Acatalepsy | oneshot

Originally posted by kaibility

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Scenario: Soulmate AU
Pairing: Kai/Reader
Word Count: 10131
Rating: T (warning for angst. i’m not kidding, this is 10k words of pure heartbreak)

Summary:  In a world where soulmates are banned and their soulmarks genetically destroyed, one shows up on your wrist on your thirteenth birthday. 

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Under Your Skin

Drabble about the zip on Yuuri’s Eros costume + Victor hating the fact that he has to do said zip up. 

Victor could never help but take his time, here like this with the bare skin of Yuuri’s back laid out for him, and him only.

It was routine now, standing in the thick silence of their personal change room, standing close even though there was more than enough space.

“Zip me up, Victor.” Yuuri teased, playing his role already, shifting the muscles of his back, rolling his shoulders, enticing Victor with that canvas of smooth skin left exposed with that zip waiting at the bottom.

And Victor groaned, low in his throat like he always did as he stepped closer still, fingered the tab of the zip as he thought about ripping it off instead, thought about pushing Yuuri face first against the wall to tear Yuuri’s costume to shreds.

The goosebumps across Yuuri’s shoulders as Victor blew on his unmarred skin set Victor on fire every time, churned his gut, tightened his throat, made his heart race.

It grated against his very being as he pulled that zip up inch by slow inch, had him growling in Yuuri’s ear because it wasn’t just Victor that had a hard time with it now. Yuuri’s breath was heavy, the skin of his neck sensitive where Victor couldn’t help but kiss as that zip moved agonisingly higher at his own doing.

It would be so easy to get carried away, to slip his hands underneath that thin fabric and map out Yuuri’s body with his fingers, a place he’d never get tired of exploring, skin he’d never get tired of marking.

So he stopped halfway, conflicting thoughts pausing the closure halfway up, that skin between Yuuri’s shoulder blades beckoning, and Yuuri made it so hard, because he shivered then, pressed himself back against Victor’s chest, against his hips, his ass against Victor’s own very urgent want.

Fuck.” Victor couldn’t help but hiss, couldn’t help but press back, align himself even through the fabric into the cleft of Yuuri’s ass. “That’s foul play, Yuuri.”

Yuuri had never pushed him quite this far before, this close to the edge of thoughtlessness, this close to something crazy right before his routine. And Yuuri just chuckled, low and alluring as he arched his back and gave Victor a mocking amount of friction.

The zip was back down to the bottom in an instant with a metallic hiss as Victor growled again, fabric pushed open, he bent Yuuri over, planted his hands on the wall as Victor gave in and set his teeth to Yuuri’s skin. He hadn’t left marks on Yuuri since the season began, but he was going to change that now, time be damned.

Yuuri shuddered, bit back a moan as Victor started at the small corner at the bottom where the fabric narrowed, following the path slowly as Victor worked his teeth, his tongue, his lips up the diagonal line where the path of Yuuri’s zipper would run.

He could see Yuuri’s fingers scrabble at the wall, feel the heat of his skin, could hear his shallow attempts at breathing, and he was holding it together so well, too well, and Victor wanted to make him scream instead, because Yuuri wasn’t playing fair at all.

But there wasn’t enough time, they had 5 minutes until Yuuri had to check in for his routine, and if Victor had his way 5 minutes would only be scratching the surface of this deep rooted hunger that possessed him every single time he was forced to do up that fucking zip.

So he settled on the trail of hickeys and teeth marks he left on Yuuri’s skin, soothing them with kisses as he went higher and higher, revelled in the thought that Yuuri would still feel their sting as he put on a show in front of everyone in the arena, a show that was meant solely for him, Victor Nikiforov.

His teeth dragged at the supple flesh, nipped as he worked his way higher, up across his spine, the dip next to his shoulder blade, across the firm expanse of muscle up to the top where he finally stopped.

And then he pressed his whole body close, chest flush to Yuuri’s deliciously decorated skin, hands atop Yuuri’s own on the wall now, neck craned forward so he could nibble on Yuuri’s hear, so he could roll his hips and let Yuuri know exactly how close Victor was to blowing this competition off just so he could fuck Yuuri here in this changing room instead.

“Yuuri,” Victor drawled, incited by his own thoughts, “Just remember I’ll be the one undoing this zip afterwards, so you better be ready.”

Yuuri trembling against him was almost more than he could take, but Yuuri turned against him then, pulled his hands out from underneath Victor’s own and met him face to face, cheeks flushed, pupils blown, and a playful smirk curving the lip he’d obviously been biting moments earlier.

“I thought that was a given.” Yuuri offered, voice low, eyes dark as he stepped forward on tip toes and ghosted his lips against Victor’s, a whisper apart, a breath away from ruining Victor’s self control.

“So zip me up, Victor”

vaultfox  asked:

I'd like to nom. @oh-nostalgiaa for a surprise fic. She posts about one of her online profs being kinda cute, so maybe an AU on that where Cassian teaches an online class Jyn takes?

to: @oh-nostalgiaa

from: @vaultfox

[For those unaware, I’m trying something new for the Holidays this year; I asked people to nominate someone for a gift fic that I would write for them, that way, if you give, you also receive something, so that means two people get a new fic and I can reward the generosity that I find important about the Holidays. Everyone wins! Thanks for being my guinea pigs!]

“Three classes a week, an hour and a half online lecture, drop-box for assignments…” Galen lifted his eyes from the screen he held in his hands, “Video chat office hours scheduled as needed from the available times, in case-

Jyn shut her laptop with a grimace, despite her father reading this information from an iPad across the room. 

“I’m not going to need it,” she slipped a pen between her teeth, clicking the plastic in a way she knew was going to drive him nuts. Galen sighed and lifted his glasses up his face enough to rub his eyes. She’d stop exhausting her parents the day it stopped being so easy. 

“Alright, Jyn, I’m just trying to help you feel prepared.”

“Got it,” she regretted shutting the computer, because the screen gave her something else to look at. That’s how it was in this family. 

Galen did that for her, cradling his iPad like a shield. “Your first class this week is…French History. That should be a good start.”

Jyn found nothing about this a good start as she filled in her calendar with the allotted three classes (minimum for her parents tolerating her move back home). Tuesday Morning, 8:00. It was the best she could do with all the history credits she flunked back at Uni about a year ago -not that that was her fault- so while living at home she could at least skip the laborious breakfast with her parents. She hadn’t known how bad of a start this was until she tuned into the first lecture with only the faintest of awareness she hadn’t done any of the prerequisite readings that were sent out in august. She hadn’t known how bad until she saw her professor, regretfully, was really hot. 

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What I Want

Originally posted by v-ii

When you got home you were ambushed by Bobby. “Y/N do you know where my white hoodie is?” The two of you had been together for many years that now you were at the point where you two lived under the same roof and depended on each other.

“Which one? You have like thirty of them.” You slipped your shoes off while Bobby took your bag off of your shoulder. “The plain white one.”

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While I’m on the note of archery:

writers, artists, I implore you: please don’t make Damien use the bow bare-handed. Give him a thumb ring, a finger tab, a glove– something– to protect his fingers from the bowstring.

Without protection, the pressure from the bowstring will start to cause nerve damage in the fingers.

Somewhat less important (but still, ouch) is a bracer on the off hand, because bowstrings have a nasty habit of smacking you in the forearm, and it hurts like hell.

If you ever feel like making him trans, genderswapping him, giving a bow to Sir Caroline, whatever– boobs should be bound or flattened by armor or clothing in some way, because they will get caught in the string at the least opportune moment, and it will be awful. There’s a reason the Amazons were said to amputate one of their boobs, and that is 100% it. 

Yes, the bow is technically useable without this stuff, but being attacked by your own weapon is a major distraction, and it’s one that could potentially cost you the fight.

It’s one thing if an archer is caught off guard and has to react quickly, but if they’ve had the forethought to actually have the bow strung and ready to use, then he’s also had the forethought to put on the proper equipment.

anonymous asked:

sneak peak of what you have for Oblivion?

Sorry for the delay on this - last week was busy and I was at a wedding back home this past weekend. I am hoping to finish the rest of this sometime this month, but here’s the start of what I was writing for Regina’s birthday in the Oblivion verse.

She hadn’t wanted them to make a big fuss over her. That’s what Regina had said. It was her birthday, yes, but she wasn’t a queen here, she was the mayor, a mother, a friend, a lover. She didn’t need Snow to rent out the Town Hall for this world’s closest facsimile to a ball, she didn’t want the back room at Granny’s for an extended family gathering. She wanted dinner, at the mansion, with her family – at most.

And they’d complied, thankfully, due in no small part to Robin’s interventions. He’d talked Snow down, he’d worked Henry around, and he’d kept things subdued. Quiet. Modest.

So when he’d asked her for one simple favor in return – close the Mayor’s office for her birthday and spend it with him – she hadn’t seen any good reason not to comply. But it’s her birthday, it’s nearly noon, and Robin is not with her. Has not been with her all morning, in fact. Not since he dropped a kiss on her lips and told her he was “stepping out to run some birthday errands.” More than that, Robin has asked her to meet him at her office. Her office which is closed.

She’s torn between annoyance and curiosity – curiosity winning out only slightly, edged ahead by the hope that he’d requested that closed office for a reason. A very private reason. They have good memories in that office – that first picnic in front of the firelight, all warm kisses and wandering hands, tentative shivering orgasms. And other times, more recent times. After-hours quickies, and mid-day romps. With three children in the house, one takes what one can get where one can get it.

So she hopes that this mid-day office date is at the very least a chance for a little quiet, romantic solitude. And at the very most, something that will leave her knees feeling like jelly.

Robin doesn’t disappoint.

She lets herself into her office only to find him sitting in the chair behind her desk, barechested and waiting, elbows on the armrests and hands steepled in front of him. It’s warm in the room. Very warm. The fire is blazing in the hearth, and has been for some time from the feel of it. No wonder he’d left early – her office isn’t nearly as looming as her chambers had been in her castle, but it’s still a large space. It takes a while to heat up.

“Don’t let the heat out, love,” he tells her, his voice carrying an air of detachment that makes her immediately, inexplicably wet. She closes the door behind her, and turns the lock for good measure as he adds, “We wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.”

Regina swallows thickly – his state of half-undress coupled with the heat were all the indication she needed that this was going to be one of those jelly-kneed office trysts, but his words are enough to confirm it. She’s about to get naked. And when she takes two steps toward him, and he tells her simply, “Stop,” she realizes that she’s about to get very naked, quite possibly for a very long time.

That’s his dominant voice, no wonder she’s slicking up between the thighs so readily. Her tongue creeps out to wet her lips as she stills and answers dutifully, “Yes, Sir.”

Robin smiles. And the game is set.

Regina stands still on the opposite side of the room, and waits, and watches, her breath deepening, anticipation growing as Robin simply looks her over. She’s still in her coat, her scarf, her boots. It’s a chilly day, and she was wrapped up tight against Maine’s blustery intrusion. Now she’s overly warm.

She needs this, needs this. It’s been awhile since they did anything more than hushed dirty talk and firm hands pinning her wrists to the pillows. They’ve been busy with life, with children, with keeping this town alive and in good running order. She’s riled and ready, and he hasn’t even touched her yet.

Regina has the fleeting thought that this will be exquisite hell if she’s already this turned on, because she knows his favorite game and it’s denial, denial, denial until she can’t breathe or think or wait another second to come. She already feels like she’s halfway there, and catapults nearly the whole rest of the way when he asks idly, “Do you remember what you told me after that time I took you here on your desk?”

“Which time?” she asks, almost ashamed at the husky quality of her own voice. She needs to rein it in, my God, they’ve only just started. Haven’t even started.

Robin gives a stern look, and says, “You know what time, love. Don’t play coy. If you play coy, I may not give you what you asked for.”

Her mouth goes dry, her gaze flicking over toward the conference table for the first time since she walked in, and finally noticing that one of the chairs has one of her silk scarves draped over the back, and the leather handle of their riding crop peeking over the seat.

“I remember, Sir,” she tells him, because oh, yes, yes she does.

“I thought you might,” he tells her, and she can hear his smirk from here, even with her gaze still trained on the table and chairs. There are other things on the seat, she thinks, but the drape of the scarf is obscuring them. “And what did you confess to me that night? What was it again that you said you wanted?”

“I wanted you to take me on the table, spread and tied, Sir.”


“And I wanted the crop.”

“And do you still want those things, love?”

She looks at him then, finally, a sort of incredulous sarcasm-drenched stare, and asks, “Can you see me right now?”

He grins, tells her, “I can. You’re already flushed. And that’s quite enough cheek from you, young lady. Come here and take your clothes off.” Regina doesn’t waste any time, striding across her office toward the desk, Robin turning his chair until she can stand directly in front of him. “It may be your birthday,” he muses, relaxing back into the seat as she reaches for the top button of her coat, “but I’d quite like to enjoy the unwrapping of my gift. So, take your time. We’ve all day.”

Regina inhales deeply, slowly, the words all day sinking into her skin and making her even warmer. She releases another button, one more, slowly. Another. Meets his gaze, and smiles at him.

“Thank you,” she whispers, as the last button is freed and the front of her coat opens. She wishes she’d worn something sexier than a sweater and skinny slacks. Something that would be more of a treat for him.

“Of course, love,” he tells her warmly, adding, “Let it fall to the floor,” when she fiddles with her lapels, unsure where he wants her discarded clothes to end up. She does as instructed, shrugs her arms out of her sleeves and lets the dark material slip from her shoulders to puddle at her feet. She wants to hang it, he must know she does, but this is what he asked for, so this is what he gets.

She loosens her scarf next, shivers at the feel of the soft material dragging against her nape as she pulls it away.

“Regina, my love?” he asks, reaching out for the scarf before she has a chance to let it join the coat on the ground.

“Yes, Sir?”

He draws the scarf slowly through his fingertips, meets her gaze and tells her, “You’re not going to come for a very, very long time.” Shit. She knew that was coming, but it doesn’t do anything to help with the way she clenches at the words. “So I’d suggest you start working on some of that mental control. You’re already wound to eleven, it seems. I’d hate for you to disobey straight off.”

She nods, reaches for the hem of her sweater and lifts it slowly, slowly. Tilts her head a little as quirks a brow to tease him. “I’ll do my best, Sir. But I want this, so so badly.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How badly?” he asks, as that sweater is finally drawn up and over her head. She folds it, can’t help herself, and sets it on the desk, and then turns back to find him admiring the deep burgundy lace of her bra. At least she’d gone sexy with the underthings, she thinks.

She reaches for the button of her slacks as she admits, “I’m soaked. Have been since I realized what we were doing here.”

“Stop,” he orders, and she hovers, button undone, fingers just grasping the tab of her zipper. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Come closer,” he urges, and she does, takes two steps closer until their knees nearly bump and then another once he widens his to make room for her. She should have seen this coming, but she’s so lust-addled that she doesn’t realize what he’s about to do until his hand is rising, and then she gulps and shuts her eyes. But he’s ordering, “Open them,” almost immediately, and she can’t help dropping her gaze as soon as she obeys, watching as he rubs firmly over her crotch, and god, it feels so good.

She moans, deep and throaty, because he hasn’t yet told her she can’t. And his hand doesn’t stop, presses in harder and rubs again, again, slow, firm passes over her clit that have her fists clenching and her breath hitching.

“I can’t feel it yet,” he tells her, disappointment edging his words. “You’ve been wetter.”

She breathes a “Yes, Sir,” because she doesn’t know what else to respond, her hips beginning to rock ever so slightly into his touch reflexively. It’s so good, so good, just what she needs, she could come like this in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But she doesn’t have permission, and doesn’t expect she’ll get it, so she clamps her lower lip in her teeth and hopes he’ll have mercy on her soon.

A few more seconds pass before he murmurs a quiet, “Oh, you are wet, aren’t you?” and her thighs are beginning to tremble.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasps, and then, “Please, Sir.”

“Please what?”

“Please stop.”

Robin lifts his brows at that, looks just a little bit impressed. He’d probably been sure she was going to beg for release, and she wants to, oh how she wants to, but what would be the point? Still, she didn’t expect him to actually give in, so she’s surprised (and torn between relief and mild disappointment) when his hand drops away.

“Since it’s your birthday,” he smirks, and then he’s gesturing for her to continue undressing, as he continues, “And since you’re already creaming your trousers.”

Regina’s fingers shake a little as she tugs her zipper down fully, the echo of his touch still throbbing over her clit. She forgets about her knee-high boots until she’s pushing her pants down her thighs, and curses softly, feeling the flush of her cheeks deepen with embarrassment as she tugs them back up and bends to deal with the boots.

“This isn’t sexy,” she murmurs, and Robin chuckles, strokes his fingers affectionately through her hair and tells her everything about her is sexy.

“Sit on the desk a moment; let me,” he urges, and Regina does just that. Scoots up onto the edge of the desk and lifts her foot up into his lap so he can draw the long zipper down. He shifts her another inch away from the obvious bulge in his pants, and then takes his time, frees her of one boot and then the other, rubs his palms firmly up her calves, her knees, kneads them along her thighs until she arches her back and moans softly.

“I think…” he begins softly, “that you may be too riled up for what we have planned.”

Regina’s stomach drops, the pleasant, percolating warmth in her belly fizzling out cold at his words. “What? No. I’m not, I can—”

“Hush, love,” he urges, and her mouth snaps shut into an apprehensive scowl. Things had been going so well… “I simply meant that perhaps you’d fare better if you had a release first. A little birthday gift from me, to you.”

Oh, that’s… that’s much better. That anxious knot in her belly unravels, and she nods, whispers, “Please. I don’t know how long I can hold out.”

“And as much fun as that is for me,” he smiles at her. “It seems a bit cruel on your special day. So you’re going to take off those pants now, and then I’m going to tell you just how I want you to touch yourself for me.”

She licks her lips and nods, shimmies out of her slacks and folds them up, too. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little disappointed that it seems she’ll be the one giving herself this orgasm and not Robin, but at this point she’ll take what she can get. Whatever will help her break this tension just a little so she can enjoy the delicious torture he has planned.

By the time her slacks are neatly set aside, Robin has slid his chair between her thighs, spreading them wide, giving himself no doubt a very nice view if the way he’s staring at her crotch and absently licking his lips is any indication. She straightens a little, settles her hands on her thighs and reminds, “You asked me to take my clothes off, Sir. Is this sufficient, or do you want me nude?”

“Oh, no, I think I want you just like this,” he husks, his fingertips on her calves now, ghosting up and down, making the muscle twitch. “I like this color on you. Should have asked you to wear your garters.”

“It’s not too late,” she reminds him with a little shrug. “Magic.”

Robin hums, and nods, tells her, “Too true.” His fingertip taps against her knee, and then he instructs, “What you have on now stays, love. But add the garters, and the black stockings I love, yeah?”

Regina nods, murmurs an affirmative, and focuses long enough for a little transformative swirl of smoke. It leaves her just as requested, black garters, black stockings, and her still-soaked panties and lacy bra. She watches Robin’s irises darken with lust, his palms skimming up over soft fabric, thumbs tucking under the strap of her garters, and then he murmurs, “I want you to feel how wet you are, love.”

Finally, Regina thinks, wasting no time in sending one hand down between her thighs. She hadn’t been lying, the silk is drenched, warm and damp and sticking to her. She runs her fingertips over her clit and sighs, but his hands squeeze tightly at her thighs.

“I didn’t say you could rub that,” he warns. “I said feel how wet you are; that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she breathes, skimming her fingertips lower, the touch teasing and tickling. “I’m so sensitive, Sir.”

“I know, love. And I know I said you get a free pass, but I want to be clear: You still need my permission to cash it in, so to speak.”

Regina bites her lip, and nods, strokes her fingertips lazily along the crotch of her panties until they’re molded to her even more distinctly, her clit starting to throb for lack of attention. But she waits, her thigh twitching once under the pressure of his still-stroking thumbs.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Now, you may touch your clit. Gently. Just one fingertip, please.”

God, he’s going to torture her with this, too, isn’t he?

Regina lets her fingertip slide up and caress her clit; it’s already swollen and sensitive, even that light touch making her clench, making her needy. She doesn’t mean for the whispered, “Please,” to break through her lips, but it does.

Robin just smirks.

“Just like that love, nice and slow. Little circles now, still soft. You like those little circles…”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathes, because she does, and he knows it, and she likes them almost as much now, when it’s her own familiar touch tracing tight spirals over the sensitive bud, as she does when it’s his own firmer, calloused fingers. The silk barrier dulls the sensation, but only a little, only slightly just enough to make everything smooth and delectable, just enough to make it that much better.

“You are so gorgeous, my love,” he murmurs, and right now she feels it. Like this, with him, she always feels stunning. Sexy, and uninhibited, and beautiful. It doesn’t hurt that he goes out of his way to tell her he finds her so, especially when they’re like this. Tells her how beautiful she is when she comes, how lovely she looks all bound up for him. “But as lovely as you are just like this, I think I’d like to see your breasts.”

“Yes, Sir,” Regina nods, but she doesn’t stop that circling finger, indulges just a second longer, until he’s giving her a firm, Now, Regina. Right. Don’t look a gift orgasm in the mouth, she tells herself, forcing that hand away and twisting back to unhook her bra. It falls away to reveal nipples already tight with arousal, her breasts flecked with goosebumps even in the comfortable warmth of the room.

The little moan Robin lets out at the sight of them is a relief; he’s gotten so good at hiding his arousal, at keeping it firmly controlled while they do this, that those little signs of how affected he is are always a treat. And at least she’s not the only one keyed up and wanting.

He must want very much, because he skims his palms up from her thighs, over her belly, cups the swells and thumbs her nipples gently. Regina presses further into his touch, wants to bring her own back to her aching clit, but he hasn’t given her permission for that, has he? So she places her hands on her thighs and lets him touch, lets him circle his thumbs over her nipples again and then grasp and squeeze them in a way that has her letting loose a high little whine of pleasure.

The sensation is warm and radiating, echoes down to her sex and back up, and she writhes a little as he tugs and twists and plays with her. “Robin…” she moans, and he stills. Shit. “Sir.”

He really is giving her grace for her birthday, because he lets that one slide, moves a hand around to her back to urge her forward until he can catch a nipple in his teeth. He gives her a gentle little bite, one side, and then the other, and then another sharp nip that makes her squeak. Not quite letting it slide, apparently…

“Say you’re sorry,” he murmurs, tongue teasing out afterward to soothe the tingling ache his teeth had left.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she (okay, yes) whines. “I’m just so…”

The delightful suction of his mouth distracts her from the rest of her thought, and then he’s murmuring, “I have plans for these later,” squeezing and tugging, firmly now, and her thighs are clenching. She wants to close them, to press them hard together and get some kind of friction, but her desk chair and his torso are still in the way and she’s left hanging.

Wasn’t this supposed to be relief?

“Sir, please,” she whispers, feeling an answering rush of air against her breast that she thinks is probably a snicker. Bastard.

“Rub your clit again,” he murmurs against her skin, giving her other nipple one last suck before sitting back in his chair to enjoy the show.

“Hard or soft, Sir?” she asks, because she knows it will matter.

“Nice and firm now, love.”

Thank God.

She presses two fingers hard to her clit and tremors immediately, so close she can taste it, but she doesn’t have permission yet. She thinks he murmurs something about her being beautiful, but she’s concentrating too hard on keeping the tightening, clenching pulses in her sex from tipping over into the spasms of an actual orgasm to pay attention to his praise. But then there’s a question, he’s asking her something, and she lets out a high, desperate, “Hmm?” when she misses it the first time.

“I asked if you’re going to cry out when you come for me, love.”

“Yes, sir,” she gasps, and, “Oh, God, Sir, please.”

“You’re trembling.”

She nods frantically, bites her lip hard, her thighs twitching, her ass clenching, and she’s about to ease off the pressure because she can’t hold back any longer, when she feels his palms squeeze just above her knees and hears him say, “Let go now, love, and don’t let up.”

She comes, hard, harder than she’d expected she would when he told her she was going to be the one administering this orgasm. But it’s good, and she lets out a wordless shout, another, a rough, heady moan, keeps pressing and rubbing, hard, doesn’t let up just like he said, until she’s tossing her head back and—


Regina’s hand falls away immediately, a sigh of satisfied relief tumbling out as she slumps a little. Her thighs are still twitchy, her clit still throbbing but pleasantly now, satisfied. Robin shifts guiding hands to her rear and pulls her down into his lap, pulls her into a deep, tongue-filled kiss she can barely hold for catching her breath.

And then he wraps his arms around her middle and murmurs, “Better, love?”

“Yes,” she sighs, cuddling in against him, nose against his neck, lips pressing lightly to his pulse once. Robin rubs her back, brushes her hair away from her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Good.” One of those hands trails down, cups the curve of her rear and gives it a good squeeze. “Because I intend to tease you today, love. And I expect you to endure it.”

The promise has her biting at a smile, moaning softly in anticipation. “I’m looking forward to it.”

She sits up then, fully, her damp crotch pressing down against his erection as she does. She’s still sensitive, jerks a little at the sensation, but then she rocks slowly. For him more than herself. He hadn’t had so much as a kiss until just now.

The friction works a groan from his throat, his hands falling to her hips and guiding her into a torturously languid pace. “I thought we’d work up to the crop,” he tells her. “I have some – mm, love – other things in mind.”


“Mmhmm,” he hums, both hands sliding back down to her rear now and kneading as she rocks. “For one, I thought I’d blindfold you. I’ll take it off for the crop, I think. Let you watch, and wait. But until then, I’d like to see how you take to… certain sensations.”

“Good ones?” she asks, without a hint of fear. She trusts him, completely, but it does sometimes help to know whether she’s going to have to prepare herself to withstand pleasure or pain.

He makes a show of considering, and settles on, “Intense ones. I’d prefer to keep them a surprise, if that’s alright.”

She nods, leans in and presses her lips to his gently, pulling back just enough to form the words, “I trust you.”

“And I love you,” he assures, one last rocking grind and one last soft kiss before he asks, “Water?”

Regina shakes her head. “I’m good.”

“Then I’d like you to get rid of those soaked panties, leave the garters for now, and could you pop that scarf over here? I want to retain that air of mystery over my other tools.”

“Yes, Sir,” she purrs, a wiggle of her fingers and little puff of smoke producing the scarf in question.

In short order, they’ve gotten themselves rearranged for the main event, blindfold secured carefully over her eyes before he leads her to the table, the smooth surface a little cool against her back. He slips a pillow beneath her head and she smiles at his thoughtfulness, but that smile slips away into an anxious swipe of tongue over lips when he doesn’t ask her to bind herself as usual. Instead he draws her wrists up toward the corners of the table and she feels a strip of something soft, but strong wrap carefully around each one. 

70+ feel-good HL fics ✿

here’s a list of HL fics that are absolutely adorable, smutty cheerful and/or will (hopefully) make you smile ・◡・ 

(this will be updated continuously! now at 74 fics)


Want You More Than A by TheCellarDoor (77k)

Falling in love with your step-brother’s best friend is a disaster enough. When he happens to be the boy everyone loves and you’re a nerd who wears sweater vests and cries during rom-coms, it takes it to a whole new level.

Relief Next To Me by dolce_piccante (333k)

AU. What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more.

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The Mexican Beetle: El Vocho!

As some of you may know, I recently visited the city of Puebla. Puebla is home to the second largest VW factory in the world, so the city has an intimate relationship with the corporation, and by extension the Beetle. Below the cut: a photo-heavy look at the beetles of Puebla and a comparison of a 1954 Beetle to a 1992 Beetle!

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anonymous asked:

94 with Jon Snow and his kid? Like his son is learning how to shoot an arrow and he thinks he wont be as good as his brother or sister idk

“Mother, mother!” Two voices called out.

You turned away from the cooks you were talking to, to see your 2 children run up to you.

“Lyanna, Rhaegar, what have your father and I told you about running through the corridors”

“We mustn’t do it”

“Yes, now I will keep it as our little secret but you must never do it again.”

“Yes mother”

“Now what did you need?”

“Father told us to call you to the training grounds for Rhae’s first archery lesson”

“Well let’s go then”

You took each child by the hand and walked through Winterfell and to the training grounds. Jon stood surrounded by his men looking as attractive as always. His broody face was replaced with a smile when he saw you walk towards him and he shot you a failed wink.  The kids pulled their hands from yours and they went to the knights who held their weapons. 

“I haven’t seen you since breakfast. I missed you” Jon mumbled as he wrapped his arms around your waist

“What do you say that once you’re done with Rhaegar we head to our room.”

“I’d like that very much” 

He pressed a kiss to your lips which was interrupted by Lyanna.

“Mother, father. Look!”

She placed a bow in the arrow and held it up. She pulled back the string and the arrow sailed through the air and hit the target, quite close to the bullseye.

“Well done, Lyanna. You’re turning into a good markswoman. Just like your aunt Arya”

“Go help Rhaegar. He looks lost” you told Jon pushing him away slightly.

Jon chuckled and pulled away from you as Lyanna came skipping back.

“Mother, when will Aunty Sansa and Aunty Arya be back from Kingslanding?”

“I don’t know, my love, we can ask the maester to help you write a letter and you can send it to them”

Lyanna nodded her head excitedly as the two of you watched Jon help Rhaegar. He slipped on the finger tabs and helped him perfect his stance. Rhaegar picked up an arrow and slotted it in.

“Don’t think too much. Just let the arrow go”

Rhaegar nodded and followed his father’s instructions. He let the arrow go and it landed in the mud. Lyanna let out a loud giggle and you hit her over the head lightly.

“It is your brother’s first time shooting an arrow. Don’t be so cruel or I will send you to bed without your supper”

Rhaegar dropped the bow to the floor and was about to walk away when Jon pulled him back.

“Pick that up. And try again”

“But I can’t do it, father”

“Neither could Lyanna when she first tried. In fact, she shot a knight’s shield that was 2 metres away from the target. I believe in you. You can do it”

Rhaegar looked up at his ad and picked up the bow, ready to go another round. He copied his actions from before.

“Relax your bow arm and breathe, my son”

Rhaegar took a deep breath and let the arrow go making it land straight into the bullseye.

“I did it, father! I did it.”

Jon ruffled his hair and picked him up.

“I told you, you can do it”

“Mother I did it”

“I saw, I’m very proud Rhaegar”

Jon joined you and Lyanna.

“I think this calls for a celebration!”

“Lemon cake!” Rhaegar shouted.

You and Jon chuckled at Rhaegars enthusiasm as the four of you walked back to Winterfell, the perfect picture of a very happy family

Imagine finding out Sam’s in love with you

Originally posted by supernaturalismykryptonite

Anon Request: OOH can I have a Sammy x reader where Sammy gets all jealous bc this guy is talking to Y/N but he’s flirting but she doesn’t realize it. and Sammy gets all jealous and kinda picks fight with him mostly bc hes emotionally drained and (maybe a little intoxicated bc he’s so emotionally drained) but protective!sammy but Y/N is nice about it bc she honestly doesn’t like the guy. but the reader and him aren’t official. she tries to get him to focus not on the guy all fluffy? (sorryifitstoospecific)

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1,600

Warnings: language

A/N: hope you like it, anon! If you guys hadn’t noticed by now, I have a thing for younger Sammy and his hair… enjoy :)

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Lucky Roll

Prompt: Intimacy

Rating: M (NSFW)

It’s all in how the dice roll.

“Go fish!”

“Natsu, that’s not the right game.”

“Draw four!”

“Still not it.”

“…Pass go?”

“Nuh uh.”

Natsu frowned and leaned back into the sofa, wriggling a little to get comfortable Pink brows furrowed as he stared at the mysterious black box on the coffee table. “Well, then what is it?” He was not known for patience or settling for being out of the loop.

Lucy sighed, settling down on her legs opposite him, hands reaching to pluck the box up. “Dunno. Cana gave it to me today when I was helping her clean. To be honest, I am a little afraid it’s something sketchy.”

At that, Natsu hummed. When it came to that woman, he never ruled anything out. But, he knew it wasn’t cards by the sound the box made when Lucy shook it. It didn’t have the muffled scraping noise. It also didn’t smell like any cursed object, so what’s the harm?

Carefully, Lucy slid a finger into the tab, pulling open the box and dumping the contents on the table. With loud clacks, many large black and white dice thumped to a halt on the wood.

Dice with some very…interesting words and pictures on them.

“Lick lips?” Lucy read the closest pair, frowning.

He could see the cogs turning in her mind before she arrived at her answer in a few seconds. Her face exploded with red heat, her mouth opening in shock. “Cana did it again!” she howled, moving to shove the pieces back into the little black box. “I should have known she’d give me something like this. We’ll play something else-”

“I want to play.” Natsu blurted, meeting her gaze. “It looks fun.”

Lucy reeled, openly shocked at his excited features. “N-Natsu! Do you even know what these are?!”

He shrugged, grinning. “Does it matter? It’s something I get to do with you.” Oh, he knew very well what those were. It was in his body language. It was in his eyes. He probably didn’t notice that he was blowing his casual cover.

His partner squinted, knowing he was up to no good but knowing she only had a glimpse into his devious mind. Who knew what he was planning…besides what the dice commanded. Still, she couldn’t fight the wisps of secondhand excitement at something like this; this was an intimate game.

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Since The Hunger Games, Teen Wolf and Arrow have gotten really popular the amount of characters with archery in their skillset has grown a lot. Here’s a guide on this ancient sport. NOTE: In this guide I’ll only talk about archery with a recurve bow since that’s the only kind of bow I have personal experience with. 

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Arrow Fic: Technical Difficulties

Title: Technical Difficulties

Author: jedichick04

Rating: T

Summary: “It’s personal.” Felicity growled in frustration – actually growled – and jabbed at the screen again. Set post 4x02.

A/N: This is the direct result of three hours of trying to snag Star Wars tickets last night with the Fandango website repeatedly crashing, and also @jsevick‘s post here. Geeky Olicity fluff ahead. Not liable for the toothaches.

Find it on AO3 here.

It was a quiet night in Star City. The team called it an early night and split off for their separate homes. Felicity had split off to the living room once they were in the loft, while Oliver had headed to the kitchen to grab some water. On his way back towards the living room, he heard the agitated babbles well before he saw the blonde responsible for the noise. He wasn’t surprised to see her tapping furiously at her tablet. It was like an extension of her, something she was rarely without, even when they had been living in Ivy Town. He watched her for a moment, smiling at the intense look of concentration she was giving her tablet even as a muttered “frack” escaped her pink lips.

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violent delights.

ship: chuck bass x effy stonem

rated: m

note: upon request, this is a repost of an old crack fic i wrote for these two broken, deranged beauties. excuse the old, sketchy writing style.

“have you ever thought about what protects our hearts? just a cage of rib bones and other various parts. so it’s fairly simple to cut right through the mess, and to stop the muscle that makes us confess.”

Chuck knows that Blair is gone for good.

And Effy’s bones have stopped caging anything in.

The air is stale, his shoulders are hunched, and she feels like hell, hell, hell. The year is 2010.

Chuck is in another musty pub, in another English town that’s nothing more than a typo on an old map. He smells like whiskey and vomit and expensive cologne, a brothel. And this whole place is such a fucking cliché. Burly, red-cheeked English folks, chugging down shots at ungodly hours.

So merry and jolly and bullshit. He raises his finger, raises his tab, for another shot. Soon the walls will be blurry and the floor will be moving and Blair will be nothing. Just the squeak of an elbow on leather and a hairband in the dirt.

“Two shots of tequila. Cheers,” a girl deapans from two seats over. Under hooded eyes, Chuck glances at her, catches a mess of brown wavy hair, stacked silver jewelry, and ruddy green bruises on pale skin. She leans against the bar on her bony elbows, scanning the room until her eyes lazily meet his.

Cold blue. No metaphors for the dead.

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Senior Year Science Olympiad

This is it. All your years in Science Olympiad have culminated to this - the final stretch. It’s your last year to make it count, whether that be by winning, making new friendships, growing existing bonds, or challenging yourself intellectually and emotionally. You realize now that in the blink of an eye it all happened, and happened too fast. You’ll start the year with apprehensive enthusiasm because you know the journey from start to finish will be a bittersweet one. You’ll remind yourself to savor every last second of it so that you don’t miss a single laugh, cry, hug, cheer, epiphany, splinter, t-shirt design vote, or paper cut. Yet at the end of it all, you’ll still feel like you missed something, and that feeling of missing something will never go away for weeks - maybe even months or years - after your last competition. 

For some of you it will be the seventh year of involvement in Scioly, and for others only the second. But that doesn’t matter when it comes to expressing exactly how much you love this organization and how much you’re going to miss it. When someone asks you, “How much do you love Science Olympiad?” you don’t answer with “I’ve loved it for five years - since seventh grade.” No. You answer by saying how much heart and soul you put into your cheat sheets, how many after school hours you reserve for the team, how early you wake up and how late you stay at school to study, how many pounds of sawdust you inhale per week, how numb your fingers get from tabbing reference books, how chalky your hands are from handling mineral specimens, and how much pride you wear with your team t shirt at competition and even outside of competition.

If there’s one thing that’s absolutely undeniably true, it’s that everyone reading this loves Science Olympiad and will unavoidably miss it dearly after graduating high school. Some will be lucky enough to find a collegiate Science Olympiad presence on their undergraduate campus, but many others will unfortunately not. All, however, will forever be proud Science Olympiad alumni who will have left their mark as esteemed individuals, leaders, students, and - most importantly - friends.

idk does the turnfreewood tag exist, or…

anyway yeah i wrote a little thing, next time i write turnfreewood it might be domestic, but consider this a start to a series of little ficlets revolving around this lovely threesome

Title: Charmed

Word Count: 1484

Notes: Takes place some time after this week’s episode of the Patch (#56 i believe), Gav and Meg are already a thing and in their new house, yeah… This is turnfreewood if that isn’t clear, meaning there will be a relationship between Meg, Gavin, and Ryan where they all smoosh together in happy fun times.

Warnings: Mild language, but otherwise none!


“So how did it go?”

Gavin has his legs tucked against his body as he sits at the counter, phone in hand and balanced on top of his knees.

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title: Stalemate

summary: When the Uchiha’s fight, you’ll know…

pairing: sasusaku

“Fine! Then go!”

The door slammed shut, rattling the vase sitting by the shoe rack. 

Scoffing, Uchiha Sasuke cast one last glower at the house before he stalked off. His bag thumped against his thigh as he walked. Sakura didn’t open the door to peek out at his retreating back. And she swallowed down the faint twinge of regret at her own stubbornness with a self-righteous huff.

At the village gate, Sasuke paused. The moon was shrouded in wispy clouds. Soft wind rustled through the trees. He thought back to the house with its windows glowing in welcome. He imagined her silhouette bent alone over her tepid tea. His foot twisted for an instant as he considered going back. 

Clicking his tongue, he strode through the gate, into the murky woods.

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anonymous asked:

Susan you kind and beautiful human being... You got any more recs for us?

  • a king beside you when the aliens invade, the last thing louis expects is to fall in love.
  • baby, you’re my only reason “you’re a celebrity and you just broke up and i tweeted you a selfie and said "date me” and you thought i was serious?“ au
  • but why wonder, why wonder? the one where marcel styles has improbably landed a job in the fashion industry, and louis tomlinson is the actor-turned-lingerie-designer he’s been infatuated with for years.
  • the magic that is you and me harry works at jason mraz’s avocado farm, louis works for buzzfeed, and they’ve only got a few hours to fall in love.
  • we were just like glue louis works in a library where his own books sit on the shelves. also, there may or may not be a harry styles involved and he may or may not be louis’ muse.
  • sugar never tasted so good louis sells rock candy and harry sells flowers and london is cold
  • ask me no questions (and i’ll tell you no lies) louis clicks the new tab button, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing in yahoo answers. he can’t believe he’s doing this. again.
  • two steps behind louis is two years younger than his neighbors, harry, liam, niall, and zayn, and he grows up bending over backwards to get their attention and acceptance. especially harry’s.
  • i love you most friends with benefits has always been enough for louis. until, of course, it isn’t.
  • warm blood feels good louis could track every stutter of his heartbeat from across the city, if he wanted. there’s no way he’s missed harry’s reaction to him.
  • tell me what you want louis, desperately looking for a room, pretends to be straight, thinking it would be easy, until he discovers that harry likes to be naked at home.
  • imagine that harry’s the weird kid at school without any friends. louis’ kind of in love with him.