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Pure Innocence

Theo Raeken

*Don’t mind the fire at will part…. I was to make another gif so bear with me.*

 “I’m an atheist. But, I know you’re not so innocent as you look.”

The Reader is the goody too shoes but Theo knows she not so innocent as she seems.

Also Theo is normal a normal human in this smut. Can we just take a moment for how hot Theo was and always is when he said “I’m an atheist. Fire at will.” like PANTIES DROPPED WEAVE FLEW. Tbh I’m sorry if this is trash.

Warning- Fuckboy!Theo Daddy!kink Dom!Theo Sub!Reader Spanking, Oral!Female on Male & Oral!Male on Female (Riding Theo’s face), slight chocking, kinky shit

Word Count- 2,317

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)  top of the class 4.44 GPA a full scholarship to college the goody too shoes of the school. Yet Theo saw past that, he knew she’d love to be spanked and loved to be dominated he knew this entire ‘goody too shoes’ act was a lie. 

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Hair Flip

Okay, I have this scenario running through my head where the WOC reader has hair that’s c3-c4 type of curls, and when she spars with Bucky it’s just all over the place cause she couldn’t find a hair tie that fit, and he’s just getting mesmerized by her bouncing, springy curls and the sweat running down her forehead and oml *fans self* he just gets turned on

You tried to pull the elastic around your ponytail only for it to snap, and the ends smacked your hand harshly. Of course, the one time you hadn’t loaded your wrists up with multiple hair ties, your trusty black one decided to snap. You huffed and pulled out the pathetic, hair tie and through it in the trash. It would appear you were just gonna have to train with your hair down. THe thought of that made you groan a little louder, but there was nothing to be done about it you. You stepped into the training room to see Steve, Nat, and Bucky already there, working out.

“Hey Nat, you got a hair tie?” you asked as you walked in, hoping she would be your saving grace.

“No, sorry.”

You pouted, but accepted your fate. Bucky looked at you from across the training room and noticed, not for the first time, how your hair bounced with your movements. You often complained about its apparent sentience, and as he watched you stretch he completely understood. You bent to touch your toes, and your hair fell like a thick curtain of curls, and as you stood back up straight, you had to flick it back. He vaguely wondered if you were doing this on purpose because it just seemed too hot to be an accident. Then he watched your hand flick back the curls, and the annoyed expression on your face, and he knew this was nothing but an innocent circumstance of you not having a hair tie. You stretched  for a few more moments, battling with your hair all the while and Bucky was mesmerized. After you felt limber enough you walked over to the mat to join Bucky, he was your usual sparring partner, after Natasha decided the two of you were too evenly matched. Fighting men was a better challenge, and it was a common part of your job, so you had been paired up with Bucky because he wasn’t too afraid of hurting you.

“Alright, old man,let’s do this,” You grinned as you got into position. Bucky took his mind off of your hair and prepared to spar with you. He threw the first punch, one you swiftly dodged, your hair moving with you, it partially obscured your sight, but you were good enough that it didn’t matter. You delivered a hard blow to his side then got out of his arm length. Your hair was in your face and you flipped back over your shoulder with your head alone.

“Oh you gotta be quicker than that.”

Bucky enjoyed the way you teased him. It was out of lack of true fear, you trusted him not to really hurt you, at least nothing too substantial, so the bantering was all in good fun. However he wasn’t sure how he could continue fighting you like this. He walked towards you and you stood your ground, watching where he put his weight in order to predict his next move. Your body moved as fast as a viper strike but your hair was like waves in a tempest. The curls clashed against each other, and against your face. As the two of you fought sweat began to accumulate on your brow and your curls would stick to the sweat soaked places. He let his guard down as he watched you run a hand through your hair, pushing it all back in one deft movement. Your body glistened a beautiful, pure brown and he wondered if this is what angels looked like in heaven. God he certainly hoped so. I smirked flashed on your face as you ran full speed at him, hair bouncing like a lion’s mane. He was absolutely unprepared and you jumped, grabbed his shoulder, flipped over him, then using your downward going momentum pulled him to the ground too. Before your back could hit the mat, you arched your body so you could land in a back bend your hands on either side of his head and your hair absolutely covering his face. With a soft grunt you pushed your legs up and over to flip your body so that your knees landed on Bucky’s arms and you knelt on them with your fist poised right at his face… nevermind the fact that you were consequently straddling him. Your breath was heavy and uneven from the excessive acrobatics. As Bucky looked up at you, stunned and in a little bit of pain he hoped again that this is what heaven was like. Your hair had flipped in front of your face again and you flipped back with a throw of your head. You smiled down at him smugly.

“Your are getting too easy, maybe I should graduate up to fighting Steve,” you teased, getting up off of him and offering your hand to help him up. He took it, still speechless from how beautiful you looked. Natasha and Steve were watching, with amused smiles, across the room.

“Jesus, Buck, ask the girl out before you start undressing her with your eyes!” Nat yelled. You looked over at her with a disapproving frown.

“Come on, I just kicked his ass, no reason to tease,” you called back. When you looked back at Bucky you realized Natasha was very right. He was currently staring at you like you were lust personified. His chest heaved and you assumed it wasn’t just from exertion, given that his pupils were so dilated you could only see a sliver of the blue of his iris. You cleared your throat and smiled.

“Nice fight. You’ll have to actually give me a challenge next time though,” you said cheekily before leaving. You walked out of the training room. You gave Steve a pat on the shoulder and Natasha a wave before you left.

“So… Are you gonna go ask her on a date, or am I gonna have to do it?” Steve asked with a knowing smile.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky spit back at him as he followed you out, “Y/N, wait!”

You paused and turn and Bucky thought he was gonna die right there. Our hair swung around with you as you looked back at him.

“Yeah?” you answered.

“How about dinner? I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“Sounds like a date,” you smiled turning back with a subtle hair flip and continuing down the hall.

~Mod Lillian (Ah this felt so cheesy to write. I hope it isn’t too cheesy, I had fun with it though.)

100 Quote Prompts: Part 15- Human

“Just answer this one question and I won’t ever bother you again.”

“That is the third time you have said that phrase this week, Wilford.” Google_R sighed, turning from his computer to face Wilford, excitedly twiddling his knife. “What is it that you want?”

“Okay Google,” Wilford said, eyes lighting up. “Why do zebras have stripes?”

Google_R sighed, searching quickly. “Zebras have stripes as a form of camouflage and mechanism of cooling. Their black stripes are warmer than their white stripes, which creates a current of air across their hides.” He paused, and Wilford wiggled in happiness. “Is that all, Wilford?”

“Yes!” Wilford ran back out of the Googles’ office, presumably to bother someone else. Google_R shook his head, turning back to his computer. 

“Do I detect fondness?” Google_G turned away from the computer he was building, parts strewn across the floor of their room. 

Without moving, Google_R snorted. “Shut up, Green.”

“You seem to grow more human every day, Red.”

“So do you, asshole.”

Google_B took off his headphones to yell at them. “Would you two be quiet? Unlike you, we are trying to work.” Oliver smirked at them from his desk, arm strapped to the table, before turning back, flipping his welding mask back down, and continuing to make upgrades. 

Google_R turned to smirk at Google_G before snapping his own headphones back on, going back to coding. 

Wilford ran down the hall to Dr. Iplier’s office, trailing pink bubbles in his wake in joy. He popped into the clinic without even knocking, practically singing. “Ooooh, Doctor?”

Dr. Iplier jumped a little at the entrance, halfway through inspecting the inside of his patient’s mouth. The older lady, lying with her mouth open, flinched as the Doctor jabbed her gums. 

Dr. Iplier, apologizing hastily, rose to meet Wilford. 

“Will, what on earth are you doing here? I’m busy,” he said, trying to block Wilford from the woman’s view. 

“Who’s that?” Wilford said, trying to peek around the Doctor’s shoulder. 

Dr. Iplier grabbed Wilford’s bow tie to pull his ear down to his level. “She didn’t have health insurance and I invited her over for a check up. She doesn’t know about any of you, and I suggest we keep it that way.” He hissed the words, glancing behind him at the confused lady, rubbing her jaw. 

He thought about the implications of someone else seeing two versions of the same man, standing and angrily talking to each other, and resolved to get Wilford out of the clinic even faster. “I’ll talk to you later. Go.

Forcibly, he turned Wilford around and gave him a shove towards the door. 

“Gee, Doc,” Wilford said, turning to wiggle his mustache at him, “you get nicer every day!” 

The door slammed shut, and Dr. Iplier was left to calm his patient down, explaining his “crazy twin, really, I don’t know where he gets those suspenders from!”

Wilford stopped by the Host’s room next, bursting with news. “Hey, Hosty!”

“The Host did not wish to be disturbed, Wilford.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilford said, dropping into a chair by the Host’s desk. “But guess what?”

“The Host would like to remind you that he has been given the gift of narration, and with this comes considerable insight into what you are about to say.”

“Okay, so I just stopped by the Googles’ room, and Red told me that zebras–”

“– havestripesasaformofcamouflageandmechanismofcooling,” the Host said, quickly, sighing. 

Wilford pouted a little, rising. “You’re no fun, Host.” He turned to leave, almost tripping over a stack of books on the floor.

“The Host–” he hesitated, but Wilford stopped walking anyway.


“The Host is curious,” he said, sounding a little resigned, “as to how the zebra’s stripes act as a cooling mechanism.”

Wilford sat back down, nearly sparkling with excitement, and the Host feigned interest as Wilford began to ramble about air currents. At one point, Wilford seized a pen and paper, draw a diagram on it, and held it out to the Host.

“..and see,” he said, pointing, “the hot air rises, which creates a vacuum–”

The Host chuckled a little, despite himself, and he could tell Wilford’s face had fallen. “The Host appreciates Wilford’s use of a visual, but–”

“No, wait! I’ll fix it!” The Host heard Wilford rifling about on his desk, and inwardly cringed at the sound of him rearranging the carefully placed papers, upturning an ink pot. “…oops.” There was the sound of careful scribbling, and then–

“Okay, I got it!”

Wilford took hold of the Host’s hand, and the Host jumped a little, forcing himself to not pull away. Wilford carefully pressed the Host’s fingers to his papers, tracing over the swirls he’d pressed into the paper, leaving impressions that the Host could feel. 

He launched back into his explanation, and the Host allowed himself a gentle smile. 

“…and so, it acts like air conditioning!” Wilford finally finished, beaming. 

The Host shook his head a little. “Compelling, Wilford. Have you–”

“I’d love to stay and chat, Host, but Bim and I have a lot of work to do today!” He stood and bowed, exaggerated, before rushing out. 

The Host, alone again, sighed a little before returning to his work. He’d lived here for a while and had to admit, Wilford was growing on him. He had passion, would do anything to succeed, and wasn’t afraid to let heads roll. He reminded the Host of the Author, in a way. Of a more human time. 

He heard a collision in the hallway outside, and stepped tentatively towards the door, listening closely. 

On the way down the hallway, Wilford ran at full speed into Dark. “Oops. Heya, Darky!” Wilford leaned in as if to hug him, but Dark, sneering, pushed him away.

“Do watch where you’re going, Will.”

“Hey, Dark,” Wilford said, completely ignoring him. “D’you want to hear a zebra fact?”

“I absolutely do n–”

“Great!” Wilford slung an arm around Dark’s neck before he could protest, steering them both down the hallway, in no particular direction. “So, zebras are black and white, right? Much like someone I know,” he said, jabbing Dark in the ribs. 

Dark recoiled, brow furrowing. “What is wrong with you today?”

Today?! Darkipoo, Something’s always wrong with me.” Wilford finally released him to do a little victory dance. He stopped, staring at Dark. “I’m bored. Unlike you, I don’t go on unnecessary murder sprees–” he ignored Dark’s snort, “–and do something useful with my time.”

“Like boring unnecessary murderers with zebra facts?”

“Exactly!” Wilford jabbed a finger at Dark, refusing to let his good mood be spoiled, even by Dark’s ringing aura. 

Dark allowed himself to crack a smile, mentally filing away notes on Wilford’s behavior. Later, he’d find the kitchen devoid of Wilford’s usual stockpile of sugary snacks, and hang his head in chagrin. 

Wilford danced away down the hall, pink bubbles once again trailing in his wake. Dark swatted one of them away, more amused than annoyed. 

Behind him, the Host poked his head fully out of his room. “It would appear that the infamous Darkiplier is developing human emotions. Who would have predicted such a thing from a creature of the shadows, especially towards the building’s resident sugar junkie?”

Dark turned, snarling, but the Host ducked back inside, slamming the door with a satisfied smirk. It wasn’t often he got to tease Dark, but when he did, he could almost feel like himself again. With a quiet laugh, the Host picked his way back to his desk, burying himself again in work.

Outside, Dark scowled at the closed door, but continued down the hall towards the kitchen. Physical existence was a pain at the best of times, but considering the Host’s words as truth– he frowned to himself, musing. Emotions, connecting with the Egos around him, had never been a consideration. But now, as an evil idea that had been given a soul and nerve and heart, his two-dimensional plans were struggling in a three-dimensional word.

Human. He turned the word over in his mind for another moment, tasting it in his throat. Mark was human, and the Egos faint echoes of that humanity. 

Human. To Dark, it meant weaknesses, hatred and betrayal. 

Human. It meant learning to live, and wasn’t that what he was doing anyway?

Wilford finally burst into the recording studio, several bubbles floating lazily in after him. Bim jumped up from their editing computer, clicking hastily. 

“Hey, Will, I have some ideas–”

“Do any of them involve zebras?”

“I– wait, what?”

“That sounds like a no!” Wilford sang, rushing past Bim into the recording booth.

“Wilford, we–”

“I’m inspired, Bim,!” Wilford slammed the door, and a second later, the “Recording” sign outside lit up, warning Bim not to enter. 

Bim sighed, leaving Wilford to his own devices. He trudged back over to the editing computer, eyes burning with the strain of putting together Wilford’s latest ambitious monster of a video. He clicked and dragged, clicked and dragged, and slowly, his eyes began to close. The Doctor’s words echoed between his ears: Don’t overwork yourself. You’re only human. Bim shook it off, clicking to the next scene of the video.

The office was dark by the time he woke up, face pressed into the computer’s keyboard, hand still resting over the mouse. Blinking blearily, he looked around. The only light came from his computer screen, boasting an unfinished video, and from the still-lit recording booth. 

Stretching himself awake, Bim stood and walked over to see if Wilford was really still recording. It was possible, after all– he’d worked 18-hour days often, and without mercy.

Bim peeked into the window of the booth, fully expecting Wilford to wave him away. Instead, he looked down to see the floor of the booth covered in wisps of cotton candy, Wilford passed out under the still-recording microphone. 

Bim put on the headphones to hear Wilford, leaning into the mic, and was immediately assaulted by the sound of snoring. “Wilford,” he called, hesitant to wake him up. Wilford’s nose twitched, but he immediately went back to his slumber. 

Bim laughed a little, taking off the headphones and turning off the mic. He checked the recorded material to find four hours of audio, the first thirty minutes filled with chatter, and the rest, after a significant thump, was snoring of a similar caliber. 

He shuffled away from the studio, turning off the computer as he left. 

When Bim finally flopped into bed, he did so with a satisfied sigh. It had been a long week, but a productive one. He’d been alive for quite a few years, but never felt as alive as he had been after they’d produced Markiplier TV. With the renewal of his existence came a new dimension of life. Suddenly, Matthias wasn’t the only fixation he had, and game shows weren’t the only thing he remembered. 

Dr. Iplier had referred to this feeling as becoming corporeal: less of an idea, more of a person. Bim, snuggling into his pillows, assured of waking up the next morning, thought that there was nothing better than this– even if he was underfoot in Wilford’s studio half the time.

Yeah, he thought. Being human wasn’t all that bad. 

anonymous asked:

Can you an imagine where y/n is the new girl but such a badass at columbine and when Eric sees her for the first time he falls head over heels for her and has to be her boyfriend 😭❤️

Here you go! Sorry it took me a little while to write it. It was a super fun request, though! Thanks for requesting it! Hope you like it, and hope you’re having a great day/night! <3 

The injustice and favoritism practically hung in the air as you walked down the main hallway at your new school. You’d already stopped by the main office and picked up your schedule, locker number and combination, and your assigned parking space number. You were currently looking for your locker, but this new school was a maze of hallways, and there wasn’t anyone around that you deemed okay enough to ask.

You studied the paper in your hands as you walked, and didn’t notice a group of boys wearing white baseball caps walking towards you. One of them purposely bumped into you, nearly knocking over you. He and his friends snickered as you looked up, obviously pleased with themselves. You looked the boy who’d bumped into you in the eye, and the other people in the hallway stopped what they were doing to watch what was going on.

“Dude, do you think we should do something?” Dylan asked as he and Eric stood at his locker, watching a group of jocks mess with the new student. Eric shook his head.

“Do you want it to be us that they mess with instead? Let’s just see what happens,” Eric said, leaning back against the lockers.

“You must be that new chick that just transferred here, right?” The leader of the idiots asked.

“Wow, nice deductive reasoning skills you got there, man.” You replied sarcastically. The jock scoffed and took the paper from your hands, holding it high over your head.

“What are you gonna do without this, huh?” He asked, waving it teasingly. You gave him a bored expression before using all of your body weight to stomp on his foot, causing him to double over. You easily took your paper from his hands, patting the top of his while ball cap condescendingly.

“I’ll be taking this back now. Thanks.” You rolled your eyes. Gasps could be heard from some of the other students in the hallway. They were all shocked that someone, let alone the new girl, was standing up to the jocks. You turned and started to walk away.

“Hey! You better watch who you’re messing with, bitch!” The main jock yelled. You turned back towards him, shrugging.

“Is that supposed to scare me or something?” You asked, flipping him off before turning back around. You walked a few feet down the hallway, noticing two boys in band t-shirts and dark pants watching you with their mouths agape. A few moments later, you felt someone tug harshly on your backpack, once again nearly knocking you down.

Throwing your elbow back, you made contact with the jock’s face and he whimpered pathetically as blood started to pour from his nose. He started to back away from you, holding his nose. His friends started towards you and you smirked at them. “Try me. I’ve got plenty to go around.”

“Let’s just go, guys. She’s not worth it,” the now bloodied jock said. His lackeys followed his lead, walking away.

You finally found your locker, which was right next to where the two boys were standing. They were still gaping at you as you used the combination to open the door, throwing your backpack inside. You gave both of them a faint smile before walking away.

“V, I think I’m in love,” Eric said.

Dylan shook his head and clasped a hand on Eric’s shoulder before walking away towards his next class. Eric sighed, grabbing his book from his locker before also heading to his next class. To his surprise, you were in his class, and had already taken the seat next to his.

Eric gulped as he sat down beside you, making eye contact almost immediately.

“Hey, I’m Eric.” He waved somewhat awkwardly. You nodded, smiling faintly.

“I’m y/n. Nice shirt, by the way.” You said, motioning to the boy’s Nine Inch Nails t-shirt. He looked down at is as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing.

“Thanks. You like them?” He asked. You scoffed and nodded.

“They’re one of my favorite bands.” Eric grinned, liking you more and more by the minute. He continued to ask you questions, and the two of you found out that you had very similar taste in music and liked a lot of the same types of movies.

“What about Pulp Fiction?” Eric asked.

“I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like it. It’s one of my absolute favorites.” You replied.

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” Eric blurted out. His eyes widened when he realized that he’d actually asked that out loud.

You bit your lip to keep from chuckling at his shocked expression, but nodded. “Sure, Harris. That sounds like fun.” You replied.

“Wait, really? You will?” He asked. You nodded.

“You seem pretty cool.” You wrote your address and phone number down on a spare piece of paper, handing it over to him. “Maybe you can help me find the rest of my classes, too?” You asked, honestly just looking for a reason to spend more time with him.

Eric grinned and nodded. “As long as you don’t beat me up.”

“Nah, you actually have brain cells. You’re safe. I promise.” You joked. 


I sit in the bleachers on the hot, sunny day. Not expecting the tourney players to have practice at the same time I’m trying to focus on a project.

They all come out and are laughing and being dumb, typical, block head teenage boys. The have no substance. Thats it.

Then I see jay. The captain. He looks at the cheerleaders and flashes them his winning smile.

All the girls in school get weak in the knees at the mention of the tourney players name.

‘Did you see jay today?’
'I think he smiled at me!’
'He passed me a note’

I don’t know what the see in him. I mean sure, he’s got amazing hair and a winning smile and he looks so so good in his jersey.

But thats beside the point. He’s an obvious fuck boy.


I sat down in the bleachers at the tourney game tonight, purely due to the fact that journalism club said I needed to do a report on the new recruits of the tourney team.

All night I watched the new players, saw the cheerleaders flaunting, and the players pass the ball back and forth, the game was finally over.

I walked back through the school and hummed a familiar tune as I flipped through the pages in my journal before I was pinned up against the locker, my journal falling to the floor.

I looked up and saw two tanned, muscular arms holding me to the cold metal. “I-what are yo-”

“Shh. Carlos. I think you know why I’m here. You’re quiet and mysterious. But you are the only person in this school who doesn’t like me? Why is that?” His warm breathe fanning against my ear.

“I-” god. The way my name rolls of his tongue kills me as I try to continue my hatred for him.

“I saw you at practice. I saw you at the game. I see you in the hallways and I think you’re pretty cute” he smirks.

“But you- I” I stammer out before he roughly plants his lips on top of mine.

The air in my lungs is taken away from me as he bends down to pick up my notebook, my gaze not leaving the sight where he stood.

“All the girls” I whisper, hoping he didn’t hear me.

He leans in again, but instead of him kissing me, he gives my notebook back and walks down the hall, not turning around.

I flip to a new indent in my book and see a gum wrapper with a note on it.

'I like boys.
you do too
Im bad at poems
call me
-jay xx’


(Requested by Anon) I took liberties with the appearance of the reader in this one. Blonde hair, pale skin. Sorry I was thinking of an illustration in a particularly wonderful book I had as a child. If this appearance mentioned is going to bother you then please don’t read on.

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[Mark] Teacher's Pet (Chap 72)

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After sensual, heart-clenching I-love-you morning sex, Mark and I finally drag ourselves out of bed to brush our teeth. Since I’m done before him, I lay back down and turn the TV on, flipping the channels. I stop when I see Mark on a local news channel, images of him on a red carpet, assaulted by camera flashes, look all hot and sexy in a tux, his stubbly jaw making my heart stop.

“LA’s sexiest CEO Mark Tuan to tie the knot!” The female voice-over announces. A stupid grin stretches my lips. The video morphs into a picture of him and I walking hand in hand in the city on a casual date.

“Sources say he proposed in front of his longtime girlfriend Abigail Kraige’s family and friends while they were celebrating her graduation.” The voice explains. How do the medias do this? Where do they get their informations?

“The now doctor in psychology posted a picture of her exquisite diamond ring on Instagram, confirming the news with her caption ‘best graduation present ever’ hashtag engaged.” The voice says, and on the screen appears the picture in question, my left hand putting my ring on perfect display.

“The boss of Tuan Holdings posted this picture on his account with the caption 'She said yes! #sohappy’.” The voice adds, as they show a picture of us I had no idea someone took. I have my hands on his cheeks, and we smile against each other’s lips. Bubbles of excitement and joy pop in my belly.

“Even if we knew from the time we discovered they had each other’s name tattooed that Mark Tuan was ruined for other women, we can now officially say he’s off the market. Let’s cry together ladies.” The voice says more sadly, and they show a picture of us on one of our rare vacations. Mark is in his swimming trucks and I’m wearing a bikini, so we can see our tattoos very clearly.

“We wish the best to the happy couple.” The voice concludes, as a last picture of us at a gala flashes across the screen. They move to another news, and I’m left with that stupid smile on my face.

“Look at you.” Mark teases, and when I look in his direction, I find him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest, his boxers hanging on his hips in a way only he can make them do. My future husband.

Giggling out of happiness and delight I leap out of bed and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him tenderly. He slides his hands up and down my back, kissing me back, his soft lips slowly moving against mine. I playfully bite his lip, and he groans. He grabs the hem of my T-shirt and yanks it over my head, leaving me naked. He claims my mouth again, walking me backwards before taking my hips in his hands and throwing me onto the bed. I don’t even have time to register what’s happening to me that he’s already hovering over my body, taking my hands and pinning them on either side of my head. He gazes down at me, his eyes blazing.

“Here are the rules.” He declares.

“Rules?” I breathe, blowing my hair out of my face.

“You are forbidden to wear anything until I say so. I don’t want anything between you and me.” He says, watching me intently. He wants me to walk around naked? I stare up at him, breathless. He frees me from his grip and stretches across me to grab the satin slash he used to bind me yesterday.

“Give me your wrists.” He orders. My libido explodes instantly. Yes, please. Trying not to squeal in excitement, I gather my wrists and offer them to him.

“And you only get out of bed when you have to.” He says, binding my wrists together. He’s not going to keep me in bed all day, is he? Would he do that?

“Why?” I ask as he brings my wrists abive my head and ties them to the bed, leaving a gap so he can flip me over as he pleases.

“Because we’re going to fuck all day.” He declares, letting his hands slide down my body. Desire thrums inside me.

“All day?” I whisper.

“Until I say otherwise.” He nods.

“What about the gala tonight?” I ask, though I honestly don’t give a fuck about it.

“We’ll go.” He reassures me. Oh.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” I ask.

“No.” He replies. My face falls.


“I’m hungry. Do you want some breakfast?” He proposes. He’s being cocky again. Goddammit!

“I want you.” I reply.

“Something edible, Abby.” He scolds playfully.

“Your cock.” I mutter. He throws his head back on a belly laugh, and I smile, loving the sound. He bends and kisses my forehead, chuckling softly.

“Don’t move.” He jokes, winking at me before walking out of the bedroom. I sigh deeply. Why do I feel so giddy? Of course it’s mostly because I’m so happy to be engaged to this man, but there’s something else. It’s strange to have him like this, messing around without having homework on the back of my mind.

I think I’m going to love this weekend, having him for myself, carefree, without any responsibilities. Buy what am I going to do next week? He’s going to be busy with work, and what about me?

For six years, we had everything almost scheduled. We were both surprised and upset about the sudden change in our lives, and that caused lots of big fights, but we pushed through. We agreed on dedicate one afternoon to nothing but us. These afternoons where always very intense, and I’m not only talking about sex. We did have sex three or four times a week, but our afternoons were always more intense. That’s when we started playing.

When Mark’s company blew up four years ago, he got as busy as I was, which made us find some kind of balance. He’d work when I’d have to turn him down, and sometimes I’d refrain myself from coming to him when he was busy. I’d never ask anything, because I would have felt bad for disturbing him while he was working when I’d turn him down because of my homework. I think Mark got used to me being busy, because he got busy himself. It was hard, because Mark is a needy man, and I have my clinging times too, but his needs have changed. Does he need me less now that he’s used to me not having time? He still needs me, because he asked me to be his wife, but have we changed? How are we going to do now?

We’ll think abiut that later. I push those thoughts to the back of my mind.

Mark comes back a few minutes later with a big bowl and a glass of apple juice.

“I hope you don’t mind if we share.” He says, dropping the glass on the nightstand.

“Onky if you make me come.” I tease, and he smirks, sitting on his heels between my legs. He scoops a spoonful of a white creamy mixture with strawberries inside. I open my mouth and he pushes the spoon inside, letting me taste the sweetness. “Good?” He asks as I swallow. I nod.

“Is that Greek yogurt?” I ask. “Yes.” He says, giving me another spoonful. He drops the bowl on the nightstand next to the glass and takes the blindfold from yesterday.

“I don’t think you need your eyes to eat.” He declares, sliding it over my eyes, plunging me into darkness.

I feel him shift, and then something cold pokes my lips. I open, and it’s another spoonful of yogurt and fruits. I swallow and feel something warm and wet running across my upper lip. His tongue. He licks away the remains of yogurt on my lips.

“Want some juice?” He asks, his voice low.

“Yes.” I breathe, and he says nothing for a moment, doesn’t budge. Oh, so we’re playing.

“Good girl.” He compliments, and I feel him shift. My breathing quickens, my body reacting to his compliment. I have no idea how he’s going to make me drink like this. With a straw?

I feel his lips brush against mine, and when I open my mouth to kiss him, he pours the liquid inside, taking me by surprise. I open my mouth, letting him feed me every last drop, before swallowing messily. It trickles down my chin and on either side of my face. Mark laps everything away, before doing it again.

Something cold and wet pokes at my lips again, and I open my mouth, it’s a strawberry. I bite it, and then it’s Mark lips against mine. I understand he’s feeding me from his mouth, juice splashing between is. I drips down my chin and my neck. I feel his tongue in the dip base of my neck, and he traces a wicked line up to my chin, cleaning the strawberry juice. I shiver.

He places another strawberry at my lips, but when I open my mouth to eat it, it’s gone. He trails it down my body, between my breasts, my navel. I gasp as he slides it between my folds, the tip moving up and down against my slit.

“Oh, god.” I moan softly. The strawberry mives up and down, tantalizingly. I beg with a mewl, and he removes the fruit.

“Mmmh. Strawberry and Abby, sweet, musky yet a bit salty.” He murmurs, and I understand he’s eaten the fruit coated in my arousal. I want a taste too. In fact, I’m desperate to taste myself.

“Want some?” He proposes, and it takes me a subhuman not to scream.

“Yes.” I breathe. He brings another strawberry to my clit, pressing firmly, moving it in circles, making sire it’s completely coated in me. The friction and the movements send hotshots of electricity to the pit of my stomach, and they travel down between my thighs.

“Please.” I whisper. He brings the strawberry back to my mouth, and I bite, juices exploding in my mouth, and I taste a sweet saltiness. When he places the spoon at my lips again, I lift my chin.

“No more?” He asks, and I shake my head. I’m full.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and I nod.

“I guess it’s my turn.” He declares, and a groan escapes me. So I’m just going to lay there while he eats?

Suddenly I feel something cold drip on me. I gasp at the coldness. It’s yoghurt.

“You’re my plate.” He declares, and I feel him drop a big spoonful of yogurt between my breasts. My pulse picks up pace, and my nipples harden instantly. He smears the yogurt with the back of the spoon, adding coldness. I whimper as he moves the spoon in circles, heading south at the same time.

He drops some more yoghurt on my belly button, and smears it downwards again, across my navel and my pubis. I start to pant in anticipation. He drops more yoghurt on my pubis and smears it downwards, coldness meeting the heat of my throbbing clitoris.

“Yes.” I breathe. God, that feels good. Is he going to make me come with a spoon?

“Not a word, Abby. Plates don’t talk.” He murmurs, moving the spoon in circles, spreading coldness everywhere. I groan, feeling myself getting moist. He stops, and I stifle a frustrated groan as I feel him shift again, the the cold spoon is there again, on my left nipple. I gasp and bite my lower lip to prevent myself from pleading. He smears yogurt there too, all over my left breast, and my nipples pucker because of the stimulation. He repeats the process, coating my right breast with yogurt and fruits, and I squirm, my back arching off the bed, my breathing heaving.

“This is going to taste so good.” He says, and I here him drop something on the nightstand, the bowl I guess. He trails his tongue across my navel, lapping up the yogurt, and the contact makes my whole body alert. By the time he reaches the valley between my breasts, I’m squirming impatiently, wanting his mouth on my breasts. He takes my right nipple in his mouth and sucks hard, making me whimper. With the tip of his tongue, he traces a circle around it, teasing me. He does the same to my other nipple, nibbling and biting, sucking hard, and It’s hard to stay quiet.

He runs his tongue across my navel, and anticipation makes my puls quicken some more, my breathing heave, and my legs shake. He trails his tongue downwards, but stops right above my slit.

“Please…oh, please.” I mewl. This is getting too much. If I could move, I’d grab him by his hair and push his mouth against my clitoris.

“If you speak again, I’m not letting you come at all.” He warns, making me from. I really want to insult him, but I want to come more.

“Did you hear me?” He adds, and I don’t reply, because plates don’t talk. Buy he speaks to his plates. He brings his mouth down once more, and licks an evil trail up my slit. I suck my lower lip in and nibble at it, suppressing a moan. He flattens his tongue and laps up, and my hips fly up against it. I’m panting, not being able to vocalize making it harder to handle the pleasure.

He takes my clitoris between in lips and sucks hard, making me arch my back and open my mouth in a silent scream. I pull on my restrain, trying to find a way to express my agony through something other than word. When I don’t feel his breath on my anymore, I suppress a 'please’. I want to beg. He can’t leave me like this just now.

Just when I’m about to break his rule, I feel his colossal length work his way inside me. I gasp and ball my fists, tensing all my muscles so I don’t make a sound. All the air drains from my lungs as he fills me up.

“You can vocalize now.” He murmurs, and I let it all out.

“Mark!” I moan.

“That’s right.” He complements, bringing his lips to my nipple. He gently circles his hips, his shaft shifting inside perfectly, his tongue swirling around my nipple. I sigh, surrendering to the mindless pleasure. He rolls his hips again, sensations traveling to my core, feeling like a harsh burn.

“Mark.” I buck my hips, impatient. “Please, Mark. More.” I beg.

“More?” He asks, his hips drawing another circle, and I feel his breath against my lips.

“More.” I whine, grinding up against him, adding more fraction. He smothers my moans under his mouth attention, and I kiss him back instantly, hungry and desperate. He gently rears back, and then curls his hips, driving back inside in a slow thrust. I bite down his lip.

“Easy.” He coos, making me mewl with another measured thrust.


“Slow, baby.” He murmurs against my lips, kissing me tenderly, pressing his chest onto mine. The remains of yoghurt make my skin sticky, but it rubs perfectly against his as he slidrws up and down my chest, thrusting at a slow pace. I don’t want to take it slow, I need him to fuck me, tip me over the edge, make me come, make it happen.

“I want to savor you.” He whispers against my lips, his kiss calmly the frenzied rhythm of mine. He keeps up with his slow, calculated thrusts, but the hammering sensation between my thighs becomes unbearable. I need relief.

“Please, Mark.” I sigh against his lips, my mind lost in haze because of pleasure.

“What do you want?” He asks softly, his laboured breath against my mouth.

“I want to come.” I breatge more quietly, the possibility of being indulged making my mind calmer, but not my body. “Please, make me come.”

“Like this?” He grabs the back of my knees and draws them up, tilting my hips, making him reach deeper. He grinds down hard against me, pushing himself all the way in.

“Yes!” I cry, my eyes rolling back. He growls and kisses me again, more passionate, more hungry, and he starts to pound into me.

He pushes his tongue inside my mouth, moaning loudly, his hips slapping against my butt, the noise accompanied by the sounds of my wet walls sliding up and down his length. I’m messily wet, and I’m not even ashamed. Mark pounds into me, hard and deep, and it’s good, it’s perfect, it’s all I need. I tip over the edge, falling and falling, screaming his name for help, losing control. I explode in an internal firework, shaken to my bones, the shockwaves making my toes curl and my mind go blank.

“Fuck! Oh, baby…” Mark groans as he hits his own high, his whole body jerking against mine as he comes violently. He collapses on top of me, breathless.

“I love you.” He murmurs, burying his nose in my neck.

“I love you more.” I pant. Keeping is face against my neck, he reaches up and pulls the blindfold off my eyes, letting blink them open. He lets out a contented sigh and stays still.

“I want to touch you.” I murmur. He drops a kiss on my shoulder and shifts, slipping out of me and undoing my bounds. As soon as I’m free, I reach up and run my hands up his stomach. He brings his face down to mine and kisses me adoringly, pulling me up against him before falling onto his back, dragging me on top of him. I nuzzle his neck, content, satisfied and happy. I’ve missed this, the carefree sex, him and I fucking whenever we wanted. The idea of having that more often now that I’ve graduated fills my heart with joy. I know I’ll get it for the rest of my life now, but a little break from everything to have lots of sex won’t hurt. I know he can’t give it to me though, because of his work. Should I ask anyway? What would he say? I mentally shake my head. I can’t make demands now. I’ll just have to enjoy our Fuck day and deal with how I feel on Monday.

“We need a shower.” He declares. I hum, but make no effort to move. “And other sheets.” He adds. I hum again, hoping he’s just thinking out loud and won’t disturb the moment.

“Alright, I get it.” He says, and I can hear his smile as he picks me up in his arms. I wrap my legs around him as he rises, and he carries me to the bathroom, where he gives me one of our baby Koala bear shower.

Fuck day is good. Fuck day is tiring. After multiple mind blowing orgasms, I’m exhausted, my sleepy body wrapped around Mark’s. My eyes are closed, and my mind disconnected from present. Everything grows distant, I’m falling asleep.

Something troubles my mind, and uneasiness is wrapped around my heart. What’s going on?

“Shhhh.” A familiar voice whispers. Mark.

“I need to get some work done. Sleep.”

I’m soothed now. I drift away.


I wake up in an empty bed, my greedy hand finding nothing but cold, fresh sheets as I try to find my body heat provider. I blink my eyes open, effectively finding Mark’s absence. Where did he go? Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I get out of bed, throw on one of his T-shirts, and adventure myself out of our bedroom. As I walk down the hallway, I hear his deep voice coming from his office. He’s working. He’s working on our Fuck day. I feel a pang of disappointment, but I know I can’t voice it. I bet he has been in this situation countless times because of me. I press my ear against the door, wanting to know if he’s really busy and if I can go disturb him.

“Out of all the folders I gave you, you had to mess up with this name!” His voice booms through the door, his anger palpable. I jump slightly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so angry about something at work.

“Now he represents fifty million dollars to me!” He shouts. I hear him sigh deeply, probably listening to what his interlocutor has to say. Mark is a scary boss, controlling and demanding, but he can also be very patient. He knows how to surround himself with the bests, he can smell talent, and he can be very accommodating when he’s kept satisfied. He hates firing people. He employs more than five thousand persons, and he feels responsible for every single one of them. It pressures him, knowing that if he does something wrong he’ll make all theses person unemployed.

“Incapable…” He mutters. Jeez, he must be really mad.

“Oh no, Letitia. Don’t bother.” He grinds out. He’s speaking to his personal assistant. What did she do? I thought she was very capable. Too curious to visually gauge his anger, I open the door the slightest bit. Peeking, I watch him pace up and down, in nothing but sweatpants. From the shape of his crotch, I sense no underwear.

“You don’t take care of my business anymore, you’re fired.” He snaps, before ending the call. Oh! Poor woman. He sighs deeply again, circling his desk and slumping down on his chair. He locks his blazing eyes with me, and they soften instantly.

“Hey.” He says softly. What a change of tone!

“Am I disturbing?” I ask cautiously.

“No. Come give me my little thing.” He orders softly. I execute instantly, walking in and closing the door behind me. I make my way around his desk and he pulls me in his waiting arms, sitting me on his lap. A cuddle. He calls it his little thing. Sometimes he’d call from work to get a cuddle.

He buries his nose in the crook of my neck and inhales sharply. I gently run my fingers in his hand, wanting to soothe him.

“You don’t like firing people.” I murmur, trying to save Letitia.

“She fucked up big time.” He grumbles.

“Tell me about it.”

“You’re going to hate me.” He whines.

“Never. I love you, Mark.” I reassure him, though I have no idea how I could be concerned.“But does it have something to do with me?” I ask.

“A man named Owen Sullivan-”

“From the Sullivan hotels?” I ask, and he nods against my skin.

“We’re negotiating a deal. I’m trying to buy his shipyard. I sold the other one to buy Sullivan’s, it’s bigger.” He explains.

“Letitia briefed me about him before I broached him. You know, like his hobbies, how many children he has, his wife’s name, the usual stuff. But she forgot to tell me one thing.” He says.

“What is it?” I ask softy, and his grip tightens around me.

“He’s Ellie’s stepfather.” He says rapidly. My heart stops. I haven’t heard this name in years.

“And she’ll be at the function tonight with him.” He adds. No, way! It’s been years since I saw her, and the last time I did she was after my man. I don’t know if it’s still the case. It could be, because Mark is rich, famous and successful, he’d be a fantastic arm candy. But after all those years, she could have turned the page.

I don’t know how I feel about the possibility of running into her tonight. What I am sure of, is that I’m going to streak my claim.

“I’ll be there too. You’re mine, I’ll let her know that.” I declare, and he emerges from the crook of my neck.

“You’re not mad?” He asks hopefully.

“No.” I reassure him, and he smiles, relived.

“Thank god. You’re the best, Abby.” He murmurs before kissing my cheek.

“Does it mean she’ll be around a lot?” I ask.

“Probably. But you know you don’t have to worry.” He says.

“I don’t worry. I trust you.” I murmur.

“Thank you.” He replies. I lean down and kiss him, slow, teasing. I gently suck on his lower lip, running my tongue across it, and I hear him sigh in content. Encouraged by the sound, I shift so I’m sitting astride him, my legs on either side of his. Run my hands ups his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, pressing myself against his bare chest. He pulls away with a groan.

“I thought I told you not to get out of bed. And you’re clothed.” He remarks, even though I’m slowly getting wet, my lady parts pressed against his crotch. My eyes widen as I realise I’ve broken his rules.


“I can’t see your breasts, nor your pussy. I said I didn’t want anything between you and me.” He counters. I squirm uncomfortably.

“You’re clothed too.” I retort.

“The rules weren’t made for me.”

“Then I’m making the same for you.” I declare.

“New rule: you don’t get to make any rules.” He counters. I pout at him. This is unfair.

“Lose the T-shirt.” He orders, and as unfair his rules are, I’m inly too willing to comply. I obey, lifting the cloth over my head and throwing it on the floor.

“That’s better.” Mark watches me intently, sliding his hand between our bodies. He cups my sex, running a teasing finger between my folds.

“This is mine.” He declares. My head rolls back, and I close my eyes, relishing the sensation.

“Please.” I whisper as his finger finds my clitoris in a light caress.

“Why did you get out of bed? I told you not to.” He asks, removing his hand and pulling my eyes back down to his.

“You said unless I needed to.” I murmur.

“What do you need?”

“You.” I breathe, and he smirks.

“Who am I to deny you?” He asks, holding his arms open in a humbling manner. Who he is? The devil.

“I’m all yours.” He declares, and it takes me no time to start and help myself to the delicious buffet his body is.


Once he has tucked himself back in his sweatpants, Mark pulls me back down on his lap, wrapping his arms around me and pushing his face in my neck.

“I like Fuck day.” I state.

“Fuck day?” He snorts against the skin of my neck.

“Fuck day.”

“I like Fuck day too.” He murmurs. Wr fall silent again, and then something occurs me. The wedding. He’s not really expecting me to marry him in a month, is he?

“Mark?” I call.


“We can’t organize a wedding in a month.” I declare.

“The hell we can’t. We will.” He mumbles against my neck.

“Come on, be realistic. You’re busy with work, and I’m going to find an internship-”

“You don’t have to find it now.” He snaps, pulling away from me to look up at me.

“I want to start working.” I say slowly, to the child he is.

“You’ve been working your ass off for six years, Abby. A break won’t hurt.” He says.

“I don’t want a break.”

“We’ll you’ll need one, because we’re getting married in a month.” He mutters. Where is he going with this? He’s not expecting me to stay home until the wedding, is he?

“So you’re telling me not to work.” I say.

“Yes.” He snaps. Okay, this is too much. I let him decided how I come, when I drink, but not if I work or not. That’s to control. That’s male chauvinist dictatorship.

“You think you have that power on me.” I mutter.

“Abigail.” He warns.

“Who do you think you are?”

“Don’t get bratty with me.” He grinds out.

“You’re being unreasonable. You don’t decide if I work or not. I don’t have to obey you.” I mutter, glaring at him.

“I want to have some time with you.” He explains.

“What about what I want?”

“You don’t want to spend your days fucking me?”

“No.” I lie, scrambling off his lap. “In fact, I’m done with you for today.” I declare, bending and picking up his T-shirt, before turning on my heels.

“So god help me Abigail if you don’t get your ass back here-”

“Fuck you.” I mutter, throwing the T-shirt back on.

“Get that T-shirt off!” He barks. I stop dead in my tracks and turn to him, anger emanating from every single of my pores.

“Make me.” I mouth. He stands, and glowers at me, his hands on his desk.

“One.” He starts. He’s counting to three? Oh, please! This is ridiculous, and infuriating.

“Two.” He says. Alright, I’m out of here. I don’t want to deal with him. If he thinks he’s going to scare me with this.

“You’re ridiculous.” I call over my shoulder, storming out of his office and slamming the door closed. I walk back to our bedroom where I intent to sulk. I here the door of his office swing open, and I know he’s following me.

“Three.” He says, grabbing my shoulders and turning me around. Before I know it, I’m swung over his shoulder. I scream, placing my hands on his hips for support.

“Let me go!” I kick him in the stomach, but it doesn’t seem to affect him. He strides inside our bedroom  slamming the door closed.

“Put me down!” I scream, swatting his behind. He swats me right back.

“Ah!” I squeal. It stings! A wave of fury sweeps through me, but the feeling is unfamiliar. How long has it been since I’ve been so mad at him? Since we fought like this? He goes into the dressing, and I struggle desperately while he looks for god knows what. I think he’s opening our play box. If he thinks he can torture me with sex, he’s holding his breath. I’m not letting him touch me. He tries and I safeword.

“You’re a fucking boor, Mark. A dirty chauvinist.” I mutter to his back. He slams the box closed, but I can’t see what he took out.

“And you’re a real pain in the ass.” He retorts, walking back to the bedroom. He’s going to torture me.

“Put me down!” I yell. God, it feels good to scream. I can’t remember the last time I hated him like this. Have I stopped living for six years?

He throws me on the bed, and I bounce, my hair plying everywhere. Huffing and puffing, I try to brush it out of my face just as I feel him hover on top of me. He sits astride my, pinning me down. While I’m still struggling with my hair, he grabs my hand and snaps something around my wrists. The noise of cold metal makes me freeze. My heand is pulled up over my head, and I’m cuffed to the bed.

“Mark!” I scream, watching my hand in the metal handcuffs. I look back at him, at complete loss, and he tears my T-shirt apart.

“I said nothing between you and me.” He grinds out, proceeding a pair of scissors. The bastard! I could safeword him, but what’s the point? He’ll find a way to get what he wants. Scowling, I let him cut the T-shirt open, and he pulls it out from under me before tossing it to the side. Happy, now?

“Take the cuffs off.”

“Not until you say you won’t work.” He snaps. The palm of my free hand twitches. I want to slap him.

“Do you even hear yourself?!” I shout.

“I’ll keep you like that until the wedding day if I have to.”

“That’s called sequestration!” I utter.

“Call it whatever the fuck you want.” He grinds out.

“Paging Dr Davis, please!” I shout. I’m sure his psy will want to know about his chauvinist tendencies.

“You crazy woman!” Crazy woman? The infuriating boor! I don’t want to spend my time calling him names, I want to get straight to the point and make him realise how ridiculous he’s being.

“Me? Crazy because I want to exercise my damn rights?” I retort. “I’m not going to spend a whole month doing nothing, waiting for you while you work and spread my legs when you come home.”

“That’s not what I want!” He cries, offended. Oh, is not?

“Then what is it that you want that makes you think you can forbid me to work?!” I shout back. He growls, expressing his fury, and then he crashes his lips onto mine. Our teeth collide, but then his tongue invades my mouth, aggressive and hungry. Once again, he’s expressing his anger. Well I am angry too. My tongue meets his challenge, and I kiss him back, hard. I am mad at him, so fucking mad, but as always my body’s response doesn’t listen to my head. Desire explodes inside me like the forth of July.

“You.” He groans against my mouth, shifting so he’s laying between my legs. He presses his body against mine, his hard muscles pressed against my breasts, pushing his groin against mine. He’s hard for me, and I can feel myself getting wet.

“I want you.” He breathes, thrusting his hips against me. His clothed, hard shaft rubs against my clitoris, and I moan against his mouth. I run my free hand down his back, bucking under him, adding more friction. He moans, and then groans, abruptly pulling away from me. I stare up at him, my mind dizzy with lust. He grabs the back of my thighs and pushes me up the bed, and getting the signal, I sit up against the headboard. He then takes my hips and turns me around so I’m on my knees facing the headboard. I feel his hot breath on my shoulder, as he runs his hands up my waist, and then he slams into me.

“Ah!” I cry out in a mix of surprise and pleasure. My muscles grip him tightly, and I feel electricity in the pit of my stomach. I start to pant instantly, my body going crazy.

“Is that expressive enough for you?” He rasps in my ear, flexing his hips, driving his long shaft deeper inside me, stretching me out some more.

“I want this every day. I want to make you mine over and over again.” He slightly pulls back, and rams forward again, feeling me up completely, and I feel it in my very core.

“Mark!” I beg. I feel my mind shifting to another channel, and I forget all the rancor I have against him. I need him too much.

“Just you, and me, and this.” He murmurs, his breath shaky against my skin. His hips thrust again. My head rolls back onto his shoulder, and I grap the bars of the headboard tightly. He imposes a steady rhythm, his thrusts measured, calculated, as he makes sure to hit the right spot. My vagina throbs around him, heavy with need, hot juices dripping out of me.

“Oh my god!” My eyes roll to the back of my head as I struggle to breathe. I arch my back, taking more of him inside me.

“You don’t want this, baby?” He groans into my ear. God, I do. I do. “Tell me you don’t need it.” He grinds out, thrusting even harder.

“I do!” I cry, tears making my vision blury. I want it. I want this connection, I was to lose myself to him, I want to be wild and free again.

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!” I beg. I don’t want it to ever end. It’s just me and him, and it feels amazing. It shakes me to my toes, and my body burns.

“I need you, Abby.” He sighs in my ear, wrapping his hand around my throat, keeping me against him.

“God, I need you. All of you.” He whispers. I let out an incoherent wail, too overwhelmed by the intense sensations and emotions assaulting me. I sob, tears running down my cheeks, and I can’t help it. He’s fucking me hard and fast while I’m cuffed to the bed, yet all that comes out of this is his love for me, my love for him, and the sadness I feel realising how much I’ve missed this.

“Please.” I sob, closing my eyes shut. My tears arr abundant and incontrollable, just like the stabs of electricity I feel inside.

“I love you so much.” He whispers in a sigh, his other hand traveling down to my swollen clit. My hips jerk, shaking uncontrollably as I can’t make up my mind between impaling myself on him to escape his burning touch and pushing towarss his hand. I’m trapped under his intense, mind blowing assault.

“You’re mine.” He increases the pressure of his fingers

“Yes!” I scream as my orgasm rips through me.

“Mark!” I cry, my whole body spasming, my hips jerking violently, intensely painful sensations making my nerves scream.

“That’s it.” He rasps, his thrust growing sloppy and faster. I’m lost between sobbing and screaming in pleasure, my orgasm washing over me like a tidal wave, destroying me like a hurricane.

“Oh, fuck!” He shouts, his hips jerking against me. He explodes inside me, filling me with his hot release. His name rolls off my tongue, again and again, because that’s all I know, all I feel, all I want. Mark.

He pants against my shoulders, his hand around my throat sliding down my front to rest on my stomach. I breathe heavily, exhausted by the intensity of our lovemaking. My eyes are still closed, my body still shaken, my mind still hazy.

“You were always so busy.” He murmurs, pulling me out of my half conscious state. I convince my eyes open, my heart clenching.

“I drowned myself in work to fill the emptiness.” He confesses, and tears of shame and guilt spring to my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, not trusting my voice. Deep down I knew it. I knew I was hurting him, I knew it was my fault.

“No.” He says softly. “You’re pursuing your dream, Abby. Never feel sorry about it.” He murmurs. Not feel sorry about it? How can I not seeing how much I’ve hurt the man I love?

“I love you.” I say, my voice cracking, a lump forming in my throat.

“I love you too, baby.” He kisses my shoulder.

“I didn’t want to make you feel neglected.” I speak despite the tightness of my throat,wanting him to know.

“I know, I don’t think that. I don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s over, baby.” He murmurs, kissing me behind my ear, and down my neck.“Over.” His touch and his word are so soothing.

“I love you.” I repeat.

“I love you too.” He murmurs. I want to touch him, hold him close and shut everything out.

“Untie me.” I plead. He shifts and slips out of me, and then I see him bring a small key to the cuffs before he opens them, letting my hand free. Without wasting a second, I twist and wrap my arms around his neck, making him fall back onto the bed. I nuzzle his neck and throw a leg over his stomach, clinging to him, feeling his warmth. He snakes an arm around me, his hand stroking my back, the other one caressing my arm.

“I just want to reconnect with you.” He says softly.

“I want that too.” I agree.

“I miss you too, I want you for myself all day. Not just when you come home.” I explain, tightening my grip around him.

“I don’t plan to go to work.”

“Until the wedding day?” I challenge, but he doesn’t say anything.

“That’s what you’re asking from me.” When he doesn’t reply, I scowl. He makes unreasonable demands and he’s not ashamed about it. Then why am I so ashamed to ask for his attention?

“I want a Fuck week.” I declare.


“Yes.” I confirm, emerging from the crook of his neck. “I don’t look for a job, and you don’t go to work. We go away. Far away.” I explain, and he only gives me a confused frown.

“Nothing between us.” I murmur. If he can’t give that to me, then fuck him. Six years ago, I know he would have given me months, but now I’m not sure. It’s not a good sign.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” He snaps as if he was forcing me. My eyes widen in surprise.

“Really?” I ask.

“Fuck, yes.” He says, and it makes me grin. I was so stupid for thinking his love had changed. Him proposing was a good, good reminder. I don’t know why I doubted him.

“Thank you.” I murmur, kissing him tenderly. Whrn I pull away, he gazes at me, eyes soft and adoring. He runs his knuckles down my cheek, sighing deeply.

“I love you.” He says softly, and it warms my heart. I know he loves me.

“I love you too.” I reply. He smiles shyly, and then sighs again.

“I guess Fuck day is over.” He declares.

“No!” I cry, not even ashamed about how horrified I am. He smirks at my reaction.

“We still have time before the gala.” I argue. He grins and kisses my forehead.

“We’re going out. I need to take you somewhere.” He declares.

“No. You need to take me period.”

“Doctor Kraige!” He gasps, feigning shock and offense. I pout, because I’m honestly disappointed. He promised me an entire day, and it’s just four pm.

“Don’t pout at me, you sex monster. Go get ready.” He orders.

“Come take a shower with me.”

“Just a shower.” He warns. I nod, battling my eyelashez at him, feigning innocense. There’s no way I’m leaving without getting more of him.


Mark parks in front of a big tower downtown. He’s refused to tell me where he was taking me, and our surroundings don’t help. I’m absolutely clueless.

“Promise to keep an open mind?” Mark asks as he helps me out of his Audi. An open mind? You have to have an open mind to deal with this man at the first place.

“Okay.” I reply. In front of the building stands a brunette in a brown pencil skirt and a white blouse. She as deep green eyes.

“Miss O'shea.” Mark stretches his hand out to her. Okay, we came to see her, but why? She smiles sweetly to him.

“Mr Tuan, please call me Ava.” She says, shaking his hand, her fingers lingering longer than necessary on his hand. “Ava.” Mark agrees, but doesn’t tell her to call him by his name. Her cheeks turn a pale shade of pink as she swoons, and then her eyes move to me. I want to roll my eyes at her.

“Miss Kraige.” She gives me her hand to shake.

“Ava.” I say stiffly, taking her manicured hand and shaking it briefly.

“Please, follow me.” She says before entering the building with a code. Mark places his hand on the small of my back, and we follow her gingerly.

“Who is she?” I mouth so lowly I’m sure she can’t hear me.

“Estate agent.” He replies.

“We’re visiting apartments?” I ask, my voice loud. Ava turns around and flashes us a smile.

“Yes. The penthouse is at the top of the tower.” She points up, before turning back around.

“I don’t want to move.” I whisper to Mark.

“Now that’s kind of close minded, don’t you think?” He snaps. I scowl at him, because he’s right. We take the elevator to the top floor and walk in what has to be the most ridiculously big living room I’ve ever seen. One wall is maide of entire glass, and it goes to the kitchen. The lightning is incredible.  The decoration is colorful, but not too much.

“The view is awesome.” I murmur, looking up at Mark.

“I know.” He smiles down at me.

“Let me show you the rest of it.” Ava pipes up, showing us the stairs. A duplex?!


“And that is it.” Ava says once we’re back in the living area. This penthouse is ten times bigger than our apartment. It’s a fucking manor! I feel winded, as if struck by a truck. He wants to buy this…fucking dormitory?

“Thank you, Ava. Can you leave us a moment?” Mark asks politely.

“Sure.” She smiles, before exiting. Mark turns to me, watching me closely. I know he’s not sure of my reaction.

“It’s huge.” Is all I can say.

“Penthouse.” He says in a way of explanation.

“I don’t want to move.” I repeat myself. This apartment is very luxurious, very modern and everything, but I don’t know how I can make this a home.

“Why?” He asks.

“I love our little cocoon. And this…penthouse will require staff, because there’s no way we can clean everything. Eight bedrooms?” I explain.

“We can have a housekeeper.” He says casually. The hairs on my neck lift, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“I don’t want staff.” I say.


“My home, I take care of it. And it’ll be awkward.” I explain. I can’t begin to inagine someone wash my clothes, my panties, cook me food. I don’t want a slave.

“You’ll get used to it.” He says reassuringly.

“You really want to move out, don’t you?” I ask.

“You’ll need an office, I need a bigger office, I need a gym, and a room for my archives. I need bigger.” He explains. I can’t really argue with this. I mean, it’s about my opinion only.

“What about my wall?” I ask. I don’t want to lose my wall.

“We can move it, it’s not a problem.” He caresses my hair reassuringly.

“We’ll make it a home, baby. Don’t worry.” He kisses my forehead. Another new start, I guess. We did it once, we can do it again.

“Okay.” I murmur.


“Okay.” I repeat.


“Yes. Home is wherever you are.” I say softly, looking up at his eyes. He smiles tenderly.

“I love you.” He murmurs, bringing his lips down to mine.

“I love you more.” I reply, kissing him back. I realise just now, just how much I’ve missed him. Not his body, but the wildness, the intensity, the rawness, the purity of his love for me now that’s unleashed and free again. I’m going to spend the rest of my life enjoying this gorgeous man of mine, because now I can. It was a hard time, but now it’s behind us, he’s never stopped being mine, and I am his forever.


Gif source:  Sam

Imagine Sam mentions that he’s thinking about cutting his hair and you tell him not to.

——— Request for anon ———

Sam slaps back up the flipped down mirror on the roof of the Impala, turning to glance at you as Dean steadily fills his baby up with gas outside, “I think it’s time for a haircut.”

“Okay,” you answer, eyes never moving from the gossip magazine Dean had snagged for you. You’d been cutting Sam and Dean’s hair since you’d started riding with them, so you’d thought nothing of Sam’s sudden declaration, “Soon as we get back to the motel, I’ll get the scissors ready for a trim.”

He catches your attention with his next words, “I don’t know. Maybe I want more than a trim this time. Isn’t the long hair getting kind of old?”

“What? Sam, you look great with long hair. Please don’t make me chop it off!”

Creek Meh Fanfiction

Summary: Craig’s been hanging around Tweak Bros: Coffeehouse. (older Au/ fluff/ kissing/ swearing/ oneshot)

“Second’s please…” that smug smirk mouthed leaning forwards on the counter towards, the words that purred following the movements made me spaz as most things did.

“Augh!” I shout as I take the glass away from him to refill it, as usual his entangling grip around the container lingers, long enough to hold me there as I try to tug it out of his grasp. Our eyes meet, my twitching wildly iris’ being greeted by his half lidded ones. My frown of unamusement doesn’t seem to phase him in the slightest. After a moment he finally releases the cup, allowing me to finally break eye contact with him. I turn hurriedly and make a beeline for the coffee beans hearing that irritating scoff of amusement escape from the others mouth.

I had known Craig for well over eight years, though we never really communicated with each other until third grade when some of our idiotic classmates bet on who could win in a fight, both before and after the event we never truly conversed. Over the eight years we had grown far different from each other, Craig getting in with the wrong and perhaps considerably more popular crowd, where I still only really had friends in two or three kids, I really focused on the family business and school work more than any potential social life.

Lately Craig has been showing up at the shop more and more. It used to be like once or twice a week after he’d been up to a crazy night before hand and he needed a fix to get him through the school day, now it was every morning, every evening, and he’d sit there drinking until closing. No matter what shift I took I’d always see him in here. He was practically our best and most loyal customer. And the worst part ironically is I’d always hear him complaining how crap our coffee was! I just don’t get him.

I jittered as I poured the hot water into the now abusively ground coffee beans, my fathers moto and soapbox on how we put love into every cup was really a bunch of bull, each cup was filled with bitterness and anxiety and sometimes unshed tears, but that’s if you got lucky. I jumped when Craig let words flow throughout the store again, he and I were the only ones there, nobody ever gets coffee at 5:46…. except Craig.

“Have you guys ever considered getting some kind of flavoring for your coffee, cuz you know hazelnut sounds really good, like… really good.” he offered in a dazed teasing tone. I shot him a glare like no other, it really bugged me when anyone badmouthed or criticized our coffee, and Craig seemed like he had nothing else but to say sour things about it.

His eyes met my infuriated ones as I brought his cup back to him, “If you want fancy things like that shit, Ah!, go make your own god damn coffee.”  I spat back jittered to him, at which he did nothing but smile at me with his stupid sarcasm.

“Aw c’mon now, don’t be like that, all I’m saying is that your sludge excuse for coffee has potential, you just gotta, you know, push it over the edge and then it could be prime sludge.” He cheered enthusiastically, causing my blood to boil, I could feel my face heat in anger.

“Why the fuck do you even come here?!” I seethed at him letting out another shaky cry of randomness as I went. My eyes were as sharp as knives ready to cut into this pompous asshole.

And he did nothing but look me dead in the eye with a calm, cool aura about him, like he was looking into the eyes of one of his friends who shared his opinion. “Do you always talk to paying customers with that foul mouth?” he responded in taunting monotone. Oh my Jesus did I want to punch this guy’s eyes out. But of course I couldn’t do that, because my dad would kill me if I even laid a finger on this asschicken.

I tried to calm myself a bit remembering that I was actually working so I turned from the dick that was the teenage boy at the counter, and moved on to cleaning out the hot water dispenser on one of the machines, it hadn’t felt scolding enough to drown out the taste of the coffee. Not that it was a bad taste…. god fuck it all our coffee kicks ass screw what Craig says.

“Aww, where ya going? We were having such a fruitful discussion over here!” The dark haired teenager calls after me with mock hurt. One day…. I breathed down my qualms letting out little squawks and yelps as I nervously pulled out the dispensers filter. I had done this many times before but no matter how many times I do it my anxiety takes over and I worry over every possible bad outcome and spaz myself out.

“Hey… you need help? that looks dangerous…” I almost mistook the words that flew out of Craig’s mouth as actually concern for a moment. Well I certainly didn’t need any assistance from dildo’s like him, I’ve done this a million times before, and nothing was going to be different about this time…

I turn to tell him off just as rehearsed in my mind, but something slipped and the next thing I knew there was a fire like sensation on my left arm, as if my skin was boiling off of my nerves, my muscles locked themselves leaving for more fire to ignite my arm and splatter onto my ankles that were only protected by a thin layer of black fabric, steam rose from the ground as my body locked into panic, the only movements from me were that of my anxiety shaking my whole being.

Time blacked out. Only quick flashes of Craig jumping over the counter, grabbing my arm and throwing it under the sink shot out at me. Then a waterfall of ice pricked at my left arm snapping me out of my daze and back to my panicking self. “AUGHI!!” I shouted as my body convulsed under the pain in my arm.

“Shut the fuck up, I know it hurts, but this is what they always do in the fucking movies okay.” Craig stated irritatedly as he held my arm under the faucet with bruising like force. I wanted to cry but nothing came of my eyes except the rapid blinks of shock and terror.

I tried once more to pull my arm away from Craig but that only brought more pain, I bit my lip and felt all of me queeze as I recognized my helpless state that was left in the hands of the taller boy. Finally I relaxed a bit into his vice like grip, thus making him soften a bit, not by much, just enough to ease any potential bruising.

We sat like that for a few moments until my ankles began to heat where I think they were going to blister, I wiggled a bit trying to bring Craig’s attention to something other than my arm. “C-Craig….”I croaked at last making his head snap to meet my gaze. His eyes were full of an emotion I’d never seen on him before, I recognized it though. It was panic, pure terrorized panic as if the whole world was about to cave in on itself. This bewildered me as Craig had shown nothing but monotone and sarcastic expressions in my presence ever before.

“I- you… the… m-m ay…”My words melded as I scrambled my brain for English as it simultaneously attempted to assess Craig’s expression. “legs…” I was able to formulate before my lower body buckled beneath the mass that was my weight and I began to collapse in on myself. Only to be stopped by a lengthy arm that coiled around my torso and held my waist and above up above the ground. My vocal chords automatically spewed out an unintelligible noise.

“I’ve got ya, don’t worry.” the small husk of Craig’s voice tickled down my spine. I felt something of a melting sensation, in more ways than one. I allowed myself to relax in Craigs body, trying to alleviate some of my weight on my other arm.

Finally, Craig was satisfied with my arm and release it, however he didn’t release my body. The taller boy gripped at my waist which almost tickled and crouched down to wrap his other arm around my kneecaps and then proceeded to lift me up into a bridal hold in his arms. I screamed out in panic as loud as I had when the aftershock hit me and gripped tighter to Craig than a koala clutches than a eucalyptus tree. I bit my lip almost hard enough to make me bleed as he carried me around the counter and to a table, kicking out a chair as he went.

Craig went to set me down in the seat, but every fiber in my being was against the idea of letting go of the dark haired male. “Calm down Tweekers I won’t go anywhere.” He hummed softly against my ear. And even though my bodily functions protested I released him.

He pulled out another chair for me to lay my feet on, then proceeded to the front door of the store. My heartbeat raced and ached more than it ever had, that bastard was just going to leave me here?! I felt a wet at my eyes as I glared at his back. As he reached the door, he merely flipped over the sign and locked the door then turned back at me.

His wide eyes must’ve meant that he was shocked at my relieved face, but shock soon turned to sympathy as he walked over to me and pulled up my pant legs to examine the damage that had been done there. Surprisingly it wasn’t as bad as it felt, a little red but no where near a 3rd degree burn. I let out a sigh of relief simultaneously to the one that escaped Craig’s lips.

He looked up to me, staring me straight in the eye, giving a small pleasant smile. “I’ll go clean up, you stay here okay.” He stated and went to go take care of the mess I had made. I made a small yelp and reached and snatched the end of his shirt slightly brushing his ass enough to make me flinch back.

Craig paused and turned towards me. “ya tweekers?” he cooed softly at me as he crouched down to my eye level, making me blush and avoid eye contact with him.

I remained silent for a while longer. Long enough for Craig to lose interest and stand once more.  “…don’t call me that…..” I mumbled as soon as he had turned once more. He flipped himself back smiling cooly down at me and grabbed a chair from another table, pulling it up and placing himself straddled on it leaning forwards on crossed arms on the back of the chair.

“Would you prefer I called you Tweekles? I could make that into a song, Tweekle Tweekle little star…” he began, reverting back into the sarcastic asshole I knew him to be.

“SH-Shut the hell up you bitch.” I looked up at his eyes once again holding the fire that I had before the fiasco had started. But what I found meeting my gaze was two reflecting pools of utter relief smiling gracefully back at me. My face went red again, though I wasn’t sure if it was with embarrassment or rage this time.

“How I wish you weren’t so far…” I stopped as he continued now looking at me as if I were only a dream. “Up above my world you fly by…” his eyes were depressed against the smile that adorned his face. “Like a miracle in my hearts sky…” He reached out one of his folded arms to brush at my mane of blonde that I called hair. Surprisingly my body didn’t retort as it usually did, only a small gasp of shock was left to display my anxiety. “Tweekle.. “ he hummed softly and stood from his seat, leaning forward as he went, his lips brushing up against mine. This kiss was soft and sweet, far more chaste than I was expecting Craig was even capable of.

The moment was also short as Craig pulled back there was a static moment where we just sat there looking into the other’s eyes. “I’m not really fond of wah… that name either…” I spewed out softly completely ruining the tension between us.

A wide smile appeared on Craig’s face as he sat back down to where he was. “Well damn, Tweekers it is then.” he laughed aloud. It sounded genuine at first but faded into something softer, something quieter, something sadder as he threw an apologetic look at me, as if he were a kicked kitten or something…

I yelped and opened my mouth to say something, anything really to break the awkward that had descended upon the two of us. But before I could actually let words escape my mouth there was a knocking upon the glass window, it was irritated and sporadic as one would expect from someone who was without their hourly caffeine.

Of course as they peered inside the building, Craig did nothing but flip the birdie towards the guy outside the door. Which made the man obviously feel insulted and reciprocate the action towards the teenager inside and walk away in a huff. “Fucking idiot, even I can fucking read a fucking sign.” Craig growled under his breath towards the door.

I paused and let out a small laugh at the other’s reactions. Which directed his attention back towards my person. It was difficult to keep the smile off my face, which was weird because obviously that man would have a strong talking to my father and then he would do nothing but soapbox lecture me for the rest of the night, but I just felt the strongest need to keep the bubble of a smile on my face as Craig kept his gaze on me, only now more pleasant.

“so… ummm” The taller teenager shifted uneasily in his chair, I made a yelp as my body fell back into it’s normal rhythm of shakes and shivers of anxiety. “s-sorry about that… I mean… earlier.” he breathed out heavily….

I raised my eyebrows, I took Craig to be one of those ‘do what you want with no regret’ kinda guys. I curled in on myself, feeling uncomfortable with the new side of the guy I had seen in here constantly for the past like month and a half. “i-it ah! it was no big deal…” I spewed out quietly.

This didn’t seem to really comfort him by much, as the moments that followed were just full of tense looming silence. Nothing to occupy it but the shakes I made in my chair. I honestly didn’t know how to respond to an event such as this, I had imagined the scenario a few times, of course with a girl, and more like what you’d see in the movies. But it wasn’t like what Craig and I did just moments ago was… bad. Did that mean I liked him? Did this mean we were dating now? My lack of social experience was finally catching up to me as I felt my head spin and the room tilt to odd angles.

Finally an exasperated sigh of defeat came from Craig as he once again stood, “Look, how about we just, forget about it okay Like nothing happened alright?” he heaved again as he began to back up towards the already cooling water puddle behind the counter.

I stared up at him blankly, twitching and convulsing my body unwillingly. “Gah! But- That was my first kiss…” I stated blankly as I watched his eyes widen and his mouth fell agape, almost in a look akin to horror. Was it really all that bad that I hadn’t mushed my lips together on another persons face before? Usually people found me too spastic to hold still for such an idea.

“I… you… Dude, I’m so sorry!” Craig walked up and gripped at my shoulders a look of pure regret painting his face, it didn’t suit him. And really pissed me off.

I glared up at him, “Why?” I growled at him “It wasn’t Ah! bad.” I huffed crossing my arms feeling a slight singe as I pressed my left against the right but I didn’t care right now, it didn’t hurt that bad.

“Thanks, but you don’t really have any comparison…” he sighed putting his forehead against my own in resignation.

I continued my stare up at him. “Do I need any? If I liked it I don’t see the point in going off and whoring my mouth off to other people…” I dribbled out of my mouth before I could stop myself. A flush of red hit me when I realized what had just been said. “Gah, I mean!”

Craig’s eye’s were dead locked onto my own only mere inches away. “No, I think I get what you mean…” that smirk that I knew and hated in months past, plastered itself across his face once more. But soon fell into a softer smile.

The taller teen leans down those extra two inches to ghost his breath against my lips, making my body shiver more and trickle down my spine unwanted chills. “I’m glad you feel that way.” he whispered and pressed his lips once again to my own. Only this time I pressed back.

AN: thing I wrote a while ago. Meh.

For Research

Word Count: 700

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, alcohol use

A/N: Written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing ‘s SPN Celebration Challenge. NSFW Gif 42. There’s background on this though. Karina challenged me and said that if she gave me the SMUTTIEST gif she had there was no way that I could NOT write smut. As most of you know, I don’t write smut. Not because I’m a wholesome flower, which I am, but because I just can’t. Challenge accepted. 


You were sitting alone in the apartment you shared with Jensen studying your script for your role in Deadpool. You’d talked to Ryan earlier that day before you left the set and discussed the sex scenes you’d be filming and how to best go about keeping everything ‘not weird’ as Ryan so nicely put it. The more you read the script the more you realized you weren’t really reading it at all, completely zoning out. You stood up and noticed the clock said it was after midnight; Jensen must’ve been stuck at work again. You grabbed your bottle of wine and sat back down, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels while you drank.

“Hey baby!” Jensen entered the apartment and tossed his keys on the table. “Sorry I’m so late we ran way behind. Jared wouldn’t stop fuckin’ with Misha. It was actually really – “ He was cut short when he saw you sitting on the couch with an almost fully drunk bottle of wine and your script in front of you, completely engrossed in porn on the TV. “What are you doing?”

“Research.” You answered, clearly drunk.

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sceptiqueveille  asked:

ExR, first kiss

Thank you for your prompt! <3

His first kiss of the night goes to Musichetta who kisses him richly, with a wealth of coy affection worthy of fortune tellers and dark eyed gypsies. His second goes to Courfeyrac who loves on him with too much tongue and leaves him wiping spit from his mouth. His third spin of the bottle lands on Jehan, whose hand is fine boned and delicate like that of a robin bird’s. His skin passes warm and smooth beneath Grantaire’s lips. 

He is quite satisfied with his share of kisses. Three is a good number. He likes the night’s selection. 

Grantaire has just resigned himself to watching his friends with a sleepy haze before the bottle slows to a stop again. 

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(Found this going through an old fic folder - not sure when I wrote it, though for some reason I suspect I wrote it for mizzmarvel? In any case, I wanted to slap it up here: 1k, Johnny Storm/Peter Parker h/c.)

The worst part about the cold isn’t the coughing or the fact that his head feels filled up with cotton balls and spiderwebs or the part where there’s nothing good on Sunday television, their every-channel-ever plan be damned.

It’s the fact that Johnny keeps sneezing fireballs.

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pheonix561  asked:

Where can I find some resources on how to clean up animations properly? As in, taking rough lines and making them nice and clean and even? It's a subject I'm really struggling with, so if you know of anything like a master gumroad tutorial I can buy or something, something to get me used to drawing lines perfectly straight, or maybe some way of doing it digitally, I'd be really grateful!

Thanks for the question!

You know, I found it really difficult to find online resources on the subject too–except I was looking for tips on traditional cleanup.

But since you’re talking digital, here’s a very pretty tutorial for digital cleanup:

If you want to learn to “draw straight”, there’s a handy little exercise I sometimes do to test my steadiness and get my wrist warmed up, especially if I’m drawing first thing in the morning and my hands are all shaky. A lot of my friends use to do this to warmup before art classes, and it’s surprisingly simple and effective.

Exercise 1: Draw two dots a few inches from each other on a piece of paper. Can you draw a line from one to the other? Practice one quick continuous line by hovering above the paper. Don’t make a mark until your hand is comfortable with the gesture (think of practice swings in golf). Good? Now move the dots further from each other. Keep going until your line is nice and straight from one edge of the paper to the next. Now you have control of straight lines. It might take a few pages.

Exercise 2. Fill a page with circles. Try to make them completely round and make the edges connect perfectly. Start with bigger circles, then try to fill in smaller and smaller circles within the blank gaps around the bigger circles. It gets easier as the circles get smaller.

Both of these exercises teach control, which is what you need for cleanup, and drawing in general.

As for digital cleanup, I feel your pain. My tablet monitor just broke and I can’t afford another right now, so I’m using a lap tablet again. But that’s okay! Because if I get stuck and start to have difficulty drawing with a tablet, I take a drawing–preferably a very clean drawing, like a coloring page–and quickly trace it in photoshop, manga studio or whatever program I’m working in. I use quick, long strokes, with one hand on control/command + z so I can keep trying until the line is perfect. This forces my hand to reacquaint itself quickly to the medium. There’s a weird delay when drawing on something and looking somewhere else for the result–I find it sometimes requires a little transition period to move from traditional drawing into digital drawing, but tracing something is the fastest way I know to catch up. Whatever you do, avoid short wispy lines! I actually found one tutorial suggesting short wispy lines. It took him twice as long as it would take me (and it looked just as good?!), but normally short wispy lines look horrible and messy and they’re slow! Don’t do it!

Summer art season/IRL workshops are upon us, so I’ve been swamped and very neglectful of this blog, but traditional cleanup is one of the first subjects I want to do a video on. I can’t wait. But even without visuals I can probably explain this much: My process has 3 steps: Blue, Red and Black.

Blue is the animation. I flip through the animation, study the animatic, get a sense of the movement before starting. When I do, especially if I’m working on my own scene, I start cleaning up the keyframes first.

Next I pull out my colerase red pencil and redraw the character, flipping back and forth (digitally this just means turning down the opacity on the original frame and pulling up a new layer to redraw the character in its breakdown shapes). This is the most important step, because you’re establishing the form, weight, and shape, but also preserving the emotion, movement and intent of the animator. This has to be perfect before turning it to black.

Once the red is perfect (and sometimes I go through a couple layers of reds), it’s time to start on black. I pull up a new paper and use a Tombow HB pretty much always. It’s my lucky pencil after all. With this, I do a lot of flipping and a lot of lightboxing, but since my character is proportionately correct at this point and the lines are in the right place, now I’m focused on line weight and smooth, quality linework. I want to get into that more later, but the point of this three step process is this: worry about matching your drawing’s proportions to the model sheet before worrying about line quality, and don’t worry if it takes you a bunch of layers to get there.

Good luck, and feel free to ask me questions if anything was unclear. :P

lokisgame  asked:

17 - Mulder/Scully pretty please

17. last dance

Set during Home

Mulder definitely considers taking back what he told Scully earlier - he could never live in a town that couldn’t get a decent reception on TV. He fiddles with the radio and finds a station playing oldies. Laying back on the bed, he wonders when today’s hits will become tomorrow’s oldies. How old does a song have to be to be old?

Wonderful Wonderful by Johnny Mathis comes on. He wonders what Scully is doing. He wonders what kind of music she likes and then thinks it’s strange he doesn’t know. His mother used to play this kind of music in the kitchen when she made lunch for him and Samantha - back when she was still a mother and not a shell of a woman who used to be a wife and mother. He wonders if Scully will be the kind of mom that dances around the kitchen to the oldies making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off. He can see it.

The walls are so thin he can hear the phone ring in her room when he calls her. He lowers the volume on the radio a notch before she picks up.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Reviewing the autopsy notes on Baby Doe.”

“Come back and listen to music with me.”

“I can hear it just fine through the wall.”

“Is it bothering you?”

“No, it’s not bothering me.”

“Come back. You can bring your notes if you want to.”


“Because this is the kind of music you have to listen to with a pretty girl parked on a deserted scenic overlook.”

“Your room hardly qualifies as a scenic overlook.”

He notices she doesn’t acknowledge the pretty girl part of his plea. “Well,” he says. “If you don’t want to.”

She sighs into the phone and hangs up. A few minutes later she knocks on his unlocked door, barefoot, pantsuit exchanged for flannel pajamas, and a folder in her hand. Her hair is in a ponytail like a bobbysoxer. It’s fitting.

He flops back on the bed and she sits cross-legged at the end. She asks him when they’ll be meeting Sheriff Taylor and The Four Seasons ask Why Do Fools Fall in Love?

“Scully, did you know that Elvis’s first number one hit was a country song?”

“I can’t say that I did.”

He rolls onto his side to look at her just as Otis Redding is Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay. “I can’t whistle,” he says. “Did you know that?”

“You can’t?”

She turns her head to watch him try and smiles as he fails.

“You left that out of your genetic history,” she says.

“Does it lower my chances?”

“For what?”

He shrugs. “Can you whistle?”

She pauses and then whistles along with the song for a few measures. He wants to know if she can also yodel or tie a cherry stem into a knot, but he doesn’t ask. She probably can.

He lays back and looks at the ceiling when Percy Sledge starts telling the world what it’s like When a Man Loves a Woman. He wonders what Scully would say if he asks her to dance. He imagines her doing The Twist and he chuckles to himself.

“What’re you laughing at?” she asks.

“I was wondering what you’d say if I asked you to dance.” He leaves out The Twist.

“And it made you laugh?”

He rolls over again, props himself up on his elbow. “Would you say yes?”

She shrugs. He stands and turns the radio back up a little more and holds his hand out.

“Miss Scully,” he says. “Will you do me the honor.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She smiled though, and lets him pull her out of her cross-legged position to stand in front of him.

One hand is in his, the other is on his shoulder. His free hand is at her hip. They’re a foot apart, at least.

“Leave room for the Holy Ghost, right?” he asks. “Isn’t that how they do it in Catholic school?”

“Just afraid you’ll step on me.”

He looks down at her bare toes and his brown socks. “You can hop on if you’re worried,” he says.

“Keep it up Mulder, our first dance will be our last dance.”

“You wouldn’t give me a second chance to make a first impression?”

“Can you dance better than you whistle?”

He can dance. Not because of genetic proclivity, but because his blue blood upbringing demanded it. He lifts her arm with his so it rests in a more proper frame and his hand slides up her side to her ribs. Her hand relaxes in his as he leads. He was afraid for a minute she wouldn’t let him lead, but it looks like she knows how to dance too.

You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me, he hums along and turns her once under his arm before he pulls her in as The Miracles demand. Tighter. She laughs like he isn’t serious and he laughs because he actually is.

Songs were too short back in the day, he thinks as he has to let her go. Can’t really dance to Big Girls Don’t Cry.

“Do I pass muster?” he asks.

“I’d let you ask me again.” She turns and picks up her file. “I really need to…”

“Go. I’ll turn down the music.”

“Leave it on,” she says as she opens the door to leave. “I’ll just listen with you from the other side.”

He smiled and turns it up another notch before he flips back down on the bed.
The End

See you around - SugaMonster

Prompt from anon at iamashamedofmyfanfics

“That’ll be $9.85-” Yoongi glances up at the customer and freezes, eyes wide.

Namjoon doesn’t look up, digging in his pockets for the cash. He tosses a ten on the counter, grabbing the cigarettes and sliding them into his pocket. “Keep the change,” Namjoon says, his voice raspier than Yoongi remembers, and he turns his back without looking.

Before he can think about what he’s doing, Yoongi calls out. “I need to see your ID before you buy those.”

Namjoon turns back, still looking down, pulling out his wallet, flipping through cards until he finds the one he needs. He tugs it out and tosses it on the counter before finally looking up at his cashier- at Yoongi.

“Yoongi,” he breathes out, frozen, and Yoongi can’t say anything, can’t do anything, just gives Namjoon the most awkward smile and says “Hi.”


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Promot from the amazing l-o-v-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e:
“Can you write [a story] where Meryl and Maks have been dating for two years and Maks plans a trip to Paris and Meryl doesn’t know where they are going and when they get there Maks has planned a romantic dinner and he proposes underneath the Eiffel Tower?”

I hope I lived up to your expectations! I decided to change the proposal location, though, to somewhere I found that seemed a bit more ‘them.’

“Maks, where are we going?” She sighed, running a dainty hand through her hair. It was a habit she’d picked up from her boyfriend after two long years together, and it never failed to make him smile like a fool whenever he saw her do it.

“We’re going on an airplane, babe,” he teased (complete with a Chmerkovskiy-brand pert smile.) He was not about to reveal the surprise destination he’d had in mind for them.

She shoved his shoulder playfully in response to the coy deflection.

“No, you fricker, you know what I mean,” she exclaimed, clearly frustrated.

He tried to keep his laughter under control at her adorable use of the word ‘fricker.’

It was so endearing to him that she refused to curse—he’d never thought twice about it himself. Frankly, swears made up about 99 percent of his vocabulary whenever he became passionate about something.

Then again, that’s how it always was with Meryl and him; she was the calm to his storm.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” He tried to dodge her accusatory remark with a compliment, which earned him another weak shoulder-punch.

“You’re also very violent today,” he duly noted. He noticed the effort she put into holding back the little smile she was about to give him.

“Yeah, well, you’re a jerk,” she huffed.

“One of the biggest,” he agreed, grinning brightly when she gave up interrogating him.
The minute the pilot had landed the plane, the flight attendant came on the intercom and informed the passengers that they had, in fact, safely made it to Paris, France.

‘Good to know we made it safely after all,’ Maks thought wryly, 'I thought we crashed and died somewhere over the Atlantic.’

The dull voice thanked them for choosing whatever airline they were using that night, but Maks couldn’t hear that part of the announcement over his girlfriend’s surprised exclamations.

“Oh my God!” She began, turning to face him.

“Maksim Chmerkovskiy, you did NOT take me to Paris!”

He didn’t reply, opting instead to watch, smiling while his little love completely freaked out in the middle of a crowded airplane.

“Holy fricking crap, Maks, we are NOT in Paris right now!”

It was then that she threw her arms around his broad shoulders for a hug. She looked like a kid on Christmas morning. It was the most lovable thing he’d ever seen in his life. He hugged her tightly, praying to the higher powers out there as he did that she couldn’t feel the little square box tucked away inside his jacket pocket.

“Oh my gosh, I still can’t believe we’re here…”
Meryl was in a constant state of wide-eyed reverence at the city around her. She’d always wanted to go, she told him once, but with the incessant training for the Olympics, vacations were always an impossibility. He was happy he could accompany her on any ‘first time’ of hers.
He was sitting across the table from her at Maison Blanche, a Parisian restaurant renowned for its romantic atmosphere.
“Yeah, I thought Paris would be nice this time of year,” he chuckled.

“It’s amazing, baby! Thank you!” She was practically gushing, and he reached across the table to envelop her tiny hand with his large one.

“Frankly, for me, you’re what makes it amazing,” he admitted, and Meryl giggled.

“That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she joked, and he flashed her a million-dollar grin in response.

“God, this is the best,” she stared, awestruck, at the skyline of Paris from the large window next to their table.

Here it was.

This was it.

Maks was sweating like Val on their mother’s annually-designated spring cleaning day.

He’d taken her to Jardin du Palais Royal (after extensive research through tourist guides, travel books, and the internet, he decided it was perfect for them.)

“The gardens are hidden from the street on all sides by almost identical buildings. You’ll need a good map (or a little know-how) to find one of the doorways that enter onto the place. The same walls keep the noise of the Parisian traffic out. If you’re lucky, there may be a cellist or opera singer performing beneath the tall arcades, but usually the loudest sound you’ll hear will be coming from the beautiful fountain in the center of the garden. The arcades of the Palais Royal house cute little shops, restaurants and cafes- a perfect place to wander through soaking up Parisian atmosphere before you stroll over to one of the benches that dot the park and ask for your honey’s hand in marriage…” one tourist site bragged.

It sounded like them to him.

It was private, as they had always loved being, and it was quiet. It could be a space for just them, and it wasn’t a spot that was overdone or cliché like such proposal spots often were.

After a few hours of walking around, spending equal amounts of time looking at their surroundings and at their map, they made their way to the central fountain in the garden.

About ten feet away from them was a little family, gazing at a piece of art intently.

It didn’t seem like they were leaving for a while, so Maks figured it’d have to do. He couldn’t wait much longer.

“This is a pretty huge fountain,” Meryl observed with fascination (as she had at everything.)

“Do you think we can make wishes?” He asked, and she beamed.

“Yeah, I don’t see why they’d have such a huge fountain and not allow people to make wishes on it,” she reasoned.

“True,” he grinned, and while she turned around to flip a euro she’d just found on the ground into the fountain, he got down on one knee. He removed the small square box from his coat pocket and flipped it open noiselessly.

When she turned back around and glanced down at the kneeling man before her, her eyes widened.

“Maks,” she breathed, unable to say much else.

“My darling Meryl,” he began, taking her hand in his. “We both know I totally suck at speeches, so I’m not going to make this too long. I have to say I tried to use several websites to, um, come up with possible ideas for this particular moment in time, but being here… God, I can’t remember any of them. It doesn’t matter, though, because none of them were really ‘us’ material in the first place. All that I know is that since the day we were partnered up on that amazing television show all those years ago, I was in love with you. I could not imagine my world without you because it wouldn’t exist. You are my world, my light, my adorably optimistic teddy bear, my dancing partner, and the genuine love of my life. I want that,” he pointed over to the family which was now staring at them, “to be us in a few years. I want to grow old with you, Meryl. You made me into a better man and you continue to do that every day, and I’ll do my best to try to deserve you although I don’t think I ever will. I love you so incredibly much. Meryl Elizabeth Davis… Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

She was definitely crying at the end of his speech.
Tears were cascading down her angelic face.
‘Oh God,’ Maks thought, ‘oh God.’

“Maks,” she managed to get out, and he glanced up at her, a question mark burning in his eyes at her possible answer.

Silence for just a moment.

“You just made my wish come true,” she laughed, wiping away tears.

He got up, pulling her into a tight hug while her arms looped their way around his neck. He was pressing kisses to the top of her head and she was shaking in his warm embrace.

“So wait, that was a yes, right?” He muttered into her hair.

“That was a definite yes,” she laughed gleefully as he proceeded to slide the ring (the very ring he’d spent months designing and making courtesy of the materials he’d had from Cantamessa’s women’s line) onto her finger.

“Oh, thank God,” Maks sighed, enveloping her in his arms once more.

They pulled apart when a young voice sounded from next to them.

A blonde little boy—which Meryl recognized was a part of the family that was still right by them—held out a brightly-colored yellow rose to the embracing pair.

He smiled shyly and spoke in a lilting French accent.
“This, ehm, rose is for the lovely couple,” he offered bashfully.

Meryl and Maks smiled kindly at the boy, thanking him very much for his kindness, and held each other as they watched him rejoin his family.

“We’re having a few of those some day,” Maks grinned, and Meryl nodded in agreement before pressing her lips to his in a romantic kiss that would begin the rest of their lives together.

+sherlolly's been too long

Is this a sign of my life recalibrating? I certainly hope so. It’s been too long since I’d written Sherlolly. This one-shot combines some of my favourite phrases and moments. Thank you to all the wonderful Sherlollians who have been so positive and positively lovely to one another. Thank you for keeping one another going. You’ve all certainly helped me keep going. xx


Steps  (also on )

They were faint, but Molly could hear them. It had been going on for about ten minutes. Within those ten minutes, she had stolen to the side of the window a few times, peeking carefully at the pavement below. She would smirk, but remain quiet and stay as inconspicuous as possible. Eventually, when the faint footsteps below turned to clearer, heavier ones up the stairs that led to her flat, Molly closed her book and simply waited.

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Dream scene prediction

Penny runs up to Callie.  “I decided I am going to turn down the grant.  I want to stay here with you and keep this going between us, long distance sucks.” Callie justs stares.  “I am going to run and tell Bailey.”  Penny turns and starts to walk away.


Penny flips back around, “What?”

“You can’t turn down the grant.”

“Of course I can, Stephanie is already ready to my place.”

“You can’t turn down the grant…. I kissed Arizona”