sensing your breath on my skin

Map of the World

Molly can’t understand it.

The bigger her belly gets, the more fascinated Sherlock becomes with it.

The baby was a shock, not something she thought he’d want. When she first told him he’d stared at her for a full five minutes- screen-saver mode, John calls it- and then this beautiful, wide, delighted smile had split his face.

It had almost made him look a different man.

He’d picked her up and spun her around, demented, it seemed, with joy at the thought of her having his child.

He’d dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to her stomach. Listening. Kissing. Crooning. Grinning.

He’d splayed his fingers around her still-flat belly and a love affair had begun. A love affair which grew deeper and more passionate the larger, the rounder she became. 

It seems he loves her bump; the bigger it grows the more it fascinates him.

His devotion is single-minded and ardent- Something which for Molly is both bemusing and surprising in equal measure.

She asks him one night, when she’s sore and tired, and feels the size of a whale, what the big deal is? Why he’s so taken with it, when she often feels it embarrassing and unsightly. When she has to waddle, and she can no longer see her feet, and using the toilet has become a gymnastic event.

For once, he looks at her like she’s mad.

“Your body’s so lovely, Molly,” he tells her. “And now it’s changing, and I get to watch.

What man with sense wouldn’t want to witness that?”

And he leans down, kisses her bare, rounded stomach. Runs his tongue and fingers along the grooves and callouses of her pregnant skin. He calls them rivers and ravines, his tone hushed. Worshipful. They are proof of topography, he says, and of a life lived well. They’re proof that she’s, well, her, and that she’s chosen him.

“My world is here now,” he tells her. “Never doubt it.” He kisses her belly, breathes in her scent. “And you in there, little bean, you never doubt it either.”

Though she feels the size of a planet, Molly can’t help but smile.

So she winds her fingers through his curls and lets his voice lull her to sleep.

Couldn’t Help Myself (Samoa Joe x Reader)

A/N: OK SO I MADE THIS ???? Listen, I’ve been thirsting over Samoa Joe for quite a while, actually, but I had no one to share it with. Now though, after tonight’s RAW, everyone seems to FINALLY GET IT. So, I thought I’d write this to celebrate. I’ve legit never read Samoa Joe fanfiction before, so I have no stand point, just my horny self. I hope you guys enjoy it, I know he’s not for everyone and that’s just fine! Laters! xx

Side note: There are no good Samoa Joe gifs ???? 

Warnings: Slight dom mal/sub female. Swearing, teasing, shy reader. unprotected sex, smut without plot.

Word count: 4108 lolol

Tagging my usuals and some more: @hardcorewwetrash @imagines–assemble @imagineall-the-fandoms @blondekel77 @thiickreigns @m-a-t-91 @valeonmars @littlemissava13 @nuroxic @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @superrezzy00 @momis30 @laochbaineann @alexispoo @taryndbiase @reigns420 @horcruxhunter5972 @xfirespritex @wrestlewriting @heelcharlie @archiveseb @wwefangirl69 @oreillyskyle @gingertalksshit @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @princess3733 @ridingmoxley @panic-angel3314 @wrestlingnoob @sunflowers-and-swear-words @wwe-rollins-lover @baeckyshorsewomen @the-greekgoddess @metabalaba @roaring-storm

Originally posted by totaldivasepisodes

You didn’t know exactly how it happened.

One second, you were talking to this guy at the bar, shyly pushing away his advances; the second, you and him were separated by a large body, your hands clutching to the counter like your life depended on it.

Truth be told, you weren’t particularly upset about being interrupted, seeing as the guy in question had been really insistent and was making things more uncomfortable by the minute. Hell, his innuendos were barely hidden, and you did not enjoy the way his eyes kept ghosting over you like you were nothing but a piece of meat waiting to be bitten into.

You were, however, extremely surprised about who had stepped in.

Samoa Joe, of all people.

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Part Eight // Somebody Else [A Stiles Stilinski Story]

Prompt: Stiles broke her heart and now she can never look at him the same. They remained friends, but she can’t exactly find it in herself to truly forgive Stiles and he doesn’t know how to accept her new relationship with the one person he can’t stand. Overtime, they both eventually got over each other… or have they?

Series (collab with @sarcasticallystilinski): Prologue Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven -

Relationship: Stiles Stilinski x Reader/ Stiles Stilinski x OFC

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral (female on male), Fingering, and Swearing.

Word Count: 2,908

A/N: Well, guys this is it. I know I can speak on behalf of my partner in crime throughout all of this and myself that we are so happy with how much everyone seemed to like this story. We love it so much and to see people actually love it too is amazing. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this finale (also if you haven’t followed @sarcasticallystilinski yet you really should because she’s fucking awesome)!


It was as if the entire world stopped moving around, except for the floor that suddenly shook and fell beneath her feet the moment her eyes landed on his. The same warm honey colored ones, with also a hint of curiosity in them, that never ceased to take her breath away. Stiles stared at her with confusion on his face at her sudden appearance on his doorstep, his heart now beating faster with her here.

All of the thoughts and words she once had planned to confess to him immediately flushed away from her mind and all Katalina could do was gaze in awe at him. The boy who she missed so dearly and wanted back in her life more than anything. The boy who had her completely wrapped around his finger.

“Katalina?” Stiles repeated to the completely still girl with wide eyes as he snapped his fingers in front of her face, hoping to somehow bring her back to the real world. “Hello?”

The snapping seemed to work because the second he did, her mind seemed to function again and she slightly jumped back to life. Shaking her head, Katalina nervously tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“I-I had a whole speech planned. B-But then I saw you again and I-I lost every train of thought I’ve ever had.” She confessed and Stiles’ eyebrows quirked in response.

“I guess I still have lingering effect on you, huh?” He chuckled light-heartedly, scratching the back of his neck.

The comment was just a small and simple remark to make the tension between them a little less awkward but Katalina took it more seriously than Stiles expected.

“Of course you still have an effect on me.” She stated and the pace of his heartbeat increased considerably. “Because sure I can delete your number on my phone and unfriend you on Facebook to try to forget you or even erase photos of us. But, what the hell do I do about your husky voice still ringing in my ears? Or the feeling of your igniting touch lingering on my skin? Tell me, what do I do about all of the memories we share together and the burning image of your breath-taking smile I see every damn time I close my eyes?”

Stiles’ eyes were wide at how much he didn’t expect Katalina’s words. He knew that at one point she loved him but he had no idea that, even after everything, she still loved him with such passion and fire. It made his heart feel warm and a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in years.

“T-That was amazing for someone who forgot their speech.” Stiles stuttered, not knowing how to respond in a non-sarcastic way. “You should really get into improv.”

Katalina let out a sudden laugh and the beautiful sound was music to Stiles’ ears as it mended his broken heart back together. And the gorgeous smile on his face was what put her back together as well. All of the ice that was in both of their wounded hearts was being repaired with warmth which melted away all of the cold.

“Huh, I guess I should.” Katalina giggled.

“I missed the sound of your laugh.” Stiles smiled and a heated blush crept up her cheeks at the confession.

“I missed you.” Katalina pushed loose hair behind her ear and Stiles couldn’t hide the way he swooned.

“You did?”

“How could I not? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more.” She grinned, quoting his own words from the letter he wrote to her.

Stiles’ heart stopped when she did and there isn’t a single doubt in him that his soul is connected to hers and that he only belonged to the beautiful girl standing at his doorstep.

“So, I take it that you read my letter?” Stiles smiled with a blush and Katalina nodded, smiling back at him without second thought.

“I definitely did. And it’s funny because ever since I finished it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She stated. “Which actually made me wonder just how long you’ve been on mind.

"And then it occured to me: Stiles, ever since I met you,” Katalina continued. “You’ve never left.”

The boy whose heart was destroyed and ruined beyond repair felt it come back to life along with the girl whose heart was once mangled and weighing heavily beneath her ribs. The words and confessions they shared with each other took out those shattered hearts, stitched them back up and returned them whole.

“I love you, Stiles Stilinski.” Katalina said the words he has been dying to hear for the longest time. “Always have, always will.”

“If you really think that I’m going to just run back into your arms after everything that happened,” Stiles began to say and Katalina’s face immediately fell, knowing that it couldn’t possibly end well. But, Stiles suddenly placed his finger under her chin and lifted her face to look back up at him. His eyes were warm and he had a soft smile on as he placed his hand against her cheek. “Then, you’re absolutely right.”

Neither one of them needed to say anything else to know that all of the tension, the anger, the hurt and awkwardness between them left both of their bodies to never again return. The two gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes before Stiles glanced down at her lips and Katalina’s breath hitched in her throat at the knowledge of what was about to come. Butterflies made their way into her stomach as Stiles closed his eyes and leaned in closer to her. She shut her own eyes in preparation and a feeling of happiness sparked in her heart the second his soft lips touched hers.

The kiss was calm and smooth, both desperately wanting to show their passion through slow movements. Stiles’ and Katalina’s lips meshed together in an addictive pace, both groaning when they needed to breathe.

“I love you, too.” Stiles breathed, his forehead resting on hers. “And I have to say, you look absolutely beautiful with that sweater on.”

“I had a feeling you’d like it.” She smirked.

“Did you now?”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you like it better if it wasn’t on me anymore?” Katalina grinned, feeling a need to be closer to him than just by their lips touching. “Is your dad home?”

“No.” He smiled. “He’s working the whole night shift.”

“Really?” Katalina smiled back.

“Really. Do you want to come in?” Stiles asked and the young girl felt no need to hold back her smirk.

In a matter of seconds, their mouths crashed together again and this time the kiss was hard and desperate. Stiles, suddenly, pulled her into his house and she let out a laugh at the unexpected move. Once they were both inside, he slammed the door shut  and pulled her lips back on his. He didn’t even wait before lowering his hand from her cheek and placing both of them on her ass.

“Jump.” Stiles commanded with a husky voice and Katalina shivered at just how sexy he was.

She followed his directions and thrusted herself up into his arms, letting out a small yelp when Stiles squeezed her ass. However, she took this opportunity of accidentally breaking their kiss to grab the hem of his lacrosse sweatshirt she was wearing and pull it off her body. Katalina couldn’t find a worry in her bones as she threw it on the floor and Stiles turned them around to walk up the stairs. Their lips were back together and Stiles successfully managed to climb the staircase with Katalina tight in his arms. With every step he took, both teenagers became more and more excited to be joined together again after everything terrible that happened.

Careful not to drop her, one of Stiles’ hands let go of her to open his bedroom door. After they were inside, without breaking their kiss, he put his hand back and closed the door shut with his foot. Katalina’s body bounced on the mattress the second he dropped her on the bed and, with lust rushing in the both of them, Stiles reached behind his back to gab his shirt and yank it off of him. A jolt of desire sparked inside of him at the sight of Katalina biting down on her lip and pulling of the shorts she was wearing. Both pieces of clothing fell on the ground at the same time and Stiles excitedly dropped his sweatpants. His eyebrows quirked when he stepped out of the pants and just as he was about to remove his boxers, Katalina scooched to the edge of the bed and swatted his hands away.

The sight of his bulge straining against his blue underwear and a little wet from his increasing amount of precum was what made Katalina jump into action, completely turned on from how much he was. Stiles’ body shuddered when she lightly played with the dark hair above his briefs before snapping the hem of his boxers against his hips. She pulled it down his legs and audibly moaned when his erection appeared in front of her which made Stiles moan in response.

“You don’t have to-” He began to suggest even though lust was clouding his mind and thoughts.

“Oh, Stiles, I want to.” Katalina interrupted as she wrapped her dominant hand around his base and the other grasped his thigh for stability.

She licked her lips in excitement and Stiles felt as if he would melt from how hot the girl he loved was. The second her warm and wet mouth wrapped around his swollen tip, Stiles couldn’t hold back the animalistic groan that came from deep within him. That exact sound, however, made the amount of wetness already pooling in Katalina’s panties to grow even more. Stiles’ hands made their way into her hair as she gently sucked his head, swirling her tongue on his slit and collecting the salty precum.

“Fuck, Kat.” He moaned, massaging her scalp and making her moan in response. Stiles, suddenly, bucking his hips at the vibration. “That feels so good.”

Katalina removed her hand from his base and placed it on his thigh. Stiles’ eyes rolled to the back of his head and he twitched immediately the second she took all of him in, his tip touching the back of her throat.

Stiles’ grip on her tightened when he couldn’t hold back anymore and thrusted into her mouth, which to be honest, Katalina didn’t even mind. She loves the way his face contorts in complete pleasure and, even though tears are now watering in her eyes at how intense this was, Katalina’s enjoying it just as much as he is.

“O-Okay, stop stop stop.” Stiles groaned, pulling her off of him.

Her lips detached from Stiles’ shaft, a small string of spit taking her place, and she pouted at the sudden loss of contact. Stiles was breathing heavily as he reluctantly opened his eyes and let go of Katalina’s hair. He looked at her and never has she looked more beautiful. Her lips were red and swollen, but her eyes were sparkling up at him.

“I don’t want to cum unless it’s in you.”

“Well, then what are you waiting for?” Katalina smirked, both of their pupils immediately dilating.

Those words snapped something in Stiles like never before and he immediately dove into action. He kicked his boxers completely off of his legs as Katalina backed up on the bed and he gently pushed her down onto the mattress. His lips were back on hers with such need and desperation that their teeth were now clashing as they kissed but neither one of them truly cared enough to stop. Stiles’ hands slid behind her back and unclasped her bra with ease. He broke their kiss to plant wet ones on her skin as he slipped the straps down her shoulders. The bra soon met the rest of their clothes on the floor and Stiles instinctively placed his mouth on one of her breasts.

Stiles’ hand trailed down her body until they reached the hem of her panties and, without even feeling like teasing her since he too desperately wanted more, he pulled it off her legs and dropped them elsewhere. He sucked lightly on her pulse point and the increasing ache in her core was interrupted when he unexpectedly skimmed his middle finger inbetween her soaking wet folds.

“Holy shit.” Stiles moaned and Katalina’s hips bucked from how badly she wanted more friction.

Stiles complied and slipped his middle finger into her warmth, earning a loud and shameless moan from her lips. He gently hooked his finger inside of her and moved against her walls, the delicious feeling stimulating intense pleasure in her which provoked sudden desire for more than just his sexy hands.

“Stiles,” Katalina moaned, her voice breathless as she leans her head back into his pillow. “I need more.”

He thought she meant more of his hands and began to slip another finger inside of her only to be stopped by Katalina’s hand grasping on his wrist. Stiles immediately removed his face from her nipple to look up at her with curious eyes.

“I need more of you.”

Stiles’ erection immediately twitched at her seductive voice and, without missing a single beat, he pulled his fingers out of her and put them into his mouth. Katalina moaned at how sexy he looked and Stiles moaned at how amazing she tasted before he spread her legs further apart and pumped himself a few times at her entrance. Stiles wet himself with her arousal and gazed deep into her eyes when he knew they were both ready.

Katalina’s own warm eyes stared at him as she reached for his free hand and laced it with her own, the small act of tenderness making his heart flutter. With their fingers intertwining together and never breaking their intense but affectionate stare, Stiles carefully slid himself inside of her. Due to how wet and slick she was, moving into her was easy and completely pleasurable. Both of them let out loud moans of appreciation at the fact that they were connected again after everything, but this time in the right way. There was no more guilt, no more pain and no more worries floating over their heads. Stiles and Katalina were finally back where they belonged. They were finally home.

Stiles thrusted into her slowly, feeling no need to make this fast and desperate. He wanted to enjoy every second he had with her and she certainly didn’t complain. The slower Stiles moved, the faster their hearts beat. They both gazed at each other with such love and care in their eyes that Katalina couldn’t hold back the smile on her face. The sight made Stiles’ entire body flood with happiness, the same happiness he hasn’t felt in the longest time.

It’s like what’s said in the 80’s movie they both love so much, St. Elmo’s Fire. “There are several quintessential moments in a man’s life: losing his virginity, getting married, becoming a father, and having the right girl smile at you.” That right girl to Stiles was Katalina and he knew that this image of her smiling up at him adoringly as he made love to her would be burned in his memory forever.

Even though they went slow, the deep thrusting certainly didn’t fail to build up an insane amount of pleasure in them. And before they even knew it, Stiles and Katalina were succumbing to the lust and intense orgasms were crashing down on them with incredible force. Electricity and ecstasy ran through their veins as they cried out each other’s names, her back arching into his chest and her toes curling into the mattress. Stiles’ moans, on the other hand, were muffled when he stuffed his head back into her neck at the same time that his body twitched and released his liquids inside of her heat.

When the pleasure pooling in their bodies was replaced with satisfaction and bliss, Stiles pulled himself out of Katalina and fell beside her on his bed. They were so peaceful from the loving sex they just had that they didn’t even mind the sweat lingering on their skin or the evidence of arousal still on their groins. All they could think about was how in love they were with each other as Stiles wrapped his arms around her naked body and brought Katalina closer into his bare chest. Pushing her damp hair off her face, Stiles left tender kisses on her forehead.

“I’ll never stop loving you, Kat.” He smiled and, even though she was already sleepy, Katalina looked up at him with admiration in her eyes.

“I’ll never stop loving you either, Stiles.”

Stiles leaned in and kissed her deeply, too addicted to her lips to let go. The kiss was so passionate and full of love that it put every other kiss on the planet to shame. Since the invention of the kiss, there have been a few that were rated the most romantic, the most pure. But, this kiss left them all behind.

It didn’t matter how hard Theo or the universe itself tried, these two were inseparable and nothing would ever keep them apart. Even when the odds worked against them, Stiles and Katalina would always find a way back to each other, no matter what.

@alexairwin requested a Disney!Luke imagine!!

I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get this up.

Sorry I’m really bad at making imagines short so this will have two(if not more parts). Anyways, love you guys enjoy.


You hang up the towels that are all thrown around the room, making sure the bed was all made up. All while watching the clock that never seemed to move during your shift.

You hated complaining about your job because when you told people you worked at Disneyland almost everyone thought it was cool. But being a maid at one of the most popular parks in America was quite opposite.

People left their rooms in horrible shape but if everyone cleaned up after themselves you’d be out of a job. You just wish not everyone’s room was so disgusting.

“Oh, um.” Someone says behind you.

You squeal slightly, being caught off guard.

You were so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t hear anyone came in. It’s pretty awkward when someone comes in and you’re cleaning their room.

You twirl around, “I’m so sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”

You cough slightly, still getting over a cold.

The boy who you came face to face with was quite attractive which made you even more embarrassed.

He stared at you, as most people do when they find someone in their room. His blue eyes watching you intensely as you pick up your cleaning supplies.

“So you’re the one who’s been coming in here while I’m gone and making my bed. I thought his place really was magic and was cleaning itself up.” He speaks.

His obvious accent making you curious to find out where he is from. You laugh at his attempt to pull a joke.

He smiles proudly, he thinks you are beautiful . Much too pretty to be a maid. He also wonders how old you are because you barely look old enough to have a job.

“That’s me.” You smile, tucking a piece of hair that had fallen from your braids.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Y/N.” You reply, sniffling a bit, this cold is very persistent.

You can’t afford to stay home even a day. You still live with your parents and work because they would lose their house otherwise.

You liked sticking around to make sure everyone was okay anyways.

“Well I’m Luke. It’s nice to meet you.” You wipe your nose with the cuff of your sleeve. “Are you sick?”

You nod, “Yeah, just the tail end of a cold. I’m okay though.”

Luke watches your mouth as you talk. Your full pink lips mesmerizing him.

“Well then you should be at home resting.” He smiles, still looking at your lips.

“Yeah.” You giggle, glancing down. “Well I’ll see you around.”

You smile at him once more before heading to the next room.

Your day changed after meeting Luke. You had more of a bounce in my step. The day passes quickly and you hoped you would see him again.
The next morning you wake up, still feeling under the weather. This cold is just clinging on.

“You’re needed in 402.” Your boss says without looking up as soon as you walk in.

You sigh, usually if you are needed this early in the morning it’s not pretty.

You grab some basic cleaning things, lots of disinfectant. The closer you get to the room you realize it’s where you had your encounter with Luke.

You really hope he didn’t completely trash the room because because that would completely change you view on him.

You knock on the door and it almost immediately swings open.

Luke’s smiles is bright and he is fully dressed.

“Ah, y/n I was hoping they would send you!” He says.

His blue eyes are soft as he glances at you.

You smile back at him, switching back and forth on your feet awkwardly. “So, did you need me to do something for you?”

He comes to realization that you are just standing in the hallway holding cleaning supplies. He stands to the side motioning for you to come in.

You walk in and the room is clean, cleaner that even you left it yesterday.

“I remember how you were saying- well you said you weren’t feeling well so…” He can’t seem to find the right words so he just motions.

You see a table with tea and a kettle of hot water.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked so I got you chamomile, and earl gray and even some berry kind. I don’t know.” He smiles and you laugh.

“Luke, this is so sweet.” You smile, setting down your cleaning supplies.

What did you do to get this boy to do something like this. You had guests leave nice gifts for you but never anything like this. This was so thoughtful and he was being so sweet.

“I also told them my toilet was acting up so it would probably take you awhile.” Luke scratches the back of his neck.

He pulls out a chair for you, “Please sit down.” He says.

You felt horrible, you didn’t want to leave your coworkers to do all the work while you had tea with a cute boy. Maybe if it were just a couple minutes.

You sit in the chair and he nicely pushes his chair in.

You decide minty tea sounds nice. The water is so warm it soothes your throat.

Luke pours himself a cup as well.

“So where are you from?” You make conversation.

Accents have always intrigued you, you loved knowing where people were from. Probably because you’ve always wanted to get out of California, even America.

“Australia. I’m here with some mates on a holiday.” He says.

You nod, a vacation sounds nice but out of everywhere they could have gone why here?

“Are you having fun? Why aren’t you out enjoying the rides while you can?” You ask him.

It is still early morning but the rides opened over an hour ago. Instead of going out on a nice day he is sitting with you instead.

“I just was thinking about how you weren’t feeling well and I hate working when I’m sick.” He shrugs.

You two talked yesterday afternoon. You would have thought he’d forgotten all about it.

He makes conversation by asking about your favorite rides and if you come here with your family much.

You don’t go into detail but your parents don’t have much money to spend on stuff like Disneyland. Sure you get a good discount working here but even that’s too much.

He seems to want to talk about you, asking you about your favorite animal and color. He wanted to know what you did for fun and other fun places to do around California.

You were having such a good conversation by the time you came to your senses and looked at the clock an hour had passed. You stumble to your feet.

“Oh my. I have to go.” You scramble to gather all of your cleaning supplies you arrived with. “Thank you so much, Luke. You are very thoughtful.”

He stands to his feet to see you off.

“Wait.” He says as you are halfway out the door.

He puts his hand on your arm and you look down at it. His warm hand tingling on your skin.

You glance up at his face and the electric blue of his eyes is just sunning, it almost takes your breath away.

“I-i want to see you again.” He stutters, looking down at the ground as he confesses.

It is then you realize how good looking he his. His long hair is curly and is pushed back out of his eyes. He has magnificent eyebrows and his lips are so full and pink.

A smile crosses your features, you are still in such amazement you’ve caught the attention of this beautiful boy.

“I get off at 5. I’ll meet you here.” You say before slipping from him grip and out the door.

I want you to wake with me
In the place where salt air
Floats through our open window
And soaks into our thirsty skin

The place where our minds
Are as tangled together
As our bodies
Beneath the worn sheets
Where I find refuge in 
The tremble of your breath
Against mine 

I want you to wake with me 
In the place where clocks
Do not exist, and time
Steals naught away 

The place where fear
Loses grip on my heart
With each moment 
Your ravenous hands
Take grip of my flesh 
No longer falling away
But complete

I want you to wake with me 
In the place where the pieces
Of our glorious madness
At once make perfect sense

The place where you
Will trace gentle lines
Over the scars I hide
And I will kiss healing
Into the wounds you deny
And our skin will weep
No more

I want you to wake with me
In the place we will never leave
And here we will make our home
Here we will stay.

~ © Kathy Parker ~

Image courtesy of


Title: Broken - If It Can Bleed Part One

Characters/Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader (next part), Sam, Cas (one line, though he’s not seen.)

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: Blood, reader is badly injured, implied violence, maybe a swear word or two.

Series Summary: The reader is a genetically enhanced assassin who’s on the run from her creator, but what will happen when she get’s taken back to the bunker by Sam and Dean? Or falls for one of the Winchesters…

Author’s Note: Okay guys, this is part one of that assassin story I told you about! I’m not 100% sure how long it will be at this point but right now my guess is around 7 parts, not too long, not too short, and I hope you guys are as excited about it as I am! If you want to get tagged in the following parts of this please send me an Ask or add yourself to This List. Feedback is always appreciated, and enjoy!

If you would like to read any of my other fics please check out my Masterlist!

*Gif is not mine, all gifs used on my blog are from Google Images.*

     Light streamed in the in through the glass your cheek was currently pressed against, stinging your eyes in the seconds you managed to keep them from falling shut again and warming your sticky, blood-covered skin. It took you all of one shuttering, raw breath to remember what had happened - the fists and claws, the panic and pain. They’d found you.

     Recognition surged through your thoughts as your heightened sense of hearing picked up on the powerful engine of the vehicle you were in, speeding down the road surely faster than what was legal. You were being taken somewhere - you were being taken back to her. No. You couldn’t allow that, you couldn’t go back.

     Not now, not ever.

     You didn’t have time to formulate a solid plan, didn’t even stop to think about the extent of your injuries and whether or not you were even capable of executing one, and flew solely on fear and the guttural need to get away from the people holding you captive. So with what sorry bit of strength you had left you fumbled for the seatbelt pressing in on your slashed chest, curled your hand under the seat to let your claws discreetly slid free, and then –

     “How much longer ‘till we get to the hospital?”

     You paused at the unfamiliar voice.

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Etched In Ink- An Ivar Imagine

So this is what I wrote yesterday instead of attending to my responsibilities. I’ve been wanting to write this idea for a while, hope you enjoy!

TW: blood, knife play, tattooing with a needle

“Are you sure about this?”

Ivar rolls his eyes, spreading out his tools on the long, well worn table. “I have told you already, woman, I’ve seen it done many times. It does not appear all that difficult.”

You fidget nervously with the neckline of your dress, watching your lover wipe down a very long and very sharp needle. You shiver.

“Yes, but you’ve never actually done it before,” you point out, your voice laced with anxiety. “What if you make a mistake? What if you tap too hard and accidentally kill me? What if-”

Ivar cuts you off with a soft growl. “You said you wanted a tattoo. I said I wanted to be the one to give it to you. Here we are. Are you going to get up on the table or not?”

He gives you a hard look, his beautiful blue eyes burning into your skin. You sigh. You do really want a tattoo. And you trust your body with your lover implicitly. He has taken perfect and reverent care of it since you first offered it to him. So you cross the room and climb up onto the table.

“That’s my good, sweet girl,” he praises you as you lie down. He glides a hand over your face and down your neck, touch light as a feather. You can feel the familiar flush creep up your body as he expertly unties the front laces of your dress. He pushes the fabric down to reveal the skin right over your heart. One calloused finger circles the area, brushing over the top of your left breast teasingly. Shivers shoot down your spine.

“Are you going to tattoo me, or just grope me?” You ask, your voice coming out more breathy that it should. He chuckles darkly, hand covering your breast and squeezing roughly. You shoot him a glare, even though you are half tempted to forget the tattooing and make him put his hand in other places.

“What is if that you want? You never did say,” He asks, removing his hand to prepare the needle.

“A Vegvisir,” you say, and watch as his brow furrows in confusion.

“You want a compass?”

“Yes,” you nod, firm in your decision. “And I will tell you why after this infernal process is over.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you wish.” He looks at the patch of skin again. “I think I will have to lay out a pattern first, so I have something to work off of.” He reaches down to his belt and pulls out his knife. “I will just carve it lightly into your skin with this.” A smirk blooms across his face. “This at least you are well acquainted with.”

Are you ever. Ivar loves to use his knife on you when you are alone and nestled under the furs. He also loves to have it used on him in return. It’s not something you would have foreseen yourself enjoying, but Ivar has a way of drawing out the deepest and darkest parts of you and twisting them to your mutual pleasure.

“Hold still, sweet girl,” he places the blade against your skin, the coolness of the metal familiar and a little thrilling. You wince slightly as he makes the first shallow cut, his brows drawn together in concentration.

“You know, you may have to be more careful with the marks you leave on me,” you try your best to keep perfectly still. “Yesterday the new slave girl who helped me bathe asked if I’d been bitten by a wild animal.”

He continues working but his face splits into a feral grin, no doubt picturing the very red and fresh bite mark he’d left on your inner right thigh the other night. “What did you tell her?”

It’s your turn to grin. “I said yes.”

That makes him bark out a laugh, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners in the way you love. “Naughty thing,” he teases.

It doesn’t take him long to carve out the design. Before you know it he is putting down his knife and leaning forward to press his face into your chest. You suck in a breath, waiting for what you know is coming. Ivar does not wipe away blood. At least not with his hands.

The first stroke of his velvety tongue has you sighing in bliss. The warmth and wet feels wonderful on the sting of the shallow cuts. He licks in long, slow strokes, pausing every once and a while to let out a soft groan of pleasure. You melt to a languid liquid under his ministrations, your bones becoming soft and pliant and ready to bend to his complete will.

He pulls back all too soon, licking his lips like a cat who ate the cream. You watch the last of your crimson blood disappear into his mouth, unable to help but squirm as heat creeps up your spine. Ivar notices, and chides you gently with a wicked smile.

“Not yet, sweet girl,” he coos, picking up the ink and the dye. “Afterwards, if you are very good and keep very still, I will reward you. Now, I must get to work, or we will be here all night.”

You huff in frustration but attempt to calm your body. After all, you do really want this tattoo. You can be patient.

You watch him place the ready needle against your skin. A stab of fear runs trough you. It’s silly really, you’ve had his blade on you more time than you can count and you’ve never felt anything but excitement. This shouldn’t be much different. Except if he makes a mistake, you’ll have to walk around with it on your body for the rest of your life.

Ivar does not coddle you as he senses your fear, however. He simply gives you a broad wink, and taps the needle into your skin.

It hurts, but not as much as you thought it would. It feels like being stabbed with a million little tiny knives, over and over again. Painful, but not unbearable. You decide to focus on Ivar’s face, letting your eyes linger on every handsome feature. The stormy blue eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the soft, pouty lips, the strong jaw. A face you have come to love more dearly than you could have even imagined. You think of the meaning of the ink he is currently etching in to your skin and you feel your heart swell. You hope he will like the symbolism of your tattoo.

You lie on the table for what feels like forever. Ivar barely says anything, his face a mask of concentration. You’d given up trying to talk to him after he’d snapped at you to shut up and let him work. You have tried your best to keep still but you find yourself squirming more than once. Each time, Ivar had hissed through his teeth and you had quickly stilled. But you’d been here for ages. If you were on this table much longer, you’d go mad.

“There,” Ivar says finally, pulling away and removing the needle from your skin. “I think I am finished.”

“How does it look?” You ask anxiously, craning your neck to try to get a glimpse of the ink now permenantly a part of you. Ivar reaches behind him and produces a piece of reflective glass Bjorn had procured on his latest Mediterranean raid. You sit up slowly, wincing at the ache in your chest.

“See for yourself,” he hands you the glass, a self satisfied look on his face. You take it from him, taking a deep breath before looking. You let out a surprised gasp.

It’s beautiful. Pure, midnight black lines, perfectly etched. The shape is even, everything is in its proper place. You smile as you admire it. You had to say, your lover had done an amazing job.

“I love it,” you turn your gaze to Ivar, who gives you a genuine smile in return. “Thank you, Ivar. It’s beautiful.”

“I told you it would be fine,” he takes the reflective glass from you, putting it back where he took it from. “Now will you tell me why you chose a Vegvisir?”

You reach out and take his broad hand. It completely envelops yours, strong, deft fingers covering your own.

“A Vegvisir is a compass, a magical symbol made to help one find their way through rough weather,” you squeeze his hand, suddenly feeling nervous. “You are my compass, my guide through the rough weather. When I touch or see this tattoo, I will be reminded that though life will have storms, as long as I have you, I can get through them.”

You meet his eyes, and the honest surprise and almost child-like hope in them make your heart ache. You have told Ivar you love him before, but from the way he is looking at you now it seems like there was a part of him that never really believed you. Now, with your love for him permanently on your body, he maybe can finally understand and accept the depth of your emotions.

“I am your compass, your way through the storm,” he breathes, his other hand reaching out to gently brush the tender inked area. “I am on your body, in ink and blood.”

You bring the hand holding your own to your lips, kissing his weathered knuckles. “Yes, Ivar. For always.”

His hands are then cradling your face, his breath fanning across your skin as he leans in.

“My sweet girl,” he sighs, “do you even know how perfect you are?”

And then his mouth is devouring yours, tongue hot against your own as he kisses you like a man starving for it. You kiss back eagerly, though with you on the table and him seated beside it’s an awkward angle. But you do not care. You can only think, feel, and taste Ivar. He invades every one of your senses, sinking into your very flesh like the midnight ink shining on your chest. Every fibre of your being cries out for him, and you find yourself whimpering desperately against his lips.

He pulls away, his face once again in the array of arrogant confidence you are used to. “Such a good girl you were under the needle,” he purrs, and you whimper again as his hands slide down to your waist. “You stayed very still for me. I think my sweet girl deserves her reward now, don’t you?”

You can only nod, following his impatient hands as he tugs you off the table and on to his lap. His hungry mouth finds your neck, sucking greedily at the tender flesh. You wriggle against him, the ache from the tattoo being replaced with an ache of a totally different kind.

“Suppose I should get a tattoo for you now,” he groans into your neck as you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders. “Maybe you could even give it to me. Odin above, the thought of you pushing a sharp needle through my skin over and over…” he breaks off with a violent shudder.

You smirk, reaching for his knife still laying upon the table. “Why don’t you let me practice then?” You run the tip of the blade over the shell of his ear, delighting in the animalistic growl that tears from his throat.

“I am supposed to be rewarding you,” his teeth nip harshly at your pulse point. You grab a hold of his luscious hair and pull his head back so you can look into his lust glazed eyes. You trace his parted lips with the knife, and his eyes go almost completely black.

“Oh honey,” you coo, excitement and lust and passion boiling hotly in your veins, “to have you in any way is a reward to me. Now be a good boy and beg.”

Another feral growl, and his hands tighten eagerly on your waist. His head bows slightly, his eyes look down at the floor. He says nothing, but the beginning of his submission has started. It’s rare he lets you take the reins, and you feel like your need for him is about to burst out of your skin.

You grin, your new tattoo throbbing in time with your racing pulse.

This was going to be one hell of a good reward.

Happy Monday, sister wives! ❤️❤️


When Klaus wanted something, he most usually always got it. In this case, he took a particular interest in you. For what reason? You hadn’t figured it out yet. But Klaus slowly but surely started to grow on you. However what was completely unexpected was having two Mikaelson brothers fighting for your affection.

Never did you imagine that Kol Mikaelson would so boldly announce, without fear or hesitation that he too fancied you. That’s what you found out one late night at the compound when Klaus assisted you stay over.

Walking through the complex, it was about 11pm. You couldn’t sleep and wanted to venture around the house to see what else it had to offer. Tightening the robe, which was left by Klaus around your frame, you continued down a flight of stairs just in time to run into Kol.

Kol caught you before there was any chance of a fall, steadying your blance in the process. “I’m so sorry Kol, I didn’t mean to literally run into you”. Going slightly red in the cheeks.

All he did was smirk, “You can ran into me anytime you want darling. Although I am surprised to see you roaming around the compound, instead of being safety nested in Niklaus arms”.

A second wave of turning red occurred, shifting from left foot to right. You weren’t so used to people being so directed. And Kol certainly didn’t shy away from being forward, after all it was in his nature.

“I couldn’t sleep, plus I wanted to see what else the Mikaeslon compound had to offer“. You told the tall brunette vampire, who’s stare was glued to you.

Kol rested his left hand on the stair railing, effectively blocking you in. “My room is always open for inspection, don’t hesitate to come and visit love. I’ll be more than happy to show you a night you wouldn’t forget”.

“I’m not too sure Klaus would approve of that”, muttering to him while stepping around him. He quickly stood in front of you once more.

His eyes turned a darker shade, you couldn’t tell which emotions were swirling but there was definitely a mixture of lust and a small hint of angry. “Ah yes, Niklaus and his rules. According to my brother, you’re off limits. Please don’t test me”.

Frowning at his last statement, “Are you threatening me?”. You asked quite stunned.

He stepped forward, the feeling of his breath hitting your skin causing goosebumps. “No, darling. I’m actually quite offended you jumped straight to that accusation. Niklaus might have warned us that you’re only his, but I don’t give a damn what my brother says…not when it comes to you anyway”.

Still confused, Kol was being very vague. He sensed the confusion and smiled, pushing a piece of hair away from your face. “I’m saying I fancy you Y/N, quite intrigued by you actually. And I do plan to fight for your heart”. His finger traced over your lips, causing your heart to skip one massive beat. Kol leaned in so close, lips merely inches apart. “May the best brother win”, he gently whispered before leaving you in the empty hallway.

Bringing a finger to your lips, the tingling sensation was still there….lingering. Oh, what a dangerous situation this was going to turn out to be. Brother against brother fighting for one women, that story never ended well.


I never do anything halfway. No matter the activity, I feel the need to put my entire heart and soul into it.

Of course it makes sense that this would apply to how I love you. Because there’s honestly no feasible way to half do that. How could I only be partially infatuated with your breath-taking grin, or your gorgeous hazel eyes? It’s not possible for me to incompletely adore your sense of humor and the freckles that decorate your skin like constellations. I can’t just partially acknowledge that you look at me like I’m different in a good way, or how damn kissable your lips appear. To not love you in full is a foreign concept to me, and I can assure you it’s not one I’ll ever try out. You deserve the world sweetheart, and I intend to give you every bit of love I can.

anonymous asked:

Can you post one of the more kinky scenes? Asking for a friend.

Oh well, if you’re asking for a friend anon, I would hate to let them down…

I stopped dead at the top of the staircase. A man stood at the foot of the stair, a silhouette tall and black against the panes of the double French doors. I didn’t think I had made any sound, but he turned at once, face lifted toward me. Even in the poor light, I knew at once that it was Jamie. 

He was still clad in the clothes he had worn the night before—coat and waistcoat, frilled shirt and buckled breeches. The shirt was open at the neck, though, coat and weskit unbuttoned and askew. I could see the narrow line of white linen, the flesh of his throat dark against it. His hair was loose; he had been running his hands through it. 

“Come down,” he said softly. 

I hesitated, looking back over my shoulder. A ladylike medley of snores came from the room I had just left. Two slaves were sleeping on the floor in the hall, curled under blankets, but neither moved. 

I looked back. He didn’t speak again, but lifted two fingers, beckoning. The scent of smoke and whisky filled the stairwell. 

The blood was thrumming in my ears—and elsewhere. My face was flushed, my hair damp at the temples and on my neck; cool air rose up under my shift, touched the patch of dampness at the base of my spine, the film of slickness where my thighs brushed together. 

I came down slowly, cautiously, trying not to let the stairs creak under my bare feet. It occurred to me belatedly that this was ridiculous; the slaves thundered up and down these stairs hundreds of times a day. Even so, I felt the need for secrecy; the house was still asleep, and the stairwell was filled with a gray light that seemed as fragile as smoked glass. A sudden sound, a move too quick, and something might explode under my feet, with a flash like a lightbulb popping. 

His eyes stayed fixed on me, dark triangles in the paler dark of his face. He stared at me with a fierce intensity, as though to drag me down the stairs by the force of his gaze alone. 

I stopped, one step from the bottom. There was no blood on his clothes; thank God for that. 

It wasn’t that I’d never seen Jamie drunk before. No wonder he hadn’t come up the stairs to me. I thought he was very drunk now, and yet there was something quite different in this. He stood rock-solid, legs set wide, betrayed only by a certain deliberation in the way he moved his head to look at me. 

“What—” I began, whispering. 

“Come here,” he said. His voice was low, rough with sleeplessness and whisky. 

I hadn’t time either to reply or to acquiesce; he seized my arm and pulled me toward him, then swept me off the last step, crushed me to him, and kissed me. It was a most disconcerting kiss—as though his mouth knew mine all too well, and would compel my pleasure, regardless of my desires. 

His hair smelled of a long night’s smoke—tobacco and woodsmoke and the smoke of beeswax candles. He tasted so strongly of whisky that I felt light-headed, as though the alcohol in his blood were seeping into mine through our skins where they touched, through the sealed membranes of our mouths. Something else was seeping into me from him, as well—a sense of overpowering lust, as blind as it was dangerous. 

I wanted to remonstrate with him, to push him away. Then I decided that I didn’t, but it wouldn’t have made any difference if I had. He didn’t mean to let go. 

One big hand was gripping the back of my neck, warm and hard on my skin, and I thought of a stallion’s teeth closing on the neck of the mare he mounts, and shivered from scalp to sole. His thumb accidentally pressed the great artery under my jaw; darkness swam behind my eyes and my knees began to buckle. He felt it and let go, easing me back so that I was almost lying prone upon the stairs, his weight half on me and his hands seeking. 

I was naked under my shift, and the thin muslin might as well not have been there. 

The hard edge of a stair pressed into my back, and it occurred to me, in the dim way that things do when you’re drunk, that he was just about to take me right there on the stairs, and devil take anyone who might see. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Draco snoring like cat with flu I cannot oohh <3 Draco what about Harry's sleeping habits?

Draco: Oh, where do I start?

Harry: Here we go.

Draco: It’s like sleeping next to the giant squid—

Harry: That makes no sense, how would the squid sleep on a bed out of water?

Draco: He literally crushes me; I wake up sometimes and realise I haven’t breathed in hours

Harry: That’s impossible, you wouldn’t wake up in that case, you’d be dead–

Draco: And he’s hotter than a bloody furnace–

Harry: *wide grin* Thanks!

Draco: *eye-roll* And don’t even get me started on the stubble–!

Harry: You know, nobody’s actually getting you started on anything?

Draco: It’s always poking me! The skin on my neck is chafed all the time because of his bloody, poky stubble!

Harry: *casually* Just on your neck?

Draco: *turning pink* Harry, don’t you dare–

Harry: *mischievous* Nowhere further south?

Draco: *lunging forward to slap his mouth shut* HARRY, NO!

Red Wine

Co-written with @yesbocchan!   

“Malfoy? Hey, are you listening?”

That couldn’t be. Draco’s thoughts were so insistent that he couldn’t pay attention to a single word Robards was saying, even if the man were the most interesting in the room – which he obviously wasn’t.

Potter, that bastard, was not only the most interesting, but apparently the hottest too. Instead of what Draco was used to seeing, Potter wearing those horrendous band t-shirts and baggy jeans, now his auror partner stood in front of everyone – all those hateful people that already drooled over him on a daily basis – in fit trousers and a white shirt. Trousers that Draco could recognise from that distance as being from the same tailor his mother always frequented and a shirt… a silk shirt that contrasted with his tanned skin in a way Draco was sure should be forbidden. 


“What is it?” Draco retorted, abruptly, realising too late who he was talking to. His chief, however, didn’t seem to mind all that much about Draco’s response as soon as he spotted Harry by the door. He waved, a ridiculous devoted expression that made Draco roll his eyes. 

“Sir,” Potter nodded once, his eyes glued on Draco’s full of expectation. Robards was already talking again, pushing a glass of red wine in Harry’s hand without even bothering to offer one to Draco. He did his best not to roll his eyes again when Potter downed the whole thing in one go. The glass refilled itself as soon as Harry lowered it, which Draco thought wasn’t such a good thing since Potter was inclined to drink a lot when he could. Just like he’d predicted, Potter drank the second dose without giving it much thought.   

“… and Malfoy here seems to think you look quite good too,” Robards’ voice came to Draco’s ears. Draco was thankful that he wasn’t drinking, or he would’ve most certainly chocked. Potter didn’t have that much luck. Draco almost saw it happen in slow motion. Potter’s glass tipped over a bit, as he coughed and bent forwards… then the disaster: the glass hit Harry’s immaculate shirt, spilling its contents all over it and making it stick to Potter’s skin. Draco could make out every single muscle, perhaps even some scars and veins. The red of the wine against the stark white of the shirt made it look like a murder scene, Draco thought vaguely, then a hissed “shit” snapped him back into focus.

“Potter, you idiot,” he automatically said, stepping closer to inspect the damage. As he took the soaked tissue between his thumb and forefinger, Potter cleared his throat meaningfully, prompting Draco to jump back, heat rushing to his cheeks. That was when he noticed the whole hall had gone silent… and they were all staring. Not at Draco’s little domestic show, however, but at Harry’s lean figure that could now be admired by every single person under the transparency of his shirt. Something in Draco’s brain started to boil at that realisation and he felt himself – rather than decided to – spin towards Harry again, grab him by his forearm and drag him out of the hall. 

“I suppose that I should apologise?” 

Draco didn’t have to look at Potter to understand he was being mocked. He kept facing forward, guiding them towards the nearest elevator and pushing the button without chancing a look back. The smell of wine invaded his nostrils, the sound of tiny drops hitting the marble ringing in his ears in the dead silence. He clicked his tongue involuntarily, finally looking at Potter. An obvious mistake. From where he stood, under the well illuminated hall, he could see details that he hadn’t spotted before. Potter’s dark pointing nipples poking the stained fabric, glued sinfully against his pectorals, the line of his abs distinguishable just like his defined six pack. The dark liquid had reached the hem of his shirt, wrinkling the drenched piece until drops rolled down his pants and towards the floor. Merlin, that explained why everyone had been eating him with their eyes. A ding indicated the arrival of the elevator, snapping Draco out of his daze. His eyes met Potter’s briefly, grey ones melting into green ones full of something he couldn’t name, before turning around again and getting inside. 

“You’re making a mess with this, hold the hem up so it won’t dirt my floor.” Draco’s words came out harsher than he’d planned. He gulped, uncomfortable with his suddenly dry throat. Fuck, he felt his whole body hot. Potter just hummed beside him, rolling his eyes even though Draco couldn’t see. The elevator stopped on their floor, the heavy doors opening to a long corridor filled with portraits, most of them of sleeping wizards, on the high walls. Draco walked up to his office in silence, not daring a glance back at Potter. The moment the door closed behind them, though, Draco was all over Harry, his fingers skilfully unbuttoning the ruined shirt without much care as to avoid touching the other’s skin. “You’re so reckless, this is high quality silk, you careless bastard… and Cabernet Sauvignon! Such a waste on a mannerless brute like you, how can you drop a whole glass of… ” A firm hand stopped him suddenly, the heat radiating through Potter’s palm to Draco’s bicep where it held him in place. He darted his eyes up to find the shirt gone, thrown in the closest bin, one of his hands frozen in the air and the other holding Potter’s belt possessively. At first Draco considered running away, the heat already creeping up his face, but then Potter smirked at him, placing his other hand tentatively on Draco’s waist. 

“This is unfair,” Harry murmured, the very short distance between them doing things to Draco’s mind. 

“What is?” Draco found himself answering, placing his free hand on Potter’s shoulder unthinkingly.

 “I’m the only one getting naked,” replied Harry. Draco gaped, his mind short-circuiting when the realisation hit him. Harry wanted him, he wanted him to do it, undress him and… a low chuckle brought him back to reality, Harry’s blown pupils staring at his neck, his lips forming a wicked grin. “Merlin, look at you… ” he traced Draco’s jugular with a finger, admiring how the skin of his cheeks and neck were tinged red. “Are you that turned on?” 

Draco could sense when he was being made fun of, especially by Potter. He turned towards the door, cheeks burning. “You can do this on your own,” he mumbled, holding out a hand to grab the door handle, but a warm palm on his arm stopped him. 

“It’s no fun of my own,” breathed Potter, dangerously close to his right ear. Then Draco was being spun around and pushed against the desk, all in one fluid movement. The next thing he knew, Potter’s lips where on his, hot and hungry, tasting of wine, his tongue expertly sliding against Draco’s, tearing a low moan from him. Potter’s wet torso collided with Draco’s, but he couldn’t care less, as soon as Potter kept rocking against him like that… then Potter’s lips parted from his suddenly, leaving Draco in a blissful daze, eyes still closed.

“Do you like Chinese?” whispered Potter. 

“Yes, Potter, I like Chinese,” chuckled Draco, amused by Harry’s not-so-smooth invitation. 

“Harry, my name is Harry.”

“Harry,” Draco tried out the sound like he’d just discovered a new word and he felt Harry shiver against him. “Do you like it when I say your name, Harry?” purred Draco, brushing his mouth on Harry’s earlobe.

“Yes, Draco,” moaned Harry, rotating his hips. 

A squirm escaped Draco’s lips.“I think we should get out of here, before I take you on this very desk,” he said, grudgingly. 

“I’m not opposed to the idea,” was Harry’s reply, his mouth on Draco’s once more.

What do you say, tumblr, should we write more?

Like Father, Like Son

TITLE: Like father, like son.


AUTHOR: greeneyedgirls4


Iris and Loki have been friends since childhood. One drunken mistake leads to her getting pregnant and the end of their friendship. When Iris tells Loki it doesn’t sit well but what she doesn’t know is a complicated chain of events have already begun.

RATING: General

NOTES/WARNINGS: No warnings. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is always welcome :) Sorry if this isn’t my best work but my cousin’s wife was in labour while I was writing this so I was a bit worried for her.. I do have a healthy little second cousin called Archie now though. 

Iris steps into Loki’s room. The large wooden door already open.. like he had been expecting her. The last time she was here that door was pressed against her back as Loki kissed her passionately. A few drinks too many, a one night stand and a friendship ruined was all that was left of her life now. She knew her first time may have consequences but she never thought this would happen.. after all Loki is the master of magic.

She sits on the edge of the bed. The thick mattress welcoming her. The green and black room had hints of gold under the candlelight. A large fire roars in the corner when the bathroom door opens.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I love your writing, I love fluff, but for this ask, consider: angst. Reader dying on Kylo Ren's arms after he killed her like he did to his dad type of angst.

Words: 1.6k +

Warnings: Angst, Death

x Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god 

// Masterlist //


You walked up to him. Slowly. Your heart thudded against your chest, and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. 

He was right there. You could see him. Ben….

His name echoed in your head. You remembered the times that you were kids. Fighting with sticks, chasing after each other. You and Ben had been best friends. You two went to the Jedi academy together… Before you knew it, you both had grown closer than you thought you would. You remember the day Ben left… The day Ben was replaced by Kylo Ren. But you still couldn’t get it out of your head that he was still there. There was still hope. 

“Ben-” You called out. Though your voice was quiet, barely audible to even yourself, Kylo turned around. You could feel the atmosphere around you tighten.Your connection tying you two together. You felt drawn to him as if he was physically pulling you. But you stood your ground. 

Y/N.” Your name lingered on his lips, and you felt a shiver run through your whole body. His voice was muffled by his helmet, but you could still hear the remnants of your Ben. 

You had snuck into the Star Killer Base as the Resistance fighters attempted to break its shields. Moving stealthily through the halls, your connection to Ben leading the way. Sure enough, there he was. No matter how much you wanted to see him, how much you wanted to help him, nothing could have prepared you for seeing him again. After he spared you that stormy night, with the rest of your friends and Luke’s Padawans lying dead around you. The night that you believed that you had truly lost him. 

Following a few moments of dead silence, you began to walk up to him. Your footsteps loud through the deafening silence. Kylo stood firmly, his shoulders strong. But the closer you got, you noticed him take a step backward.

“Take off that helmet.” 

“Why?” He shot back. You nearly cried out for him to listen to you. But you held back your emotion. 

“Because… You don’t need it. Not with me.” Despite your words, you didn’t think he would listen to you. You thought he had no reason to. You almost hoped he didn’t. That way you knew that all this time… Ben wasn’t still there. That way you’d know that there was nothing you could have done that night to stop him.

Kylo, then, letting a heavy breath, reached up with gloved hands. Unlatching the harsh sound of metal, and bringing his helmet to his side, before letting it fall to the ground. The sound of it hitting the ground shocked you. The sharp thud ringing in your ears and nearly making you jump. Kylo looked down at it, and then back at you. 

You found that his eyes were filled with pain, darkness. His lips still plump, a light shade of pink. You remembered the first time he had kissed you. Pushing you against the grass on the field of the Jedi Academy. It was a long kiss, his tongue moving against your gums, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. For countless seconds, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You felt the same now, only, you yearned to feel him under your touch. You yearned to feel Ben’s lips against yours once more.  Though his face was older, more mature,  his hair was longer, now down to his shoulders… Your stomach tightened, and you blinked. You had painted an image of him in your head, completely different than the boy that had left you in the ruins of his making. But in front of you, stood a man. Grown from the ashes of your memories, fighting against himself. You took a step closer, but this time, Kylo didn’t move back. Instead, you noticed him hunch over slightly as if trying to move closer. His broad stature looming over you. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice was thick and beginning to waver. 

“I’m here to take you home… Ben-Please come back-”

“Ben is gone.” 

You clenched your jaw and then shot forward. Kylo’s face was now so close that you two were nearly touching. “No… He’s not. I can feel him.” 

Reaching up, you shakily placed your hand on Kylo’s chest. He closed his eyes, and you noticed that when he opened them again, they were full of tears. He intertwined your hands, still holding yours to his chest. His heartbeat was quick, racing beneath your fingertips. 

“It’s too late…” 

“No… It’s not. Come back.” 

“Snoke… He can sense my weakness…” Kylo then shook his head slightly, and you cocked your head to the side, slightly. You could feel his pain. It radiated off of him, and you felt an ache in your chest. “I know what I have to do.” 

“Ben-Let me help you.” You then reached up with your other hand, cupping his cheek, and bringing his face down to yours. You could feel his breath on your skin. You fought the urge to kiss him right then and there. “Snoke is using you. You know it. When he’s finished with you, with your powers, he’s going to crush you.” Kylo looked down at you, and then pressed his lips together before closing his eyes. 

He didn’t say anything but instead answered you with an eager kiss. His lips were soft, gentle. But desperate in the way he found himself savoring every moment. You could taste his sorrows, his confliction on his tongue. A moan escaped your lips, and Kylo brought your closer. With your faces pressed together, you could feel the wetness of his cheeks. Tears still streamed down his face. 

Murmuring, “Anything?…” You then answered with the same, single, word, that proved to have more meaning that anything else you could have said.


As you two kissed, you furrowed your eyebrows, feeling as Kylo moved his hand to his belt, unhooking his lightsaber, and placing it in your hands. You looked down at it, noticing that Kylo didn’t let go of it. You tightened your grip on the hilt and looked down with concerned eyes. 

As Kylo’s fingers grabbed the hilt next to yours, you moved your gaze from the deactivated lightsaber to Kylo’s hardening face. You knew what Snoke wanted him to do it. The question was whether or not he would. Despite you knowing that he had no choice, fear still left a coldness in your stomach, one of which left you aching, your jaw clenched and sadness running through your heart.

With one swift movement, you then felt a burning ache in your stomach. Replacing the coldness of fear. Staring down, red sparks flew off Kylo’s lightsaber, and as soon as he had ignited it, he pulled the blazing spear from your torn wound. Kylo put his lightsaber back to its rightful place. The heaviness pressing into his hip. 

Falling forward, you clutched at him, the fabric of his black clothes rough against your weak hands. He nuzzled his face in your neck, letting you fall heavily into his lap. He went to his knees, holding you tightly against him. The blood that seeped from your partly-cauterized-wound soaked through your robes, pooling around you. Smearing onto Kylo’s clothes. 

As you looked up at him, you saw the light surface in his eyes, and a small smile appeared on your lips. Ben was still there. You could feel him. The familiar touch of your best friend, of your first love spreading warmth through your weakening body. 

Feeling yourself drifting farther away, Kylo’s touch was now gentle, hesitant. His mouth slightly parted as he became shaken with the feeling of shock. You lifted your hand to his face, caressing the outline of his cheekbones, of the corner of his mouth one more time, before letting your eyes fall shut, and your hand then fell to your side. Everything seemed more clear than before. That as long as you were alive, Ben wouldn’t be able to come back. You were his weakness. You were the source of his conflict. Your death would be his push. And you were willing to die for him. For Ben. You were willing to be his pull to the light.

Instead of growing stronger, instead of eliminating his weakness,-You, Kylo only made the tug towards the light inside of himself stronger, against his surprise. Looking up, Kylo felt a gasp escape his quivering lips. He could still feel the pressure of your mouth lingering on his, and he found himself already missing the feeling of your warmth. Your smile. He would never be able to see that again. Realizing what he had done, he strained against his emotions, leaning down and pressing one last firm kiss on your forehead. His fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you against him. 

Rage then filled his stomach, and he cried out. His whole body shaking with his sobs overwhelming him. He didn’t have anything anymore. He didn’t have you. And it was his fault… It was his doing. He couldn’t take it back. 

“I’m so sorry…” Kylo muttered as he grabbed his lightsaber once more, standing up and turning away from your body. The alarms sounded for the destruction of the planet. The resistance fighters had gotten in… He wondered if you had been with them… But nonetheless, he set forward. Wiping his tears and setting ablaze the red crackling of his weapon.

He had to end this once and for all. 

— limerence

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: fluff, more fluff, even more fluff, oh and did I mention fluff

warnings: just really sappy softness

word count: 3172

A/N: I wrote this a while ago and then remembered that Namjoon said he loved cute things, then rewrote it to fit him

Originally posted by ktaejin




the state of being infatuated with another person.

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His Fault

Just this once indulge me please… Pretty please.

This is smut. The urge to do this was so overwhelming yesterday that I had to do it.  I needed to move on from this urge to write that smut itch.   Any points on how I can improve my writing is welcome just message me.  Thank you.

WORDS = 1832 (be warned)

No greetings were said as she brings in my dessert.  It is odd that tonight she is quiet.  She presents her creation to me without saying anything which is again not quite her.  I wait a few moments more before I reach out to take my dessert.  Calmly I start to eat while I sense her gaze boring into me as I chew.  Bringing my sight back to where she is, I see her stare drift abruptly from me and settle at something.  Releasing a breath I did not know I was holding, I say, “You have something to tell me. Out with it.” She looks back at me, a red flush staining her smooth cheeks, her hands clutching the skirt of her kimono.  “My Lord, I…” Hearing no more from her my irritation simmers.  Leaning forward I place my elbow on the kotatsu and placing my chin on my knuckles I reply “You what?”

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shulkie  asked:


Thank you so much for your prompt, Shulkie! I even wrote you a modern AU. I hope you’re proud. ;) 

Seriously though, I hope you like it. <3

(Read on AO3.)
Inspired by the wonderful song by Death Cab for Cutie.

Passenger Seat

I don’t even know what it is about you and me driving through the streets at night makes me feel this alive.

Maybe it’s the summer nights, cooling down the world after the day, its lingering heat still radiating from all around, making the crickets sing and the appeasing head wind a welcome companion as the asphalt breathes hotly in anticipation of a few hours of rest.

Maybe it’s the city lights, blurring in the darkness, uncatchable, barely seen and already gone again, shooting past us like comets.  

Maybe it’s your hand on my knee, or mine on yours, depending who’s driving. I can feel your warmth, your soft smile as you look out of the windows, your green eyes watching the world rush by as your fingers send their never-ceasing caresses through the fabric of my trousers, the drawn circles hold me together and tear me apart, from the inside out, make me want to melt into the seat that smells of your cologne, and drive on forever, give you the world, whatever it takes…

On other days I can feel your leg bending and stretching under my fingertips when you adjust the pressure on the pedals, can close my eyes, or simply let them wander over nothing in particular, the wind through the open windows blowing away my worries and the tension of the day. On a straight passage your hand always comes to rest on mine, your thumb brushing over my knuckles, your fingers easily slipping between mine for a moment or two, and I feel it again: your gentle smile. Like feathers on my skin until my heart is so full that it seems to burst any moment now.

Maybe it’s the music when we drive. The calm tunes of the radio wafting quietly into the summer night, leaving a trail of song and rhyme behind us like idle fingers running through water. Fleeting memories, too fickle to catch.

Maybe it’s the feeling of being in control behind the wheel, driving you, only you, your free hand held out of the opened window, diving through the airstream, the other one holding on to me.

Maybe it’s the feeling of giving the control away, knowing you would never take me to places I don’t want to go, mingling with the curious wondering if it’s one of those nights you stop the car in the middle of nowhere, just so you can lean over to kiss me.

Maybe it’s the night mirroring in your eyes when our eyes meet briefly, fueled by hopes and dreams, shining with trust and giving me the wish to drive you to the moon and back.

Maybe it’s my own, surprisingly relaxed expression in the side mirror, the air cooling my cheeks after a day too hot, blowing over my neck where you nuzzled me before when we stepped into the car, your wild hair tickling my brow and smelling of your shampoo and Eren, Eren, Eren, your mouth soft against my pulse, your breath warm and damp against my skin, and your lips moving gently with a whisper against my ear while your fingers eased the car key out of my hand. “My turn today.”

We never talk during these trips. Don’t need to.

We never have a destination or certain route either. Just the driving itself.

My shoulders relax, the tension fades, slips away into nothing. The world is beautiful, so very beautiful, and for once in my life it doesn’t even have to make any sense—as long as you’re next to me, with the street running under our feet, and the stars shining over our heads, while your favourite band plays on the radio.

I’ll never be able to listen to their songs again and not think of you, your fingers resting of the steering wheel, the engine purring in delight, the summer filling my lungs, your occasional humming carrying away my thoughts, while we leave everything else behind.

I don’t know about you but I can always tell when you begin the way back. Your eyes would be carefree and at peace, your mouth curling around little secrets and your hand would reach down again to warmly squeeze mine; if in an apology for the return or in reassurance for the rest of the night I never can tell.

All I can tell is that the world feels like it’s just the two of us and that we’re driving.

Driving home. Home to you.

anonymous asked:

Where can I find the excerpt with Jamie and Claire in the stable and he's putting her rings back on that he had gambled with and makes love to her ?

It’s in The Fiery Cross, Chapter 49.

And also here:

It was cold in the hall, away from the contained body heat of the women, but I welcomed the chill; the blood was pulsing just under my skin, and I bloomed with heat and agitation. A nice cool down was exactly what I wanted. I made my way quietly to the back stairs, meaning to go down and outside for a breath of air.

I stopped dead at the top of the staircase. A man stood at the foot of the stair, a silhouette tall and black against the panes of the double French doors. I didn’t think I had made any sound, but he turned at once, face lifted toward me. Even in the poor light, I knew at once that it was Jamie.

He was still clad in the clothes he had worn the night before—coat and waistcoat, frilled shirt and buckled breeches. The shirt was open at the neck, though, coat and weskit unbuttoned and askew. I could see the narrow line of white linen, the flesh of his throat dark against it. His hair was loose; he had been running his hands through it.

“Come down,” he said softly.

I hesitated, looking back over my shoulder. A ladylike medley of snores came from the room I had just left. Two slaves were sleeping on the floor in the hall, curled under blankets, but neither moved.

I looked back. He didn’t speak again, but lifted two fingers, beckoning. The scent of smoke and whisky filled the stairwell.

The blood was thrumming in my ears—and elsewhere. My face was flushed, my hair damp at the temples and on my neck; cool air rose up under my shift, touched the patch of dampness at the base of my spine, the film of slickness where my thighs brushed together.

I came down slowly, cautiously, trying not to let the stairs creak under my bare feet. It occurred to me belatedly that this was ridiculous; the slaves thundered up and down these stairs hundreds of times a day. Even so, I felt the need for secrecy; the house was still asleep, and the stairwell was filled with a gray light that seemed as fragile as smoked glass. A sudden sound, a move too quick, and something might explode under my feet, with a flash like a lightbulb popping.

His eyes stayed fixed on me, dark triangles in the paler dark of his face. He stared at me with a fierce intensity, as though to drag me down the stairs by the force of his gaze alone.

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You Have a Bad Sex Life With Him: Part 2

Part 1


The rain pattered against Gemma’s window, my fingers fiddling against the corner of my book. I can just barely see the words on the paper, only the occasional lightning making each word visible. Gemma snores softly beside me, and I almost start to cry wishing I am able to sleep now. But my eyes resisted each flutter, and now here I am, awake and drowning in my thoughts.

My head falls lightly onto the window, the glass leaving a spot of cold against my skin.

“I said don’t be afraid” I sing under my breath, my voice quivering the slightest. “I’m coming home.”

I close my eyes, a single tear drop flowing down my cheek, landing softly on the page of my book. I instantly wipe it away with the pads of my fingers, shaking my head. 

I close my book softly, placing it gently down on the bed before quietly slipping out from under the duvets. I make sure to walk quietly out the door, making sure to not disturb anybody before making my way into the kitchen.

I slide the light, illuminating the room to as dim as it can be. Loneliness consumes me, wraps me up like a cocoon, fighting against the restraints. I’m miserable, spending a night where my thoughts haunt my insides, where I’m alone wondering if this is how every night will be.

A night without Harry is something foreign. I’ve always needed him near, touching me in some sort of way, feeling his skin burn through mine. It’s comforting to me, feeling the effects of a man you love. It’s a drug, an intoxication, burning your insides until you feel the high. That’s how I felt with him every night, in paradise, because it’s just me and him, with no sense of an outside world, no care or thoughts, just us. 

I lean against the counter, tracing the shapes I made out in my head. I take a few deep breaths, hoping to compose the emotions threatening to spill out. I feel like he’s slipped completely out from between my fingers, and he’s so oblivious that he just keeps his hands clenched, as if still holding on.

Tears begin to fall from my eyes, dropping onto the counter. I don’t bother holding them back, choking with each inhale. 

I cry until there’s nothing left inside of me, just an empty void of nothingness. Just a pit of numbness, settling in my stomach. Until my cheeks are dried, and my eyes swollen. I must have been out of it for a while, in a zone of deep thought and self doubt, because suddenly, I feel him. With no warning.

I feel his chest nearly touching my back, the heat radiating off his skin enough to already feel it. His breath is hitting my neck, chills running up my spine and down to the tips of my fingers. His soft hands roam my waist, dancing along the clothed parts of me. The knuckles of my fingers curl against the table. His hands run up my back, gliding against my shoulders and running down my arms, his fingertips on top of mine. 

He leans in, his lips pressing against my shoulder bone. He moans softly, detaching his lips only to kiss my skin again. But suddenly, I can’t feel him anymore, and I almost start to think he left me once again, back to the feeling of lonesome. But his hands reattach to my hips, and his lips meet my shoulder again.

“Marry me.” He whispers, his breath lingering on my skin.

My breath gets caught in my throat, my heart stopping at his words. I forget how to breathe, my lungs collapsing with his words.

He keeps his lips where they are, waiting for me to say something, anything. But I can’t, everything is caught in my throat.

“Please,” he breathes out, “baby girl.”

I let out my held breath, my shoulders slumping forward.

He kisses my shoulders again, almost desperately, just to get me to say something.

“I was waiting until I asked you. You know my reputation, I didn’t want you to think I was only in this relationship so that you can open your legs for me. I just wanted you to understand that I’m in this for you, just for you, not for anything else.”

I turn to look at him, his green eyes glistening with tears. He’s biting on his lip, his hands shaking against my waist. He sighs, bottom lip trembling between his teeth. 

“I’m sorry I put you through this. I didn’t know.” He cries, fingers petting my cheek. “But please, marry me.”

I place my hand on his wrist, making sure his touch didn’t leave me. I have never seen him so vulnerable, where he looks like a single word can destroy his whole world. But he’s never looked so beautiful.

“You don’t have to ask me, Harry, if you don’t want to. I wasn’t asking for that much.”

He shakes his head, looking almost heartbroken that I haven’t said yes.

“But I want to, I want to spend everyday with you. I already have the ring, I’ve had it for weeks. I was waiting until I showed you how serious I was about you so that you didn’t think sex was all I wanted. My reputation it—it’s fucked up. It’s not me, it’s not who I am and I didn’t want you to think I—“

Before he could finish, I lean in so I can kiss him. I make sure he can feel the compassion I hold for him, the flames of fire that burn my skin whenever he touches me. His fingertips press against my skin, sure to leave marks tomorrow morning. 

“Why’d you wait so long, my H?” I mumble, “I wouldn’t want to spend my life with anybody else.“

My nails dig into his skin, tracing the outlines of his tattoos. I rub occasionally on his chest, palms running along his skin. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, emotionally. I feel like he’s with me now, fully there, not half gone. 

“I love you so, so much, baby girl,” he whispers, head lulling back the more pressure I puncture into his skin, “and I think it’s time I show you how much I do.”

elfsplaining  asked:

For DWC! Dom!Solas "roleplaying" as Fen'harel with Lavellan in front of a Dread Wolf statue. Give me hair pulling, choking, spanking, diiiiirrrrrtttyyyy talk, ALL OF IT. Fuckin go wild with it. I need it

Glimpses: Or the Wolf’s Gonna Blow it Down


Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Solavellan

Warnings: Rough sex, Dom!Solas, choking, spanking, etc. 

Reader discretion advised.

Ellian knew exactly how to test him. She was cunning and quick-witted and always teasing. She’d invite him out on excursions in the field only to spend the entire time flirting and tempting him before pulling back. He wasn’t sure whether she was purposefully taunting him or not, but he was at his limit. What that meant, he wasn’t sure. They’d been physical before, in ways that pushed both of their limits, but somehow he still never had enough.

That morning he’d woken up to her straddling him, one brow raised, and though they’d rolled in the blankets for over an hour the actual sex had to be quick and easy to hide. They weren’t alone, after all.

But they were now. She’d brought him deeper into the forest on a mission to gather rare herbs, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off that perfect round of her ass shifting with every step. When she addressed him, turning slightly over her shoulder, he raised an eyebrow and forced his gaze away from her rear. She’d said something, probably. “Hm?”

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