dipped neckline

Jealousy - Smut

Originally posted by titsonafish100

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Dylan O’Brien/Reader
Words: 1,952
AN: Okay so this was spurred on by the teaser for the teaser trailer for AmAs, I had so many feelings and I just wanted to die and also fuck Dylan so here you go? Sorry not sorry. Also I didn’t edit this well so I apologize for any mistakes.

Dylan arrived home to an empty house, his eyes drooping due to jet lag. It was a long flight, but he was glad to be home. He was early, wanting to surprise you, but it seemed like you weren’t there. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw your makeup littering the bathroom counter. He wasn’t mad, of course, glad you were going out and having fun when he wasn’t around. He hated to think you’d be cooped up in the house alone without him.

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Strong as Steel

Hey! :) (Your writing is great tbh). Could you please do a one shot where Bucky likes you but is scared cause he has the metal arm? And you end up showing him YOUR metal arm, even if you’re insecure about it? If they get together at the end, that’d be great, feel free to add anything else.

Word Count: 2712

Warnings: none

A/N: I know, I know, I haven’t posted in weeks. I’m sooo sorry but I’ve been struggling so much with motivation to write. I can’t even begin to tell you guys how long it took me to finish this one shot and it’s not even that good. Anyways, I’m sorry, hopefully I can get more one shots/fics/writings out soon. I’ll do my best for you guys

Originally posted by you-didnt-see-that-cuming

You’d always been insecure about the metal appendage that had replaced your flesh right arm. How could you not be? It was foreign, a silvery object not of your body, given to you by HYDRA when you were under their control. This was why you’d kept it covered up all the time. You wore long sleeve shirts and gloves at all times, even when it as hot. And when you met the Winter Soldier for the first time, you’d hoped you and him could be friends, as if the both of you having metal arms and being prisoners of HYDRA made you friends somehow. But he never spoke to you despite the few missions you’d gone on with him, the meetings you’d sat through stealing glances of him. He was hot, you weren’t gonna lie about that but his eyes always looked everywhere but you. He spoke easily with Steve, Sam and Natasha, but every time he looked at you, it was like he felt nothing but intense hate for you and that only made you hate him too.

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My Type of Guy - Stiles Stilinski Imagine [Smut]

Author: dylanowhy

Summary: Scott McCall invites you to the schools senior prom, as friends of course, but there is this certain dark haired boy who has been pushing your buttons lately. Who would have thought that later on he’d be pushing you into a pile of gym mats.

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warnings: Language. Smut. Unprotected Sex.

Word Count: 2957

Originally posted by teenwolf--imagines

Some said he had dark hair, perfect to match his light-hearted eyes. However, you had never seen him up close before, always admiring him from a distance. You had known about Stile for years, ever since 5th grade when all he ever did was talk about baseball and Lydia Martin, but you’ve never approached him, always too afraid to speak, thinking that you would make a fool of yourself. Most people looked over the mole blessed boy, and you never quite understood how. There was so much more to him than anyone gave him credit for. The loud whistle sounding from Coach is what snapped you back to reality, bringing your attention back to the point, his hair. From the distance you sat it seemed light, a deep honey brown color that shined in the sunlight, complementing his soft pale skin that was being slightly washed out by the deep red covering his body. He was doing some type of dance, it almost made you snort, apparently he made a shot, something that was rare coming from him. It’s not like he was a bad lacrosse player, he was just never given the chance to show what he was really made of.

“What do you think Scott is going to do since Kira is not here anymore?” One of the many gossiping girls of Beacon Hills asked another, watching as Scott and Stiles high fived each other, bright smiles on their faces. “I am hoping he is open for trying new things, being with different people.” The other replied, it made you roll your eyes. You weren’t sure what happened to Kira, no one really was. Her father had given light detail and acted like it was no big deal his daughter went off in the middle of the school year, it had always made you curious, but you never were one to push any buttons. You actually cringed when you thought about what the girls across from you were talking about. There was a dance coming up at the end of the week, something about being seniors and how it was important to have one last dance. It was also known as prom, but you didn’t like to use the term. The theme was masquerade, and almost everyone had a date. Of course, you did not fall in the line of people who were going with a significant other, but that didn’t bother you. You had better things to do then to dance in a pool of sweat with some guy who only asked you because he wants to get lucky. No, you did not need to go to —.

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Love Inversion Theory II


Originally posted by dayaholics

A/N: I hope you all like! Next one will be more eventful :) this chapter consists mostly of Peter realizing things on his own

“So, are you going to talk to me or am I going to be victim to your ‘method acting’ all day?” You suddenly asked.

“Of course not,” he said around a thoughtful chew of breakfast food. His voice wavered and he was just barely able to catch the American accent in time. “You can tell me what’s up, you know,” you say comfortingly. Your hand moved up his thigh in a loving way rather than a sexy way. “Just nervous,” Peter managed to say after swallowing his food. “I’d be more surprised if you weren’t,” you laughed, smoothing out a napkin on the table. “After all, this movie-it’s just still a giant ‘wow, what?’ in my brain. I guess for you it’s like that times a billion.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Yes, of course.” What the hell is she talking about? 

You stood up a few moments later. “I have a present for you,” you randomly declared. “But it might take around fifteen minutes to get a hold of. Will you be alright here while I step out for a bit?”

The clothes which you bore didn’t fall under typical [Y/n] standards. These were more revealing. The top dipped down your neckline and showed more cleavage than you usually did. You looked gorgeous-of course, because when do you not?-but different. 

“No, yeah, yeah, of course,” Peter assured you, raising his arms over his head. Every move he made was an attempted relaxed and natural looking one. You gave him a double glance before shrugging. “Okay,” you smiled. “I will be back as soon as possible so don’t freak out. Oh! And your mom texted me. One, she’s a bit too pleased to see any pictures of us out together and a bit not too pleased with the ‘Tomdaya’ rumors. She makes a lot of marriage comments about us…”

You looked at him for a lingering couple of seconds, almost as if you were waiting for him to say something.

“Oh. I’ll-I’ll tell her right away to stop that. You know my moooooum.” He inwardly cringed at the slip up.

You tilted your head back in surprise. “What?”

“My mum. Gotta love ‘er,” Peter chuckled, pointing his fingers at you like guns. You popped your lips. “Okay. Well like I said I’ll just be out for a little bit…be careful.”

“You too,” he called after your retreating figure. 

Click. The door shut and Peter stared at it for a minute to ensure you wouldn’t come back. When he deemed it safe, he stood up abruptly. “What the hell?! Where’s the suit, where is my suit?!” He clamored over open suitcases and random assortments of furniture and flung a closet door open. Empty. 

Well, empty except for a gray hoodie. Peter pulled that on without really thinking about it then began to pace. 

[Y/n]. Tom. British? Someone’s mom. Waffles. 

Those were the only words that flew around his brain. He had to calm down, and soon. There wasn’t time to panic!

You telling him his mother texted threw him off guard since his parents had been dead for over half his life. He hardly remembered what it was like to have a mom. There had only ever been May and up until a few years ago, Ben. 

There was a laptop positioned neatly on the nightstand. Peter sighed in deep relief before opening it. 

The prompt for a password appeared on the screen and on impulse, he typed in the first dessert he shared with you. It opened. How convenient, he thought bitterly. Okay, Apple, time to not fail me with your pitiful excuse for a default browser.

(Safari was for losers. He firmly believe that, being an avid Google user and all.)

“Okay…uhm. Peter Parker,” Peter said his search out loud. You said something about the name, but not in the way he would have liked. You said it almost as if Peter wasn’t an actual person. 


‘Peter Parker (Earth-616), Marvel Database-Fandom Powered. Peter Benjamin Parker was born in Queens to Richard and Mary Par-’

He leaned away from the screen, half expecting it to blow up in his face. It wouldn’t surprise him. 

He scrolled down. 

There was a youtube link to some video titled ‘Peter Parker vs Flash basketball scene.’ Uhm. Yeah. Okay. 

Watching the video was a total waste of two minutes. Sort of. The school was, unnervingly, called Midtown. But its layout was definitely not his Midtown high. 

And that ‘Parker’ kid-not Peter. What the hell was up with that Flash person? Is this some elaborate joke? 

If so, Peter wasn’t understanding the punchline. If someone were to go to such lengths, why would they have someone who looked nothing like Flash Thompson be ‘Flash.’

The ‘up next’ logo was flashing to yet another video titled ‘Peter Parker vs. Flash.’ 

“These guys look nothing like me-!” Peter suddenly exclaimed mid way through the video. Some red headed girl was asking someone named Harry to help ‘Peter’ and Peter-the actual, real one-was not amused. 

“That guy looks nothing like Flash!” And Flash and I have never even fought like that. What is this, some cheesy high school movie? Maybe the names are a coincidence. He angrily paused the video, not wishing to hear it or watch it anymore. There was a few more movie clips-some media footage of Captain America and Tony Stark (that wasn’t new) but there was a thumbnail that caught Peter’s attention. 

It was a picture of him, sitting in his old room at the old complex and May used to live in. 

The video’s title read “Tony Stark Recruits Peter Parker | “Responsibility” Civil War Scene Full HD | Tom Holland.”

Okay, what the fuck. 

Tom-isn’t that what you were insisting Peter’s name was ever since he woke up? Tom Holland.

He warily watched the video. It all consisted of that one day Tony Stark decided to waltz in and recruit him. 

Only this video, it wasn’t from the point of view of Peter or Tony. It was a third person view, as if the camera person was filming it like a movie. Peter somehow thought he would remember another person recording from all different angles. 

With a knot in his stomach, he read through the comments:

Usernames like  “Parker Peter” or “Spider-Dork” just existed, and they all commented on this one video. 

“Tom Holland,” one comment read, “is the best Spider-Man!”

Another read: “Tom is the best” 

“Peter is such a daddy”

“Tom is so hot ugh”

“Tom Holland…the love of my life, more like”

“Tobey Maguire did better”

“Am I the only one who misses Andrew Garfield?” followed by a long string of replies:




“Wow what about Bucky no one ever gives him any love”


Peter stared at the comments with his mouth dropped open. The suggested videos to the side were all of “Captain America: Civil War” or “Spider-Man: Homecoming OFFICIAL trailer.”

It made him nauseous, so that with shaking hands, he opened up a new tab and typed in the name “Tom Holland.”

“Oh, no,” he groaned when new articles popped up. “What the fu-is that MICHELLE?! Am I dating Michelle?!” Indeed, there were articles headlined with things like ‘Tom Holland and Zendaya are dating!’  He scrolled away from that, not enjoying to feeling that one headline called Tom Holland a ‘cheater’ and accusing him of ‘dumping famed young adult author and girlfriend of three years, [Y/n] [L/n] for Spidey co-star, Zendaya.’ Another was labeled ‘Spider-Man: Homecoming opens for the first time tonight! We’re all excited-find out why!’

Peter finally found a wiki page and reluctantly clicked. The profile photo was of him, but not a photo he remembered taking.

He swallowed a thick lump in his throat and read aloud to himself “Thomas Stanley Holland, born the first of June in 1996, is an English actor and dancer. Holland is known for playing Spider-Man in the Marvel Cinematic Universe-”

Oh fuck. 


@literallykaylenn@tomxhotland@@manyfandomstohandle@negasonicteenagemess@theweaknessstories @ruefulposts @roseytom@kent-mcfuller-is-life @t4rt-deco  @the-mormon-girl-in-the-books @@fly-like-a-grayson


Vid One-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcGHKrh8J8I

Vid Two-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWCi9Bxu1pk

Vid Three-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DESwBLlniCg

Tom Holland Wiki-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Holland_(actor)

***any usernames/comments shown in the fic are not real-any similarities are pure coincidence. I own nothing and no one, except for this fic idea***

NSFW Chocobros: Lingerie for their S/o

Oh boy! SayaSin here back with another HC.

Noct - Baby Doll Dress.

The prince loves playful and sexy and was actually pretty excited with his surprise he picked up for you. The garment would be solid at the top, fading to a sheer pattern in the darkest shade of black to honor his family name. The neckline would dip low to accentuate your cleavage in the most delicious way. Thin spaghetti straps lie upon your shoulders; straps that he toys with as you’re situated atop his lap – he only clad in jeans. He loves how it flows delicately against your skin as you move. His “dark queen” he likes to coo devilishly into your ear. Noct could easily have opted for something more intricate; however, easy access is more suited for his taste and dislike of complicated things. Having you perched on his lap means you were already caught in his web, which by his rule of “No underwear”, you could already feel his growing bulge prodding at your entrance. After seeing you in the garment for the first time, he swore he’d have one for you in every color.

Prompto - Lacey Boy shorts & a Silk Cami Top.

The always flustered blonde is a sucker for cute, that includes your ass cheeks peeking out just below the shorts he so proudly picked out. The silk of the top outlining your breasts in a way that make him think of over-sized gumdrops, the thought of tasting them leaving him salivating and his cheeks a new shade of red. Home for the day and wearing them around the house? Expect loads of ass grabs and playful love slaps against the plump flesh when you least expect it. Sneaky candid photos of you end up taken for his ‘collection’ that is until you catch him and ask if he’d like for you to pose properly for him - as if he’d pass that up. You even make it a mission to tease him by dramatically bending over before him to pick up something that was “accidentally” dropped or purposely jumping to get something just to watch his eyes become mesmerized by the jiggle of your breasts under the silk. By now the little chocoboo can’t handle much more. Looks like you’ll be off to grab a new pair. While you saw thin, cute and lacey, he saw ‘easy to rip’.

Ignis - Corset, Garters & Thigh Highs.

“Darling. Will you try something on for me?” Enough said. He is a man of elegance and sexy after all and you were all to thrilled to oblige to his request. He loves the way the bodice dips your waist inward enough to taunt him with those sinful curves. He’ll tie the laces at the back skillfully for you while his lust filled emerald gaze drinks in your silhouette. He’ll place delicate kisses at the tops of your breast as they’re pushed to new heights. He loves the way the thin fabric straps of the garters lie symmetrical with your thighs after he snaps them in to place. How they clip to the back of your now favorite panties and curve dangerously over your ass. He’ll caress your legs before slipping on each matching thigh high, kissing your hip before clipping them secure to the garters. Having you stand before him to admire you like a piece of fine art, earning you a mischievous smile and a kiss to the neck. Slender fingers would roam your form, exposed skin set ablaze by his touch alone. “You look simply ravishing, kitten. Now then, I believe it’s time to taste my creation.“

Gladio - Bra & Panties.

The shield would be thrilled to have you in nothing at all, but after stressing that you wanted him to pick something out for you, he would settle on the easiest to remove.  The idea of basic bra and panties sounded boring at first only later to reward you with the sexiest set you’ve ever owned. The bra had lace that cupped your breasts with intricate designs. Black straps splay against your chest almost like a web meeting at the back of your neck. The panties to match sat a bit higher on your hips, like the bra, were clad in lace, showing off and accentuating the upper curvature over above your ass just below your back, more straps meeting at the waist to tie in a bow. A loud wolf whistle would meet your ears upon revealing the scandalous garment to the culprit behind its existence. “Mmm damn babe…” You’d spin for him and let him get lost in your presence before the behemoth of a man would close the distance and sink his thick fingers into your cunt through the open slit of fabric you hadn’t noticed. “How about you show daddy what you can really do while wearing something like this” Lucky you, this ain’t his first rodeo with lingerie.

anonymous asked:

OOoOOoooHhh you're taking prompts? Awesome! Clexa. 3 or 46. Or both if you're up for it.

I’ve already done #3 for this pairing, so I’ll go with #46.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Clarke tried to suppress a smile, but could hardly contain it. She tried to act innocent. “Like what?”

Lexa lifted her head just enough, just enough to look up from her textbook and at Clarke. She cocked an eyebrow over the rim of her glasses. “You know what.” She sat in a pile on the floor of Clarke’s dorm suite, surrounded by books and notes, studying for finals. Clarke, on the other hand, had given up studying and was spread out across her bed, staring down at Lexa. Gaze like a laser, scorching, and she knew it. 

“What’s wrong with me looking at you?” Clarke bit her lip, ran her fingers along the soft material of her comforter.

Lexa pursed her lips. “It’s distracting,” she said. “And you know it.” She dropped her head back down to her book then. Her lips moved silently along with the words she read. She barely managed a few sentences, though, before she sighed and snapped her book closed. She pulled her glasses off and glared at Clarke. “I can’t concentrate.”

“Maybe you need a break,” Clarke said, grinning. “We’ve been studying all night.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “I’ve been studying all night.”

“Exactly,” Clarke said. “So, you need a break.”

“I can’t take a break,” Lexa said. “I have to get through three more chapters before I’ll feel sufficiently prepared. You know this.”

“Just a little break then.” Clarke pouted. “Tiny one.” She patted the comforter beside her, and Lexa looked tempted. She looked hungry to allow it, to cave and crawl across the bed to Clarke. Bury all her worries in Clarke’s skin and forget about anything and everything else. Just be.

But just when Clarke thought Lexa would cave, Lexa cleared her throat, averted her eyes and said, “You’re a bad influence, Clarke.”

“I’m the best influence.”

“You know what it does to me when you look at me that way,” Lexa muttered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She rolled her neck around and stretched, and Clarke felt her thighs clench together. She felt a spark of thrill, of want. God, Lexa was stunning, especially like this. Tired but determined. She was herself, all strict but stirring, relaxed but reserved. She was still the girl Clarke had fallen in love with so long ago, glasses perched on her nose in the middle of the university library. Hair brushed back into a messy, fizzy bun. Brow furrowed as she chewed on the end of her pen and stared down at her textbook. She still made Clarke’s stomach flip.

“Just when I look?” Clarke asked, shifting up onto her hands and knees. She started to crawl slowly across the bed, toward Lexa.

“Clarke,” Lexa said, a warning tone, cheeks flushing.

Clarke dropped down off the bed and crawled across the floor, pushing and kicking textbooks and notebooks aside. One hand landed on Lexa’s thigh, the other braced against the floor. Clarke leaned over Lexa, pressed right into her space. Their lips hovered just a breath apart.

“What happens if I do this?”

Lexa expected Clarke to kiss her, wanted Clarke to kiss her, but then Clarke dipped at the last second and latched onto Lexa’s neck instead. She sucked at Lexa’s pulse point, just below her jaw, and her hand slid higher up Lexa’s thigh.

A strangled sound crept up Lexa’s throat, and Clarke smiled against her skin. She pressed forward until Lexa leaned back, caved, dropped to the floor. Clarke crawled up the length of her, and wedged a thigh between Lexa’s legs. “And if I do this?” she whispered, sliding her hands up Lexa’s trembling stomach. She dipped under the neckline of Lexa’s tank top, skated fingertips over a stiffening nipple, and Lexa’s hips buck.

She sucked in a heavy breath. “Clarke.”

When Clarke pulled the material down to expose Lexa’s breast entirely and brought the hardened peak into her mouth, Lexa let out a strangled cry and latched onto the back of Clarke’s head. She pressed her closer, pulled her in, and then jerked Clarke’s mouth up to her own.

“Let’s take a break,” she said and swallowed Clarke’s answering laugh in a scorching kiss.

The Best Night Ever (and Other Cliched Titles)

So @vodka-aunt-coran wrote this post and I had to write it (I changed it just a little, I hope that’s okay)

Not really any shipping, but if you want to read it that way you could. Under a cut for length. 

“Who decided that holding a prom at the Garrison was a good idea?” Keith wondered, nodding to the flyer on the wall behind their table. “Like…a bunch of military teenagers trying to dance? Who came up with that?”

“And where did we get the funding?” Hunk demanded. “They can’t even give us air conditioning half the year, but they can somehow manage to afford one of the fanciest events that most schools ever have?”

Lance snorted, poking at what might have been Jell-O and watching it jiggle under his spoon. “Bet they won’t even get a DJ. It’ll just be Iverson in shades.”

Keith and Hunk snorted and resumed their eating, leaving Lance to glance over at Pidge, who was being suspiciously quiet. “Pidge? What’s up? This seems like the exact thing you’d be making fun of with us.”

Pidge glanced up from her sandwich (at least, it resembled a sandwich). “Hmm? Oh. Sorry. Must have zoned out. Yeah, a prom does seem…really stupid.”

Hunk and Keith instantly looked up at her, both of them with silverware halfway to their mouths. Ever since returning from space, the group had been very in sync with one another, often being praised as the best functioning team at the academy, so they could tell when something was going on with each other. “What’s wrong?” Hunk asked.

Pidge hesitated, poking at her Jell-O with her finger and frowning. “I mean…it’s your guys’ last year here. I’d think you would want to go to something like this.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “No way. We’ve already been to space. I don’t think anything titled “Greatest Night Ever” could top that.”

Hunk and Keith murmured their agreement, still watching Pidge, and the girl managed a smile. “You’re probably not wrong,” she admitted with a chuckle.

There was a long pause, and then Pidge stood up so quickly that she knocked her elbow into Lance. “I forgot to finish the homework for Peterson’s class. I’ll see you guys later.”

She picked up her tray and bolted, saluting the guard on the way out and leaving the three sitting with their jaws dropped. “What was that about?” Keith wondered.

“We didn’t have homework for Peterson last night,” Hunk noted.

Lance, rubbing his arm with a frown, glanced to the prom flyer and then back to where Pidge had left. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured. “Hunk?”

“I’m on it.”


“Okay, so I read Pidge’s diary-”

“You have got to stop doing that.”

“-AND she really wants to go to this prom. Fancy dress, shoes, hair, and everything.”

Lance and Keith glanced at one another and then leaned forwards on Lance’s bed in matching poses, legs criss crossed and elbows on their knees. “She huh?” they chorused.

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‘Versace on the Floor’

The Elite Fics

This Fic is a result of the Pole I posted, were Kenny was the winner. I am writing this Fic to be based off the song ‘Versace on the Floor’ by Bruno Mars.

Pairings: Kenny Omega x Reader
Rating: M. M. Mature (Nsfw)
Warnings: Language, Smut
 Word Count: 1655
Author’s Notes: I know you guys are prob tired of Kenny Fics…BUT YOU VOTED FOR IT. Thnx.

 As you shut the Front door, your eyes caught a glimmer of red on the white marble tile floor. You turned placing your bags on the ground, walking towards the rose pedals on the floor, your heart beating faster as you took each step.

 “Kenny?” You called, walking up the stairs towards the bedroom, following the trail of velvet flowers to your bedroom door.

“Kenny?” You called once again, your voice shaking. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another 3 weeks.

As you pushed the bedroom door the rest of the way open, you gasped. The floor was covered in rose petals, the room dimly lit with tea-light candles, the room was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, the candle’s warm glow illuminating a gown that lay draped across your bed.

 You walked into the room further, now able to see a thick piece of paper laid on the gown, Kenny’s sloppy hand writing scrawled across the paper. You look around the room confused, flipping the note open.

       ‘Y/N, Put this on, then meet me down stairs. Don’t ask questions, for once. I love you.’

You grinned at his note. Looking down at the long dress that lay before you, its material shinning lightly against the flickering of the candles. As you lift the soft material you wonder idle if you should blow them out before heading downstairs; worried they might catch something on fire.

You chance a glance in the mirror as you bend to put the shoes Kenny had provided on your feet. The fabric hugged you perfectly. The scarlet dress had a deep plunging neckline, dipping to your waist, and was sleeveless. It had a split that made it’s way clear up your leg, stopping just at the top of your thigh.

The red shoes he had chosen, had a band that wrapped around your ankle, and a 6 inch heel. Slowly, you tested your balance in them, walking the hallway that lead to the stairs a little slow, enjoying the resounding clack of your heels.

As you reached the top of the staircase, note in hand, you spotted Kenny, his usually unruly hair pulled back into a bun atop his head, his large frame covered by a black suit. You made a mental note to get the tailer’s name, because the suit hugged him perfectly, showing his muscular arms, and tapering down his midsection, making your mouth water.

 “Wow.” He purred as he met you at the bottom of the staircase, reaching a hand out to take yours, his blue eyes shinning as they glide over your figure, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before his teeth catch his full bottom lip.

“Wow yourself Mr. Omega.” You giggle, reaching up to adjust his red bowtie, straightening it, and pulling his lips down to yours.

“I believe I was invited?” You hand him the note, smiling coyly at him, leaning forward to place your lips on his, your teeth replacing his on his bottom lip, nipping him lightly, whimpering quietly as he pushes you into his body. The material of your dress was so thin, you could feel the heat of his hand against your own as he pulled you into him.

“I do believe you were.” He says, pulling away, looking you over once more. “But, after seeing you in this, I really just want to see it on the floor.” He continues, running his hands down your sides, making you shiver and close your eyes, your head lulling back a little.

 “Mmm, anything you want, you did buy it.” You smile as his lips find your bare neck, the scruff on his chin tickling and pricking your sensitive skin.

“Mmmm, Only the best for you baby.” You can feel his grin on your neck, and down your collar bone as his lips trial their way down the dip of your dress, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you deeper into him.

“Kenny, please?” You whimper as he pulls away, gripping you by the waist and leading you into the kitchen, lifting you by your hips onto the cold Granit counter-top.

“Please what baby, all you have to do is ask.” He grins, bending to his knees, running rough hands over your bare leg.

You lean your head back as his fingers glide down your thigh, over your knee and down your legs slowly, stopping at your ankle to unbuckle your heel. As he moves his fingers, he presses his face to the inside of your thigh, his stubble making you squirm as his tongue runs the length of you to your knee slowly, driving you crazy.

“Please, you know I need you.” You moan out softy as he pulls your shoe off, his eyes coming up to meet yours as he kisses your now bare instep.

“Need me to what Y/N? Ask me.” He continues, moving his fingers to your other foot, making quick work of your remaining heel.

“Take me.” You say, a command, not a question. His eyes darken when they meet yours, his lips part slightly as he takes in a breath, his gaze locked with yours.

“Your wish is my command.” He says as he stands, shrugging his jacket off, and dropping it in the seat of a bar stool that sat to your left.

He pulled you forward so that your hips were pressed together, your heat rocking against the strain in his pants as he walked you towards the stairs, his mouth never leaving your neck as he made his way to your shared room.

 “K-e-nn-y,” You say around his mouth, your lips crashing together nosily as he enters the room, pressing you into the wall just inside the door, “Watch out for the candles.” You giggle as he kicks his shoes off, bringing each of his knees up one at a time, to just under your ass, reaching down to push the heel of the dress shoes off with one hand, and balancing you with the other.

He let out a low moan as your teeth found his jaw, just in front of his ear, nipping him, then running your tongue over the reddening flesh of his neck and jaw.

 “I need you Kenny.” You purr into his ear seductively, your teeth grazing his lobe and making him stiffen further underneath you, his fingers gliding the zipper of your gown down, and letting it fall so that it pooled around your exposed breasts, revealing your hardening peaks to him.

 His eyes travel to your face for a moment before he spins, and makes his way across the room, setting you down at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked on your body as the silken cloth cascades down your body like a waterfall, falling to the ground before you silently.

“Lay back.” He nearly pleads, and you can the outline of his cock straining against the material of his dress-paints.

You do as you were told and lean back on the bed, spreading your legs so that your dripping sex is exposed to him, your eyes never leaving his.

“Touch yourself.” He says, slowly and with adept fingers he unbuttons his shirt, pulling it from his waist line to reveal his perfectly chiseled abs and chest.

You lean your head back against the pillows, gliding your fingers down your body and running them over your sensitive bud for a moment before dipping one into your soaked core.

A low, husky growl comes from his throat and he over you in a moment, his naked skin pressed to yours. His tongue fighting yours for dominance, as his hard cock pressed into the inside of your thigh, digging into the skin there and making you grind your hips into him.

“Y/N, I want you so bad. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He coos into your ear softly as he reaches between you, aligning himself with your opening.

“Oh, Kenny!” Is all you can manage as the tip of his large shaft pushes into you, stretching you ever so slowly, making you whimper, and wrap your arms around his shoulder, your nails clutching his back.

“Say my name again baby.” He orders, moving his hips so that he is pushing into you harder, his hips meeting yours in a relentless pace.

“Kenny, oh Fuck Kenny!” You cry out, pushing your hips to meet his thrusts, your mouth finding his as you both gasp for air around your tongues.

“K-K-Kenny! I’m going to c-c-cum!” You wail as he pulls you up so that he is leaned back, with you on top.

“Let it go baby.” He groans, your hands finding his chest. You begin to bounce, moving up and down on his cock, pushing it deeper than before into you, the feeling sending you flying over the edge into your orgasm, nails digging into his chest.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He Moans out your name, pushing his hips up to meet you as he cums, sending rope after rope of cum into you, filling you.

You collapse on top of him, a smile on your face as you lay draped over his chest, your fingers intertwining with his much larger ones.

  After a moment you both catch your breath and he smiles down at you, blue eyes shinning.

“I guess I like the Versace better on the floor.” He chuckles, making you grin a tired smile.

“Me too, welcome home baby.” You purr before falling asleep in his large arms.


“Tell me, Jimin, do you believe in magic?”

↠smutish? suggestive content↞

word count: 2.8k

↠ series ↞

It was a Wednesday night and honestly, Jimin wanted to know whose idea it was to throw a party on a fucking Wednesday night. He didn’t mind going to parties once in awhile, but going on a school night was pushing it a bit. He could have been sitting on his sofa watching reruns of Bizarre Foods or maybe even in bed just about ready to knock out, but here he was.

 Jimin wasn’t sure how, but Namjoon had convinced him to come out that night; he was pretty sure he lost Namjoon in the sea of people as soon as he walked through the first floor.

Fucking hell, Namjoon. Jimin took a long sip out of his coke and whiskey concoction already debating on when to walk out the door.


The sweetest voice called out to him and he looked up to find you looking as shocked as ever. Jimin couldn’t control his face muscles as his jaw slightly hung open at the sight of you in the cutest little red dress.

He was so used to seeing you in large t-shirts or sweaters that were paired with shorts or ripped jeans, but this was a sight that he had to drink in. The dress wasn’t anything tight, it was seductive in the most casual way. The hem of the dress stopped just above mid-thigh, thin spaghetti straps hugged your slim shoulders and the neckline dipped low enough to where just the right amount of cleavage was exposed. The heels you wore just made your legs look even more amazing than when you wore your typical sandals or faded black converse shoes.

 Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer.

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Let’s Just Pretend

PHEW. IT’S DONE. Some Noctis x f!reader for y’all. This is the longest thing I have written EVER, and I’m quite proud of it? Anyway, enjoy!

Imma tag @fieryfantasy bc she’s a babe.

Noctis x f!reader


3658 words.

“I need you to pretend to be my date.”

“Excuse me?” You said, looking up from your book.

You and Noctis had been studying for your final exams of your last year at school. Well, you had been studying, Noctis had studied for twenty minutes and then become invested in just about anything else which didn’t involve the geography of Eos. He had been talking to you about an upcoming ball, to celebrate the summer solstice, which he was required to attend when his request made you abandon your work entirely.

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all of this and heaven too: bawson fic

@texasbama asked for the fic and she shall receive <3

So basically, Mike is supposed to be getting inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame and then he sees Ginny in a dress and their night get sidetracked.

For obvious reasons.

(cross posted on ao3)

The dress:

He’s being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame…and he can’t find his favourite cuff links.

Mike has checked the drawer where they usually are, every possible place in his closet, and the bedside table, for whatever reason they may have ended up there. Nothing.

“Ginny! The cuff links? The ones you gave me? Any ideas? I’m running out of places to look,” she’s in the bathroom and he can hear her faint laughter through the door. Of course she’s laughing at him.

“I’m looking at ‘em! You forgot them in here, old man,” her voice is full of mirth and he’s about to head over to open the bathroom door when she beats him to it. 

Mike has decided he’s not at all interested in being honoured; leaving the house is most definitely the worst possible thing he could do right now. Leaving this bedroom even. She looks unbelievable, so unbelievable he blinks a couple times just to make sure she’s actually real. He takes a second to remind himself that she is his wife. She is all his; she agreed to be with him for the rest of their lives in front of everyone who matters to them both.

He’s never going to get over it, it astounds him over every time he sees the ring on her finger.

The grey sheer fabric hangs off her like a dream, the tie accentuating her waist and the dipped neckline brings his eyes to her beautiful breasts like he’s zeroing in on a target. His favourite part though, is that one of her beautiful, long, strong legs is visible through a sinfully high slit in the fabric.

Mike lets his eyes rake slowly over her. He starts at her feet, the heels she’s wearing making her legs pop and his mouth go dry. His gaze travels slowly up her body, along the curve of her thigh to the flare of her waist, her chest and neck, until finally landing on her face and the artfully tousled hair falling around her stunning face.

This has to be a dream. This can’t be his life. There is no way he won a world series, is being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, and has a living, breathing goddess as a life partner. There is just no way.

He almost pinches himself but his hands are tingling and his brain is working too slow to force any of his limbs into movement. 

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middlegame | ivar ragnarsson

sequel to ‘see the whole board

middlegame | the part of the game which follows the opening. plans are formed and put into action.

You goats, there is so.much.pining here. So much.

Ivar sat on the dock, staring out at the glut of boats before him. His fingers turned over, over, over the piece held between them. The ink was smudged and worn from his work over months. It had bled into the carving below it, melding the symbols into one.

He brought his eyes down to study it again. The thousandth time since it had found its place with him. It had been tucked in his shirt, stuffed in his boot, broken free to skid over almost into the waves that rocked the boat that carried it. He’d almost pitched himself into the water to save it. It lay under his pillow, turned in his hand, sat lodged in a beam in his chariot.

His finger came up to swipe over the broken edge at one side of the crown, snapped into his flesh as he’d grasped it at the news of his mother’s death. He would most likely have to kill her father. Would she hate him after that? Would she forgive him?

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Bucky² (Part 8)

Summary: You’re a mutant with the power of dimensional, spatial and time manipulation, meaning you can travel to and from dimensions, spaces and different times with ease. But one day, when you’re coming back from a particularly long mission, you brought something back that should never have come with you in the first place.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that Marvel has created and I certainly don’t own Sebastian Stan.

Warnings: Violence, sadness (lots of sadness).

40′s!Bucky x Present!Bucky x Reader

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |

Originally posted by love-buckybarnes

The sound of an inhuman screech echoed from behind us, cutting my sentence short.

Whirling around, I see monstrous disfigured creatures racing toward us. “Y/N, what the hell are they?” Sarge demanded, raising his firearm in defence.

“Bullets won’t work, that’ll only make them mad.” I slowly push his rifle down, never taking my eyes off the creatures.

“What are they?” Sarge’s tone was urgent as his hand slid into my own, holding on tightly.

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fic: a vision for the future (1/2)

Rhys had discovered the Luxe Starlines Cruise Gala Mixer, an absurd soiree which existed, as far as Sasha could tell, for the obscenely wealthy to congratulate each other on their innate superiority to every other living thing.

Rhys/Sasha, post-ep5 established relationship, ~5k this chapter. Bit of humour, bit of fluff, bit of angst.

Shoutout to @valoscope and @nosleepforthewatcher for answering my canon worldbuilding questions even though I pretty much went rogue anyway.

Also on AO3

Update: Part 2 on AO3 | Part 2 on Tumblr

“You want me to be your trophy wife.”

“No!” Rhys looked scandalized at the notion. “No, no, no, gross, of course not.” He beamed at her.  “I want you to be my employee.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, okay,” he amended, “not, like, an actual employee, I’m not actually paying you, but…”

Sasha tilted her head.

“I… mean—I—uh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, that… doesn’t sound much better, does it?” He waved his hands. “Anyway, the point is, I need your brain, not your pretty face.” He paused, his expression suddenly cocky in the way it often was before he said something that would make someone want to hurt him. “Although the pretty face is a bonus—ow!”

Sasha showed her appreciation by whacking his stomach and rolling her eyes.

“Can’t you take Vaughn and his pretty face? He’s used to all this corporate… stuff…” She gestured to the air around them.

“Vaughn worked in accounting,” said Rhys, like it explained everything. “This is way more your speed.”

“Hobnobbing with a bunch of jerks?”

“Talking rich people out of their money,” he corrected with a grin.

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“I’m sorry,” Freed mumbles from the far side of the bed, where his face is pressed down against the pillow so Laxus can see neither his expression nor the feverish flush staining red across his cheekbones. “I’ll get better soon.”

Laxus huffs, more frustrated with Freed’s words than the fact of his lingering fever. “You don’t need to keep apologizing,” he reminds the other for far from the first time. “It’s not like you can help getting sick.”

“I did before,” Freed says, the words so muffled by the sheets under him that Laxus can barely hear them at all. “I haven’t been sick for years before now.”

“You can’t be healthy forever,” Laxus says, and reaches out to slide his fingers under the weight of Freed’s hair and push it back from the line of the other’s neck. “It was going to happen sometime.”

“Mm,” Freed hums against the sheets, sounding simultaneously unconvinced and unwilling to put words to more protest. “I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

Laxus rolls his eyes; this isn’t the first time he’s heard this before either. “You’re not,” he says, rejecting the idea as directly as he knows how as he collects Freed’s hair in his fingers to lift it up off the sweat-slick back of the other’s neck. “I keep telling you, I don’t mind taking care of you.”

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Imagine Going To A Fancy Gala With Owen

Originally posted by chrisevansz

Twelve Roses

Summary: You get asked to Jurassic Worlds fancy gala by the famous Owen Grady, who you don’t believe is actually into you at first- but then he tries to prove it.

Words: 5158 (heh, sorry)

Pairing: Owen Grady x Reader

Warnings: Minor cursing.

A/N: Sorry its so long, I got carried away with it. That’s kind of the reason why its taken so long to get some writing out- that, and because I’ve been busy with my sister recently. It was gonna be shorter, but then I had the idea for the “twelve roses”. [If you’re reading this, I’ve finally done it. I’ve posted my longest Owen fic so far. It’s like I’ve just own a war or something. Hallelujah.)

You had heard about the fancy dances Jurassic World had sometimes hosted, but not once had you ever imagined yourself actually going to one.
Those were your thoughts the day Claire announced that she’d be the host of their upcoming gala. You rolled your eyes, glancing over at your friend and shaking your head, almost laughing.
“It’s not necessary, of course, but it is expected of you to come. There will be many important guests attending, and I’d like us all to make a good impression.” Claire said at the staff meeting, nodding towards everyone, a fake smile plastered on her face, “and that means you, Mr. Grady. No board shorts.” You found it hard to conceal your laugh, drawing the attention of a few of your colleges.
“Do you have something to add, Y/n?” Claire asked, raising her eyebrows in your direction.
You hesitated, biting your lip and looking up at her, “oh- no- sorry, Claire, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was just thinking about me at something so fancy like that. I’ve never been.” You shrugged, offering her a smile and folding your hands on the table in front of you.

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park-of-the-galaxy  asked:

I read the stuff you've written already and you're really good! I simply have to request one of my own! Can you write a female reader x Hercules Mulligan fluff, preferably involving a beautiful dress?

Thank you so much! You’re too nice!

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When I was younger, my mother would always tell me one particular thing right before I would leave the house: she would request that I tolerate others. To hold my tongue and not speak out or fight back if anyone spoke badly about where I am from or the religion I practice. This especially became a concern after 9/11. “Always remember the colour of your skin,” she would remind me. “This country looks down on us. They always have. They always will.” And if it was my word against that of someone with lighter skin, I would easily find myself out of luck.

For that reason, I spent the majority of my youth walking around with clenched fists in my pockets. As I matured, I began to realize the cruel truths of the world, the horrible injustices done to people by other people. It was hard to accept, and sometimes, for some strange reason, it still is.

A great part of my being wants to believe that people are good. That they are still good despite everything they have done and continue to do to one another, and all the lives they have destroyed. This is perhaps extremely naive of me, and may be what eventually destroys me. Or perhaps this is the only thing that has kept me alive.

I find people to be a mix of horrible, fascinating, and brilliant. I think it is a rather dangerous combination. Lines are almost always crossed, because limits do not exist to us. We possess the ability to love and hate without any restrain, and not surprisingly, both inevitably lead to our ruin. We are idealistic, foolish, and stubborn. We pursue those things which we cannot and should not possess. We pursue ideas of permanence which themselves have changed through the course of time. We chase after ideals which are made to sound great in theory, but are often (read: always) treated as mythology and enforced as such.

One such myth is multiculturalism. If it truly exists, or if it ever has, it should be understood that multiculturalism has failed us. It has taught us nothing but to open ourselves to new culinary delights. But we are not some sort of ethnic buffet! Multiculturalism has done more for domestic economies than it has for its foreign-domestic populations, the products of immigration. It has not made us more amicable towards one another. It has not dissolved racial issues and concerns. It has not brought communities together. And it has not rid of preconceived notions of other races, religions, genders, or sexual orientations.

In fact, multiculturalism has been, at best, just a tease. A little show of skin; sultry legs, a dipping neckline, some cleavage. Something to excite the exotic in us. Something to make us feel like we are accepted, that we belong. That years of historic violence, abuse, and oppression can somehow be looked past without an apology. And no, multiculturalism is not an apology. It is not even a welcome, or a thank you. It is a bone. A pacifier. A lollipop for the crying child. A pathetic excuse.

Multiculturalism has failed us. Because it was never fully intended to work. Because tolerance is not the same thing as acceptance. Some of western society’s favourite occupations are to confuse tolerance for acceptance, acceptance for apology, common sense for liberalism, civic duty for charity – all on the pretense of some kind of profound form of enlightenment. Yet our names, languages, ethnicities, religions, and “cultures” all become subject to western fetishization. Somehow, for some reason, it is still okay to portray the non-white individual as the “other,” as something to be fascinated by. As if fundamentally altering the course of our history, and ultimately our existence, was alone not enough. But contrary to popular belief, we are not here for handouts or charity. But our struggles and sacrifices will be acknowledged. All the buzz words mean nothing to us. We are more than our food and our clothes, more than the languages we speak. We are more than our skin.

I do not want for future generations to have to worry about the colour of their skin, or to be told that they should change their names to something more “Western” and “easier to pronounce.” I do not want to see another PhD mopping floors or driving taxi cabs to ensure their children have a glimmer of hope in the West, only to be cheated into the lower rung of the ladder despite their efforts.

I do not want another immigration watch organization handing out anti-immigration literature to every door in our neighbourhoods, and then claim that they are not racist. I do not want another man to fear being called a terrorist for his beard or turban, or because he carries on his Prophet’s name, or another woman to be targeted for her hijab, her faith, and be told to go back to her country. Remember this: you cannot justify stealing bread from someone, and then becoming angry when someone else asks you for a piece.

The word diaspora translates from Greek to mean “the dispersal of seeds.” An immigrant is such a seed, planting him or herself into alien soil, dreaming to flourish as others have. But a seed cannot grow if the soil will not provide the nutrients it needs to survive. More and more of our seeds are failing, deteriorating, eventually dying. Or are just beginning to grow and then finding themselves to be cut down. Torn from their roots. Discarded.

The approach to this collection was not only to quell but also to cause qualm; to provide both a source for one to heal, as well as a brief glimpse into hell; to both remedy injury as well as rouse anger; to disturb those who have been pacified; to momentarily disrupt the course of Western thought; to trace back our own roots; to serve as reminder of our customs and traditions; and to recall all that has been lost and left behind.

The intention has been to incite discussion, to invite one another into a sense of acceptance, so that generations that follow can be inspired by us. It is not only a matter of racial differences, but also learning to put aside those differences which divide even communities of similar racial backgrounds and ethnic origins.

We must, for the sake of that which is left of our humanity, maintain the fact that we are each a body of water. We are each a fragment of ocean, a force of nature. We must learn to coexist alongside one another so that we may thrive. So that our collective force may become that of the ocean as opposed to minuscule drops of it.

—  Naveed Abdullah Khan || “After Word” from By Bodies of Water
Captured By The Game p.2

AN: Written for day 5 of Nessian Smut Week - Public Sex.

Part 2 to Escort AU - part 1 can be found here.

NSFW. Tagging @lynyrdwrites because apparently we enable each other. Well…all the more smut for all of us!

Getting ready is a ritual.

The sleek fabric of stockings smooths over her legs as she slowly rolls them up and the lace of the garter belt brushes against her skin; like a touch of luxury, one that keeps her composed and grounded in her role.

A drop of perfume behind her ears and on her wrists - her favourite, not his.

Because she might get paid in return for her body but she’s still her own person. And no one, neither Cassian nor her other clients, will tell her how she should behave or what to like.

Not that there are so many of those other clients nowadays.

It hasn’t happened overnight and Nesta’s actually quite angry with herself for allowing it but Cassian has steadily sneaked his way into her week. From a good old regular once-a-week, he upgraded to weekly meetings. It wasn’t enough though and so, he proposed a weekend all-nighter. Nesta put her foot down, arguing weekends were the best for business. A whole night with one man whose overgrown ego overrode his common sense just wasn’t worth it, she stated to Cassian - and fuck, but she could still remember the fire in his eyes as he pinned her to the wall and showed her just how justified that ego of his was.

Still, they did manage to agree on Wednesdays. Not that it mattered since Cassian simply started to request her for all the weekend events he attended, the paycheck too generous for her agency to pass up.

She’s getting ready for one of these events right now, some corporate shindig in Ritz-Carlton that’s more about stroking the right egos than actually having a good time. Slipping on her midnight blue dress like an armor of silk and lace.

Who will notice her bored expression with that slit going all the way to her mid-thigh? Who’ll recognize the subtle scrunching of her nose as a sign of disgust her neckline dipping low between her breasts? Why would Cassian bother asking her all these troublesome personal questions if he can play with the lace covering her otherwise bare back?

With a satisfied smirk, Nesta puts a layer of raspberry lipstick on her lips and grabs her purse before leaving the penthouse suite Cassian rented for the night. She intends to bring him to his knees tonight, to have a little revenge for all those inconvenient feelings he makes her think about.

The game is on.

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