debouch

anonymous asked:

Hi i hope am doing this right as am a prompt virgin so to speak. I was wondering if you please write a Stiles/Derek story using one of my other favorite tv shows The Voice. I would really love to have Derek as the famous judge and Stiles as the contestant who when Derek turns for it's love at first sight on both sides. I could also picture them mapping out how they feel by using cheesy love songs

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: T, Word Count: 863
Fluff, Pining, Getting Together, Musician Stiles, Musician Derek, POV Derek

Read on AO3

The show is over. Finally. The last couple months have been agony. Not just because of the never-ending practicing and rehearsals, the tight schedules, the constant suspense of who would make it through to the next round; it’s been months of pushing his feelings down, not even daring to let them out through his song writing, afraid he wouldn’t be able to push them back down was they started pouring out.

Derek nods to familiar faces on their way out to one of the after parties. They barely notice him, their minds already at the party, and probably already a little drunk, too. He’s grateful. At least they won’t stop to talk to him. He would not be able to hold up his end of a conversation at the moment. The adrenaline rushing through his veins right now has him more on edge than in the minutes before the winner was announced. As a coach, he was on the edge of his seat, of course, but it hadn’t been about him. Now, though…

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, and knocks on Stiles’ dressing room door.

‘Come in!’

‘Hey,’ Derek says, forcing his nerves out of his voice.

‘Derek!’ Stiles’ smile is bright and mischievous. With that smile and his voice, no wonder he got to where is now. ‘Come to rub my loss in my face?’

‘What loss? Finstock still signed you,’ Derek reminds him. He closes the door behind him. The noises from the hallway fade until they’re almost inaudible, and he realizes he’s alone with Stiles. That was the plan, but it really hits him now. He hasn’t allowed himself to be alone with Stiles since the first time he saw him, not once. Now, it’s just him and Stiles.

‘So, if not to gloat, what brings you here?’ Stiles asks. ‘Ask for a duet for your new album now that I’m a superstar?’ He smirks and winks.

An involuntary smile pulls at Derek’s lips, and he shakes his head. ‘No, I’ll have my agent contact you about that.’

‘Oooh, professional,’ Stiles coos.

‘I did come to ask you something though.’ Derek swallows, his heart hammering in his chest. He knows he’s not wrong about the flirtations whenever they talked, the looks Stiles threw him during many of his performances, but a small voice in the back his head keeps asking: what if you are wrong?

‘Ask away,’ Stiles says, his voice is softer, expectant, his joking manner gone.

‘Your last song tonight, did you…?’ Derek can’t finish the question, nerves cutting off his voice.

Stiles nods. ‘I sang it for you.’

Derek feels like he’s flying and he has to look down to make sure that his feet are still on the ground. When he looks back up, Stiles is standing right in front of him. He reaches out and takes Stiles’ hands in his. It feels so good to be finally able to do this.

‘Would you like to go on a date?’ Derek asks.

‘Fuck yes,’ Stiles whispers with fervour, then bites his lip. ‘Wow, that didn’t sound desperate all,’ he snorts.

‘Well, the situation was getting pretty desperate,’ Derek says. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the moment I saw you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I was upset, at first, that Deaton pushed the button sooner, but when I saw you I was relieved. A coach falling for one of their contestants would’ve been pretty inappropriate.’

‘I’m not a contestant anymore,’ Stiles reminds him, moving closer until they’re toe to toe. ‘And you’re not a coach.’

Derek bumps their noses. ‘Can I kiss you?’

‘Fuck yes.’

Derek closes the final inch between them. Stiles smells like sweat, deodorant, and make-up; he tastes like those god-awful energy drinks he loves. And it’s amazing. Derek moves his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulls their bodies flush together, as Stiles slides his hands into Derek’s hair, tilting his head and deepening the kiss.

He has no idea how long the kiss lasts, but when they finally break apart for air and he catches sight of himself in the mirror, his face is flushed and his hair is a mess. His lips are red and a little swollen. Stiles doesn’t look any less debouched, with his shirt half untucked and red splotches of beard burn around his mouth. Both their eyes look a little glazed.

‘That was nice,’ Stiles sighs.

‘Yeah.’ Derek realizes his hands are still fisted in Stiles’ shirt. He lets go to place his hands on Stiles’ hips. ‘Do you have a date for the afterparty?’

Stiles blinks. ‘You want to go on a date right now?’ he asks. The wonder is easily read on his face.

‘Do you want to wait another day?’

‘Fuck no,’ Stiles grins, shaking his head. ‘But maybe another fifteen minutes so we can both change and look less like we’ve been making out?’

‘Okay.’ Derek lets go and turns towards the door. ‘You want to take the same car?’

Stiles nods. He looks so happy that Derek has to reel him back in for another kiss.

‘I’ll see you there in fifteen,’ Derek says.

‘It’s a date.’

(The song Stiles sang was Demi Lovato - Ruin the Friendship)

Seduction (M)
  • Type: gardener!Jimin AU; smut
  • Pairing: Jimin x fem!OC
  • Words: 6,690
  • Warnings: language; explicit, degrading sex
  • A/N: This fic depicts acts of consensual sexual humiliation.

If there was something that filled Jimin’s heart with pure bliss, that would be the scent of freshly mown grass in the morning, accompanied by a cup of ice-cold coffee and her saccharine perfume. Her smell and semblance were reminiscent of cotton candy on a hot summer’s night or a ride on a Ferris wheel by the river, watching as the city lights created colourful patterns in the calm waters. Of course, those scenarios dwelled but inside his imaginative mind, where they would remain locked, unspoken of. That woman was out of his league, that much he recognised. Although he was a fine young man in his prime, she was just something else.

Every Saturday morning come nine o'clock, the appropriately named daughter of the luxurious hotel’s owner, Blossom, emerged from her suite in a floral kimono-style silk robe, her strawberry blonde hair usually up in a bun or sometimes neatly braided, rose-tinted heart-shaped sunglasses shielding her eyes from the bright sun and the usual silver tray where she carried two cups: iced Americano, unsweetened, for Jimin and a virgin passion fruit mojito for herself.

Keep reading

A. MALCOLM, PRINTER

Jamie. There it was; the anchor point to which I had clung, my single hold on sanity. I breathed slow and deep, hands folded over my pounding heart, summoning Jamie’s face. For a moment, I thought I had lost him, and then it came, clear and bold in my mind’s eye.

A. Malcolm. The name kept running through my mind like an anthem of hope. A. Malcolm. It had to be Jamie, it simply had to! James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.

The coach debouched into a yard at the back of Boyd’s Whitehorse tavern, near the foot of the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. The passengers emerged into the watery sunshine like newly hatched chrysalids, rumpled of wing and jerky in movement, unaccustomed to mobility. After the dimness of the coach, even the cloudy gray light of Edinburgh seemed blinding.

Originally posted by nighean--donn

I turned and darted up the slope of the Royal Mile, moving as quickly as my voluminous skirts would allow, jostling and bumping my way through the crowd. I had had the luck to pick a market day for my arrival, and I was soon lost to sight from the coachyard among the luckenbooths and oyster sellers who lined the street.

Originally posted by jamesandclairefraser

Carfax Close. I edged my way back into the crowd, pressing close to the buildings, to avoid the occasional shower of slops that splattered into the street from the windows high above. There were several thousand people in Edinburgh, and the sewage from all of them was running down the gutters of the cobbled street, depending on gravity and the frequent rain to keep the city habitable.The low, dark opening to Carfax Close yawned just ahead, across the expanse of the Royal Mile. I stopped dead, looking at it, my heart beating hard enough to be heard a yard away, had anyone been listening.

Originally posted by manders1984

It was a longish, winding close, and the printshop was at the foot. There were thriving businesses and tenements on either side, but I had no attention to spare for anything beyond the neat white sign that hung by the door.

A. MALCOLM

PRINTER AND BOOKSELLER

it said, and beneath this, Books, calling cards, pamphlets, broadsheets, letters, etc.

I stretched out my hand and touched the black letters of the name. A. Malcolm. Alexander Malcolm. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Perhaps.

Originally posted by manders1984

Another minute, and I would lose my nerve. I shoved open the door and walked in.

There was a broad counter across the front of the room, with an open flap in it, and a rack to one side that held several trays of type. Posters and notices of all sorts were tacked up on the opposite wall; samples, no doubt.

The door into the back room was open, showing the bulky angular frame of a printing press. Bent over it, his back turned to me, was Jamie.

“Is that you, Geordie?” he asked, not turning around. He was dressed in shirt and breeches, and had a small tool of some kind in his hand, with which he was doing something to the innards of the press. “Took ye long enough. Did ye get the—”

“It isn’t Geordie,” I said. My voice was higher than usual. “It’s me,” I said. “Claire.”

Originally posted by justfollowyourdreams

He straightened up very slowly. He wore his hair long; a thick tail of a deep, rich auburn sparked with copper. I had time to see that the neat ribbon that tied it back was green, and then he turned around.

He stared at me without speaking. A tremor ran down the muscular throat as he swallowed, but still he didn’t say anything.

Originally posted by thebookboyfriendharem

It was the same broad, good-humored face, dark blue eyes aslant the high, flat cheekbones of a Viking, long mouth curling at the ends as though always on the verge of smiling. The lines surrounding eyes and mouth were deeper, of course. The nose had changed just a bit. The knife-edge bridge was slightly thickened near the base by the ridge of an old, healed fracture. It made him look fiercer, I thought, but lessened that air of aloof reserve, and lent his appearance a new rough charm.

I walked through the flap in the counter, seeing nothing but that unblinking stare. I cleared my throat.

“When did you break your nose?”

The corners of the wide mouth lifted slightly.

“About three minutes after I last saw ye—Sassenach.”

There was a hesitation, almost a question in the name. There was no more than a foot between us. I reached out tentatively and touched the tiny line of the break, where the bone pressed white against the bronze of his skin.

He flinched backward as though an electric spark had arced between us, and the calm expression shattered.

“You’re real,” he whispered. I had thought him pale already. Now all vestiges of color drained from his face. His eyes rolled up and he slumped to the floor in a shower of papers and oddments that had been sitting on the press—he fell rather gracefully for such a large man, I thought abstractedly.

It was only a faint; his eyelids were beginning to flutter by the time I knelt beside him and loosened the stock at his throat. I had no doubts at all by now, but still I looked automatically as I pulled the heavy linen away. It was there, of course, the small triangular scar just above the collarbone, left by the knife of Captain Jonathan Randall, Esquire, of His Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons.

His normal healthy color was returning. I sat cross-legged on the floor and hoisted his head onto my thigh. His hair felt thick and soft in my hand. His eyes opened.

“That bad, is it?” I said, smiling down at him with the same words he had used to me on the day of our wedding, holding my head in his lap, twenty-odd years before.

“That bad, and worse, Sassenach,” he answered, mouth twitching with something almost a smile. He sat up abruptly, staring at me.

“God in heaven, you are real!”

“So are you.” I lifted my chin to look up at him. “I th-thought you were dead.” I had meant to speak lightly, but my voice betrayed me. The tears spilled down my cheeks, only to soak into the rough cloth of his shirt as he pulled me hard against him.

I shook so that it was some time before I realized that he was shaking, too, and for the same reason. I don’t know how long we sat there on the dusty floor, crying in each other’s arms with the longing of twenty years spilling down our faces.

His fingers twined hard in my hair, pulling it loose so that it tumbled down my neck. The dislodged pins cascaded over my shoulders and pinged on the floor like pellets of hail. My own fingers were clasped around his forearm, digging into the linen as though I were afraid he would disappear unless physically restrained.

As though gripped by the same fear, he suddenly grasped me by the shoulders and held me away from him, staring desperately into my face. He put his hand to my cheek, and traced the bones over and over again, oblivious to my tears and to my abundantly running nose.

I sniffed loudly, which seemed to bring him to his senses, for he let go and groped hastily in his sleeve for a handkerchief, which he used clumsily to swab first my face, then his own.

“Give me that.” I grabbed the erratically waving swatch of cloth and blew my nose firmly. “Now you.” I handed him the cloth and watched as he blew his nose with a noise like a strangled goose. I giggled, undone with emotion.

He smiled too, knuckling the tears away from his eyes, unable to stop staring at me.

Suddenly I couldn’t bear not to be touching him. I lunged at him, and he got his arms up just in time to catch me. I squeezed until I could hear his ribs crack, and felt his hands roughly caressing my back as he said my name over and over.

Originally posted by thebookboyfriendharem

At last I could let go, and sat back a little. He glanced down at the floor between his legs, frowning.

“Did you lose something?” I asked, surprised.

He looked up and smiled, a little shyly.

“I was afraid I’d lost hold altogether and pissed myself, but it’s all right. I’ve just sat on the alepot.”

Sure enough, a pool of aromatic brown liquid was spreading slowly beneath him. With a squeak of alarm, I scrambled to my feet and helped him up. After trying vainly to assess the damage behind, he shrugged and unfastened his breeches. He pushed the tight fabric down over his haunches, then stopped and looked at me, blushing slightly.

“It’s all right,” I said, feeling a rich blush stain my own cheeks. “We’re married.” I cast my eyes down, nonetheless, feeling a little breathless. “At least, I suppose we are.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then a smile curved his wide, soft mouth.

“Aye, we are,” he said. Kicking free of the stained breeches, he stepped toward me.

I stretched out a hand toward him, as much to stop as to welcome him. I wanted more than anything to touch him again, but was unaccountably shy. After so long, how were we to start again?

He felt the constraint of mingled shyness and intimacy as well. Stopping a few inches from me, he took my hand. He hesitated for a moment, then bent his head over it, his lips barely brushing my knuckles. His fingers touched the silver ring and stopped there, holding the metal lightly between thumb and forefinger.

“I never took it off,” I blurted. It seemed important he should know that. He squeezed my hand lightly, but didn’t let go.

“I want—” He stopped and swallowed, still holding my hand. His fingers found and touched the silver ring once more. “I want verra much to kiss you,” he said softly. “May I do that?”

The tears were barely dammed. Two more welled up and overflowed; I felt them, full and round, roll down my cheeks.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He drew me slowly close to him, holding our linked hands just under his breast.

“I havena done this for a verra long time,” he said. I saw the hope and the fear dark in the blue of his eyes. I took the gift and gave it back to him.

“Neither have I,” I said softly.

His hands cupped my face with exquisite gentleness, and he set his mouth on mine.

I didn’t know quite what I had been expecting. A reprise of the pounding fury that had accompanied our final parting? I had remembered that so often, lived it over in memory, helpless to change the outcome. The half-rough, timeless hours of mutual possession in the darkness of our marriage bed? I had longed for that, wakened often sweating and trembling from the memory of it.

But we were strangers now, barely touching, each seeking the way toward joining, slowly, tentatively, seeking and giving unspoken permission with our silent lips. My eyes were closed, and I knew without looking that Jamie’s were, as well. We were, quite simply, afraid to look at each other.

Without raising his head, he began to stroke me lightly, feeling my bones through my clothes, familiarizing himself again with the terrain of my body. At last his hand traveled down my arm and caught my right hand. His fingers traced my hand until they found the ring again, and circled it, feeling the interlaced silver of the Highland pattern, polished with long wear, but still distinct.

His lips moved from mine, across my cheeks and eyes. I gently stroked his back, feeling through his shirt the marks I couldn’t see, the remnants of old scars, like my ring, worn but still distinct.

“I’ve seen ye so many times,” he said, his voice whispering warm in my ear. “You’ve come to me so often. When I dreamed sometimes. When I lay in fever. When I was so afraid and so lonely I knew I must die. When I needed you, I would always see ye, smiling, with your hair curling up about your face. But ye never spoke. And ye never touched me.”

“I can touch you now.” I reached up and drew my hand gently down his temple, his ear, the cheek and jaw that I could see. My hand went to the nape of his neck, under the clubbed bronze hair, and he raised his head at last, and cupped my face between his hands, love glowing strong in the dark blue eyes.

“Dinna be afraid,” he said softly. “There’s the two of us now.”

6

ECOLE DE VENT

This monumental chapel was originally part of a monastery belonging to the religious order of Carmelites and was built between 1851 and 1854 according to a design by an architect from Ghent. When the sisters became to low in numbers, they left the monastery in 1968 at which point it was turned into an elementary school. The chapel is a one aisle construction debouching into a square chancel under a hip roof. Especially the beautifully crafted and detailed vaulted ceiling of the chancel is an eyecatcher, as is the rich baroque stucco and the impressive altar. After the school vacated the buildings, they remained empty for quite a while. Recently the chapel is being put to good use again by the local youth association for the organisation of concerts.

2

~Here’s the second part!!! @ilikechocolatemilkh Thank you for your help and dealing with me and thank you to @mackenzie301 for inspiring the story!~

Chapter 2

Happy’s POV

You had been avoiding me for a week now and I was starting to get pissed. I tried a couple of crow eaters after you but none of them fit right. They didn’t moan or move the right way, not like you had and it left me completely frustrated. At least, I wasn’t the only one that you were avoiding. You had pretty much been avoiding all the others boys since they kept hounding you over who it was that fucked you. Since you had missed the party friday night, the boys had been discussing your new guy a lot.

“Why would she ditch us for some new guy?” Juice pouted.

“How d’ye know i’s th’ same guy?” Chibs asked Juice. “Could be more’n one.”

“You think?” Tig perks up. “Like at one time?” The boys all laugh.

“Perv.” Juice shakes his head with a smile.

“What? Come on! I can’t be the only one to have thought about her like that.” Tig said.

“I mean she is really pretty.” Juice blushed.

“Aye,” Chibs nodded in agreement with Juice.

“Even Chibs agrees! See!” Tig smirked.

“I agreed th’ lass is beau’iful, Tiggy, no’ tha’ I’ve had debouched thoughts o’ ‘er. Tha’s you, ye bloody pervert.” Chibs told him.

“Fine but fuck! Just imagine bending her over that desk in the office.” Tig groaned and I froze in my spot.

“I gotta admit, Tiggy’s got a point on that one. Especially if she’s wearing that tight pencil skirt.” Jax piped up and all the boys’ eyes got glazed over looks. I nearly let a growl escape as they all thought about fucking you.

“Bitch doesn’t know her place, can’t keep her mouth shut, and doesn’t respect the kutte or the men wearing them.” I rumbled and everyone looked at me surprised. It was the first time I had participated in the conversation and it hadn’t exactly been in the same direction. And then Juice started to laugh which caused some of the others to chuckle.

“You mean she doesn’t respect you?” He asked with a smirk and that sentence had everyone laughing. I growled and got off the couch. I stomped out of the clubhouse with the boys all yelling “Sorrys!” and “Come back!” behind me as I left. I jumped on my bike and very quickly made my way to your house, I parked around the block. I had been to your house once before when Chibs had made me drop some stuff off. I made my way up your sidewalk and to your front door. I began to pound on the door hard and I almost ended up hitting you in the face as you opened the door. Shock was written all over your face as you took in the fist in front of it. I put it down and you looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“What the hell!? You just about fucking hit me in the face!” You said angrily.

“Almost, I didn’t though.” I pointed out with a smirk.

“Oh, I know you didn’t because if you had, I would be going to visit one of those famous little hiding spots of yours to get rid of your corpse tonight. ” You put your hands on your hips and that’s when I took in the sight of you. All you were wearing was a long SAMCRO shirt obviously one of the guys at the clubhouse. I let out a growl and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Who’s shirt is that?” I demanded. You looked down at the shirt and let out a giggle as you looked back up at me.

“Why? You jealous?” You asked with a smirk.

“Hell no, little girl.” I growled and took a step towards you.

“Then you don’t need to know who’s shirt it is.” You replied with a fake sweet smile and a wink.

“The fuck I don’t; I don’t much care for crossing swords with my brothers and not knowing it. For fucks sake, have you MET Tig?” I snarled before grabbing your hips and pulling you close. You started laughing hard and I had to grip your chin hard and force you to look at me before you stopped laughing but still had a bright smile on your face.

“Well he is the reason I have the shirt.” You said with a cheerful voice. My grip tightened and I let out a growl. I was about to say something when you cut me off with, “He spilled his beer on me.”

“What?” I asked, surprised.

“Tig was drunk and in his drunk mind he thought that spilling his beer on me would be the perfect way to see me without a shirt on. So after he spilled the beer on me, I smacked him upside the head and went to a random room. Which was where I picked up the shirt.” You explained slowly like you were talking to a child. I smirked and pushed you into the wall while kicking the door shut behind me.

“Naughty, little girl. Stealing shirts, avoiding me, and giving my brothers naughty thoughts about you.” I growled and I felt you shiver underneath my hands. “Maybe I should punish you.” I leaned down and started kissing your neck, which caused you to moan.

“Happy…” You moaned as you grabbed my kutte, pulling me closer. I grabbed your ass and lifted you up. I pulled back and looked you in the eyes.

“You want me to punish you little girl?” I asked with a smirk. You bit your lip before nodding slowly.

“Bedroom though.” You demanded and I chuckled.

“Where is it?” I asked. You pointed to a hallway.

“Last one on the right.” You told me and I nodded before carrying you to it. I sat down on the bed with you straddling my waist. My hands slowly lifted up your shirt and I noticed your black lace panties.

“Fuck… Stand up.” I demanded and you actually listened. “Shirt off.” You slowly took it off with a little smirk on your face. I leaned back on my elbows as I took in the sight of you in those lace panties and nothing else. “Off now.”

“Demanding much?” You asked in a sassy voice.

“Do it now, little girl, and I’ll make your punishment enjoyable.” I told you. You rolled your eyes but took them off. I motioned for you to come closer and sat up straighter. You came and stood between my legs. I grabbed your legs slightly and ran my hands upwards to your stomach then up to your breasts. You let out a moan as I squeezed them. I smirked and moved my hands around to your back and then down to grab your ass. I moved my hands to your hips and turned you around. Even though they were mostly healed you still had my handprints on your ass and I felt pride while looking at them. I turned you back around and made a hum noise as I thought of all the things I could do to you.

“Are you going to do anything or you just going to stare at me all night?” You asked.

“Watch your mouth, little girl, or I’ll stuff my boxers into it.” I said with a wink.You made a noise of disgust and glared down at me. What I wasn’t expecting was the hard punch that you landed to my shoulder.  I chuckled and pulled you on top of my lap. “That was very naughty.”

“What ya going to do about it?” You challenged.  I rolled us over so you were pressed into the bed and I was above you. I leaned down and kissed you hard. You moaned and kissed me back just as hard. I pulled back and looked down at you.

“Do you trust me, little girl?” I asked.

“Honestly? No, not really?” You answered and I chuckled.

“Just close your eyes.” I told you. You sighed and did as I asked. I softly took each of your hands in mine and moved them above your head. You squirmed slightly and I smirked as I looked down at your body. I hadn’t had much time to look at it last time. I leaned down and took your nipple in my mouth, sucking hard on it. You moaned and your back arched, it made me smirk at how responsive you were. I took both of your hands in one of mine and moved my one hand down to my side. I bit down on your nipple and you grabbed my shoulders hard. I chuckled and sucked on it harder while I reached inside the pocket on the inside of my kutte. I switched nipples and did the same thing while making sure you were thoroughly distracted before pulling the handcuffs out of the pocket. I reached back up and slowly began to handcuff you to the headboard waiting to click them till the very end.

“What the fuck?” You asked angrily.

“What? I told you to trust me.” I smirked.

“Where did you even get these?” You asked while looking up and tugging lightly.

“You never know when you’ll need cuffs.” I chuckled and winked at you.

“This isn’t funny, Happy. Get me out of these things.” You told me.

“Nope, you are going to get your punishment.” I smirked before getting up and you whined at the lack of contact. I chuckled and took my kutte off and placed it on your dresser. I started to strip and once I was finished, I stepped back so you could get a nice long look. Your eyes darkened and you bit your lip as you took me in. “See something you like?”

“Eh, I’ve seen better.” You smirked.

“Liar.” I growled and climbed over top of her. I leaned down and swirled my tongue around your nipple. You gasped and your back arched into my touch. I ground down against you and your legs wrapped around me, I growled loudly and bit your nipple playfully. I reached down and grabbed your ass as I continued my assault on your nipples. I rubbed my cock against your folds and that made you moan my name loudly. “What do you want, little girl?” I asked as I rubbed harder against you.

“Happy…” You whined.

“That’s not an answer.” I chuckled and grabbed my cock. I rubbed the head over your pussy. “Now tell me, what do you want?”

“Fuck! Fine! I want you! I want you to fuck me!” You practically yelled.

“As you wish, little girl.” I slammed into you hard and I moved the hand that was on my cock, back to your ass. I squeezed it and started thrusting in and out of you fast. I moved from your breasts to your neck, marking and sucking on it as I thrusted. I moved faster and our moans filled the room, mine were slightly muffled by your neck. You pulled against your restraints as I lifted your ass up to get a better angle.

“Happy! There! Yes!” You yelled out and I felt you starting to clench around me. I smirked against your neck and quickly pulled completely out of you. “No! Happy! Please, I was so close.”

“I know.” I smirked and looked down at you. You glared up at me and struggled against your restraints.

“You bastard!” You growled up at me.

“You said you wanted a punishment, little girl.” I reached down and circled your clit softly and slowly.

“Happy….” You whimpered as your hips went up to try and push my fingers against you more. I kept the light pressure on your clit though and it made you whimper more. I smirked and added a little bit more pressure which caused you to make the hottest sound that I’ve ever heard. I groaned and kissed up your stomach as I moved faster and harder against your clit. You moaned and I pinched and twisted your clit. Your hips bucked up hard and you moaned out loudly. “Fuck! I’m….. Fuck!” I started rubbing on it hard for three more seconds before pulling away again.

“Sorry, little girl.” I smirked and you pulled against your restraints more.

“Fuck…. Happy! Please! I… I need this. I need you!” You begged. You looked at me with pleading eyes as they filled with tears. “Please…” Some tears escaped and you whimpered softly. I cupped your cheek and wiped the tears away then I kissed you softly. You kissed back, managing to deepen it somehow. I pulled back with a growl and reached down to grab my cock. I teased your pussy for one second before entering you again. I tangled my fingers in your hair and pulled back slightly as I thrusted in and out of you. I couldn’t stop myself from taking you roughly and leaned down to kiss you hard.

“Fuck! You feel so good…” I growled out.

“Y…You…. Too…” You let out between gasps. I moved in faster and hard as I tightened my hold on your hair. It didn’t take long for you to cum and once you did I followed. I thrusted in and out as I rode our orgasms out. I collapsed against you, keeping most of my weight on my elbows. Once my breathing and heart rate were back to normal, I undid the handcuffs and rubbed your wrists softly.

“These are going to bruise.” I told you. You smiled sleepily.

“It was worth it.” You mumbled softly and I chuckled.

“Time to sleep.” I told you gently as I let your wrists go. You nodded and then curled up on your side. I smiled and pulled your blanket over you before getting up and putting my clothes on. I left your house as quietly as possible and rode back to the clubhouse.


~I hope you enjoy~

You know what’s not okay?

When one of the most prestigious newspapers in your country publishes an article on Ed in which they bash him completely, literally two days after the boy fractured BOTH HIS ARMS. The author describes him as a “debouched gardener”, “someone who could play a Hobbit without needing any help from make-up”, and as “a boy with red chest hair and with a piece of egg in his pillager beard”. He calls his music “torture” and implies Ed crosses a line by singing about your body in SOY: “It’s fine that this red-haired panda adores other people’s bodies, but he should stay away from my body.” 

I don’t care if this was meant to be satirical or not. I don’t care if it was already planned for today. Articles like this, in which people are criticized mainly only on their appearance, are a low blow anyway. But publishing this piece of shit with what Ed is going through right now?! That’s a whole new low.

2

His left eye is still mostly covered by the brim of his hat, but he doesn’t make any adjustments, just stays in place and on display for Ren, who surveys him for a moment before dropping down onto him.  

“Fuck,” Ren says,-

Hux´s little hat is all that matters tbh.

Once again all I can do is cry over how great @hollyhark​ cwu is, this is what the world gets when I re-read LSNC. This is one of my fave parts tbh, and I wanted to illustrate how they looked in my head but idek if I did it any justice, anyways I just love Hux’s little hat and Ren just being done for by Hux’s debouched expression.

Pleasure blind - Part One

Hey ! Here I’m again with a fanfic for the negan smut week. I don’t know, I’m feeling really excited right now xD It’s my first smut fanfic and I can’t lie that I’m stressed BUT excited. There’ll be a second part so, it’s not finish 😏

  • Summary : “Men pursue you and fortunately, you manage to escape. You decide tospend the night in an abandoned hut when, in the middle of the night, someone knocks on the door..”
  • Ships : Negan x reader
  • Words : 3254
  • Warning : Curses, smut, smut, smut, smut.. And smut.

Tag : @smuttwd - @heartfulloffandoms - @itsneganslucille - @negans-network - @negansmutweek - @autumnjade22 - @backseat-negan - @strangersangel9 and @theatricalbride (strangersangel9 and theatricalbride because they motivated me A LOT to write it. And sorry, the links don’t work).

Enjoy !

***

You ran as fast as possible, your heart pounding against your chest and your ears buzzing because of the noise of the rifle. It had rained not long ago then, the ground was slippery. This made it harder to run.

You had to go as far as possible from these men, pursuing you relentlessly. You redoubled your speed and jumped over several branches on the way. Your eyesight became blurry as you felt the adrenaline fill your whole body. And there you see in the distance a wooden hut, surely abandoned in view of its condition. You stopped for a moment, reflecting on what was best to do : either hide yourself there or continue to run at the risk of being tired and that they catch you anyway.

“She’s gone that way ! Hurry up or we’ll lose her !”

You heard with horror and you took two seconds to decide what you were going to do. And that was where you got an idea. It was as if you were signing your death warrant but you had to try.

You held your breath with one hand on your mouth, hearing the men searched inside the wooden hut. You came inside and threw your bag inside, making them think you’d hide there, which would be obvious to anyone. And while you were going out and looking for a real hiding place, you had found this hollow hole beneath a tree. And it was deep enough that no one - for your greatest hope - would find you.

You heard the men’s voices, grave and lofty.

“This bitch managed to escape. The boss will not be very happy. It was a fucking woman who would surely please him”.

Their boss ? Great, now there was a psychopath in need.

“Okay, let’s go. Let us continue to look for her”.

You heard the footsteps moving away from you and the voices became weaker and weaker until they completely disappeared. You remained hidden for a moment before finally coming out with little steps, looking at your surroundings to check if you were safe and sound.

You sighed and you returned to the cabin to find your bag where you left it. You fell to the ground, exhausted. You put your legs back against you, putting your head on your knees. Your heart calmed gently and you felt the tension left your body.

The night was already showing. You were tired by your flight and you decided to sleep there for the night. You took out your red sleeping bag to lay it on the wet wooden floor. You put your black bag beside you and you lay down, sighing with fatigue, putting your arm on your eyes. Everything was quiet and silent. It was perfect.

You turned to the side, blocking your hands under your head. Your eyelids fell heavily and you soon fell asleep.

***

A noise woke you in the middle of the night. You got up straight and pulled out your revolver from your holster. You raised the gun to the closed door. Your sweaty hands trembled as you walked slowly toward the source of the noise coming from behind the door.

“I advise you to show up before I sieve the door. And I will not hesitate for a second !”

The noise had stopped. But you didn’t lower your gun. Your tension went up quickly, and it intensified when you saw the handle moved, as if someone was trying to open it. Your lips trembled until you jerked and you looked dazed at the door.

“Fuck, open this damn door ! I’m dying of cold here !”Shouted a hoarse man’s voice.

He tapped again against the wooden door. You were arguing in your head if you had to leave him out or take the risk of letting him in. Your benevolence gained the upper hand.

You put away your gun and ran to open the door wide. A tall, thin man debouched inside. You shut the door where you saw quickly snow fall. You turned to the man who pulled the white powder out of his hair, rubbing a hand in it. He placed a strange bat surrounded by iron wire against the wall.

Keep reading

“I witness with pleasure the supreme achievement of memory, which is the masterly use it makes of innate harmonies when gathering to its fold the suspended and wandering tonalities of the past. I like to imagine, in consummation and resolution of those jangling chords, something as enduring, in retrospect, as the long table that on summer birthdays and namedays used to be laid for afternoon chocolate out of doors, in an alley of birches, limes and maples at its debouchment on the smooth-sanded space of the garden proper that separated the park and the house. I see the tablecloth and the faces of seated people sharing in the animation of light and shade beneath a moving, a fabulous foliage, exaggerated, no doubt, by the same faculty of impassioned commemoration, of ceaseless return, that makes me always approach that banquet table from the outside, from the depth of the park—not from the house—as if the mind,in order to go back thither, had to do so with the silent steps of a prodigal, faint with excitement. Through a tremulous prism, I distinguish the features of relatives and familiars, mute lips serenely moving in forgotten speech. I see the steam of the chocolate and the plates of blueberry tarts. I note the small helicopter of a revolving samara that gently descends upon the tablecloth, and, lying across the table, an adolescent girl’s bare arm indolently extended as far as it will go, with its turquoise-veined underside turned up to the flaky sunlight, the palm open in lazy expectancy of something—perhaps the nutcracker. In the place where my current tutor sits, there is a changeful image, a succession of fade-ins and fade-outs; the pulsation of my thought mingles with that of the leaf shadows […] and the whole array of trembling transformations is repeated. And then, suddenly, just when the colors and outlines settle at last to their various duties—smiling, frivolous duties—some knob is touched and a torrent of sounds comes to life: voices speaking all together, a walnut cracked, the click of a nutcracker carelessly passed, thirty human hearts drowning mine with their regular beats; the sough and sigh of a thousand trees, the local concord of loud summer birds, and, beyond the river, behind the rhythmic trees, the confused and enthusiastic hullabaloo of bathing young villagers, like a background of wild applause.”

Vladimir Nabokov, from Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited (First Vintage International, 1989)

The Battle of Bannockburn (24 June 1314) was a significant Scottish victory in the First War of Scottish Independence, and a landmark in Scottish history.

Stirling Castle, a Scots royal fortress, occupied by the English, was under siege by the Scottish army. The English king, Edward II, assembled a formidable force to relieve it. This attempt failed, and his army was defeated in a pitched battle by a smaller army commanded by the King of Scots, Robert the Bruce.

On 23 June 1314 two of the English cavalry formations advanced, the first commanded by the Earl of Gloucester and the Earl of Hereford.They encountered a body of Scots, among them Robert the Bruce himself. A celebrated single combat then took place between Bruce and Henry de Bohun who was the nephew of the Earl of Hereford. Bohun charged at Bruce and when the two passed side by side, Bruce split Bohun’s head with his axe. The Scots then rushed upon the English under Gloucester and Hereford who struggled back over the Bannockburn.

The second English cavalry force was commanded by Robert Clifford and Henry de Beaumont and included Sir Thomas de Grey of Heaton, father of the chronicler Thomas Grey whose account of events follows;

Robert Lord de Clifford and Henry de Beaumont, with three hundred men-at-arms, made a circuit upon the other side of the wood towards the castle, keeping the open ground. Thomas Randolph, 1st Earl of Moray, Robert de Brus’s nephew, who was leader of the Scottish advanced guard, hearing that his uncle had repulsed the advanced guard of the English on the other side of the wood, thought that he must have his share, and issuing from the wood with his division marched across the open ground towards the two afore-named lords.

Sir Henry de Beaumont called to his men: "Let us wait a little; let them come on; give them room”
“Sir,” said Sir Thomas Gray, “I doubt that whatever you give them now, they will have all too soon”
“Very well” exclaimed the said Henry, if you are afraid, be off"
“Sir,” answered the said Thomas, “it is not from fear that I shall fly this day.”

So saying he spurred in between Beaumont and Sir William Deyncourt, and charged into the thick of the enemy. William was killed, Thomas was taken prisoner, his horse being killed on the pikes, and he himself carried off with the Scots on foot when they marched off, having utterly routed the squadron of the said two lords. Some of the English fled to the castle, others to the king’s army, which having already left the road through the wood had debouched upon a plain near the water of Forth beyond Bannockburn, an evil, deep, wet marsh, where the said English army unharnessed and remained all night, having sadly lost confidence and being too much disaffected by the events of the day.

Under nightfall the English forces crossed the stream that is known as the Bannock Burn, establishing their position on the plain beyond it.  A Scottish knight, Alexander Seton, who was fighting in the service of Edward II of England, deserted the English camp and told Bruce of the low English morale, encouraging Bruce to attack them. In the morning the Scots then advanced from New Park.

Not long after daybreak, the Scots spearmen began to move towards the English. Edward was surprised to see Robert’s army emerge from the cover of the woods. As Bruce’s army drew nearer, they paused and knelt in prayer. Edward is supposed to have said in surprise "They pray for mercy!” “For mercy, yes,” one of his attendants replied, “But from God, not you. These men will conquer or die." The English responded to the Scots advance with a charge of their own, led by the Earl of Gloucester. Gloucester had argued with the Earl of Hereford over who should lead the vanguard into battle, and argued with the king that the battle should be postponed. This led the king to accuse him of cowardice, which perhaps goaded Gloucester into the charge. Few accompanied Gloucester in his charge and when he reached the Scottish lines he was quickly surrounded and killed. Gradually the English were pushed back and ground down by the Scots’ schiltrons. The English longbowmen attempted to support the advance of the knights but were ordered to stop shooting, as they were causing casualties among their own. An attempt to employ the English and Welsh longbowmen to shoot at the advancing Scots from their flank failed when they were dispersed by 500 Scottish cavalry under the Marischal Sir Robert Keith. Although sometimes described as light cavalry, this appears to be a misinterpretation of Barbour’s statement that these were men-at arms on lighter horses than their English counterparts. The English cavalry was hemmed in making it difficult for them to manoeuvre. As a result, the English were unable to hold their formations and broke ranks. It soon became clear to Aymer de Valence, 2nd Earl of Pembroke and Giles d'Argentan (reputedly the third best knight in Europe) that the English had lost and Edward II needed to be led to safety at all costs, so, seizing his horse’s reins, dragged him away, and were closely followed by five hundred knights of the royal bodyguard. Once they were clear of the battle d'Argentan turned to the king, said ”Sire, your protection was committed to me, but since you are safely on your way, I will bid you farewell for never yet have I fled from a battle, nor will I now.“ and turned his horse to charge back into the ranks of Scottish where he was overborne and slain.  Edward fled with his personal bodyguard, ending the remaining order in the army; panic spread and defeat turned into a rout. He arrived eventually at Dunbar Castle, from which he took ship to Berwick. From the carnage of Bannockburn, the rest of the army tried to escape to the safety of the English border, ninety miles to the south. Many were killed by the pursuing Scottish army or by the inhabitants of the countryside that they passed through. Historian Peter Reese says that, "only one sizeable group of men—all footsoldiers—made good their escape to England." These were a force of Welsh spearmen who were kept together by their commander, Sir Maurice de Berkeley, and the majority of them reached Carlisle. Weighing up the available evidence, Reese concludes that "it seems doubtful if even a third of the footsoldiers returned to England." Out of 16,000 infantrymen, this would give a total of about 11,000 killed. The English chronicler Thomas Walsingham gave the number of English men-at-arms who were killed as 700, while 500 more men-at-arms were spared for ransom. The Scottish losses appear to have been comparatively light, with only two knights among those killed.

The defeat of the English opened up the north of England to Scottish raids and allowed the Scottish invasion of Ireland. These finally led, after the failure of the Declaration of Arbroath to reach this end by diplomatic means, to the Treaty of Edinburgh–Northampton. Under the treaty the English Crown recognise the full independence of the Kingdom of Scotland, and acknowledge Robert the Bruce, and his heirs and successors, as the rightful rulers.

It was not until 1332 that the Second War of Scottish Independence began with the Battle of Dupplin Moor, followed by the Battle of Halidon Hill (1333) which were won by the English.

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Pioneers! O Pioneers!

by Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)

Come my tan-faced children,

Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,

Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?

Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental
blood intervein’d,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,
(bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang’d and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon’d mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

On and on the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill’d,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill’d.
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Life’s involv’d and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,
We to-day’s procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock’d and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding
on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the daybreak call–hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,
Swift! to the head of the army!–swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Badass reading by Will Fucking Greer.