yeah that was not what i had anticipated

Ive been doing Supernatural photo ops for a long time now. Five years actually and i usually dont ever get nervous anymore but doing this jensen misha op made me so freaking nervous cause i literally was going have to drop my pants in a room full of people especially Jensen and misha and chris.

  I told iamalive volunteer worker what i was doing and she helped keep me calm so thank you sorry i didnt catch her name.  I was so anticipating their reaction i had no idea what they do.  I dropped my pants and misha broke out with YEAH and kind of waggled his eyebrows at me like he was impressed.  Jensen immediately facepalmed and omg i got same reaction out of him that i got out of Richard ears ago doing the infamous unicorn op. A OMG what has my life become type reaction. LOL

libbyangelofthelord  asked:

Steve and Bucky seeing what people call gangsters today and talk about the Irish and Italian mafia when they were growing up and how they got some money during hard times for doing some runs for the mafia

“Huh.”  Steve looks over to Bucky where he sits curled up in a deep, cozy papasan chair. “I don’t think we qualify anymore, Buck.”

Bucky hummed, cheeks stuffed full of popcorn.  

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam leaned forward in his seat. “You don’t qualify as what anymore?”  The anticipation on his face was incredible.

Bucky shrugged.  “’Snothin’. Steve n’I just did odd jobs back in the day.  Had to make ends meet, you know how it is.” 

Clint narrowed his eyes.  “Wait.  Waitwaitwait. Odd jobs.” He looked at the screen to the rolling credits of the movie they’d just watched and back to Steve and Bucky.  “Oh my God.  Is that your way of saying you were Old-Timey Gangsters?”

It was Steve’s turn to shrug.  “Not really.  Sort of. –I mean.  Officially, legally.  Illegally.  Yeah.”

Oh my God.”  Steve was pretty sure Sam was going to have a heart attack. “Why did I not know this?!”

Bucky wriggled around so he could face Sam better.  “It was prohibition for us.  People were still drinkin’.  Steve needed medicine and an honest job didn’t pay as much as we needed. So.”  He shrugged.

“So I managed logistics and Bucky did the literal heavy lifting. Not really that big a deal.” 

Clint was grinning a mile wide.  “This is so much better than I could imagine.  Steve, you had mob connections.”  


Bucky hummed.  

What?!”  Sam squeaked.  

Steve made a defenseless gesture.  “Families like that have long memories.  They know I’m alive.”  He nodded towards the bar.  “You think I buy my liquor?”

Bucky grinned.  “You always did ingratiate yourself.” He looked at Sam.  “He was their best-selling supplier Brooklyn had.  They owe him; he helped keep them in business long enough for for prohibition to end and for them to make real money.”  Bucky held up his glass and let Dum-E cart it over to the bar, smiling wickedly.  “Another whiskey.”  

Little Jealous There, Sarge?

{Part Two}

Summary: There’s nothing wrong with not being the most experienced person in the bedroom. In fact, some people find it rather attractive, particularly James Buchanan Barnes. Although you express how much you want him, Bucky remains distant; he doesn’t want to do anything to hurt you. So what do you do? You elicit Sam’s help.

Warnings: jealous!Bucky x inexperienced!Reader, fluff, smut, biting kink

A/N: Inspired after spending some quality time with @mermanbuckybarnes and learning just how jealous Bucky can get.

Originally posted by stuckwithbuck

Bucky’s hands remained firmly on his lap, his eyes glued to the television screen. Black Swan was on and Bucky was entranced by the symbolism, striking colors, phenomenal acting, and the now on screen sex scene between Mila Kunis and Natalie Portman.

Your eyes raked over his body. His breathing had visibly increased, a sheen of sweat beginning to form on his skin, his hands moving ever-so-slightly to cover the growing erection in his pants; his tongue darting out to lick his lips, pulling in his bottom lip and dragging it between his teeth to quiet a moan. His eyes met yours when he felt your attention on him.

“You’re missing the movie, doll.” His voice had dropped an octave.

“Oh, you’re much more interesting than the movie, trust me.” You nibbled on your bottom lip contemplating whether or not to act on your lustful thoughts. 

You took a deep breath and reached for the remote, pausing the movie. You tossed it across the room before Bucky could grab it, shifting your position and climbing on top of his lap. His hands found your hips as you started grinding yourself against him; he worked you into an even rhythm.

“What’re you doing?” He whispered in your ear as you trailed kisses up his neck.

“You.” You tangled your fingers in his hair and yanked on the strands. “Fuck me so hard I won’t be able to walk tomorrow, Sarge.”

“(Y/N)…” Bucky’s grip tightened on your hips.

“Oh, fuck!” Your clit was getting the attention it needed. “P-Please, Buck.”

“I…” Bucky sighed and stopped his movements, bringing your own to a halt. “I can’t.” He shook his head and lifted you off his lap. “I, uh, I’ll just see you later, doll.”

You tried to call out after him but he was gone in a flash. You plopped onto your back and groaned loudly, ignoring the ringtone symbolizing Sam blasting from your phone. That’s when the idea hit you and you knew exactly what you had to do. 

Keep reading

Stay [Daryl Dixon x Reader]

You’ve been doing a lot of rick and younger reader fics but could you do a younger reader and Daryl fic? Like she’s 18-20 and has either been with the group since the start or could be Ron’s sister in Alexandra (whatever one is easier for you to write) and some nice dirty smut happens? Thanks and love your blog!

Here you go anon, Daryl smut as requested! Hope you enjoy! 

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

Words: 2,098

Warnings: SMUT, spanking, swearing, unprotected sex

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Heartbeat | 3

“You’ve always stayed far away from the Kingsnakes, the coldblooded gang that runs the dark heart of your city. That is until your life collides with the intriguing and dangerous Jung Hoseok.”

pairing: hoseok x reader
genre: gang!au, smut, angst
wordcount: 13k

part one | two | three | four | five

warnings: dom!hoseok, demeaning names, spanking, rough sex, drug use, violence


You called out his name and he glanced up from where he was perched on your doorstep, a controlled expression on his face. You couldn’t help but feel the prickle of heat at how his eyes stared into yours. He was staring at you with a knowing smirk- it was almost as if he was challenging you, and you were all too ready to accept the challenge he was offering.

“Y/N.” He responded shortly, raking over your body with his eyes. You swallowed thickly, even his stare was laced with intent and it had you more aroused than you cared to admit. 

Hoseok of course noticed your arousal and just raised an eyebrow at you evenly. The smirk on his lips grew as he pulled himself off of your front step, standing up straight so you were face to face, only a few metres apart.

“How was your gallery thing?” He asked dismissively.

“Yeah,” You said. “Good.” 

He looked bored by your words, disinterested in what you had to say, and you wanted to change that. Boldly, you opened your mouth, your breath coming out as an icy puff in the air.

“I kept thinking about how I wanted to fuck you the whole time, though.”

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now we dream apart

soulmate au

pairing: jungkook | reader
genre: angst 
word count: 3.291
warnings: none
author’s note: I know I know, another soulmate au, I’m trash. :’) this is just a small story I started working on this afternoon, to get me back on track so I can start working on my bigger projects again. nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

You don’t know when the dreams begin — but once they do, it feels like they’ve been there since you were born.

The first dream of him revolves around coffee beans. The heavy scent of the morning beverage tangles with the rich shade of chestnut hair and chocolate eyes, turning almost hazel under the glowing sunlight. You can remember a gaze, a nose and full lips turned upwards, but your mind is unable to piece it all together. The face as a whole is blurry in your mind, indistinct, frustratingly vague.

But the memory of those lips moving and pronouncing your name is remarkably sharp, and it almost fools you into believing it is not a dream, but a real memory — that the warmth accompanying his stare existed at some point in your life, that your body did feel the bedsheets tangling around your bare legs as you struggled to move closer to him. That the sound of his voice, rough and mellow, belongs to a living, breathing person and not a figment of your vivid imagination.

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Happy Birthday

Concept: you’re Harry’s gf, you’re with him on tour and it’s your birthday. He’s performing, you’re backstage. You hear him talk about today being a special day. He says he’s going to call you onstage and asks people to tell you what it says on the big screen when you go up there. People goes wild. You cant see the screen but you assume it says happy birthday. He calls you, you go up there all shy, harry counts 1,2,3. But people shout ‘will you marry harry?’ and you turn to see him on one knee.’ – anon :)

The roar from the crowd was deafening from where you stood backstage, and you could only imagine how powerful it sounded from where Harry stood amongst the rest of his band. This one was one of the bigger venues on the tour, housing just around 4,000 people.

Because of its size, you were able to stand right in the wings and watch him perform, bouncing around onstage and telling awful jokes, just like at the arena tours you were used to.

“Alright!” Harry shouted to the crowd after the end chord finished, “Can yeh do something for me tonight?”

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So @gneisscastiel and @daughter-of-the-rain-and-snow and I were discussing this gif of Castiel’s wing imprints, which… his wings just look HUGE, amirite? Which, naturally, led to a discussion of, “Well, you know what it means when an angel has big wings, right? *wink wink* ” and then they prompted me to write about Dean and Castiel having a discussion about how Castiel is “well-endowed”, so here it is. :D 

Please enjoy a little bit of brevity after this season’s tearful premiere.

(Gif credit to @codestielckles)

Dean puts out a hand to stop Cas, tugging him to a halt just outside the doorway to the kitchen. 

“So, Cas,” he says, as casually as he can muster, which is, of course, Not Very. “Maybe this is crossin’ a line, I dunno, but I… I gotta ask, man. The curiosity’s been killing me. How big are we talkin’?”

Castiel squints at him, doing the (totally-not-endearing) head tilt thing. “What do you mean?”

Dean does not fidget. He doesn’t. He just shifts his weight a little bit, rocks on his heels, and then, belatedly realizing that his hand is still on Castiel’s arm, drops it and rubs his palms across his jeans. “Well, I mean, you said before that your true form is huge, right? Like, Chrysler building size?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, so I’m just wondering: how big is everything else?”

Castiel still looks like he’s not following, so Dean rolls his eyes and gestures to his own shoulders, sweeping out a hand over the top of his shoulder and then wiggling his fingers to indicate feathers. Castiel’s face clears with understanding.

“Oh. Yes. Well, in my true form, I would estimate…” His eyebrows draw together thoughtfully for a moment. “…about 300 yards, from end to end?”

Dean stares at him, blank, and Castiel huffs a quiet noise of amusement.

“…about two and a half football fields, I believe, if that makes it easier to picture.”

Dean whistles quietly between his teeth, impressed. “Son of a bitch.”

Castiel nods and stands just a little bit straighter. It’s subtle, but Dean would almost swear that Cas is puffing up with pride. “I’ve always been ‘above average’, I guess you could say, in comparison to some of the other angels.”

Dean grins and punches him lightly on the arm, barking a laugh. “Hell yeah, you are! I always knew you were packin’! Go you. Okay, so that’s your true form. And now…?”

“Well, since I’m using a vessel and I’m not currently in my true form, everything is scaled down, obviously –“

“Obviously,” Dean agrees, nodding sagely, as if he has the slightest friggin’ clue  how angel proportions work.

“- but I would still say…quite large. Several yards, at least.”

“Dude. That’s awesome.”

Castiel nods, looking pleased and just the slightest bit smug, and Dean takes a moment to build himself up for the next question.

“Okay, so maybe this is weird,” he blurts out, but he’s gotta ask before he loses his nerve and it takes him another eight years to get around to it again, “and feel free to tell me ‘no’, I dunno how angels are about this kind of shit, but can I… can I see?”

He can’t help the hope that creeps into his voice, but his heart sinks at the regretful expression that crosses Castiel’s face.

“I don’t think that’s wise, based on our past experiences,” Castiel says. He raises a hand towards Dean’s face, passing it in front of his eyes – Dean almost thinks Castiel is going to touch his fingertips to Dean’s eyelashes for a second, and his eyes flutter in anticipation – before dropping it. 

Dean nods, thinking painfully of what had happened to Pam. And yeah, he gets it, but he still can’t help wilting a little with disappointment. 

“Yeah, okay,” he sighs. “You’re right.”

Castiel is watching him thoughtfully, chewing just slightly on his bottom lip. It’s a ridiculously human thing to do, and it gives Dean ridiculously inappropriate ides.

“But maybe…maybe you could feel?” Castiel says hesitantly.

Dean perks up immediately, head snapping up. “Really? Dude, that would be friggin’ awesome!” He doesn’t even bother to disguise the eagerness in his voice this time. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Close your eyes,” Castiel instructs, looking amused. “And keep them closed,” he adds, almost like an afterthought, like Dean’s stupid enough to want his eyes burned out of his skull by looking at Castiel’s wings, no matter how awesome and cool and badass they might be. “And hold out your hands.”

Dean snaps his eyes shut, curiously holding out his hands, palms up and cupped. He startles a bit, surprised, when he feels Castiel touch his hands, taking them gently and turning them around so that his hands are in front of his chest, palms facing outward - raised as if trying to protect himself, or ward something away. Which, yeah, that’s not a real comforting thought. But he trusts Cas, so he waits, trying not to grin too stupidly as Castiel releases his hands and moves away, footsteps shuffling farther down the hall.

He waits. And waits, hands held up, ears straining.

The first brush of a feather against his palm makes him jerk even though he’s expecting it, recoiling automatically against the alien sensation, but he immediately wrenches his hands back up and reaches forward cautiously. He presses his palms against soft feathers. They’re buttery soft, and silky, and Christ, some of them are friggin’ long - it takes an entire sweep of Dean’s hand, from up by his head to down past his knees, to follow some of the feathers to their end. He stretches out his arms and carefully feels his way along Cas’ wing, trying to get an idea of the size, and wow, Cas hadn’t been kidding. His outstretched wing, just one of them, fills the entire hallway from floor to ceiling, and it seems practically never-ending. It takes him many awkward, shuffling steps, feeling his way gently along Cas’ wing, before he finds the end of it where there’s finally no more feathers, only the empty hall. 

Cas’ wings are awesome, just like he knew they would be. But also, more sobering, they’re damaged. There are places where feathers are obviously missing, and if even Dean can tell there’s something wrong - Dean, who doesn’t know a damn thing about angel wings - then it’s probably pretty serious. Some of the feathers are rougher, sticking out at odd angles, and he combs them back into place with his fingers without even thinking about it. Castiel makes a pleased, grateful noise, so Dean keeps doing it whenever he stumbles across one.

Finally, Castiel’s wing twitches under his hands and gently pulls away, and Dean lets it go, dropping his hands a little wistfully. 

“You can open your eyes now.”

He does, immediately searching for Castiel’s unsure gaze and holding it. His face splits into a grin, and Castiel seems to relax a little, some of the tension in his eyes easing away. 

“That was awesome, Cas. You’re really somethin’ else.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says quietly, offering a small smile back.

The moment stretches out until Dean notices it and clears his throat, jerking his  head towards the kitchen doorway and effectively bursting the bubble. “So. Yeah. I guess we got sidetracked. Coffee?”

“Coffee,” Castiel agrees readily.

Dean laughs and claps on him the back, steering him through the doorway. “And man, let me just say, if you ever need a volunteer to help take care of -”

He pauses for a second, catching sight Sam standing at the kitchen counter. No one had passed them in the hallway, so Sam must’ve been come in earlier and been in here the whole time - probably trying to drink all the coffee so he can scurry away and leave the pot empty, again, the bitch.

“ - morning, Sam,” he says, cheerfully. He’s in too good of a mood to hold a coffee-related grudge at the moment.

Sam jerks when Dean addresses him, some of the coffee in his cup slopping over onto his fingers, and Dean pauses, taking another look at him. 

Sam is standing stiffly, eyes fixed wildly on Dean and Castiel. He’s holding his coffee cup in a death grip, not drinking from it, not even reacting to the coffee splashing onto his fingers. His shoulders are hunched up around his ears, body weirdly tense.

Dean frowns. “Sam, are you okay - ?”


He shoots for the kitchen doorway, powerwalking like a middle-aged woman trying to beat the neighbor to the newspaper, and then he’s gone, leaving a trail of slopped coffee in his wake - a trail that Dean will have to mop up later, the asshole.

“Huh,” Dean mutters, narrowing his eyes. “That was weird.”

He glances at Cas, but Cas looks just as confused as Dean feels, giving him a small, perplexed shrug.

Dean shakes it off and moves towards the coffee pot. Weird brothers will have to wait until after his caffeine fix. “So Cas - tell me about your four heads.”

Sterek A-Z Challenge: one word prompts

Week 14: N - No

The thud of the bass rattled Stiles’ bones as he approached the sketchy club. He’d taken a cab from his and Derek’s apartment as instructed because Derek hadn’t wanted him wandering around the city so late at night by himself, and Stiles actually agreed. New York was nothing like Beacon Hills.

Sure, there was chaos, murder, and mayhem, but of a completely different nature. The supernatural, Stiles could handle, but human…

His third week in the city, Stiles had been mugged. Derek had been furious with him.

It wasn’t a fair representation of the city. New York was great, and so were the people. The city was surprisingly high on the list of safe major cities as opposed to how it was portrayed in the media and Hollywood, but Stiles had been so used to knowing what goes bump in the night, that he had completely forgotten humans could be just a vicious and cruel as any supposed mythical creature.

So, Stiles now cabbed everywhere he went, usually. Of course, the next time he’d ignored Derek’s mild request to take cabs or wait for Derek to pick him up, Stiles was kidnapped by a grief-stricken, slighted werewolf hell bent on revenge against Laura Hale.

Stiles shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his red straight cut jeans that he wore with one of Derek’s sweaters. Not a club outfit, but Stiles wasn’t at the club to party. He was there to listen to Derek DJ his first gig, or whatever it was called. He bypassed the growing line and walked straight up to the big burly bouncer dude holding a clipboard.

“Sup, dude,” Stiles said. He flashed a grin of false confidence as he rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “I’m on the guest list. Stiles Stilinski.”

The bouncer eyed him and snorted before he consulted the clipboard. “Sure. ID,” he said.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Stiles fumbled for his wallet, nearly dropping his license when he pulled it out. It was brand new and still glossy. His license had expired a few months ago, and he’d had to renew it in New York. “Here ya go. I’m totally underage. Not trying to sneak in to drink. Just here for the music.”

The bouncer checked his ID, eyes darting between Stiles and his grinning picture, then back down to the guest list. “Sorry, kid. Can’t let you in.”

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Night sky (Mark x TwinFemReader) fluff aghast

Originally posted by lum1natrix

(( gif not mine - CUTIE ))

(A/n): lmao this request is weird and I love it.

Request:  If you’re still doing request, do you think you could do a mark x female twin reader where they getting into a big fight so she leaves without telling anybody but eventually comes back and it’s clear that they’re both wrecks without their twin? Fluffy angst? Sorry, I just really like twin stuff ☺️

Warnings: Swearing and sadness and fluff and kill me


Okay so sharing a house in general, is not always fun. Sharing a house with three other men, can be fun but also not fun. But, sharing a house with your twin brother, fun and terrible.

But, (Y/n) shared a house with them because her and Mark had always worked together on everything. The pair of them had started this channel together; with (Y/n) behind the scenes and Mark in front of the camera.

Yeah, sometimes it was stressful, especially for Mark. He had to maintain his public image all the time.

The two of them had each other though. They pair really were inseparable, as most twins are.

“Mark, I swear to fuck if you don’t put the seat down one more time, I’m selling your dick on the black market.”

Screaming things such as this across the house was likely common. All the person in question would do, though, is giggle and run away. Because she lives with several five year olds.

“Kill me now…” (Y/n) mumbled.

Walking down the stairs cautiously, she had split her path and strut into the large kitchen.

“Mark.” the girl growled.

Her fraternal twin was standing there next the the fridge with chica at his feet.


“Did you even hear what I just said?” she questioned harshly.

“Well yeah, but I was busy adoring Chica that I didn’t have time to care.” he joked.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes with venom soaking her usually sweet expression. This was also very common. Him not caring about a lot of things his twin had to say.

“Mark I’m serious. This is a small bathroom incident but it just further proves the point that you don’t listen.

Her words didn’t register in his ears or even get past her lips it seemed. The brunette was too busy baby talking his dog.

All (Y/n) could manage to do was sigh dramatically. It pissed her off that he didn’t take the time to hear her, and the frustration showed.

“I’m going to get dressed.” the girl commented stiffly.

“Not that you care..”

As (Y/n) made her way slowly back up the stairs, Ethan passed her stride joyfully.

“Mooooring, (Y/n).” he called, stopping his bouncy walk to face her politely.

“Yeah.” she replied blandly.

She continued her walk of shame up the last four steps, and sauntered into her room. Ethan was left staring up the way (Y/n) had gone, visibly confused, borderline concerned.

Though it was the usual time for them all to share breakfast, the youtuber had lost her appetite.

“I’m not going to sit here and sulk, at least.” she mumbled.

Shuffling around her room, (Y/n)’s soft hum strung lightly in the air. The (h/c) haired girl collected a pair of clean jeans and blank shirt, throwing over a loose cardigan.

For the second time, she made her way down the stairs.

As (Y/n) walked into the kitchen, she took the liberty of rolling up her sleeves briefly. Stepping to the cabinet, she had gestured for Mark to move over.

“I’d ask, but I’m sure you wouldn’t hear me.” (Y/n) hissed.

Reaching up to grab herself a pale plastic cup, (Y/n) caught in the corner of her eye her brother mouth what she had just said, with crude facial expressions.

The girl wanted to sigh and apologize, but she thought it might be best to guilt trip him instead. (Y/n) had really wanted to make her point.

After obtaining her glass, she went to the fridge, passing by Ethan who sat at the table. He sat there, chewing his toast silently, feeling and seeing the tension but being shit scared to say anything.

The youtuber pried open the refrigerator, viewing its contents wearily.

Dramatically, she then twisted to face the blue boy.

“Do we not have any more milk?” (Y/n) asked kindly.

Ethan nervously smiled back up at the (e/c) eyed girl, shaking his head briskly with a mouth full of bread.

This time (Y/n) did sigh “I could have asked Mark, oh but he wouldn’t have given a shit.”

Mark rolled his eyes and aggressively threw up his arms.

“So what? Now you’re going to pout all fucking day because I made one joke?!”

(Y/n) actually wasn’t surprised by his outburst, in fact the (size) girl anticipated it.

“No, I’m trying to get a fucking point across! Because repetition is the only thing you see from me.” she scoffed.

Mark just clicked his tongue and stared at his twin intensely.

“That’s because I really couldn’t give less of a fuck what you say.”

“Yeah, I already know–” she began. At this point she had already had enough this. (Y/n)’s aim was to apologize now, but that sure wasn’t Mark’s.

“No, I mean I really don’t care. What you have to say means jackshit at the point, you aren’t actually valuable to any of my project’s whatsoever.” Mark spat “I’m honestly baffled why the hell you still live with me.”

That struck home immediately. Why was she living with him? Because… well this was what the two of them had worked for for a long time…

“…” (Y/n) stood there in silence.

Ethan took a second to stand up, his eyes already gone wide. He opened his mouth stiffly and said “I don’t think you should have said that.”

Mark’s knees felt as though they could give out at the calmest of movements. Before being able to actually say anything, the brunette opened and closed his mouth several times, looking between his sister and Ethan.

“(Y/n), oh my god… I’m…” he began, heartfelt hurting twisting his words.

“The sun is so bright…” came Tyler’s airy voice, entering the kitchen lazily.

He stretched backwards, and held in a yawn “Morning.”

The girl took this as any sort of cue to leave.

She stepped her way rigidly from the room. Mark could be heard yelling her name before Ethan called a loud “Wait!” but it wasn’t for (Y/n).

(Y/n) turned to face the stairs, staring up at them blankly.

She had made up her mind. Even in her dazed state, she knew for certain she did not want to be here of all places, right now.

❆   ❆   ❆ 

The girl had left. The house, I mean. She took her car from in front of the house and went away.

Of course she didn’t have any plans as to where she desired to go. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought she didn’t want to go anywhere at all.

So she drove and drove. And drove some more. Where (Y/n) ended up was half way across L.A, parked on the side of the road.

As she sat there breathing heavily, she was able to feel in her pocket, her phone vibrating. Not at all wanting to see any of the messages; she pulled it out against her better judgement.

- Loud blue boy: (Y/n)?

- Loud blue boy: I think you should come out of your room…

- Loud blue boy: wait r u even in your room??? :0

- Loud blue boy: Wait wait (Y/n) where are you?!

(Y/n)’s screen was lit up with messages from Ethan; they made her laugh a bit as she wiped at her eye.

The girl was happy she didn’t apply makeup this morning, noticing now that she had been crying most of the time she was driving.

A blunt sting cut through her upper chest. She didn’t want to be away from Ethan or Tyler. Especially not Mark. She had heard what Mark had said, but her mind wanted to know that he was lying. (Y/n) didn’t want to leave him…

“It’s been what, twenty minutes and I already miss them?” she mumbled softly.

Chancing her blurry eyes, (Y/n)’s gaze fell upon the digital clock in her car. It read in bright blue 4:58pm.

A quaint gasp bubbled from her throat, making (Y/n) sputter a bit in breath.

‘Six hours, what the hell.’ she thought.

Swiping furiously at her eyes once more, (Y/n) pulled off the side of the road and dealt out a most likely illegal U-turn. The youtuber began to go back the way she came, offering her silence a thick sigh.

❆   ❆   ❆

“I fucked up didn’t I?” Mark sniffed.

He was sat in the very middle of the kitchen, balling his eyes out, with a very not okay head.

“A little…” Tyler lulled. Tyler had been explained what had happened, and if he was honest, he was pretty disappointed in the two of them.

“Oh god, what if she never comes back?” Mark cries, heartbroken at the very thought “What if she just moves out and takes all her stuff with her and doesn’t say goodbye? Takes all her belongings, her memories.”

“I’m not sure that she would do that.” Ethan pats his back in an effort to console him.

Mark twists his head to look at the blue haired man and stares at him directly in the eyes.

“Ethan, I’m not ready to have her for once not take me.”

Now Ethan was the one heartbroken. He could see sufferable pain in Mark’s deep brown eyes.

“Hey, Mark, I believe that’s (Y/n)’s car pulling in…” Tyler spoke.

In an instant, the brunette had scrambled to his feet and with a deathly silence, watched the door.

Within a few seconds, it had opened quietly; softly. (Y/n)’s form slipped through the opening.

The current time was 11:23pm, from the moment that Mark saw (Y/n) in the doorway, to the second Mark had sprinted to her and snared her in a hug. The minute hand on the clock hadn’t even moved a millimeter between the two.

“Mark…” (Y/n)’s voice cracked. She wasn’t able to hug him back, or even close the door. Her twin had her arms confined under his own.

Mark also wasn’t able to say anything, it seems, other than ‘I’m sorry’ in repetition.

“Repetition, that’s all I ever hear from you.” (Y/n) laughed softly, sniffing a bit now and again.

The male raised his head to her words, showing her a sad, dopey smile. The stars in open night sky reflecting on his watery black eyes; making his sister smile back at him ten fold.


(A/n): Boi this is so long I hated editing it. I can’t frickin read today, lordy

Night Shifts. [Smut]

A/N; I am so sorry that this took me ten million years to write. This wouldn’t have been possible without the bad influences in my life! ( @we-are-like-a-timebomb ,  @writing-obrien . @dumbass-stilinski and the wonderful @mandylove1000 <3 ) Enjoy! xoxo 

Pairing: StuartxReader

Author: thelittlestkitsune

Warnings: NSFW.

Word count: 5,716

Listen to this.

Originally posted by never-ever-stop-for-anyone

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You saw a lot interesting things and met a lot of dangerous people in your line of work. Being a Shadowhunter was no laughing matter and you took your work seriously. There was a sense of pride in your skills as a medical agent. You saved more lives than you can count. You also saved a lot of innocent Downworlders. You didn’t believe they were beneath you just because you were a Shadowhunter. Your heart even grew attached to a young vampire who recently became the leader of the New York Coven.

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Zhang Yixing//Oh God

Prompt: You’re a teacher filling in for another class, and having trouble from one of the students. In an attempt to sort it out, you discover that you’re a lot more friendly with his parent than you originally thought.
Scenario: Fluff, smut mention
Word count: 3,837

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Overgrown Lizard Law

A/N: Hi guys! Second one-shot in two days, I’m on fire! I had fun with this one, and it’s my first request! I hope you guys like it! Requests are open, and feedback is always welcome. Feel free to follow me!

Request: Hello can I get an Owen x Reader where the reader works with Owen and the raptors? The raptors act weird towards the reader and no one knows why. It turns out it’s because they acknowledge her as the alpha’s mate and so alpha female of the pack?

Owen x Reader

Warnings: Swearing again, but only like once so it’s fine.
Y/N/N: Your Nickname (or just your name)
Y/L/N: Your Last Name

“Are you nervous?” You ask, leaning your arms on the railing of the catwalk, watching as the girls play-fought and chased each other around the paddock.

“Me? Nervous? Sweet cheeks, I was born ready.” Owen said with his signature smirk plastered across his-quite honestly, gorgeous- face, reaching out a finger and bopping you on the nose. Rolling your eyes, you bump him with your shoulder, and look down at the ground again watching as Delta ran circles around Charlie. Biting your lip and playing with your hands anxiously, you watch as the two chase each other’s tails.

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When Dad Isn’t Home (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Request fill for @minim236 who asked for, “Can you please do a Spencer x reader where she’s Hotch’s daughter and they are secretly dating and they get caught by the team?” Here’s some misadventures in babysitting! Un-beta’d. Hope you enjoy! xx

“Y/N, I was calling to ask if you could pick Jack up after school and stay with him tonight. I’m sorry for the late notice but this paperwork is taking way longer than anticipated and I want to get it done before his soccer game tomorrow,” you heard your dad’s voice through the receiver. He sounded drained.

“Uh, yeah.” You were supposed to go out with Spencer tonight, but seeing as that your dad had no idea you were dating, nonetheless dating one of his employees, you couldn’t really use that as an excuse. Spencer would understand anyways. “That’s fine, dad. What time does he get out?”

“2:35. Thank you, Y/N. I really do appreciate it.”

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anonymous asked:

Imagine steve and bucky in the 1930's having a crush on each other but not saying anything because you could be arrested for being gay in that time.... and then they see each other at a gay bar.

Steve had been nervous, at first.  Not that he wasn’t still, the worry and threat of discovery was still there, but it didn’t feel the same.  More like background noise than anything else, now.  

Now, he was mostly frustrated.  At having to be secretive, having to put on a smile for every guy he made time with that didn’t look like –well.  Never mind.  

It was another evening Bucky was out on a date – no double-date this time, which was just as well.  Steve appreciated Bucky’s efforts, no question.  But it made him sick to think he was deceiving his best friend, that he was deceiving some young woman (even if she wasn’t particularly interested in him, either).  

So here he sat, making patterns in the condensation on his glass and working up the energy to look approachable.  To find someone to approach.

It wasn’t that there was movement at the other end of the bar, necessarily.  But something had him turning; not a loud laugh, not a fight, not a spilled drink or a sudden movement.  Just. Something.  Some surety of purpose had his head turning.  

And then his heart was in his throat because.  

Because Bucky was there.  Staring right back at him with the same spooked look on his face Steve imagined he was sporting, too.  

Bucky was the first to recover and make his way over.  It was just as well, Steve needed a minute to catch his breath before he had an asthma attack.  Or a panic attack.  Or both.

“I heard a rumor about you, you know.”  Bucky started.

“Oh yeah?”  Steve couldn’t look away if he tried and he watched Bucky for any sign –good or bad- of what was going to happen next.  He wasn’t sure what he was feeling and so he settled on careful anticipation and decided to deal with anything else bubbling under the surface another time.

“Yeah.  Heard you were the best kisser around.  Which, I gotta say, I’ve been guardin’ that title pretty close for a while.  I don’t know if it’s fair for someone to just walk in and take it without provin’ himself first.”

Steve felt hysterical, relieved laughter bubble up in his chest and he pulled Bucky in close and kissed him soundly.  

“I want to be so mad at you, for not tellin’ me, but I didn’t tell you, either.  ‘M sorry, Buck.”

“Nah.” Bucky reached around him and knocked back the last mouthful of Steve’s drink.  “I don’t know that I coulda taken it if you hadn’t wanted me back, too.”  Bucky studied Steve’s face for a long moment and Steve took the time to marvel at how he’d looked at Bucky so many times but just not really seen him like he was in this moment.  “What d’you say we get out of here, make it up to each other?”

Steve gave Bucky a quick peck on the lips before slipping off the barstool.  “I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”


This should go up on AO3 soon and I’ll add the link. I’m still on official hiatus from fic prompts and chapter updates, but I’m writing other things as I have time and inspiration strikes. This was spawned out of a brief conversation about a specific line of dialogue and it was fun to write. It got sappy and I do not apologize.

Gen/Family Bonding
Tim Drake + Bruce Wayne
Rated T for Language
~2500 words

The Batmobile roared into the Cave and the engine cut-off, plunging the bay into silence. Only voices from the medical unit carried over when Batman leapt out of the car.

“How is he?” he called, pulling back his cowl as he hurried up the steps.

“Dazed and a little incoherent,” came Alfred’s reply. “I’m still assessing him now.”

Bruce had been on patrol with Damian when Oracle had informed him over the comm that Tim had been taken back to the cave with a head injury of unspecified severity. Cassandra had found him and then had fallen silent on the comms after letting Oracle know.

He climbed the steps to see Tim perched on the edge of the gurney, a bucket in his hands. It looked freshly rinsed. Cass was sitting on the countertop with her arms wrapped around her folded legs. Alfred was prepping a CT scanner they’d invested in after an earlier nasty head wound.

“Is Robin with you?” Alfred asked, glancing over as Bruce took in the scene.

“He’s with Batgirl,” Bruce said, not taking his eyes off Tim.

“Miss Cassandra might appreciate your help in engaging Master Timothy’s attention.”

“Listen,” Cass said, when Bruce took a step closer to them. Tim had still not noticed his arrival, or if he had, he had given no indication of it. “Tim. Tell me again. Becoming Robin.”

“So,” Tim said, his word slurred. He leaned forward over the bucket and nearly toppled off the gurney. Cass slid forward, a tangle of limbs unfurling and stretching toward him in the same instant Bruce put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and gently pushed him upright again.

“So,” Tim repeated, “you know, you know the first part.”

“Green. Girls. Fast cars,” Cass supplied, weight braced on her hands on the countertop. She held her body aloft, an inch above the surface, by her splayed palms.

Bruce’s heartbeat stuttered, knowing and hating this origin story. He loved Tim but he tried not to think often of why Tim was there.

“Exaaaactly,” Tim said. “Gone. So, B, you know B, he’s a fucking disaster. Like Cass you don’t even know how bad. He was erratic and violent and reclusive like a baby kangaroo. Cass, don’t laugh at me, I’m serious,” Tim’s voice took on a pleading tone and Cass was in fact, giggling behind her hands. She’d dropped back to the counter to cover her face. “Baby kangaroos are dangerous, Cass. They have really strong legs but they hide, too,” Tim sounded near tears.

“Okay,” she said, consoling. Bruce felt like he wasn’t doing much to help other than ensuring Tim wouldn’t topple over, but he was also reluctant to miss the rest of the story from Tim’s perspective.

“He was hiding and I knew where to find him,” Tim said. “I snuck in. Who gives a fuck about rules, not me. I never have. Anyway I found him, and he was all like, ‘What are you doing here, punk? Aren’t you Jack Drake’s kid?’”

Bruce had half-anticipated this part of the story, but he has not anticipated that Tim’s voice would rise to a falsetto while imitating Bruce’s lines instead of dropping to a lower octave. He had to stifle a sudden laugh.

Cass’ eyes were shining and Bruce realized belatedly she’d said “again” earlier. She had wanted him to hear this.

“Then what,” Cass prompted when Tim’s attention began to drift.

“Oh,” Tim said. “Oh yeah. So. So, I found him. And he was angry. But I just told him the truth. I said, ‘bitch, you need some kid to stabilize you, and I guess I have to be it.’”

Bruce, despite his twinges of guilt and amusement, could not actually argue with the truth of this summation.

“I seem to remember more pleading on your end, Master Timothy,” Alfred interjected a bit defensively.

“No, that’s pretty much it,” Bruce said with a wry grin. Cass beamed at him unabashedly.

Tim turned as if surprised and looked up at Bruce standing next to him.

“Hey, bitch,” he said in a sluggish tone. “I mean, Bruce,” he amended without apology.

“Hey, kid,” Bruce said. “They told me you hit your head.”

“That’s stupid,” Tim spit out bitterly. “Something else hit my head, not me. I’m not an idiot.”

“Brick wall,” Cass said.

“That,” Tim said forcefully, pointing a finger at her. “What Rainbow Daughter said.”

“True name,” Cass clarified for Bruce. “Secret.”

“The scanner is ready,” Alfred said. “Master Timothy, if you might lie back?”

“Try and make me,” Tim said. “I can go back out there. I’m fine!”

“Tim,” Bruce said, a little sternly, and Tim sighed and reclined on the bed, still clutching the bucket. “Has he been nauseous?” Bruce asked Alfred.

“No,” Tim answered. “I just like this bucket.”

“Ask him questions,” Alfred said. “Keep him awake, if you might.”

“Favorite dinosaur?” Cass asked before Bruce could think of anything.

“Velociraptor,” Tim answered with a scoffing noise. “What kind of question is that.”

“Movie?” Bruce asked and Cass gave him an alarmed expression. From inside the portable scanner Tim sniffled hard and bit back a sob.

“Dumbo,” he whispered a second later.

“Favorite happy film,” Alfred amended, giving Bruce a severe look. “One must specify.”

Cass added a reproving frown to this, and a nod, as if it was common sense.

Inside the machine, Tim sniffed again and answered in a steadier tone, “No such thing. Is Bruce still there?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered.

“Tell them. There are no happy films,” Tim insisted.

“I’m sure there are some happy films,” Bruce countered slowly, looking to see Alfred’s still disapproving reaction to this concession.

“But you haven’t seen any,” Tim said sourly. “You can’t think of any. Art is misery.”

Bruce, who had been feeling slightly bewildered by his apparently massive misjudgment moments before, knew immediately that this was something he could salvage.

“That isn’t true,” he argued, ignoring the absurdity of disagreeing with a stubborn teenager who had a probably massive concussion. “What about the photo essay on abandoned research labs in Gotham?”

“The one I did for Wired?” Tim asked hesitantly. “Yeah, that was fun.”

In the corner of Bruce’s line of sight, Cass bit her lip to hold back a pleased smile.

“Nikon or Canon?” Bruce asked next, dragging a wheeled stool over to the gurney and sitting down.

“Digital or traditional?” Tim asked, his whole body now otherwise still.

“Both,” Cass said. “I guessed.”

“Canon for digital, Nikon for traditional,” Tim said. “Were you right?”

“Yes,” Cass said quietly, despite having no proof of this. Bruce didn’t doubt her. He himself had been fairly certain.

“Hell yes,” Tim said triumphantly. “Sibs know shit.”

“Sibs know shit,” Cass repeated solemnly, like it was a vow of some kind. For all the weight they gave it, Bruce supposed it might have been.

“I’m gonna sleep,” Tim announced with a yawn. “It’s so cold in here.”

“Tim,” Bruce said, instead of trying to persuade him otherwise. “Which USSR camera model did you prefer?”

“You don’t remember that,” Tim said as if it were obvious fact. “No way.”

“Of course I do,” Bruce said, because he did.

“Zorki-6,” Tim said with a fond sigh.

“Why?” Bruce asked, because he wanted to keep him talking and because he’d always been curious about the antique camera Tim had spent a long spring season taking everywhere. He’d come to Bruce’s office after school most afternoons to sit on the couch and do homework and fiddle with the settings. He’d take pictures from the window, or traipse around the building with the camera, and develop them in the darkroom at the manor afterward instead of going home. But Bruce has never asked– Tim had been skittish about his art then, likely to tuck it away if anyone paid attention.

“Because no one else that I knew had one,” Tim said. “And it smelled like your old briefcase.”

Bruce was so acutely aware of Cass sitting nearby and Alfred beside him overseeing the machine as it powered down that it didn’t take much effort to retain his face’s composure, but there was a moment where it nearly broke in surprise and sentimental warmth.

“Good smell,” Cass said.

“Hell yes,” Tim said again. “One of the best. Like vanilla extract.”

Bruce was frozen on the stool while they discussed this and he exchanged a look with Alfred that told him, without words, that his semblance of facial control was likely a myth.

“Ew,” Cass said. “Bitter.”

“I told you, you can’t taste it,” Tim said. “Extract is gross to taste.”

The machine rolled back and Tim was prone on the bed, still, the small bin wrapped in his arms.

“This is just a cursory glance,” Alfred said, “but I don’t see anything concerning. His heart rate is still a tad elevated.”

A suspicion bloomed in Bruce’s mind and his frozen limbs moved again. He slid the stool down toward Tim’s head and leaned over the bed, looking into the boy’s face.

“Tim. How many shots of espresso did you get in your red eye tonight?”

“Oh,” Tim said, thinking. “Before I fought with the wall.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, a smile quirking one side of his mouth.

“Uh,” Tim said, meeting Bruce’s gaze and then looking down at the bin. “You’re going to be pissed.”

“I won’t be,” Bruce said, promising to himself as much as Tim. “If you tell me, you might get to sleep soon.”

“I’m so tired,” Tim allowed. “Really. Like, it’s been days. Fudge. I’m so tired.”

“C’mon,” Bruce said, and he felt Cass move behind him before he saw her at his elbow.

Cass bent forward and kissed Tim’s forehead.

“You tell,” she said. “Or else.”

“Seven,” Tim whined with a hand over his eyes. “Seven, okay? And maaaaybe a Red Bull. I’m a robin. It gives me wings.”

“Well, that solves that mystery,” Bruce said, sitting up. “Al, mark this one down as a minor concussion and an excess of caffeine consumption.”

“Master Timothy,” Alfred said, aghast. “You ought to know better.”

“I said don’t be mad!” Tim protested.

“Master Bruce made such a promise,” Alfred replied sharply, with worry in his voice. “You will be staying here for a few days, is that understood?”

Tim nodded sullenly and stuck both arms in the air, suddenly, the bin clattering on the floor when it fell.

“Carry me,” he ordered. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Cass reached over and prodded his knee; Tim’s leg jerked away.

“Liar,” she said simply.

“I’m compromised.” Tim jiggled his arms, held out in a zombie-like fashion. “Somebody. I don’t want to sleep in the cave.”

Bruce stood up and slid an arm under Tim’s shoulders and another under his knees. Tim slumped against him, unresisting, as he straightened.

“Night, Timmy,” Cass called from her reclaimed perch on the counter while Alfred muttered under his breath. When Bruce glanced back, she’d scooted down to hug the older man around the neck and Alfred patted her hands.

“How bad is your headache?” Bruce asked as he climbed the steps in the cave.

“Middling,” Tim mumbled against the batsuit Bruce was still wearing.

“And anxiety?” Bruce prompted next, knowing from experience the side effects of that much caffeine. He’d gotten a few stern lectures from Alfred when he hadn’t been much older than Tim.

“Um,” Tim said, “pretty shitty. How’d you know?”

“When was the last time you asked me to carry you?” Bruce questioned in reply. “I think the answer is probably never.”

“I was serious about my legs. They fell asleep,” Tim said, his head still turned against Bruce’s chest as Bruce side-stepped through the narrow door. The boy sounded almost asleep already, but more lucid than earlier. “I didn’t want to fall in front of you guys.”

“Hm,” Bruce said. He rounded the corner and began climbing the second set of stairs. Tim had never, even with muscle, been very heavy.

“I miss you,” Tim mumbled when they reached the top. “I try really hard not to be bitter about Damian, but I miss how things were before. When it was us.”

“Me, too,” Bruce said, knowing he meant it and that no one else was around to hear. He knew Damian would take it the wrong way and was glad he was still out, but he felt the same way about each of them as Robin. He did miss the days when he was out on the rooftops with Tim.

“I know it wouldn’t be the same,” Tim said, as if consoling himself.

“Handle,” Bruce prompted, stopping at the door.

Tim flopped his hand over and swung it wildly around, reaching without looking. When his fingers landed on the knob, he turned and his grip slipped off.

“It’s locked,” he complained. “I don’t know where I left the key.”

“I can kick it open,” Bruce said, considering. “But Alfred might be upset. I could pick the lock. Or we can go down the hall and you can steal my bed for the night.”

“Where would you sleep?” Tim demanded groggily, and Bruce took that as his cue and headed further down the hall.

“The couch in my office,” Bruce said. “Or a guest room.”

“Your bed has good pillows,” Tim mumbled when Bruce worked the knob with his knee and pushed the door open. He carried Tim across the room to the bed and stood there for a moment, then dropped him abruptly onto the comforter.

“Bruce,” Tim complained, laughing. He crawled under the covers until all but the top of his head had disappeared and from under the thick blankets, he sighed.

Bruce sat on the edge of the side table and reached over and ruffled Tim’s hair.

“You did stabilize me, you know,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Tim said in a drifting tone.

“You can’t keep doing this, Tim,” Bruce said when Tim rolled over and pressed his hand against Bruce’s outstretched hand. “Come by my office. Or we can patrol. But you need sleep. And less caffeine.”

Tim nodded and yawned.

“Okay,” he said. “Sorry.”

“You’re a good kid, Tim,” Bruce added. He wished he said it more often.

“You too, bitch,” Tim said, and then he giggled. It sounded young and childish coming from him. “Sorry. Sorry. I mean, thanks. My heart is still going crazy.”

It was Bruce’s turn to yawn.

“You okay?” he asked. “I need to get out of this suit.”

“Mhm,” Tim said. “M’good. Night, Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Tim,” Bruce answered, standing. “Shout if you need something.”

The answer was a soft snore. Bruce closed the door behind him and stopped to pick the lock to Tim’s door on the way down the hall.

It was unlocked.

Bruce grinned.

Soul Mark

Originally posted by imxginxsforyou

Seth Clearwater x Reader

Soul Mark

Note: So, reader is a witch (idk if those exist in the Twilight universe or not, but…) And yeah, I aged Seth up a little bit, but besides that, there you go.

Warnings: None??

Word Count: 2121

The move from Salem to Forks had been rough. As soon as your family stepped into the house, you put lines of salt in front of every door and window. No matter how many candles you lit, you still couldn’t drown out the scent of bloodsucker.

God, there must have been a ton of vampires around here. For good measure, you sprinkled some garlic in the front lawn. It wouldn’t keep them away, but at least they’d know they were unwanted.

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birthday kisses

“you remember how you asked me what i wanted for my birthday, and i didn’t answer?” jeremy says in the dark. michael is shivering, though whether from the early spring chill or from nerves, he isn’t sure. the wind bites at him through his hoodie, and he wraps his arms around his body to protect himself from the chill, his heart pounding with anticipation.

“yeah?” he answers, furrowing his brow as he looks at jeremy askance.

jeremy looks nervous, too, his blue eyes darting away for a moment as a flush rises to his cheeks that’s visible even in the night. still, he doesn’t hesitate, stepping closer to michael. “w-will you kiss me?”

michael lets out a startled laugh, his eyes going wide. “uh—what?” he manages, his heart slamming against his ribcage, beating double-time. had he heard him correctly? this has to be a fucking dream. “i, uh—guh—um, wow, okay, this is—unexpected—”

“y-you don’t have to,” jeremy blurts out, and he’s curling in on himself, clearly insecure. and god, does he think michael doesn’t want to kiss him? doesn’t he know that michael has been thinking about kissing jeremy for ages? doesn’t he know how michael feels? “i just, um, i-i just thought…”

he’s cut off by michael’s step forward, looking up in time to see the determined shake of michael’s head. “no, i want to,” michael says resolutely, a disbelieving grin working its way over his face.

michael is rewarded with seeing jeremy’s face light up, and in the faint moonlight, he has never looked more beautiful. “really?”

“yes, really.” michael bites his lip. “uh, where do you want me to…?”

“w-what do you mean?” jeremy is adorably confused, wrinkling his nose like the answer should be obvious. which, really, it isn’t.

“i mean…” michael makes a helpless gesture. jeremy is moving closer to him again, and it’s quite frankly distracting. “like, did you want me to k-kiss your cheek, or what?”

jeremy huffs a laugh, and they’re inches apart now. “well, uh. no, i kind of wanted, like—i wanted you to kiss my lips.” his cheeks have never been redder, and michael is pretty sure he can say the same about himself.

“oh. right.” michael laughs, and it’s the most goddamn awkward sound he’s ever heard in his life. “uh…”

his heartbeat is  in his throat. he leans down and pecks jeremy on the lips. short, perfunctory, barely even a kiss. it’s all he can manage without feeling like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. even that slight brush of lips together has him aching for more, but he leans back, avoiding jeremy’s gaze. he tries to stifle the urge to laugh yet again, but a slightly hysterical chuckle slips out anyway.

then, jeremy’s hands are settling on michael’s waist with an uncharacteristic boldness, and he’s leaning in again, close enough that michael is forced to meet his eyes. “can we try that again?” he murmurs.

michael swallows thickly and nods.

it is too dark for him to see the way jeremy’s lids flutter, lashes brushing his pale cheekbone as he closes his eyes, but he imagines it anyway as jeremy tilts his head and closes the distance between them. this time, when they bring their mouths together, the kiss lingers. it is gentle and chaste, still just a press of slightly chapped lips against softer, fuller ones, but it sends a warmth rushing through michael’s body that makes him forget all about the cold. butterflies line his stomach as he lifts his hand and cups the back of jeremy’s head, fingers threading through the short curls at the nape of his neck. jeremy’s lips part on a sigh, and now there’s a touch of heat to the kiss, a dampness, a smooth slide of mouths together that makes michael’s knees go weak.

reluctantly, michael breaks the kiss, leaning back with a huff. a grin threatens to come loose, tilting the corners of his mouth up, and he can’t help himself; he wraps his arms around jeremy’s middle, pulling the thin boy into a hug and burying his face in his shoulder, glasses be damned. his heart is still thudding, pulse roaring in his ears. he’s never felt more fucking alive.

“happy birthday, jer,” he mumbles into jeremy’s cardigan, and beams when jeremy hugs him back.

Draw Me

Summary: You’re an artist. He was just someone you had sex with on occasion. At least that’s just what you told yourself. However, you wanted so much more with him, the only question was, would this be worth it? ??
Members: Wonho x Reader
Length: 3,410
A/N: All thanks to and courtesy of L.P.~ 

~~Admin R

Originally posted by garisanee

“Can I draw you?” Your words linger in the air, shaky with nerves in anticipation of his response.

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