drill instructer

She's Like The Wind - Part Ten

Summary: You have been blind for over 10 years. During the apocalypse, you use your utmost strength in order to survive while also fending off your mixed feelings for the big bad leader of your community, the Sanctuary.

Pairings: Negan x Blind Reader

Warnings: language. violence.


You awoke the morning of the run filled with excitement. A large smile graced your face as soon as you woke up. You hurriedly rushed out of bed, and changed your clothes. Even though you were excited to be going on this run, you had a lingering fear that Negan would find out about your lie before you even left. You knew that it was a bad idea, but you didn’t want to face him to actually ask, and you weren’t positive if he would have even said yes.

After you had gotten changed, you sat back down on your bed to strap on your boots. As you were lacing up your right boot, you heard footsteps approach from down the hall, followed by a knock on your door. Your actions instantly froze, and you found yourself assuming that it was Negan. You figured that he had found out about your lie, and now you would be forced to face him. You held your breath as your door opened, and let out the breath when you heard Jesse’s voice.

Keep reading

Suicide’s Daughter: Part 1

Summary: Time. It was constantly moving. Sometimes it felt like days went by in seconds, and others like it can’t move fast enough.Regardless, it’s always there. The clock is always ticking, counting down to the next unknown event.

Your life was seemingly normal. You worked as a Police Officer in a small town, leaving your career as one pretty dull compared to ones around the country, but it paid the bills and you were happy.

Dean Winchester becomes a victim of the infamous villain known as fate, and yours gets corrupted in the crossfire. Fate can’t be avoided.

But maybe, it can be changed.

Originally posted by marilynmay

Notes: Am I going to regret posting this? Hell yeah! Is this going to become another uncompleted story? Who knows!

In all seriousness, I thought ya’ll deserved a fic (because it’s been a while), so as of right now, a new part will come out every week. So… enjoy!

Pairing: Dean x Reader…. ish

Word Count: ~1.5k

Song: Matthew and the Atlas - Out Of The Darkness

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, guns (not a dark fic, just angsty)


“Why is it that Y/N is the most successful out of all of us?” Brooke, one of your two roommates, asked over dinner one night as the three of you were seated around the table.

“Because I figured out what I wanted to do earlier,” you shrugged, digging your fork into a few green beans.

“But you’re so badass!” Elroy argued, setting her utensils down as she got more involved in the conversation. “You’re out protecting people every day, meanwhile we’re seated in a college classroom.”

Keep reading

Fix You (Part 2)

Originally posted by chatoyance

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fix You (Part 2)

Author: Morgan

Prompt: Could you do another Warren x empath!reader where Warren gets into a brawl with a stereotypical jock in a restaurant because the guy kept making disrespectful passes at the reader (even though she is obviously dating Warren) and Warren wins the fight but is hurt more emotionally than physically bc the guy called him trash and a freak and worries again that he doesn’t deserve her but she uses her powers and words to calm his fears and heal his injuries and cute fluffy stuff like that?

Note: There are so many things ahead of this, but I’m having Warren FEELS. And also, I wrote the first part like a few days ago, so I may as well write it while it’s recent.

Part 1: http://imagine-marvel-12.tumblr.com/post/145770616326/fix-you

“You really need to stop getting into fights,” you sighed, walking into your bedroom. Warren was sitting on your bed, several scrapes and cuts all over his body and tears in his eyes. You knew how he felt. Hurt. He always seemed to. But you didn’t blame him. Not this time.

You and him and some of the others were at the mall, sitting in the food court when some very rude teenage boys started to flirt with you, despite the fact that you and Warren were holding hands and he had one of his large feathery wings draped over your shoulder.

Then they proceeded to tell him all sorts of things that weren’t true. That he was a freak, that he didn’t deserve you, that you were too good for him. You knew none of those things were true, and you hoped he did too, but he still fought them. And while he had won, he still felt like he lost.

“I know,” he sighed, shoulders hunched. His eyes met yours briefly before finding his feet. His legs were spread in front of him, and he was leaning back on his arms.

“You know the drill. Shirt off.” You instructed. He nodded silently, tugging the black Metallica shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. How he managed to put on clothes with his monstrous wings was still a mystery to you. “Look at me, Warren,”

“(Y/N)…” he trailed off, eyes wandering anywhere but to yours.

“Warren,” you kneeled on the bed, swinging a leg over his and sitting on his thighs.

“Why do you care about me?” he asked, tears threatening to spill from his blue eyes. “I’m so reckless and damaged and my temper is…not the calmest. My own father didn’t want me, why should you?”

“Doesn’t it make sense that the boy with the most pain ended up with the healer?” You smiled softly, your hands finding his cheeks. He visibly stiffened as your healing chills ran through him. The bruises and cuts on his face dissolved to nothing, his black eye fading to normal.

“You deserve better.” He murmured. “I’m a f-”

“If you say freak, so help me God.”

“It’s true.”

“No. It’s not.” You shook your head. “You’re not a freak. You’re not a monster or anything else. You are the sweetest, kindest guy I’ve ever met. And yeah, you’re a little rough around the edges, but you’ve been through a hell of a lot.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I love you, Warren,” you interrupted him. His eyes widened slightly and he closed his mouth, wings twitching.

“You what?” he asked, a hitch in his voice.

“I love you to the moon and back, and I wish you could see that.” You confessed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Tears of relief, of unexplainable joy. Warm emotions radiated from his chest.

“I love you too,” he sat up and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him softly, meaningfully. When you released, he laid back down on your bed. You laid on his bare chest, hands gently stroking his muscles.

“I’ll always be here to fix you.” You told him. “Always.”

“I know,” he hummed with content, his large hand running through your hair. His wings wrapped around you, keeping you safe and warm. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

anonymous asked:

can you write a drabble where klaus paints caroline's naked body?

We loved this one written by @supremeuppityone and we think you will too!


A/N: Somehow, this evolved into an AU human Playboy-esque empire that features Klaroline. Warning: Delightful smut! Enjoy!

More than One Way to Paint a Cat

“Of all the bizarre things I expected to see in this place, this is certainly not one of them,” a crisp British accent teased, causing Caroline to sigh and mark her place in the textbook with her pink highlighter.

She crossed her bare legs, resettling her naked body in the comfortable suede makeup chair at the vanity, before regarding the intruder with a raised eyebrow.

“Define bizarre. It’s the Pretty Kitty Mansion — you’d have to put in some effort to come across as bizarre in this place,” she retorted, not bothering to mask the edge in her tone.

She was used to going on the defensive about her job; so many people, most of them hypocrites, were quite fond of telling her how awful she was to be exploiting herself. However, Caroline was a pragmatist, and when she started college years ago, she realized that the most lucrative way to support herself until she finished her degree was to pose nude for Pretty Kitty Magazine.

She hadn’t expected much at first — appearing in a handful of pictorials had allowed her to pay for several semesters of school and even start a small savings account. What she hadn’t anticipated was how popular she would become with readers. Long blonde curls, wide blue eyes and a petite, curvy body with an all-American, girl-next-door look that apparently readers couldn’t get enough of. It wasn’t until the Pretty Kitty Enterprises mogul himself, Alaric Saltzman, had contacted her to become a Pretty Kitty girl that she had realized the extent of her accidental success.

She had been upfront with him from the start — her education came first. She also put in her contract that she was strictly a print-and-appearances model only. She had no interest in the myriad of other businesses the adult industry had to offer. She had goals and plans and none of them involved becoming a household name in the adult entertainment industry. Working on the fringes gave her the funds she needed to finish school and hopefully open her own vet clinic one day.   

Today was one of her obligatory appearance days at the Pretty Kitty Mansion. They were hosting a huge football party for the typical mixture of Hollywood types and executives and Alaric expected his top Pretty Kitty girls to attend the party wearing a cropped jersey and tiny boy shorts that artists would paint onto their bodies.

She had been skeptical at first that it would look like nothing more than naked girls running around in a Jackson Pollock wet dream, but the test run they’d done the other day had surprised her with how real the paint had looked. It actually seemed as though the girls were wearing skimpy outfits rather than merely carefully applied paint. The textures, shadows and contours achieved by the airbrush had been breathtaking.

She had been looking forward to getting painted again just to see the artist operate, but apparently the artist they’d saddled her with today was going to be a judgmental jackass.

“Well, to answer your question, I expected more of a raging orgy or at least a feisty pillow fight,” the man stated, dimples bracketing his smirk, which under normal circumstances she would consider charming.

Caroline snorted. “Right, well, sorry to disappoint, but the orgies and pillow fights apparently take place when I’m not around. I’m a bit busy these days and I suspect those activities would be a huge time suck.”

She narrowed her blue eyes at the attractive man before her, trying not to openly stare at the hard planes of his chest as he moved, or the way his beautifully sculpted cheekbones accentuated his impossibly handsome face.

“You must be my artist today. I’m Caroline.” She held out her hand to shake and tried not to roll her eyes when he kissed her knuckles instead.

“Enchanted to meet you, Caroline. I’m Klaus.” He cocked his head toward the textbook in her lap and asked, “I’m curious, love, is Understanding Zoonotic Diseases typical reading material for a Pretty Kitty girl?”

Keep reading

Kool-Aid

Prompt:  Please write a one shot of your latest Dean imagine!! I love it! // Dean’s staying at Bobby for a while after Sam left for Stanford, and the last thing he expected was another stray joining the older hunter’s household and throwing him off his cool, collected game.

Word count: 3,879

Warnings: None, I don’t think

Author’s Note: do I need to remind you guys of how much I love pre-2005 Dean? He’s so..different.

Keep reading

Frequencies - Phan. One-shot

Summary: In a world where talent, luck and intelligence is measured by the frequency you give off. Dan Howell has a frequency of 126 and Phil Lester is a minuscule 56. But with high frequency comes no empathy. Dan Howell cannot feel. Phil wants to help, but there is a severe reaction when they even get near each other.

Words: idk yet

—-

It was at ten years old that Phil Lester and Dan Howell realised a mixture of fate and science had told them they were not meant to be together.

It started with the rain.

Phil only meant to ask Dan if he wanted to play a game. He knew Mrs. Forks forbid any High Frequencies from interacting and communicating with low frequencies, because of the reaction. They were like magnets repelling from each other. And Dan Howell and Phil Lester were on the opposite sides of the spectrum. They were the kinds of children who would grow up and cause havoc when they so much as touched each other.

But at that moment in time, with the sun shining brightly in the sky, illuminating the playground outside the mediocre building for  Mrs. Forks primary school for the gifted. Shadows danced across the concrete as children, his classmates, played. But with their own frequencies of course. Phil sat alone on the swing set, slowly pushing himself backwards and forwards, his trainers scuffing against the harsh concrete.

Keep reading