her hand on his neck


> Chapter 35 - The Return of Giovanna

Edge of Tomorrow

Sneak Peek:

Rather than unsettle her, Giovanna raked him with a sneer.

She closed the last few inches separating them. Shameless. Her mouth only millimeters from his lips in a parody of seduction; she whispered, “I’ve killed far greater than you, Niklaus.”

A tremor shot up the length of his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Giovanna moved her hand, sliding it from his wrist over the sleeve of his coat. Her warmth passing through the leather to heat his skin. Her hand infinitely gentle, her touch almost loving as she moved her fingers to his chest and the lighter fabric of his sweater.

Klaus endured her touch, a smile playing over his expression. Not desire for her, but savagery as he waited to see how far she would take this.

This was a play he understood, and a weapon he’d utilized himself. Useless seduction …

“Embers stirred her unbound hair as she wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed close. A golden crown of flame flickered to life atop Rowan’s head…” 

FINALLY finished this beast! (will probably go back and change everything) From chapter 56 of Empire of Storms <3 

I had so much fun with the lighting and colour on this one and basically went to town on it. If anyone asks me where the light comes from in one of my illustrations I will throw this book at them and be like READ SJMAAS AND THEN YOU WILL UNDERSTAND THE NEED FOR DRAMATIC LIGHTING. 


westallen + slow mo kisses

one of my favorite perc'ahlia moments is still after percy titles vex and they leave syldor’s house and percy is just grinning at vex as the others talk about how they’re bad influences on the twins’ little sister and then vex just runs up and throws herself at him and “gives him the biggest hug”

and part of the reason i love it so much is that, presumably, she still has her arms thrown around him for their entire conversation about the title being real before she cups his face and kisses him

headcanon that when kaz kisses inej he has to do so with his hand lightly cupping the back of her neck but his thumb would be in the front, gently caressing the soft hollow of her throat where the pulse is because the feel of it beating keeps him present. it reminds him the person he’s touching is alive and well and warm and he’s not drowning and the fact that her pulse is always hammering rapidly makes him smile into the kiss sometimes because she’s just as wrecked as he is 

i am sorry for love
i am sorry for you
and i know he could’ve called back
but the nights he spent with
her hands around his neck
made him forget what you said.
i am sorry for love
i am sorry for him
and the kisses she blew to his lips
were only saliva and touches
but he dreamt of love
and all she gave him was sex.

sex is not love even when you pour your heart out.

—  I am sorry but you got this wrong.
Unrequited - Lee Taemin (M)

Pairing: Lee Taemin x Reader
Word Count: 1.8k
Author’s note: After seeing the MV for Tell Me What To Do, I came up with this. I think there’s going to be a sequel to this; it won’t be a series, but it’ll also be a series if that makes sense? Hahaha. 😂 Anyway, it’s almost 3AM here so if there’s any grammatical errors or misspelled words I apologize, I’m sleepy as hell and only roughly edited this. Enjoy and let me know what you think! :) ♡ (The GIF isn’t mine)

You watched him while Taemin watched her.

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Kwon Jiyong/ G Dragon x Reader

Awkward moment when someone sends you a drabble request but it’s for your absolute ultimate bias so you kind of go cray and write almost 6K words worth of angsty fluff.. Sooo that happened. Enjoy.

Originally posted by fantasticidols

The sun was so bright as it came into the room, her eyes felt like they were burning. The room she woke up in wasn’t hers, but she had been there before. Everything was blindingly white. The drapes over the windows, the sheets on the bed. The only color in the room was Jiyong. His hair was back to it’s natural black. His skin looked like a darker caramel than usual in comparison to the stark white of the room. He smiled at her and brushed the back of his hand against her cheek.

“Wake up.” He whispered, his breath tickling her neck, “I can’t do this without you.”

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After fake Claudia vanishes from existence and the rumbling stops, Stiles runs over to where his dad and Lydia are and scoops both of them into a hug, stuttering out a “Oh my god I love you guys, that was so cool, that was so badass.”

When he makes to pull back, the Sheriff smothers him, and they descend into mumbling “I found you again/you found me again” into each other’s shoulders.

Then he turns to Lydia and pulls her close to him, placing a hand on her cheek then sliding it down to her neck, while her hand slides up his shoulder to around his neck.

“Did she hurt you?” he asks the same time Lydia says “Are you okay?”

There’s a pause, then they both chuckle because they just are so in tune with one another and they are both okay - because they have each other. Stiles doesn’t know who pulls who in, but they are hugging again, like in the locker room. Lydia nuzzles her face into his neck, and he feels her breath rush over his ear. “I love you.

His heart stutters in his chest. He pulls back, presses his forehead against hers, noses touching.

“I wanted to say it,” Lydia whispers into the space between their lips, the space which Stiles quickly closes in a chaste but lingering kiss.

“I love you too,” he tells her. “I love you, so much.”

The moment breaks when his phone buzzes. Stiles untangles himself from Lydia (partially, because her arms insist on being wrapped around him) and picks up the call.

Scott’s on the other side. He’s panting heavily, but he sounds relieved and happy when he says “We did it. We diverted the train.” Stiles learns that ‘we’ refers to Scott, Malia, Peter, and - what the heck? - Theo, and figures the rumbling was the - the borrow a lyric - midnight train going on and on and on and on.

Scott says he heard Liam howling from the hospital, and they agree to meet up there (and maybe he’ll punch Theo in the face, just because).

“Scott?” his dad asks once he’s hung up, and Stiles nods.

“We’re meeting at the hospital. Liam’s there.” His jeep is there to, he realises. He drove there but then he and Scott followed the tracks out

“Alright,” the Sheriff says. “Hospital. Then you’re going home to get showered. You smell.”

As they walk over to where Lydia’s car is parked on the back road behind the library building, it suddenly occurs to him that he’s with his dad, who is, well, his dad, and Lydia. Lydia, who loves him back. Lydia, his tether, who pulled him back into reality. Lydia, who is his…something. And somehow, it feels like a family. He looks down at where their hands are interlocked, and something warm and fuzzy stirs in his heart.

“Oh my god.”

Lydia stops in her tracks. Father and son turn to look at her.

“My mum - I haven’t called or seen her in two days…” her head snaps up and she looks at the Sheriff. “Did you - “

He shakes his head. “I didn’t see her when I was down there, but the place was huge. The only person I found was Stiles, thank god.”

The warm and fuzzy feeling gets warmer and fuzzier.

Until Lydia’s hand slips out of his. She’s pulling out her phone, hastily dialling for her mother, all the while mumbling “I can’t believe I forgot.”

The phone rings once…twice…three times, and then her mother picks up.


She visibly relaxes. A long sigh escapes her throat.

“Mom,” she says.

“Lydia?” her mother says again, and Lydia hears the rustling in the background that suggests she’s in bed. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Lydia breathes, smiling at the boy who’s watching her. “We found Stiles, mom.”

“Oh.” There is so much mixed into that one word. Surprise, relief, pride. “You did it, honey. Is he okay? Are you all okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all okay. He’s with me now.” And I’m not letting him get away from me again.

She can almost hear her mother smiling on the other end of the line. “That’s great, honey,” Natalie says. “Do you want to stay with him tonight?”

Stiles is smiling back at her now, having picked up on her relief. Something swells in Lydia’s chest when she replies with “Yes, I think I will.”

Her mother wouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Okay then, call me if you need anything okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, mom.”

“Night, honey.”

She stares at the phone for a while after ending the call, then she looks up.

“She’s okay,” she tells the Sheriff and his son. And when Stiles’ hand finds her again, Lydia thinks, we’re okay.

no promises

He’s the one who said they couldn’t have a relationship. She’s the one who makes sure that they don’t.

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Her 
Rating: Mature
Words: 1744

They tumble through the hotel room door, his palm swiftly pushing it shut behind their entangled bodies. Her hands wander up his chest and her arms find their way around his neck, a need to be close dragging her to him. Their lips detach from one another’s during brief moments when they both push their jackets off their shoulders and take off their shoes in a hurry, and when he pulls her top over her head. Her fingers work fast to unbutton his shirt and remove it from his body while his hands move to cup her bottom. 

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This is possibly my favourite scene between Red & Liz. Look at how the camera angle captures the intimacy between them both. Whether they captured them this way for a specific reason, or to try and give a glimpse of possible romantic chemistry between them both, it’s absolutely beautiful. Look at how Raymond is focused directly on her face, not inching his eyes away from her closed ones. His hand on the back of her neck, a simple yet intimate gesture that somehow relaxes Elizabeth. Watch how her body unconsciously leans into Raymond. How their faces almost touch and how the angle of the camera makes it look like their mouths touch. To me, this scene was more intense than any sex scene I’ve witnessed on TV. It captured the essence of their relationship, making the viewers view a different side to them both. I just absolutely love it.

Christmas Scenes (2 of 3)

Mod Bonnie : Flood my Mornings 

[Flash forward to December 8, 1950]

Claire’s face appeared over the top of his book—The Age of Electricity, tonight— and bent down, smiling, for a kiss. He let the book fall at once, and reached out to cup her buttocks. 

“I could kiss ye forever, Sassenach,” he said, unable to keep a smile from disrupting their kiss, “Warms me right to my toes.” 

“Oh, good! That’ll come in handy in a moment,” she said, nipping his neck before straightening and putting her hands briskly on her hips. “Will you help me get some things down from the attic?”

He followed her to the hallway between the bedrooms and watched as she reached upward to pull a wee chain he’d never noticed before, bringing down an equally surprising hatch door. 

“Jesus H. CHRIST,” she laughed as a freezing downdraft hit her. “I THINK it just might be winter!”

A ladder—cleverly hinged to fold in upon itself—came into view, and Claire hopped nimbly up the rungs, disappearing into the darkness beyond.  

“I didna even ken there was another room up here,” Jamie said, climbing up onto the third rung to peer into this unknown part of his home.  

Well,” Claire called, her voice emanating ghoulishly from a corner to his right, “I’d hardly call it a room, but it’s sufficient for keeping useful miscellany out of the way: off-season clothing…tools that won’t fit in the shed…” Jamie didn’t understand the next words she uttered, the sound muffled as she bent over facing away from him.

“What was the last, Sassenach?”

Her outline appeared from the gloom pushing a large box toward him. “I said, ‘and Christmas decorations!’” 

There were just four boxes in all, and not heavy ones, at that; it took no more than two minutes to get the lot down into the living room. Even this short exposure to the frigid attic space, though, had left her shivering. Jamie —firmly dissuading Claire from adjusting the Heating—quickly built up a fire in the hearth. It was nothing like a fire of his time, to be sure—this one, with its wee, store-bought pine logs, was meant to burn for only an hour or two—but they both sighed as the warmth flooded the room. 

“It smells nice,” Claire said, kneeling on the hearth next to him with mugs of tea and smiling a little wistfully. “I’ve missed it: the smell of woodsmoke.” 

“As have I.” They sat quietly for a time, holding hands, breathing in the quiet and the past and the memory. 

“What does one use, to decorate for Christmas, then?” Jamie asked to banish the ghosts of Lallybroch.

Most of this is garland for the front window boxes and railings,” she said, pulling out vast ropes of green Plastic fashioned to look like fir branches, festooned here and there with red flowers of the same material. 

“Very bonnie,” he said, though he felt a bit baffled by the notion, which seemed to entail a great deal of unnecessary work. What other (strange) things did Claire typically do for the Christmas holiday? He voiced this question. 

“Oh, well we…” She stopped and blinked, looking suddenly strange. “Nothing.” 


Her voice was halting. “I feel as though I…barely remember the last two Christmases.”

Jamie made a small sound, but said nothing, just waited for her in that way the two of them knew so well. Only when you’re ready. I’m listening, love. 

“The first one,” she said at last, “was only a month after Bree was born….I think listening to a Christmas record while breastfeeding was the full extent of my holiday festivities,” she said with a laugh that held more sorrow than mirth. 

“Ye didna have Penelope until earlier this year, aye?” At her nod, he said gently, “I canna say that I’d have had much desire for festivity, either, all alone wi’ a new bairn.”

She gave a small smile before continuing. “Then last year about a week before Christmas, a neighbor– but bear in mind, this was back on Fury Street, not here– knocked on my door and pointedly asked when my decorations would be up. She ‘didn’t want me to be embarrassed by being the odd one out’ (as if I weren’t already, the foul hag). So I caved and decorated the outside of the house enough to look presentable.” 

“Ah,’ he said, understanding, “ye dinna seem the type to take it to mind to affix wee baubies to the house wi’out sufficient reason.” 

“It was rather pretty,” she said, taking a sip of tea, “but I… I still wasn’t feeling in the spirit, really. Didn’t feel worth it to put up a tree, as it was just the two of us and Bree too small to pay much attention in any case…” Claire pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her free arm around them. “It just felt…” She shook her head, not taking her eyes from the fire. “…Sad. I knew I was supposed to make it some sort of magical Christmas world for her…knew that I ought to build the fantasy of it for her sake… but I just couldn’t seem to muster myself for it.”

Jamie set down his mug, reached across, and gently squeezed her knee. “Ye didna have such a thing yourself as a wean, aye?”

She looked up, surprised, then shook her head. “I barely remember ever having a proper Christmas. I suppose my parents might have, when I was small; but Christian holidays barely registered for Uncle Lamb. We were hardly Currier and Ives material spending Christmases sweltering in the desert.”

Jamie didn’t even try to guess what precisely she meant by that, but leaned in and kissed her, cupping her head in one hand, gently and comfortingly. “Does it make you sad, a nighean? Not to have had the ‘magical’ Christmas?”

“A little…” She made a scoffing sound in her throat. “And then I feel foolish for being sad over silly sentimental traditions.”

“It’s no’ foolish,” he said. “and it’s no’ wrong that ye didna have them the last few years. In fact, I think it’s even better that you didna do so.” 

“Why should that be, Jamie?” 

“Because we’ll be able to create our own silly, sentimental traditions, now,” Jamie said, smiling. “Everything will be brand-new for all three of us.”

“Oh…” she said, smiling back with at last her usual spark. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

“I’ve few preconceived notions as to what a proper modern Christmas ought to be like,” he said, “but I’m in favor of as many foolish things as you like.”

She raised her eyebrows with a mischievous grin. “Will you dress up in a red suit and white beard and squeeze down the chimney with presents?”

Jamie laughed aloud. “If that’s what’s done, then yes: I will gladly play my part in carrying on wi’ the baffling nonsense of the season.”

They laughed and Jamie bent her head back gently, needing no warmth there before the fire, but letting her touch and the touch of her banish all traces of cold, present and remembered. His own holidays–his everydays–had been bleak, these last years, as well, had they not? Lonely? Hopeless? 

But everything is now new. Everything is now good. 

“I did make one gesture toward the season last year,” she said suddenly, pulling back from the kiss and turning to the last box (smaller than the others) and pulling out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. She unwrapped it to reveal the colorful fabric within. “You’re meant to hang a stocking by the fire on Christmas Eve so Father Christmas can fill it with sweets and presents. ”

She handed him the parcel. While they would never do as serviceable garments, they were very lovely, made of colorful felted cloth, decorated with shimmering thread. One said “Brianna” on the cuff and showed three cheery men that Claire said were wee ginger biscuits customarily eaten for holidays; the other, “Claire” with an evergreen tree dotted with colored baubles.

“You made these?” he asked, surprised and impressed. She nodded, a little shyly. “They’re wonderful, mo chridhe. Very…fun!” he said, feeling foolish over using so flippant a word for something she had clearly put her heart into. He reverently traced the outlines of the whimsical patterns.

“I shall have to get started on one for you,” she said, glowing in the firelight. “A Fraser stag, maybe?”

“Do they eat venison at Christmas, then? Now, I mean?”

“No… but seven flying reindeer pull Father Christmas’s magical sleigh–-and those are rather like stags!”

He leveled his gaze at her. “For all your contentions that the twentieth century is less mystical than the eighteenth, my Claire,” he said, kissing the very tip of her nose, “I dinna believe it one bit.”


[the next FMM chapter will go back to August/September, 1950, but you can expect more about the Frasers’ first Christmas together when we get to December properly in the timeline :D]

Mod Gotham: Brian and Ellen AU

Six-year-old Faith Fraser took careful hold of her corner of the trapdoor.

“When I say heave,” their grandfather instructed, “yer Grannie and I will help ye. All right?”

Three-year-old Brianna Fraser nodded, her red curls bouncing in the light cast by the lantern.

“All right! One – two – three – heave!”

After a few moments the trapdoor opened. Brianna curiously peered over the edge into the gloom – and Ellen extended a careful arm to prevent Brianna from falling into the root cellar.

“It’s so dark! Why do we have to come out here when it’s so dark, Grannie?”

“Because it’s the only way we ken the Redcoats won’t be about.” Jamie set down his basket and handed the lantern to Brian, who held it above his head as he descended into the root cellar. Once Jamie had carefully stepped down almost past his shoulders, he effortlessly picked up a giggling Faith and hoisted her into the dark, then took the lantern from Brian.

“Here ye go – pick out enough potatoes to fill the basket, aye? There’s a good lass.”

Faith dutifully crossed to the far corner of the root cellar – full of shelves of dried fruit, dried meat, herbs, jars and jars of preserved vegetables, and enough potatoes and apples to feed all the hungry mouths of Lallybroch throughout the long winter.

“How are we doing, Jamie?” Brianna tugged on Ellen’s skirts, and she lifted her granddaughter to her hip, blessing her with a quick kiss to the forehead. “Will we need to try for another harvest?”

Brian stepped around his wife and held tight to the opened trapdoor as he carefully descended into the cellar, standing shoulder to shoulder with his son.

“We may have to,” he mused, glancing around at the half-full baskets. “Do ye think the ground is too hard to try at that softer patch?”

Jamie shook his head, keeping an eye on Faith as she carefully selected the potatoes.

“It’s been a bit warm these past few days – and we have to look, at least. Canna hurt. It’ll be a lot of onions and neeps and potatoes this year, but we should do well. And I may be able to bring home a stag or two, God willing.”

Brian silently slung an arm around his son’s shoulder – so proud. “It’s settled – we’ll take a look in the morning.”

“I’m done!” Faith piped up from the corner. “I canna lift the basket, Da – can ye help me?”

Brian crossed the packed-earth floor to examine his granddaughter’s work. “Good work, *a leannan*. Can ye help me wi’ a boost?”

“Watch yer back!” Ellen’s voice drifted from up above. “I dinna want ye throwing it out again.”

Brian sighed theatrically, and Faith giggled.

“That’s what ye gave me a son for, am I right? To help his puir Da in his auld age?”

Jamie stepped to Brian’s side, and together they hoisted the heavy basket of potatoes to their shoulders. Jamie pushed Faith in front of him and held out his free hand against her back as she negotiated the stairs to the surface.

“Auld age, my arse,” Brian muttered. “I’m fit as I ever was.”

“Mmphm. Keep telling yerself that, auld man.”

“Mama! We’re home!”

Faith tore through the door to the Laird’s bedroom and jumped up on the bed. Claire carefully settled one-month-old William Fraser against her shoulder and extended her other arm so that her eldest daughter could snuggle happily against her side.

“How did your little expedition go?”

“Well enough,” Jamie replied as he stepped into the room and closed the door, a sleepy Brianna nestled against his neck. “The stores are a bit low, but Da and Ian and I will go walk the potato fields tomorrow. We’re bound to fill up a basket at least – it’s been a while since we’ve been out.

Jamie stepped out of his boots, gently set down Brianna beside Faith, and stepped to the other side of the bed. Carefully he reached a tentative finger to stoke wee William’s brow, before bending to give his wife a kiss.

“How’s the wee lad, then?”

“He just finished his supper before you arrived. We’ll be good for a while.”

“Mmm. Move over a bit?”

Claire handed William to Jamie, then shifted over on the bed. Brianna and Faith took this as an invitation to crawl over their Mama so that they were safe between her and Da.

Jamie carefully lay William, swaddled in one of Claire’s spare arisaids, against a pillow, then slipped under the covers. In the dim light his arm crossed over his three children – and his fingers met and twined with Claire’s.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered.

“It will be the happiest of Christmases, won’t it?” she replied.

“Will ye tell us a story, Mama? Maybe the one about mice?”

“There werena any mice, Bree! Remember, the mice were all sleeping?”

“Hush – that’s right, Faith. Not a creature was stirring – not even a mouse.”

“Can ye start from the beginning, then?” Jamie asked quietly, thumb tracing the bumps of Claire’s knuckles. “I want to hear it all again.”

The logs crackled in the fireplace. The wind picked up outside. The world was full of such uncertainty – but not here. Not in this room. Not on this night.

“Twas the night before Christmas…”

More Widowmaker/Reaper shenanigans:

  • Reaper taking his gloves off to help her wash the blood out of her hair.
  • Good Cop/Bad Cop interrogation routine only they’re both the Bad Cop and get competitive about it.
  • Sharing lukewarm coffee from a thermos during stake-outs. Reaper sometimes brings her favorite biscuits (madeleines) along. Just to see if Amélie would resurface, more out of curiosity than concern really, but Widowmaker likes them regardless.
  • There’s something smug about her voice when she tells him you smell like hell after a battle. Scent of leather, smoke, gun oil, blood are stuck to his uniform, to his being by now. His mask muffles the smugness in his own voice when he answers so do you. There’s no dishonesty in what he says, it’s in her being now too.
  • She pronounces his name à la façon française: Gabriel, soft and smooth and it sounds far too much like messenger of God. She does so on purpose. Reaper wants to wrap his hands around her neck to choke his name off her tongue then. Widowmaker wouldn’t mind too terribly much. 
  • There is no fear in her eyes when he takes off his mask. Only a smirk on her face and a lilt to the cadence of her voice, “I’ve seen worse, mon chèr.”
  • They disassemble and clean their guns together. If they’re on base, there’s classical music playing. Reaper never told her that the CD’s were originally hers to begin with, but he always skips to her favorites immediately.
  • They usually share a bedroll and kind of coil together on instinct, because she’s perpetually cold and he’s a furnace and they don’t even mention it in the morning because they’re used to it.

anonymous asked:

Roman reigns and daddy/choking kink

“Daddy, you’re so big!” She cried out, and Roman grunted, his whole body dwarfing hers completely as he thrust in and out of her.

“Of course it’s big,” he responded cockily, “Little girls like you need daddy’s big cock to satisfy your tiny pussy, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes… yes, daddy you’re right,” she bit her lip in pleasure as he squeezed her breasts, “you’re always right, daddy!”

“Damn right,” Roman smirked and she felt like he was going to break her completely in two as his thrusts got faster and more violent, and the bed began rocking back and forth under his force.

She opened her mouth to beg him to let her cum, but nothing came out as his large hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly and deliciously around her, choking her so sexily that she came right there.

“That’s right baby girl,” Roman cooed, squeezing her throats harder, “You like getting choked by daddy don’t you? Makes you cum so hard, look at you…”

She could feel the licks of a second orgasm already, and looking into his eyes, she knew she was in for a long night..

Two Minutes

REID X READER – written for a prompt in which the reader gives Reid his first blowjob. Happy reading!

Author: @thebeautifultimesofladybrooklynn

Two Minutes

“Spencer,” (y/n) breathed heavily through their kisses, her fingers tangled in his hair as his hand moved from her cheek to her neck, “Spencer, just, ah, just stay here tonight. Mmm, please.”

Spencer’s eyes opened slightly. Though he continued to kiss (y/n) passionately, the idea of spending the night with her brought as much fear as excitement to him. His brows furrowed, and his labored breathing grew more erratic.

“St-stay with you?” He pulled his lips away from hers long enough to ask the question weakly.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed against his lips.

“Ok,” he spoke faintly as his chest heaved.

Though he had no experience with women, staying with them, or even an understanding of what that might entail, Spencer deepened their kiss, excited at the prospect of learning.

(Y/n) moaned in response, pushing Spencer back onto the bed as she swung her leg over his hips. Moving on top of him, (y/n)’s lips moved from Spencer’s down to his neck. Gasping through his parted lips, Spencer’s hands moved up (y/n)’s back, pushing the fabric of her shirt away as his fingers brushed against her skin.

The sensation of Spencer’s hands on her body fueled the fires of (y/n)’s lust. Her hips began to shift slightly on top of his as the touch she’d dreamt about for the last two months was finally becoming a reality.

“Mmm, Spencer,” she moaned into his neck as she pulled the tender flesh between her teeth.

“(Y/n),” he panted, becoming stiff under her swaying hips. “I don’t, um, ah, god, I, I don’t really know what, ah, what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she breathed as her hand flowed down his chest, over his stomach, and found rest on his groin. “Just lay back and let me take care of you.”

She grinned up at him mischievously as her hand began to caress him through his pants. Spencer, experiencing the lustfully satisfying sensations that rushed from his member through his body for the first time ever, began to breathe more heavily. As pants and soft groans passed through his parted lips, his fingers tightened their hold on (y/n), sinking into her back.

Her free hand worked to release his belt and toss it aside. Still rubbing him through his pants, she unbuttoned his pants, moving her lips to the newly exposed skin.

Spencer gasped when her lips connected with his body just above his boxers. Her fingers wrapped around the band of his pants and boxers, her hands pulling them down slowly in unison as her lips followed them in their downward pursuit.

She brushed her lips across his sensitive tip, stopping to smirk as he writhed beneath her, moaning softly at the faint touch.

“(Y/n),” he panted in aroused anticipation, “Please.”

“Please?” She grinned.

“I need you,” he gasped. Though he was unsure what her mouth would feel like encompassing his anatomy, Spencer’s biology urged him to ask for it, insisted that he beg her. He needed (y/n), his body demanded it.

His needy words pushing her desire for the doctor to the ultimate high, (y/n) hungrily took Spencer into her mouth, using her tongue to massage his shaft as her lips moved along his length.

The sensations caused by her warm, wet mouth forced a low groan from Spencer’s throat, his hands rushing into her hair and gripping it tightly as her head moved.

His hips began to buck slightly and the hasty jerks prompted a soft moan from (y/n). As she hummed over his erection, the vibrations pushed Spencer to inevitably fast orgasm.

“(Y/n), I,” he panted heavily as the pleasure surged through him, “I think I have to–”

His words broke into a moan as he spilled his ecstasy into (y/n)’s mouth, her tongue lapping up each bit of him.

His chest heaved as she released him from her mouth. Crawling back up the bed, (y/n) laid down next to him.

“I’m, I’m sorry that was so, so fast,” Spencer looked embarrassed under his sweaty brows and flushed cheeks.

“Don’t apologize,” she grinned before placing a chaste kiss on his pouty lips.

“That was, that was so amazing, (y/n),” he whispered, rolling over and wrapping his arms around her. “I had no idea it would be that mind blowing.”

“It was only two minutes, Spencer,” she chuckled, “it only gets better from here.”

“I can’t wait,” he smiled, his chest slowing as he drifted into sleep.

“Neither can I,” she bit her lip as she studied the doctor’s handsome face, “neither can I.”

fenrvs  asked:

this is so random but hear me out ILLYRIAN!NESTA GETTING FLYING LESSONS FROM CASSIAN (bc of course his wings will heal... ouch i've hurt myself now.)

OK BUT THE BAT WOULD BE SO EAGER AND EXCITED OF THIS??? he would be so damn happy to fly with his mate and Nesta would be scared shitless, like gripping everything she can find because she is scared of falling just  to look at her idiot who has the biggest smile ever, with his hands outstretched to her and when Nesta takes his hands Cassian is beaming, even if she’s muttering that flying isn’t normal and no one is supposed to have wings.

He brushes his thumb on her hand, not rushing her because he knows the first fly is a very important thing and he’s probably more nervous than she is.

The first few times she just grips Cassian with both arms and legs, not letting go at all of him and hiding her face in his neck. He moves his hands in soothing circles, whispering to her that nothing bad will happen because if she falls he’ll be there to catch her and she slowly, slowly untangles herself and she doesn’t even notice at first, the way her wings start to flap and she’s flying and Cassian is laughing and moves to kiss her, little pecks on her lips while he tells her how proud he is. They take lessons daily until she can keep up with Cassian, and flying together becomes one of their favorite things(they totally do races and the loser gets to do everything the winner say, and Nesta is constantly checking out for Cassian and his reckless diving)