Sorry there are no links, just names. I’lll add links at a later time if I can. Those in bold are ones I have read and recommend personally out of this list. Feel free to keep giving me rec’s and I’ll add them to this!
Okay I loved the OTP questions and I know you are going to deliver them perfectly Anna, so I couldn't stop myself from requesting five of them: 11, 15, 16, 17, 19. (I literally wanted to request all of them but I'm sure you'll get a ton of messages so eventually all are going to be answered with your wonderful ideas and I can't wait to read them!!) Sorry for requesting so maaany!!🙈
Anything for you, Vera dearest! A bit of sin, a bit of angst, and some babies - everything you love! Hope you like them. Sorry mobile readers, I had to put this under a cut, it gets a bit long!
11. Who loves the smell of their partner’s perfume?
“Jug- ahh, we’re… we’re going to be late,” Betty breathes tilting her head to give Jughead more access to the graceful slope of her neck. He chuckles against her skin, running the tip of his nose against her smooth skin, inhaling her scent deeply. She’s utterly intoxicating.
“It’s your fault for putting this perfume on,” he murmurs into her neck, voice low and gravelly with his arousal. “How am I supposed to resist when you just smell so good?” he hums, peppering light, teasing kisses across her collarbone.
Betty’s legs weaken, and she’s thankful that he has a strong, steadying arm locked around her waist else she’d be a puddle at his feet in a matter of minutes. She can feel heat pooling between her thighs and she tilts her hips to get his leg to press between them. Jughead grins at the action, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin of her pulse point before latching his lips there and sucking.
Betty lets out a sinfully loud whimper, pressing closer to him as he works to form a blossoming bruise against her flawless complexion.
“People are gonna see…” she complains halfheartedly as he sucks harder.
“Good,” he growls possessively, fingers tightening at her hips, eyes darkening to that deep shade of azure that is certain to soak her panties every time. “If you smell this good, I wonder what you taste like…” he muses with a heart-stopping smirk plastered over his features, sinking to his knees, eyes on hers all the while.
“Oh my-” Betty doesn’t manage to complete her sentence, voice failing her as his head disappears beneath her dress.
so many of your stories are unique and interesting and I can't wait to read more of them, both your older works and your newer future stories. thank you for sharing them with us all <3
I’m so glad you like them! I love sharing them with all of you. I don’t think my new followers know why I started this blog, actually, so here’s the story again!
So I’ve been an active writer for years, but have no publishing creds in my name! Most everything I’ve written has been ghost writing where someone else’s name is on the work.
Despite wanting to publish something under my own name, I could never bring myself to share my work with anyone beyond a few friends and writing groups, convinced that everything had to be “perfect” before releasing it into the world!
Obviously this mentality meant that I never published anything and barely posted anything even. So I started this blog where I write things very fast and post them relatively unedited (spelling is usually edited!). The idea was to get used to people seeing my works, even the ones that didn’t have hours of angsting going into them.
And surprise! People liked them! And are continuing to like them! Which is pretty great, I cry every time I get a nice message like this one!
Your Sdmau gives me life, every time I see you post more head canons about it I just laugh cos the characters are done so well! If you have any more head canons I can't wait to read them! Keep up all your hard work 👌👌
omg thanks!!! ok heres something with hunk..
the (public) washroom is, for some reason, behind a “staff only” door (which leads to the cash office and staff room etc.) and so in order for the customers to use it someone has to escort them
it’s always a merchandiser or a cashier who isn’t busy
hunk gets the page for one of these such moments right while he’s in the middle of redoing the signs for the pop (and like, picture hunk up on top of like, six feet tall stacks of pop boxes, because that is what the merchandisers do, they’ll literally stand up there)
he is like WHY MEEEE and wails to himself because this is the fourth time in the hour, damn it
lance walks by on his way to the receiving room and says “looks like you got… the shitty end of the stick” then does finger guns and cackles madly and hunk deadass jumps off the fucking stack, lands like a superhero, and tells lance to never speak ever again
lance snorts and continues on his way
the customer is a frail old lady and hunk holds the door open for her and tells her very kindly where the bathroom is and she pats his arm and tells him what a gentleman he is
keith, who’s sitting in the staff room w the door open, goes “awwww, hunk, youre such a gentleman,” in a really flowery voice and hunk is like “at least im not emo” and keith is like “fuck off”
pidge pokes their head out of the office and says “shut the HELL up im trying to count the safe”
lance pages the supervisor to cosmetics for authorisation or something and the sound of pidge yelling “FUCK OFF LANCE” in the office to themselves is heard
poor old lady exits the washroom looking like offended at all the swearing and hunk ushers her out before pidge can come barging out of the office
Congrats on your near 5.5k! That's so exciting! If you have the time, I'd like to request Cas and his amazing hands please and thank you :3 Can't wait to read them all! <3
I actually received several requests for all of Team Free Will and their hands. So if you don’t mind, my dear, I’m going to use your ask to talk about them all. And of course, I’m going to get all smutty with it.
Cas has amazing hands. They are soft, because Jimmy Novak didn’t have the kind of job that would give him blisters or callouses. He has long, surprisingly graceful fingers that can wield a weapon easily and accurately, a trait Cas wishes wasn’t necessary.
Jimmy Novak’s hands were fine, but they are different now that Cas controls them. There is a power surging through them that wasn’t there before. You can feel his grace pulsing when he touches you, reminding you that Cas is an ancient and formidable force. He keeps his strength in check when he’s around you, but you can feel it simmering in those hands when they clutch at you.
Just imagine Cas running those hands over your clavicle, pressing with just the slightest restrained pressure, then trailing down between your breasts to your ribs, mapping out the curves of your body as if he wanted to memorize them, to worship them with his fingertips…and when he starts to move those fingers, exploring all your sensitive spots, you find yourself totally at his mercy.
Sam’s hands are just so fucking big.
He holds your face when he kisses you, and his hands can wrap all the way around your head, fingers tangling in your hair at the back of your head while his thumbs brush across your lips.
They are hardened from years of hunting, but still warm and inviting. You like how Sam spreads his hand across the small of your back as you walk, letting you know you’re safe and protected. You also like how that same hand on your back can hold you down into a mattress as he fucks into you without mercy, pushing you to heights of passion you didn’t know existed.
Those hands throw you around a lot, as if you are weightless, pulling and pushing you into whatever position Sam is currently craving. Sometimes, he wraps his fingers around your wrists, squeezing just enough to let you know that he is in control- that if you move, it’s because he’s letting you move. And that is hot as hell.
Dean’s hands are rough and calloused, and dangerous. He can shoot a gun and snap a neck with equal, methodical ease, and it’s equal parts scary and sexy.
For all their brutality in hunting, his hands are always tender when they touch you. You love the feel of them on your skin. His fingers are long and dextrous, and dig into you like they want to hold on forever.
Dean’s hands show how passionate he truly is, from the way they ghost across your body like you’re fragile and precious, to the way they squeeze and flex into your ass and thighs, always seeking to pull you closer, closer, closer. He also makes it his mission to touch every part of you in a way that sends a jolt of heat to pool between your legs- he wants you to feel good, wants to know that you are satisfied.
And once you are satisfied, so satisfied that you can barely move, Dean’s hands still won’t leave you. He laces his fingers through yours or runs his hands up and down your back, craving that connection, always telling you through his hands that you are not alone.
97. "Are you trying to flirt? Because, you’re embarrassing yourself." - Feyre to Rhysand (Btw, thanks for doing all these prompts for your followers! I can't wait to read them!)
Feysand: “Are you trying to flirt? Because you’re embarrassing yourself”
I couldn’t sleep. All I could
think about was what the morning would bring; I knew my role was necessary, and
I knew I would endure it, but… even through all of my knowledge, I couldn’t
help the cool stab of fear that punctured my chest and bled into my lungs.
Once, Rhysand had told me that Amarantha had crafted her Court Under the
Mountain after the Court of Nightmares, and the idea of going back there…
Someone moved up the path.
Rhysand stumbled, his steps once
so graceful and ethereal rendered clumsy and drunk. I watched him from my
window, my gaze trained on him as he wound his way up to the door, wiping at
his face and muttering under his breath in a tone so low I couldn’t catch even
with my fae hearing. I had been so busy fearing for myself, I hadn’t thought of
how it would be for him, for the male who had endured so much under Amarantha’s
cruel hand… something painful twisted in my chest, in my heart, to see him
Rhys… I thought, stretching the thought out in a long, winding
tendril towards him. He paused. Something in those sad, wet eyes changed, and
the simmering rage and fear and sorrow in them splintered at the sound of my
voice in his head.
Leave me alone, Feyre…
It hurt. It hurt more than I
thought it would to hear those words from him, as that light I had seen in
those violet eyes at the sound of my voice blinked out like a flame snuffed in
the dark. He hadn’t said it aloud, nor had he needed to, as when his gaze
turned to meet mine I could see it. I could see the dampness of tears on his
face and see the anger in his eyes and I could see that dull, forgotten ribbon
of hope that made my soul ache for him.
I heaved the windows shut and
turned away, but I could feel it, that flickering ember of need in him that I
wasn’t even certain Rhysand himself knew was there. Something in him had
hesitated when I moved away from the window, as though he wanted to call me
back, but he had stilled, and I could see something like devastation etched
into his beautiful face.
“I told you to leave me alone,”
he said to me, voice barely above a whisper, “don’t you listen to anything I say?”
He wasn’t looking at me, but
towards the night sky. I wondered; why here? Why lie on the roof with a bottle
of wine alone? Perhaps he came here to think, or perhaps he had been trapped
Under the Mountain for so long that even the thought of the place made him yearn
for the skies here in his Court so badly that his only comfort was to lie on
the roof in Velaris and watch the stars shining back at him.
I lay beside him, folding my arms
beneath my head and shifting until I was comfortable before I turned my face to
watch him. I let a smirk – a mere ghost of his mischief – dance across my
features. “I do listen to what you say, Rhys… but I’ve found it to be mostly
horse-shit, so I choose to ignore it.”
The High Lord laughed
humourlessly and shook his head, but aside from that there was nothing; no
words or thoughts or looks that acknowledged
what I had said to him. So I propped my hand beneath my head and turned on my
side to watch him… to watch the way those eyes flickered across the night sky
above as though trying to drink it in, a sliver of fear in them that told me he
was every bit as scared as I…
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
I huffed. “I come all the way up here to be with you and you don’t even look at
me. You’re too busy wallowing instead of focusing on what’s right in front of
Look at me, look at me, look at me…
But he didn’t; he simply closed
his eyes and sighed. The beast in my heart thrashed in protest, loathing that
he had taken those beautiful eyes away from it, and I couldn’t help the growl
that rose in my throat. They opened again, wide. Surprise kissed his features
briefly – so brief that I wondered whether I had imagined it – before he
resumed his examination of the sky; “for such a beautiful face, Feyre… you
have such ugly people-skills.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I
purred, letting myself lean closer into that intoxicating proximity. “A
beautiful face, Rhysand? Was that a compliment?”
Those violet eyes finally shifted
to meet my gaze, and I felt that beast within purring with delight, only to be
silenced quickly; though he had turned to me, there was nothing of that playful
soul in his expression. His lips were a tight line and his eyes – pupils huge
in the dark – were dull and sad. When he spoke, it was soft and sweet like
honey and silk, “you know that you’re beautiful… that I find you beautiful.”
“Are you even trying to flirt? You’re embarrassing
yourself, Rhysand…” I hummed, leaning closer. Dangerously close. I could feel
his breath – uneven and shallow – on my skin, and I fought the urge to close my
eyes at the sensation. “Come on… you can do better than that, can’t you?”
Play with me, play with me, play with me… It takes everything not
to say it out loud to him, and I forgot for a brief, wavering moment that my
mental barriers were down and that he could have heard everything through that
bond should he have wished. I didn’t know if he had heard, but an invisible
hand squeezed my heart as I saw something glimmer in that gaze. Dance with me, Rhysand…
“If I do any better, you’d be
begging me to bed you, Feyre darling…”
Closer. I could feel his lips
grazing mine so lightly it made that beast in my heart howl in a frenzied
anticipation, and I fought to think, think of anything but the closeness of his lips to mine and the way his eyes
gleamed with something hot and lovely and passionate. Something I wanted more
“Try me, I dare you…” I
breathed, toeing that dangerous line, teetering on the edge of that cliff that
I had been dancing on for so long just waiting to fall. I could smell the
alcohol on his breath, and I wondered if I was drunk on the wine in the air or
on the closeness of Rhys.
His hand came up to my face,
thumb caressing the bow of my lips, and I felt my breath catch. I felt my heart
stutter and stumble, and I felt his pulse against my lips fast as a hummingbird’s.
That devilish, delightful smirk had worked its way back onto his features. “You
really want to play this game?”
Yes, yes, yes, yes…
“You want me to tell you what I
think?” He purred, that dangerous, low sound that made my blood heat. I was
drunk and falling and I didn’t care, as long as Rhys was at the bottom of the
drop to catch me. “That watching you wither in the Spring Court was more
torture than any I had endured under Amarantha… that when you died I thought
I might tear a hole in the universe to find you and bring you back… that I
would endure every second Under the Mountain again as long as it brought me to
I wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t.
If I loosed a breath I was so worried he might wisp away with the wind and I’d
wake in my bed alone and wondering to myself what had happened. I felt his hand
shifting and his fingers tangling in my hair, and Cauldron damn me I let a moan
escape my lips at the feeling.
“I think…” he started, gaze
flickering between my lips and my eyes, “I think that you are my saviour, and
you are the most beautiful, exquisite thing to have breathed… and I’ve wanted
to tell you for so long that you’re…”
“What?” I asked him in a voice that was not my own, in a voice that
was low and husky and laced with desire and want and need to feel his lips on mine and his hands on my skin and, “what, Rhys…?”
I nearly cried out at the sudden
distance between us. He’d moved across the roof to stand at the opposite end,
watching the sky again as I watched him. Doubt flickered in my chest. When I
stood, I feared I would crumble to dust; it was a mistake to follow him up to
the roof. It was a mistake to try to cheer him up. It was a mistake to let
myself feel so alive when he had been
so close. So when I neared him, I leaned up and pressed my lips to his cheek –
a gentle, careful kiss that told him what my words could not – before I turned
So I thought it might be nice to do a bit of a summary of the year so please reblog with your answers!
Some are a little silly for a bit of fun - feel free to add photos/gifs if necessary :)
Favourite male character:
Favourite female character:
Favourite romantic pairing:
Favourite friendship pairing:
Favourite sibling relationship:
Favourite parent/child relationship (bio or otherwise!):
Favourite new romance:
Favourite new character:
Favourite family in general:
Least favourite character:
Least favourite pairing (romantic or otherwise):
Least favourite family in general:
Character you’re most proud of and why:
Guilty pleasure pairing or character:
Favourite child character:
Favourite happy/funny storyline:
Favourite dramatic/sad storyline:
Favourite single episode:
Favourite scene (pick 3):
these are the books my history to the caribbean prof told me get when i talked to her after my final. “Reconstructing Racial Identity and the African Past in the Dominican Republic” by Kimberly Eison Simmons & “Race and Politics in the Dominican Republic” by Ernesto Sagás