the shit i found searching for those pics you have no idea

Handcuffs

Request: A collection of ikon daddy smuts pls

Pairing: Donghyuk x Reader 

Rating: M

a/n: If you do not like smuts then please do not read this because it is a smut. I’m going to put this under read more. Also guys. I’m truly going to hell for this one, I don;t think i’ve ever wrote a smut like this. 

Your foot hit the cold tile as you stepped out of the shower. Your body swayed across the bathroom to grab a towel, then you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Looking at your own body, a thought popped into your head.

I know who would love to see this, you thought.

You knew that your boyfriend Donghyuk would want to see the way you looked right now. Unfortunately, he was not home and wouldn’t be home for a while because he had practice. Your lips parted in a frown at the thought of you not being able to see him.

I could get him home faster.

Immediately after thinking that you erased the thought from your head. You knew better than to bother your boyfriend at practice. Then again, how harmful could it be if you just sent him one picture?

Just one picture, you thought to yourself as a smirk formed across your lips.

You then completed the task you originally set out to do, as you reached for a towel. Though, it wasn’t to dry yourself with. Your hand reached to grab your phone up off the counter. As you unlocked it you went to try and take a picture that perfectly showed your figure. You used the towel to cover the lower part of your body, only allowing your upper body (mainly your boobs) to be shown in the picture.

Once you were satisfied with the outcome of one of a picture, you quickly sent it to Donghyuk. You turned your phone off and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in your towel. You stepped into your bedroom and as you were ready to change into your clothes you heard a ‘ding' sound from your phone. The sound indicated that you had gotten a text and it was no surprise when you saw that it was from Donghyuk.

Keep reading

inspired by @alexanburrsir‘s beautiful post

This isn’t happening, is all Aaron can think when his 3rd period Calculus teacher haphazardly drops his (old, but trusty) cell phone into the never ending void of a desk drawer. The teacher continues on with the lesson as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t sealed Aaron’s very fate when they caught him texting during yet another dry lecture (which had been so stupid, he was usually so careful, but he couldn’t control his facial expressions when talking to Theo. His practiced stoicism always melted away as soon as he heard the telltale ping of his not-girlfriend’s text. “Not-girlfriend” because, well, her actual college football playing boyfriend would have some choice words for him if he were to call her anything else).

Aaron sits, every single part of his body clenched, the tension rising in him with every tick of the analog clock mounted on the wall above the whiteboard. Sweet Jesus… his left eye twitches as he grinds the lead of his pencil into his notebook. Was this how it would end? Was this how child prodigy Aaron Burr would…die? 

Aaron figures that the teacher would have to give him back the phone after class; it’d only be fair. This isn’t middle school, he’s six weeks away from being a legal adult, and legal adults have rights, goddammit

Rights that won’t mean shit if he’s too dead to demand them. 

Once the bell signals that the class is over, he pushes past two students and practically jumps over the one in the front row who’s bent down, searching through his backpack. Once Aaron is in his right mind, he’ll realize that nearly decapitating this particular student was a mistake, but for now he’s on a mission. 

“Sir, please, I know I shouldn’t have been texting but–”

“You do realize you violated our technology terms, right?” The teacher prompts, flatly, not looking at Aaron as he reopens the drawer to extract the phone. Aaron nods his head almost clean off. 

“Yes, sir, and I apologize. I’d really appreciate it if–”

“Sorry, Mr. Burr, I need to turn this into the principal’s office. Too many of you kids have been spending too much time with your noses in your phones to even pay attention in class. With all your tweeter and netflicking-and-chilling, and don’t even get me started on snapshot!” The teacher continues to ramble on as they pack up, sticking the phone into his jacket pocket and marching out the door. Aaron’s soul is too busy departing him for him to even follow. 

His legs nearly give out as he braces himself against the desk. He’s going to die. He can see it now, the obituary in the local newspaper: Notable teenage genius found dead after getting ass whooped and mounted on wall by mother. Humiliation may have also had a hand in this tragic loss. 

“Yo, you good, or…? You need the nurse or something?” Comes a voice as Aaron contemplates becoming one of the girls in the “Runaway Love” music video. It shocks him out of his stupor, and he twists his neck so fast to face the speaker that a quiet crack is heard.

Alexander fucking Hamilton. 

Of course. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” begins the definitely-not-fine boy. “I just…really need my phone back.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Hamilton snorts in that annoying Hamilton way he does everything. It intensifies the churning in Aaron’s stomach. “You have no idea how many times I’ve gotten my phone confiscated. No need to sweat–you can pick it up at the end of the day.”

“I know what the principal does to our phones, Alex. I know.” He’s heard from enough students, Hamilton included, that the principal likes to take a selfie or two on the victim’s phone after (somehow) hacking into it. The pictures varied from comical to downright terrifying, with the picture on Hercules Mulligan’s phone being almost too disturbing for words. 

“Okay, and what’s so bad about that? Sure it’s annoying but–”

“He’ll see the pictures on my phone, doofus.”

Hamilton rolls his eyes, and god does Aaron want to punch him. “So? It’s not like you got nudes or some shit on there, right?” This question, that had flowed so easily out of Hamilton’s goddamn mouth, hangs in the air of the goddamn classroom as Aaron stares pointedly above his classmate’s goddamn bun. He refuses to answer.

“Holy shit,” Hamilton’s eyes grow impossibly wider. “You have dick pics just lying around in your phone? What the fuck?”

“You don’t get to judge me! No one does–I just!” He plops down on top of the desk. “The principal is going to find those pictures…then he’s going to call my mom…then my mom will march down here and whoop me with whatever she can find in her purse over the intercom system before grounding me until I’m 45. By the time I’m freed, my entire life will have passed me by…I’ll be a shell of my former self. A mess, a waste, a big fat mis–

“Burr,” calls Hamilton’s steady voice. “Do you ever, like…not freak out?”

Aaron chances a look at his classmate. “Is this really coming from you?”

“ Touché,” is the bright reply. “But, whatever, we can fix this!”

“We?”

“You did nearly kill me trying to get this phone back, like, five minutes ago. It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t really get that logic, but okay! What’s your game plan?”

Hamilton giggles, actually fucking giggles, which Aaron should’ve seen as a red flag, but he was desperate. “The only way they’ll give you your phone back by the end of the day is if your mom comes down here and asks for it.”

Aaron blinks, once, then twice. Mary AND Joseph. “Now…Hami–Alex...tell me why…I would allow my mother…who is the one person I don’t want to know about any of this…to come down here?”

“I never said your mom had to actually do anything.” Before Aaron can step in with ‘fuck you mean, that’s exactly what you just said’, Hamilton continues, “You look enough like your mom. There are a ton of dresses and wigs in the costume room in the basement. You’d totally–” Aaron stops him with two firm hands on his shoulders, and they hold eye contact for a good ten seconds longer than what would be considered comfortable for anyone.

“You’re a genius, Hamilton,”Aaron finally says. 

Hamilton’s eyes move erratically in their sockets, trying to make sense of…whatever the hell was happening. “You do know I’m joking right?”

But, apparently Aaron doesn’t hear this somehow–or perhaps doesn’t want to–because within seconds he’s sprinting out of the door, leaving Alex alone. After a moment, he shrugs, grabs his backpack, and follows the sound of feet hitting the ground as he thinks, this is gonna be good.

Fourth period’s gonna have to wait.

                                              ——————-

Burr emerges from the bowels of the school wearing a short, black and silver ensemble (complete with shiny heels), a curly black wig, and a pair of glasses to top the look off. From a distance, he perhaps would look like his mother, but alas, there’s no way he can get that phone back from far away. 

Hamilton is cackling the whole way, snapchatting the whole ordeal from the choosing of the outfit (”My mother would never wear this, who do you think she is?” “First of all, don’t be rude. Second of all, the principal isn’t gonna care, Burr,”) to Aaron’s poor attempt at strutting down the hallway. Every hoot in his direction is documented, as is the poised look on Burr’s face. Once they reach the principal’s office, Aaron stills, and he takes a deep inhale. 

“I might not make it out of this alive, Hamilton,” he breathes. Alex nods, bright eyes betraying the frown on his face. Aaron continues. “If that ends up being the case, I want you to tell Theodosia Prevost that I love her, and that she should just dump her ugly college boyfriend already, for everyone’s sake.” Alex can’t really think of a witty reply to that one, so he just snaps one last picture of the prideful Burr for Twitter, and watches as he waltzes into the office. 

Through the window he can see Burr greeting the principal with a wide, extremely fake grin, and manages to take one more picture before ducking out of the line of sight. What he would give to hear what they were saying. 

Seven minutes later, out walks a relieved Burr. “Thank you so much, Principal Washington, I swear it won’t happen again,” he calls in a high-pitched, southern accent. A laugh gargles up in Hamilton’s throat that is only released once the office’s door fully closes. 

“Holy shit, did you get it?!” Aaron answers by holding up the device, pursing his lips cutely before dropping the act altogether. 

“Alright, let’s get out of here. This wig is killing me, although I must admit the shoes are nice.” They stumble down the hall, ignoring the shouts of Aaron’s name. 

Once they’re safely by the basement, away from prying eyes, Aaron asks, “how did they all know it was me? I can’t be that obvious, I mean Washington did believe me, after all.”

Hamilton blanches. “Uh, haha…that may have been because…um…”

Burr crosses his arms. “What the hell did you do?”

Hamilton sighs, and pulls up the tweet. “Um…you got a shit ton of retweets, man. That’s gotta count for something right?” Aaron’s ever-twitching eye is the last thing he sees before he doubles over in pain after Burr stabs his heel into Alex’s unsuspecting foot. 

Aaron grabs his clothes and leaves, not bothering to change out of the costume (save for taking off the wig). He sneaks away to the bathroom and checks himself out in the mirror. With newly returned phone in hand, he snaps about fourteen pictures from several different angles. 

He knows Theo’s going to love it.