it.

“These were a gift from a tribe in South Africa.“ A thumb traced up and down Graves’ vertebral column “They were really grateful when I treated their chimaera-” Newt stopped himself abruptly and slapped himself mentally for mentioning such a highly illegal and dangerous beast in the presence of an auror, the director of Magical Security himself.

But Graves didn’t really catch that, or better said, didn’t even want to, because thinking of something else while having those hands on him, was a crime itself.

Newt kept rubbing and massaging and Graves lost himself in sensations completely. He drifted off to sleep in the middle of it.

He woke up in the morning to a ginger head pressed closely to his side and Newt Scamander wrapped in a blanket next to him, on his bed, snoring lightly and mumbling something in his sleep.

What did Scamander do in his apartment? Hopefully, he was dressed under his own blanket, because if not, that meant- Graves carefully lifted the blanket off him and gaped. Oh, no.

Newt stirred and opened an eye to look at him. Graves stopped moving.

“Morning, Percival.“

P-Percival??? Since when???

“How is your back? Does it hurt?“

Bloody hell. He wasn’t drunk the previous day, was he?

“N-no.“ Graves stuttered. “Scamander, I mean, Newt.“ he started, clearing his throat. “Did we…?“ he said and gestured suggestively between them.

Newt’s reaction was immediate. His blush expanded up to the tips of his ears and down to his neck.

“O-of course n-not!“ Newt mumbled, looking away, hiding his eyes “Your back. You hurt your back and I gave you a massage.“

Graves’ eyebrow shot up at that “But how the hell I ended up naked then?“

“Well,“ Newt chewed on his bottom lip “it didn’t limit only to your back?“

“I just hope you didn’t massage my…“ Graves hid his face in an open palm and sighed heavily.

“No, but that can be fixed!“ Completely misunderstanding his words, Newt reached to tug at Graves’ blanket. Holy fuck.

Graves looked up, catching the blanket and threw his pillow at him.

“Get the fuck out, Scamander!“

Pour some Suga on me (give me more of that nicotine sweetness)

Trigger warnings: smut, gun play, mafia au, orgasm denial, choking kink, oral sex, cum play, mentions of alcohol, smoking, overstimulation and murder
It was one of the rare days when Yoongi had no business to attend to. One of those glorious days when you could spend your long lay-ins with your favourite person in the world, your perfect fallen angel.

You spent the morning lazily tracing all of Yoongi’s tattoos, especially the one on his index finger, that read Suga, his pseudonym. It seemed only fitting that this four letter name was tattooed on the finger that he used to pull the trigger on anyone who stood in his, and Bantang’s way. Whilst you were never fully comfortable with Yoongi’s profession, you had to say he and his members cleared the streets of much more vicious criminals and degenerates. Yoongi, had some kind of, albeit a bit twisted, moral compass, and he would seek his own brand of justice on those who wouldn’t otherwise face it.

Whilst you where somewhat aware of all the connotations that his street name Suga held, you had long come to associate it explicit actions of the more pleasurable kind.

You knew he wasn’t pissed off, not in the slightest, he was your soft, if not somewhat guarded, Yoongi. But you couldn’t help how the word Suga affected you, letting the soft tingles of your increasing arousal wash over you. You were going to try to experiment with your boyfriend, hoping he’ll like it as much as you thought you would.

You led Yoongi into his office, sitting him on his chair, placing yourself on his lap. He raised an eyebrow but decided to humour you out of pure curiosity. You never came to the office unless instructed to or if he had a bad day. He wondered what his little Kitten could be up to.

You knew you had to be blunt, Yoongi was never one to like faffing about. You hit him with your best sultry gaze before slowly leaning in as you whispered, “I know we only use Suga when Daddy’s angry but Kitten thought it would be nice to use it now, in front of her Daddy, be nice to please her Daddy…” By the time you had finished, your lips were brushing against Yoongi’s but you pulled away as he coughed, a sign that he was ready to speak.

“Daddy likes the sound of that Kitten. Why don’t you pop that cute little naked ass on his desk, hmm, whilst Daddy gets a few things prepared?” Even though he phrased it like a question, it was clearly an order and you did just that, spreading out your legs like the good little whore you were for Yoongi.

When Yoongi got back, he had a tumbler glass, filled with his favourite whiskey and a a couple of his favourite cigars, one each for the both of you. Most importantly, he had Suga, his engraved Colt hand gun, his pride and joy, besides his perfect little kinky Kitten. He gave you a lit cigar, after taking a drag and blowing the smoke into your waiting mouth. He also placed the gun by your side before taking his seat, the throne of his criminal empire and his front row seat to his very own R-rated movie.

You proceed to smoke like Yoongi did, and drag Suga across your body. You used Suga to tease your nipples to full hardness, before slapping the side of the barrel against the hardened nubs, moaning in delight around the cigar at the painful pleasure.

You then proceeded to trace the barrel down your torso, and along the top of your left thigh, teasing yourself and missing where you needed attention most. After dragging the barrel along the top of your left thigh for a few minutes, you spread your legs wider and drew circles on your inner thighs, using Suga. You let Suga inch slowly towards your throbbing heat. You had long been wet and had started to drip onto Yoongi’s mahogany desk.

Yoongi may have look unfased on the outside but on the inside his hormones were raging. After this many years, his Kitten still surprised him and had a hold on him like no one else. He sipped slowly and took drags of his cigar just as slowly, savoring the flavour as a way to juxtapose how his eyes devoured your body, like a starved man.

Suga had now disappeared between your legs, the gleam of the golden gun giving an almost angelic halo effect against your soaked cunt. You used Suga to rub your already hardened clit, causing more of your juices to drip, as you hoped the friction would bring you to your sinful nirvana. You were already so close with how you teased yourself that your body practically begged to cum.

You were just about to reach that dizzying high when Yoongi pulled Suga out from your grip. He forced you to stay seated on the table until the pre-orgasmic knot faded. He smirked at the obvious disappointment on your face and let out a light chuckle. Just before you started to pout he leaned in and whispered, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise along your neck, “Daddy wants you to cum off his tongue and his aching cock. Is that okay Kitten? Daddy will let you cum with Suga another day.” You let out a shaky breath and nodded.

Daddy pulled his chair further in, making sure to line his lips with your soaked ones before diving right in. Yoongi had been an underground rapper before his more nefarious career came calling and by God did that make all the difference. No one could eat pussy like your Daddy. His wicked tongue would trace your lips up and down, up and down, just causing the right amount of sexual frustration before that muscle found and flicked against your g-spot, every. single. time. Again and again. Just when you thought you couldn’t handle anymore, Yoongi moved up and used his teeth to light brush against your abused clit, the painful pleasure being enough to send you over the edge, for the first time tonight.

His tongue kept lapping up your juices, throughout your orgassm, prolonging it to the point where it verged on overstimulation. Your Daddy however couldn’t get over how your juices mixed in with the remnants of whisky on his tongue, creating the most divine delicacy that he very much gorged on.

When he had licked up all of your flowing juices, he stood up, flashing you a smirk. It evoked memories from earlier promises, with the glistening of his lips providing a sign of his commitment to see his dirty fantasies through.

Yoongi then removed all his clothes, the fabric was just a nuisance, getting in the way of a good time. Once as bare as you, he placed a hand on your torso, softly but firmly insisting you lay back. Your Daddy then grabbed your thighs and pulled your body closer to his, his toned torso towering over yours. He gave you one last smirk before slowly sliding inside your velvet heat.

Yoongi could never get over how you were his, how, without being a pushover, you would do anything to please him. He could never get over the feeling of your pretty pussy and how it was always dripping for him, always clenching around him so tight that he thought he was making a deal with a succubus, sent to corrupt him more than he had done by himself. He could never get over your own form of twisted intimacy and he was ready to give you his all.

Once adjusted to his considerable size, Yoongi took no prisoners with the way he fucked you. It was animalistic. All rough and deep, the way you liked it best. His pace was just as bruising as the way his balls slapped against the roundness of your behind.

Yoongi was turned on past the point of teasing and knew you were too, your second orgasm fast approaching. He could tell, the way your walls were unintentionally clenching around him, practically choking his length in the most delicious way. He brought his hand down, the one with his trigger finger and placed it around your throat. He pressed it down in a way that left you as breathless as his bowie knife. It only took a few more of Yoongi’s harsh slams of the hips for you to come apart, walls creating a vice grip around his throbbing cock.

He fucked you steadily through your orgasm until the waves of pleasure slowly faded into a slight thrumming of your nerves. Once you had calmed down, his thrusts became more sloppily.

“Where do you want Daddy’s cum, Kitten?” He asked, his own knot growing to the point of snapping.

“My tits, Daddy”

And so he did, he pulled out and painted your still hardened nubs with his milky essence, giving you a better pearl necklace than he could ever buy you with his vast riches.

Once the orgasmic haze had past, he chuckled at the mess you had both made, helping you to sit up, cum still dripping from your breasts, down your torso.

He lent down and gave you a languid kiss, a sign of his appreciation and devotion to you. Before pulling away he whispered against your plump lips, “Thank you Kitten, you’ve made Daddy very happy. Hold on tight, Daddy is going to help you get even dirtier in the shower.”

Natsume is a pretty skinny little beansprout, but how much of that do you think is genetics, and how much do you think is a result of him being neglected and abused all his life?

I mean, he has a pretty similar body structure to his grandmother when she was his age, but it’s been hinted at a few times that Reiko had a similar family situation to Takashi (in episode 7 of Roku, the way she talked made it obvious she wasn’t living with her parents) so that doesn’t go very far to proving that it’s a genetic thing.

This wouldn’t be such a big deal if he had the life of a regular teenage boy, but between all the running and fighting he does with youkai, Natsume has a pretty active lifestyle, and should by all rights have a good amount of muscle on him (I mean Hinata Shouyou is a pretty smol guy, but have you seen the calves on that boy?)

Anyways, what I’m trying to get at is that, now that he’s with the Fujiwaras and is getting a good, healthy diet, and is being properly taken care of, he should start putting on a bit of muscle yeah?

So basically, I’m asking for more fanart of muscly Natsume.


The Richonne Baker’s Dozen 3 Paragraph Challenge

Total Words: 2775

Rating: T+ (mostly)

A/N: I hope you enjoy the following Baker’s Dozen of Richonne Fics. I LOVED writing Richonne in all these different situations. Thanks @richonnejustdesserts for this awesome challenge!

1) Katana Lesson (First Time Fic)

“Here, try.”

Michonne gently urged him to take her most treasured weapon. Rick looked at her in amusement before biting his lip and nodding reluctantly.

She handed the sheathed sword to him with a smirk. He tentatively took it in his hands and weighed it, raising his eyebrows as if impressed before slowly unsheathing it.

She quietly studied his fascinated gaze, backing up next to his side, intently awaiting his next move.  

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Originally posted by helgabrook

Originally posted by itscirrus

Prompt: Reader is a licensed Chiropractor/Masseuse  (Female who gives massages, or Masseur if you’re a male) and helps Bones relieve some work-given tension while having a nice talk.

Warnings: Implied nudity but not in a sexual way

Word Count: 3,432

A/n: This one was fun to write :) And can I just say how one of God’s greatest creations is men’s back muscle? Sweet Jesus

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Steven Stamkos- Untitled

can you write something about Steven Stamkos? You can pick the setting/situation

Originally posted by nhloffseason

A/N this is super super late and i’m really sorry…. also I interviewed for a job yesterday and I find out tomorrow If I got it or not.  If i did I may have to take a small break away from writing while I transition into the new job and train a replacement… stressfull… so i’m posting this now.. to hopefully make up for it. 

-Lisa 😘

Warnings: X - rated

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so far the only “gay designation chart” that we’ve come up with that has the right amount of nuance is a 3d grid on three axis (fat, muscle, body hair) where the origin point (0,0,0) is twink

which is annoying because that’s the least helpful version of this chart for the purposes of replacing the renamed butch > femme chart

I blame @musicalluna.

Rating: PG, chronic pain

Tony has the best money can buy. The best doctors, the best surgeons, the best medical technicians, the best bio-synthetics experimentalists (hell, he’s one of those himself now), the best physical therapists, the best trainers, the best damn everything. So when Dr. Cho sits him down and says, “Sometimes it just never goes away, Tony. there’s still so much we don’t know about pain and the nervous system and the brain. Maybe one day…” but she doesn’t finish her thought. She knows better than to give him false hope.

So he does his exercises religiously, he reports for physio three times a week, he tries hard to eat (that one’s an uphill battle, but now he’s got a team of beefy, sleek muscular cheerleaders at his back, so he remembers more often) and he tries to sleep (almost impossible, but he tries for Steve.) He does most things right and a few things wrong, but his physical trainers give him beaming smiles at the end of every session. “Nice job, Tony. Your pectorals have really filled in. You have almost 80% flexion returned in your ribs. It’s beautiful.”

But still, more often than not, he wakes with a solid ache in his chest, the points where his pecs hook into his sternum puffy and uneven, thick with tender scar tissue. Some mornings, it’s barely a blip on the radar. He pops a tylenol, does his morning exercises, and goes about his day barely aware that a massive section of his chest has been replaced by titanium and Cartiflex (Stark Industries patent pending).

Other mornings, though, it’s inexplicable. He wakes to find his chest on fire, his ribs caught in a permanent cramp that extends the entire length of his chest. It’s a struggle not to pant, not to make it worse. He lays staring up at the ceiling, praying that this won’t be the morning Steve slept in, and focuses on his diaphragm, willing his lungs to expand lower and slower. The air whistles through his nose and his teeth and he fumbles in his bedside drawer for industrial strength ibuprofen. He won’t take narcotics. Not again. Not ever again. Helen says there’s no shame in needing them, but he knows himself and his vises too well, so he makes due with doses of over-the-counter painkillers that far exceed the maximum recommendations.

He lays in bed for agonizing minute on agonizing minute, waiting for the barest hint of relief, and then, when he thinks he can stand without fainting, he hobbles to the bathroom and sinks into the bath JARVIS has already drawn for him. Sometimes, when the worst of it has him gritting his teeth with tears in the corners of his eyes, he wishes Steve would sleep in, if only so Tony could get a massage out of him. He can rub down his chest himself, albeit slowly and painfully, but the knots of muscle along his lats and down his lower back, they go untouched, tight and sensitive all day.

Sometimes, Natasha knows. How she knows, Tony’s not sure, but she sneaks up behind him in the lab and puts her cold small hands on his shoulders before he can run. Her fingers are magical, sharp and precise, using just the right amount of force to rub out his muscle cramps without causing him even more pain. She never says a word about it, and neither does he, but when she finishes, they always kiss cheeks, and it’s nice to know he’s not completely alone in this. He doesn’t like to show his weaknesses, but Natasha keeps her secrets tight to her chest, hidden away in the shadows of her eyes, and she never tells a soul.


It’s that time of the month again, more updating of my legacy sims lmao. (how do people play the same Sims without changing their appearance at all? I envy you)

Jovan desperately needed a change.  And so now I’ve decided he has an outdoorsy aesthetic with an emphasis on a casual yet put together look. how pretentious He’s totally reppin some red eyeliner too. (Thank you siampop!)

IDK man, is it just me or does he look like he smells of aftershave and sporty cologne? :P

tooticklishforyoo  asked:

Oh oh hey Shibes! How about *squeal* with P5 protagonist and Ryuji?

A special gift for @tooticklishforyoo! HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY LITTLE BRO!!! ^__^
Omg I’m so sorry it took such a long time, and also for whining earlier… Writer’s block had been – and still is - a pain, but I really wanted to have this finished as a (mediocre) gift for this important day. It’s not perfect, but I hope you’ll like it ❤❤❤! Hope you have an awesome day! Best wishes for you!!! *hugs really tight and smooches*

Note 1: there’s a lot more sounds than just squeals in there XD
Note 2: I still can’t write short fics jfc
Note 3: being on tablet, I can’t edit properly, put a read more thing or an illustration… those will be added when my internet comes back ^^;; (Edit: DONE!)

Words count: 2015


           “Man, I’m beat…!”

Ten laps around the school might have been a little bit too much for a start. Especially so late in the evening. Ryuji was wheezing and grunting, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, but Akira didn’t fare any better than his friend. Without the wall as support, he would probably have ended up sprawled on the ground, stranded whale-like. Damn. He really wasn’t the sportive type.

           “I thi… think we should… lower our standards… next time…” the brunet panted, sweat trickling down his face. He wiped his forehead and grimaced. Ugh… sticky. What he wouldn’t give for a shower, right here and now.

           “Oh c’mon!” Despite the fatigue, Ryuji flashed him a bright smile. “We did it…! Ain’t that motivating?”

Akira pondered on the thought. Yeah, in a way it might be, indeed. But try as he might, he couldn’t see the experience as a positive one while his lungs and muscles burned like hell itself. If anything, his first impression right now would be more along the lines of: “I’m never doing that again…”

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Something great

“What’s your favorite thing about me?”

The question came so suddenly you had to ask him to repeat himself.


“Your favorite thing about me; what is it?” he looked at you with wide, curious green eyes. And it took you a while to answer his uncalled for question. Not because you didn’t know the answer, or you didn’t have a favorite thing, but because there were just so many things about him that you simply adored. You even found yourself contemplating this same idea, from time to time. And you couldn’t seem to narrow it down to just one single thing.

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My version of Will Solace:
• graceful, super-organized badass doctor boi
•can play any instrument he touches and has an amazing singing voice
•has just the right amount of muscle and actually isn’t too bad with archery

Also my version of Will Solace:
•clumsy, slightly-obssesed medical nerd child
•can’t even play the recorder, and sounds like a dying whale when he sings but it’s endearing
•never lost his baby fat and it makes him the perfect cuddle partner. Also, he couldn’t hit a bullseye to save his life

anonymous asked:

Tom never got as big as Chris and even when Tom put on the muscle he looked strange.

Well yeah totally different body types. Tom is lithe with just the right amount of muscle definition and should stay that way. Now pardon me as I go think some more about his muscular body….

Roadside Service

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,626

Warnings: None just pure fluff, implied smut but nothing graphic

AN: This was a fun one for me to write! I love me some Dean! Hope this is what you wanted! Also thank you to @jalove-wecallhimdean for being the awesome beta she always is!

Request: Heyyy babe! Lol okay so I have a request if you’re up for it. How about an AU, Dean x Reader. The Reader’s car breaks down. Dean happens to drive by, and him, being an expert in cars, offers to help, resulting in him asking her out on a date…how about fluff…implied smut?? Do whatever you wish, babe! It’s cool if you don’t use it💜💜 @chaos-and-the-calm67

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

This couldn’t be happening to you, not today of all days. You were on your way to the airport to get on your flight to Santa Monica, California where your favorite cousin was getting married. You had been excited about this trip for months and now you were stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Enough smoke billowing out from under the hood of your car to make you wonder if it was actually on fire and you could distinctly smell something akin to burning oil.

You knew you should have paid more attention to that little light on your dash but after buying the plane ticket, your bridesmaid dress, and hotel accommodations, you couldn’t really afford to take it to a mechanic. Now you were stuck with no cell service and the last gas station you had seen was at least 15 miles back. You had resigned yourself to hiking the 15 miles when you heard the most beautiful sound, a sound that made you want to cry tears of joy and relief; the sound of a powerful engine which meant help, hopefully.

You started waving your hands maniacally as soon as you saw a black hood come over the hill, praying that this person would stop and at least give you a ride to the nearest payphone. As the car drew closer you breathed a sigh of relief when you noticed the car slowing down and pulling to a stop right behind yours. Taking a deep breath and running your fingers through your hair to get the sweaty strands off of your forehead, you turned to look at your savior, hearing the squeaking hinge of the old door.

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