trail feature

Mr. Hemmings

To be honest, you don’t know where this new found confidence is coming from since you’re normally a red face blubbering mess in front of him. Maybe it was the wink he sent you this morning or his eyes constantly roaming down your body, whatever it was made your confidence boost and let your wild side escape.

Originally posted by irweicake

Words: 5.5K

Request: No


The sound of your bedroom door creaking open and the shutters of your blinds getting pulled up had your eyes beginning to peal open, the sunlight shinning through the curtains had a hiss falling from your lips as you turn your body over to look at whomever decided to disturb you so early in the morning.

“Y/N what time did you go to bed last night?” Your mom questions as you hear her wining your window open. The sound of birds chirping and lawn mowers shaving long strands of grass begin to flutter into your ears.

“I don’t know, two maybe four in the morning?” You respond while groaning and throwing your head into your pillowcase, the softness of the pillow comforting you as you let a please sigh slip from your lips.

“Really Y/N! Why were you up so late?” Your mom ask with such frustration in her voice that your actually scared to look at her, but you’re actually relieved when she sits down at the foot of your bed and begins to rub your calf in her thigh.

“I was binge watching The Vampire Diaries sue me.” You say, voice muffled because of the pillow but your mom lets a tired sigh fall from her lips before pinching your calf gently.

“You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s bad for your body.” Your mom says, only leaving you to blink your eyes open and roll them.

“Ugh.” You groan before turning around in her grasp and looking up at her, the sunlight somewhat blinding your eyes.

“It’s the truth Y/N, anyways freshen up. Breakfast is downstairs and I need to talk to you also.” Your mom states while rising up and off the bed, her warm skin leaving your body, causing you to pout.

“What do we need to talk about?” You ask while raising up, your left hand coming up to cover your eyes from the beaming sun as you watch your mom begin to walk out of your door. “Come downstairs and you’ll find out.” Is the only thing she says, causing another groan to fall from your lips before you hear the door slam shut, making you stand and  walk out your bedroom and straight to the washroom.

You quickly brush your teeth and wash your face before you hop in the shower, the feeling of the warm water hitting your cool body had a please sigh slipping through your lips as you quickly washed up and hopped out.

You made your way into your room and quickly put on your under garments before lotioning your body up, the scent of coconut in the air as you walked over to your window with your towel wrapped around your body just in time to see your beautiful neighbor.

Just a few yards away from you, you saw Mr. Hemmings just getting out of the shower also, his body glistening with water as a white towel was loosely wrapped around his hips. His once blond hair now resting dark amongst his forehead, he brings his hand up and brushes it out of his face, making his body look so lean and slender.

A satisfied moan slipped from your lips as you watch Mr. Hemmings continue to paste around his room, continuously looking around for something that he lost. You watch as his body begins to walk towards the window that reflects yours, his arms reaching out and pulling open a drawer that is conjoined to his desk, his arm moving around like he is searching for the item before pausing and looking up towards you.

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| Properly | Sebastian Michaelis

Prompt: “Then do it properly.”


You whisper-shouted as you walked through the Phantomhive estate. Your footsteps echoed in the hallway, resonating loudly through the still air. There was a candle lit in your hand, dripping steadily onto the saucer beneath it, flickering onto your face and casting shadows that made you jump at everything.

“Oh come on…” You whispered. “Where are you?”

Sebastian Michaelis, a.k.a extremely capable butler that you swear isn’t human, had told you to stay up a bit after everyone went to bed. It was “something the young master wanted you two to do” apparently.

Ciel could be a real pain in your butt sometimes.

“I could be in my nice, warm bed right now but no,” You muttered irritably, holding the cloth around your shoulders closer to your shivering form. It was dark, and besides the faint pounding of rain upon the earth outside, deadly silent.

It felt odd being up at this time. No crashing of plates by Mey-rin and her loud apologies. No explosions being caused by Bard, no childish wailing from Finnian or chuckles from the old man.

It was just….quiet.

It made you realize just how lonely these empty halls were.

You bit your lip, eyebrows furrowing. Where in the world was Sebastian? You’d checked every room in the establishment - except the young master’s of course - and you hadn’t found not a glimpse of raven hair. This was really not the time for any of his games.

A groan left your lips. You’d checked literally everywhere-

You paused.

Change that thought. Almost everywhere.

You headed towards your knew destination, turning the corner into the one room you had forgotten. The kitchen. Tiptoeing inside, you let out a puff when you finally caught sight of your target, his figure seated in one of the chairs by a table.

“Seba-” You started before cutting yourself off. At first you thought he hadn’t seen you (which you really shouldn’t have considered by how impossible he was) but now that you were closer you saw that he was sleeping.

Did he fall asleep…waiting on me? You thought, eyes widening. The mess of papers on the table caught your attention and your tongue clicked against your teeth in annoyance.

“Really?” You muttered, placing the candle down a bit away from the papers. With as much grace as you had, you shuffled them together and began arranging them in a more orderly fashion. Glancing over them, you saw that information regarding the case Ciel was solving was written, stamped, collectively almost splattered across every page. This must’ve been what he wanted you and Sebastian to discuss.

“Why didn’t he just do it?” You muttered but then shook your head out of it. Did you really just think that about the young master? Jeez, you needed to keep a leash on that temper.

At what time you had finally finished the job you weren’t quite sure, but the candle had been reduced to half it’s size so it must have been a good while.

“I got lost in categorizing them,” You mused. You had lost track of time even. “Well, guess I’m done here.”

You lifted your head, turning to look at the butler once more.

And you forgot how to breathe.

While fixing the stack, you had been progressively moving down the table, and closer to Sebastian on the way. Now your face was dangerously close to his.

You felt your cheeks heating up as you bit your lip again. He was asleep right? So he wouldn’t mind if you did some looking…

You almost slapped yourself at the naughty thoughts but couldn’t resist raking your eyes across his features.

His eyes were closed, dark, long eyelashes brushing onto the flawless porcelain skin of his cheeks. He had one fist loosely below his cheek, elbow bent onto the table as his face rested on his hand. He must have fallen asleep sitting upright, because that’s how he was seated right then and there.

You felt your heart pick up the pace a bit as you moved closer.

It suddenly struck you that you’d never seen Sebastian sleep before. Ever.

You’d seen all the others at times, maybe naps, definitely Ciel sleeping when you alternated with Sebastian to wake him up.

But never Sebastian.

He looked…different in his sleep.

(He was sleeping….right?)

You’d never seen him like this. You’d only ever seen his punishing glare when scolding you all when you didn’t do your jobs right. Or his comical composed, angry expression. At other moments, he would have a completely nonchalant mask, not letting anyone see what he was thinking. Even rarer were the smirks he would give when either something went his way, he was being a show off, or if something amused him.

But at the current moment, his face was completely relaxed into a…he was….

“Peaceful,” you finally found the word. He looked peaceful.

You found yourself creeping even closer until your face was just above his. Your eyes switched from admiring his handsome features to trail down to his lips. You absentmindedly licked your own lips.

Would it be wrong? He would never know….

At that thought the urge to kiss him became overbearing and you let your lips hover over his till you could feel the invisible pressure between them. You shut your eyes, flesh barely brushing against his-

You opened them.

“I can’t,” You whispered so quietly it was really a breath, half telling yourself off, half needing to hear it so that you’d stop.

You backed away, sighing. You gave one last look at the tormentor of your emotions before fully lifting your head.

And a hand enclosed around your wrist.

You jerked, heart leaping into your throat as your eyes snapped to Sebastian.


Blood red orbs captured your every thought. His invigorating eyes were now open and were staring deep into you, as if he could see through to your very soul. You felt your mouth go dry.

He wasn’t speaking but he didn’t even need to. His eyes spoke for themselves, smouldering and bright in the candle light, shadows flickering across his face. He tilted his head slowly while observing you, as if you were a panicking animal that was intriguing him.

Then again, you were indeed shaking.

“S-Sebastian,” You finally managed to say. The curiousity in his gaze increased, almost crushing you. When it was clear you weren’t going to say much else, face aflame, mouth flapping, he shifted.

And chuckled.

The deep sound rolled off his tongue, vibrating intensely within you, setting your nerves on fire.

“Miss Y/N…” The words rumbled through his chest to and the air, trapping you in that close eyed smile of his. His tone was as polite and deep as ever, something about his voice entrancing whoever heard it -  charismatic, tempting. Something that purposefully lured them in.

Almost sinful.

You couldn’t even respond. You fought against your body, wanting to say something, anything. What kind of damsel in distress were you being at the moment?!

“S-Sebastian, if you could please let me go,” You started, almost convincingly if not for your stutter. You tried to steady yourself, both you and he knowing you were trying to get away from the topic. “We need to get to the work the young master aske-”

“Y/N…” He repeated and a warm rush flooded your stomach. Without the respectful title at the front, without the ‘Miss’ that was required with women in these days it sounded weird. Closer. Scandalous.

And you loved it.

His thumb stroked the underneath of your wrist slowly, as if calming a cat. Your whole body shuddered at the contact quite obviously.

You swore you saw a flash of pink in his eyes at your shiver.

The crimson eyes narrowed teasingly as he lifted your hand to brush along the lips you had been almost about to claim as yours mere moments ago. You basically exploded.

“Sebastian!” You screeched, shushing yourself for the sake of the sleeping individuals in the house. “W-what a-are y-you-”

“If you’re going to kiss me,” He continued as if you’d never spoken. You felt your heart knocking against your ribcage in utter embarrassment. You shut your eyes from his amused glare, too humiliated to witness it anymore.

The cold and smooth touch of his glove interrupted you from your inner monologue of how you were going to die. It glided along your cheek before his fingers pressed behind your neck, cupping. Your eyes shot open in surprise.

A smirk lifted his lips, tufts of black hair brushing into his luminescent orbs as his fingers traced some kind of symbol on your neck - something intricate, claiming you as his.

Then do it properly.

A fluid movement and his mouth covered yours.


This year’s GDC brought about a handful of new classic game postmortems (talks about a particular game’s development process and reception, done with hindsight after release). We’ve seen titles like Civilization, Deus EX, Seaman and … The famous game about dying from dysentery, Oregon Trail.

What you might have not known, just like I didn’t, especially if you lived outside North America, is that this was one of the first and most widespread educational games of the 80s, played all across elementary schools.

This and more interesting tidbits are hidden in this great talk you can view right above in full. If you haven’t subscribed to GDC’s YouTube channel, you’re missing on tons of insightful content that doesn’t require the costly conference pass.

I Think I Wanna Marry You... (Part 4)

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean x Reader obvi because I’m trash

Word count: 4k

Soundtrack: Halsey - Now Or Never

[“ i see a love so pure it moves the heavens….”

“…but does it endure?”]

Summary: Y/N manages to coax Dean into going on a few untimely escapades in preparation for the big day. Meanwhile, the elder Winchester tries his best to subdue his doubts about where their relationship stands.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A/N: Part 5 is already in the works, so you can expect an update by this time next week. This entire series is fun to write, so I’m glad people enjoy it.




@daesunglg​ , @insaneimagines


Y/N is a bundle of nerves in her bright yellow sundress, and nothing Dean can do can ease her anxiety.

Before him she stands, the strap of her satchel tangled in her fingers and her brow creased. She looks at Dean and doesn’t even try hiding the fact that she’s nervous.

“I’m sorry…” She apologizes. “I didn’t know you’d have to come along for this. If I had, then—“

“Then you would have turned down the offer?”

Bowing her head, Y/N glimpses away…“No….”

“Yeah, so don’t apologize.”

Dean is making this so much harder than it should be. In his usual fashion, he’s complicating things, stretching out a second of tension into an hour and it’s so bloody irritating for Y/N that she could scream.

But instead all she does is bottle it up and cap it, trying to play the pacifist in this situation. “I said I’m sorry, Dean…” She bites her lip, obviously abashed, and shakes her head.

The elder Winchester rolls his eyes. The sun is out and hot and today he’s decided to trade in his usual get-up of pants-and-shirt for a T shirt and jeans. Dean knows the weather is probably the main factor to why he’s so antsy, but will he let that stop him from complaining…?

“Sorry won’t cut it.” He indignantly huffs. “I don’t wanna go, anyway.”

“Jesus, it’s just dress shopping!” Y/N complains.

“I don’t wanna go dress shopping.” He counters. His voice isn’t harsh, just agitated. He’s agitated. She knows that. If she didn’t, then maybe this entire interaction would have gone a lot different. “You go. Tell your family that I had other stuff to do, manly stuff.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “I didn’t bring you along on this trip to do manly stuff. If that’s what I wanted then I would have left you back home and taken Sam instead.”

Having thought it to be a brilliant idea, her family invited Dean out with them to go dress shopping in town. And taken how much Dean (and, let’s be honest, Y/N, too) despises Boston, the idea of being out and about in the city is sickening.

So, he resists.

Y/N lets out a sigh of defeat and turns to go tell her mum and S/P/N the news. As she saunters through the lounge and into the ballroom, she reviews today’s plan: dress shopping. Not hard at all. Totally easy, right?

She shouldn’t be feeling so anxious about it. But here she is. Her satchel’s strap by now is a mess of knots between her fingers and she releases it, walking up to the elevator, ready to press the button, when it suddenly pings and halts. The doors slide open—

And then there’s Rick.

Standing, using his phone, head bowed and not noticing her until she speaks.

Y/N straightens out. “Oh..” She says, earning the attention of the ebony-haired man as he looks up.

Their eyes meet, and right away a smile spreads across his mouth. “Y/N…!”


They speak simultaneously, words bubbling over each other. Y/N giggles quietly.  He smiles.“Going up?”

She nods and then scuttles in. There’s nobody else in so, thankfully, there’s no rush to usher him out and move on, so Y/N takes her time to catch up.

Her eyes rake over his face until they finally settle on blue eyes, a deep sapphire, a shade she once in the days of her childhood lusted over.

She’s going to be frank here—teenage Rick was cute.

Exponentially. Terribly. With a defined nose and jaw line so strong it could cut cheese, he’d been the subject of her fantasies for months as a teenager. It’s not the first time he’s had the thought and so she welcomes it in without question. Y/N had always had the biggest crush on him. On his eyes; on the way that he wore yellow and pastels and smiled at her a little bit longer than he did all the other girls. On how he used to manage to stir up such alien feelings in her stomach that it excited her.

She’d been like—what? Sixteen, when he moved to the house next door? Yeah. Probably. Like, sixteen and he’d been eighteen and he’d joined their school.  And upon first encounter, enamored and optimistic, Y/N had been set on claiming him as her own.

But those days were gone now. She was grown and experienced and all the desires of girlhood had been satiated. She moved away, became a hunter. She soon forgot about those sapphire eyes that had driven her crazy.

A smile lights up her face as she stares at him. “Funny seeing you here, Mister Montoijia.”

“I could say the same about you.” Rick replies with an equally excited smile. “Where to?”

“Uhm, mom. We’re going dress shopping today and I need to talk to her about it.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Glad you think so. “ She scoffs. “Try telling that to Dean, maybe you could talk some sense into him.”

“Where is he now?”

“Uhm..”Y/N peers her head out, scouting the room for the sight of the elder Winchester in his Zepellin T-shirt and Sam by his side. She looks around curiously, until finally she spots the top of the younger Winchester’s hair by the bar.

She points them out. “There…”

Rick leans forward, peeping out. Y/N watches him, eyes trailing over his features, over his distinct adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, over the dark 5-o’clock-shadow tainting his jaw—God, his jaw.

He turns back to her. “Well, okay then. Anyway—catching up? When can we do that, or are you too busy to spare me a cup of coffee?” His lips, bright pink and luscious, pull back in a lopsided grin, shark-like teeth exposed.

“Oh…”Y/N blushes. “Uhm—yeah, sure. How about…Thursday, seven o’clock?” She offers, back tracing when she notices the subtle fall in Rick’s excited expression.

“It’s just that I’m really busy with all this wedding stuff.”

“Oh, yeah…Okay then.” The smile returns.

Y/N mirrors him.

“Thursday it is.” He says, and then just like that, slips out of the elevator.


The dress store is a fifteen minute drive away, perched on a busy avenue lined with shops and boutiques of all sorts. The bridal party—Y/N and the other maids, Jackie and Emma, some of her sister’s grad-school friends—are packed in the backseat alongside Dean and Aunt Steph as S/P/N slides the car over to the side of the road and parks.

Dean clambers out of the tiny Ipsum, trailing behind Y/N and the entire entourage: S/P/N, Jackie and Aunt Steph lead the way into the boutique, all chatter and laughs. Dean groans internally—this is so berating. So emasculating. He’d rather be back at the hotel, grabbing a beer with Uncle Gary and talking about anything but color patterns, but he pacifies his mind by reminding himself that he chose this.

It’s for Y/N, after all. He’s taken a literal bullet for her and then some— a little dress shopping can’t be that bad…?

“Just persevere.  I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“Are you?”

She shrugs. They amble in past mannequins sartorially dressed in sequins and satin and colors of all sorts. For a bridal shop, everything—rather than being pallid white—is pretty gaudy and exuberant. Frills here and there, feathers, glitter. Dean almost pukes at the sight of a bright cyan dress that Aunt Steph is scrutinizing and quickly averts his attention to the row of dresses Y/N is riffling through.

“We’re not having a wedding in Vegas.” She says distastefully, rubbing some glittery nylon between her fingers.  “What’s with all this color?”

“You don’t like it?” Dean asks.

She shakes her head, trailing her fingers along a fuscia feather boa as they saunter through.  “My wedding is going to be the exact opposite of this. Hell…” She says, looking ahead. “…my wedding’s not even going to be in Boston. Or Vegas, for that matter.”

“Where, then? New Orleans? Seems very you.”

“I was thinking California.”

“Ew…” Dean scrunches his face up in disgust, and Y/N clicks her tongue, smacking him in the shoulder. He chuckles.

“Shut up.” She giggles, fingering the bright pink feathers. “ You don’t have a say in this.”

“As your boyfriend, I think I do.” He ribs. “We’re definitely not getting married in California. No way.”

Y/N scoffs. “Pfft—like we’ll even last long enough for a wedding.”

“You think we won’t?”

“You think we will?” She stops and turns to him.

Dean smiles.

Y/N mirrors him, tipping her head back in a challenging manner. He wants to laugh because he knows she’s right, but instead, he only scoffs, shakes his head and turns away.

Deciding that this isn’t the place for them, S/P/N and her mom are arguing over which store they should go to next. There’s a classic-white-wedding one right across the road and so they settle on that. Impatiently, the elder Winchester slips his phone from his pocket and checks the time as Y/N wanders off to the sidelines. Oddly enough, he’s shocked to see a missed call from Sam. A few minutes back. Probably while they were on their way here. Pocketing the device, he inhales and grabs Y/N’s hand.

“Come on.” Dean tugs on it and tries to move, but instead their fingers untangle. The elder Winchester then glances back over his shoulder, befuddled.

Y/N’s still entranced by the boa as she turns to him, eyes wide in. “Oh—we’re leaving?”

“Yeah, you coming?” He quirks his brow and  Y/N nods, letting her fingers halt their caress as she joins him. She lips her hand back in his, but before they can move, glances back at the boa with want. Dean catches her.

His gaze bounces between it and his partner, disconcerted. It takes a moment, a moment of wonder and wide, pleading puppy eyes and the curve of a shy smile before the cogwheels in Dean’s head turn and he catches on.

“You want it? His voice is incredulous, expression speaking volumes of surprise. It’s so tawdry and loud and he can’t think she’d want it.

But apparently, with the way she glimpses up at him guilty, bites her lip and bats her eyes, she does.

Y/N shrugs, pulling a face. “It’s kinda cute.”

The group is already almost out the door as Dean stares at Y/N momentarily; she says nothing. Heaving a labored sigh, he then grabs the boa. He fists it in his hands, turning to her, and raises it in the air.

“You really want it?” He asks, expression bored and worn.

Y/N smiles with excitement and nods. He might not see what she does in it, Dean thinks, but if he’s going to play the part of her enamored lover, then he might as well go all the way, right?

And so, with a shake of his head, the elder Winchester walks up to the cashier and smacks it down. It’s a vibrant pink, almost purple, and the sale’s associate gives him a questioning look the moment he lays it down.

He rolls his eyes, jerking his thumb behind. “It’s for my girlfriend.” He hopes he sounds convincing. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She scans it, tells him the price, and he fetches a couple of dollars from his wallet and hands them to her.

“Thank you.” The orange-haired cashier says, handing him the bag.  Nodding, Dean takes it and turns. Y/N is a flare of excitement as he approaches her; there’s a smile on her face that made Dean think, maybe—just maybe—she was just pulling his leg, a smug simper, teeth and all, but the sincerity in her thank you as he hands it to her tells Dean otherwise

“I can’t believe you wanted this.” He remarks as they exit the store. Y/N winds the fluffy boa around her neck, smiling into it, the bright feathers tickling her face. “It looks like it belongs on a burlesque dancer from Vegas.”

“It’s cute.” She remarks, lifting her gaze to the elder Winchester. “Thanks, again, Dean… You didn’t have to buy it for me, you know?”

“Yeah. “ Dean scoffs, looking left and then right for any oncoming cars; they scurry across the road, over to the boutique the entire family’s stepped into. Through the window, Dean can faintly make out the silhouette of Aunt Steph holding up a salmon gown. “The puppy-dog eyes on your face a second ago said otherwise.”

Y/N giggles and then follows him in. A chime at the door announces their arrival and the whole group’s attention is grasped as they walk in.

As soon as she spots her sister, S/P/N’s eyes go wide like saucers, a smile stretching across her face.

Flaunting her new purchase, the young hunter saunters up to her sister and flashes a quick grin. “How do I look?’

“Wow…” S/P/N breathes. “…like…a big, flashy bird. Did you really just buy that?”

“Dean did.”

Her eyes shift to the elder Winchester, brow furrowed. He shrugs in response, hands fixed in his pockets, because that seems the only eligible response in a situation like this.

S/P/N giggles and picks at the scarf as Y/N swats her hands away, when it’s time to get fitted. They’ve picked out two dresses already.

“They’re waiting for you in the dressing room,” Her mother says, resting her hands on her shoulders and ushering her off. As she is led away by her mother, Y/N briefly glances back at Dean. Her face splits into an apologetic smile, one that utters an unspoken apology, one that says I’m sorry I dragged you into this. He waves it off with a smile. It’s fine, his expression responds. Y/N smiles. Before he knows it, she’s disappeared behind the racks of dresses and mannequins and he’s left alone with S/P/N and Aunt Steph.

Sighing, the elder Winchester turns to them, trying to offer an amicable smile.

“So…”He begins. “Where are your guys dresses? I thought you were all picking something out.”

“Oh, it’s a Y/L/N family tradition for the bride to come last.” Aunt Steph’s grey eyes gleam bright and radiant; as usual, she’s smiling, her face folded and creased like fleshy dough, and Dean can’t resist feeling at least bit happy that he’ll be spending the afternoon with someone as cheerful as her.

“Even when I was getting married, it was the same. “ She elaborates. “Marilyn and my girls brought me out to watch them try on dresses, and then, when it was already time to leave, had me pick something out.”

“At least it was cute.” S/P/N chides.

“It was. Very. But anyway, we should probably get to work.” The elder woman waits expectantly; but when Dean’s brow furrows in disconcert, she turns to her niece. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I was supposed to?”

“We’re all picking something out for the girl’s to try on.” She shakes her head with a sigh. “You know—so that they have a lot of options?”

 ““Emma and Jackie are pretty happy with their choices,” S/P/N pipes up. “It’s just, well, Y/N we’re worried about. I can bet you twenty bucks—the next dress she comes out in, she’s not even gonna like it.”

“That’s why we’re here. To make sure we get her something pretty.”

“You want me to pick a dress out for Y/N?” Dean asks it like it’s absolutely crazy, like it’s ridiculous—and it is. He’s no fashion guru. His wardrobe consist of practically the same two flannels and jeans.

“So, do you accept the challenge?”The younger woman asks, quirking a brow.

Dumbfounded, the elder Winchester stares at the pair momentarily. He can’t say no, can he? That would only raise the suspicion of their little plan. He can’t risk that….

Can he?


In the dressing room, Y/N accepts each gown hurtled at her by her mother with patience and precision. The assortment is vast, all various shades and hues; even then, however, none that can even compete with the atrocity around her neck.

Dress hanging off her shoulders, Y/N glances back at garish piece abandoned on a chair.  Scrutinizes it. It’s…well…colorful. Very colorful. And it’s definitely not something they’ll be seeing her in a lot, but the knot of pride in her gut is wound too tight for Y/N to admit that maybe the purchase was a bad idea. Maybe baiting Dean with an item of the nature was a pathetic attempt at validation…

There’s no hiding it, anyway. That’s the truth. That’s all she is: pathetic and desperate for affection. I mean, why else buy such an atrocity? why else ask Dean to get it? At the time, the plan seemed bulletproof, an assured way of confirming that she had a place in the elder Winchester’s heart that would lead him to making the sacrifice…It had been a symbol of sorts. A totem.

At first.

Now all Y/N sees when she looks at it is wasted money and a testament to her pettiness in bright gaudy colors…


Dean whizzes through the store as fast as his feet can carry him.

 Rack to rack to mannequin. He grabs a pink dress with rhinestones along the hem. A plain white one that runs to the knee and looks a little too casual for a wedding. It doesn’t matter, the elder Winchester tells himself. None of this does. None of this is real. this is fake-dress shopping for a fake couple…Granted, however, for….. a very real wedding….


The thought catches Dean like a fish-hook in the neck, and he’s reeled back to his senses. Glancing down at the options he’s gathered, none of them look terrible. Very simple. Plain, eve, like the model isn’t going to be exhibited before a bunch of people.

A sigh then leaves him and Dean settles on one of the chairs provided to sort through. He tosses out one with frills and a mint-green that he knows, despite her beautiful physique, will not look flattering on Y/N. by the end of it all,  he’s left with nothing but the pale pink that he realizes is a size too large.

With an exasperated sigh, the elder Winchester chucks it onto the shelf. He bows his head in defeat. Runs a hand through his tousled hair. Groans. He needs some air, and he’s about stand to get out of the shop, when his gaze wanders to a mannequin across the room…

And then Dean halts.


Y/N slips in and out of dress after dress, struggling out of tight corsets, sweat trickling down the back of her neck from all the work. There’s a pile of gowns on the floor climbing all the way to her knees, her mother standing outside, pestering about which one she should pick. Y/N tries to shut her out. She can’t think right now. Her body is sweaty and chafing, and this was dumb because she could always just wear the old dress she brought from home, but it’s out of the question.

And so she moves on to the next one…



The moment she comes out, Dean’s heart stops.

Standing before him in her final choice, Y/N bites her lip and furrows her brow nervously, tangling her fingers together in front of her lap. After eons of waiting, nervously tapping his fingers against the arm-rest, she’s out. Finally.

Her cheeks are dusted a feint pink and it looks like the blush is crawling further and further down her skin, breaching onto her exposed shoulders. Her skin, a haven of y/s/t dotted with freckles and spots and the littlest scars whose origin is embedded in his mind, almost sparkles in the warm lighting.

And Dean can’t help but gawk, because, damn…

The dress, strapless and deep burgundy and with a flaring skirt, looks gorgeous. Accentuating her waist and legs, it’s form fitting stunning and her bare shoulders are peeping out from behind her tresses of y/h/c. 

It looks magical; she looks magical, Dean thinks, as he tries to gather the coherence and focus to say it as she spoke.

“Well…?” A spark of hopefulness glints in Y/N’s eyes.

The elder Winchester gapes, jaw slack and eyes wide as his eyes trail from her shoulders to her legs and back up to her face. At that moment, he feels a flutter in his chest, like the beating of butterfly wings, the blink of an eye. So brief and miniscule that, if he hadn’t actively been paying attention to his feeling, he’d miss it. But he doesn’t, because how can he when this is the first time he’s seeing Y/N in such a light?

He’s so used to her hiding herself beneath jeans and tees and oversized flannels she’s stolen from his closet, in mustards and blacks and colors the shade of the earth and nature. Not that she doesn’t look good in them. She does—extremely. Only now, it’s foreign kind of beauty that Dean is witnessing, like watching a beautiful sunset from a different angle.

“Wow…” He breathes with ogling eyes. “Just….wow.”

Wow as in good?”

“More than good. Amazing, stunning. Damn, Y/N.” As soon as the words leave him Dean feels a bit ashamed by how earnest he sounds. But it’s short-lived because, then Y/N laughs and turns to the mirror a few feet away.

Her gaze slides up and down her reflection, taking in the sight as she turns and moves to try and see the dress at all angles.

“I don’t feel like me.”

“You look like you—a very dolled up and different you, sure, but still.” Dean cocks his head to the side softly. “You mean you don’t like it?”

She shrugs. He waits for an additional statement that doesn’t come. When he opens his mouth to speak, the sound of S/P/N’s voice cuts him off.


They both turn; Y/N’s face then flushes an even deeper pink as she stares at her grinning sister. They’re back, shopping bags in hand, Marilyn gleaming at her side as she gazes adoringly at her. Smirking, S/P/N steps up onto the platform, arms crossed over her chest, sizing her little sister up.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress in less than five years.” She states. “You look great.”

Y/N pulls a face. “Do I?”

“You do—right, mom? Doesn’t Y/N look gorgeous?” The elder sister asks her mother, who nods vigorously.

“You look so pretty, honey.” She says earnestly.

“Yeah, I’m even worried you might one up me at my own wedding.” S/P/N’s tone is teasing as she rests a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Y/N rolls her eyes and goes to look at her reflection once more. Her gaze is fixed on the mirror.

“So…” She starts, gathering her confidence in a heavy breath, “This one?”

Dean can tell it’s directed at him because of how her eyes dart in the mirror, and so he nods. “Definitely.”


The drive back is quiet and tranquil, the only sound filling the silence being that of the rumble of the engine. The thud of Y/N’s heartbeat; the hammering.

She feels a warmth glow in her chest.

A heat, vehement and demanding her attention and recognition as it sets the walls of her chest ablaze. A heat that, until a moment ago, she had managed to keep locked away and hidden. A vice.

She doesn’t want this; she doesn’t want to incessantly think about the way his eyes regarded her back in that shop; about the glint of awe in the rim of his green eyes when she walked out, about the way that he managed to stir up this warmth that she’d shuttered since they’d held hands in the car.

But it’s back now—fiercer than ever, tumultuous, and nothing Y/N can do can smother its flames.

Eyes set on the city whizzing by, she tries not to focus too much on it, attempts to drown out her feelings by settling her attention on the city outside. On the sound of Dean’s voice as he converses with her mum about Nebraska and the life they left behind for these two weeks; on the way he laughs when Aunt Steph throws in a line about her time in Nebraska, or on how well he’s managed to adapt to her circus of a family. And Y/N finds it astounding—she always has—how Dean does that: how he just clicks with people.

With his polar opposites, with people living lives on the other end of the spectrum. Only four days in and he’s already won their hearts over, and it makes Y/N grateful that she picked Dean to be by her side for these two weeks. (But even that isn’t enough to tame the hurricane behind her ribs.)

When they get back to the hotel, she rushes straight to their bedroom, throwing the door open and quickly heading to the bathroom.

Flicking the tap on, Y/N pools some water in her hands and splashes it onto her face. Once, twice. She then looks up at her reflection, at the harried girl staring back at her with panicked eyes, at the droplets of water slowly trickling down her face.

This can’t be happening.

She can’t be letting herself go like this, allowing a distraction as intense as these feelings for Dean to sidetrack her. She’s here on a mission; with a motive: convince. Convince them she’s doing okay as a hunter, convince them she doesn’t need to be domesticated back her in Massachusetts…

Convince herself that everything she’s telling them is the truth.

It is, isn’t it? Y/N has known, being a hunter, that the beatific suburban life is anything but an aspect of her future. She knows this; accepts this. If she didn’t, then going through the motions of everyday life would be more tedious than they already are. If she didn’t, then every time she’d look at S/P/N and Japheth and her mother and father, and Rick, and Boston and a life she once had so idyllic it was the epitome of normality, then her heart would splinter….more than it already did.

When Y/N looks at herself in the mirror, it takes her a few seconds to realize that there are tears streaming down her face, meshing with the water, disguising themselves like chameleons in the Amazon. Crap.  She reaches for the paper towels nearby, pulling one out, and dabs it onto her dripping face, when all of a sudden—

“Y/N! You in here?”

She jerks her hands away from her face, turning to the source of the voice. Footsteps sound. She quickly crumples the paper and, tossing it into the bin, exits the bathroom, finding Dean in the middle of the bedroom, holding her feather boa and the bag with her dress in one arm.

His eyes slide to her face, and the elder Winchester’s expression, formerly placid, contorts into one of disconcert. Y/N, however, doesn’t give him any time to scrutinize—she quickly approaches and takes the dress out of his hand.

“Thanks. I forgot about that.”

“Yeah, and this.” He hands her the boa; she takes it, wrapping it around her neck and exhaling heavily.

“They sent me up to get you.” Dean says. “Everyone’s downstairs waiting for you, your mum’s dying to see you in your new digs.”

Y/N glimpses at the bright salmon dress, then back at the elder Winchester, fingers still floating around her collar. “Seriously? I have to wear it?”

“Hey,” Dean raises his hands in defense. “I’m just the messenger here.”

“God…”She groans, letting her hands fall to her sides as she drops onto the bed. A labored sigh then leaves her and she shuts her eyes before she feels the mattress dip.

Dean scoots up, snaking an arm around Y/N’s frame, and she leans into it. She lets out another sigh; quieter, and Dean instead inhales.

“You really don’t like being back here, huh?”

“No…No, I don’t. That’s why I asked you to come along in the first place. I thought that you’d be a great distraction.”


“I don’t know. Because it’s you? You always mange to distrac—“

“No, I mean, what’s with the hate for Boston? It is your home.”

“Massachusetts is.”

“Whatever. Stop trying to smart your way out of this, Y/N, I’m serious.” He is; by the way his green eyes probe, looking to draw the truth out, by the soberness of his expression, by the mere silence that hangs between them as Dean waits for a response. This much is enough of a tell that he means business, and Y/N hates it.

She doesn’t want to speak; not about how she’s feeling. Not about the warmth. About Dean and their friendship. Despite her disdain towards it, she’d much rather go down and socialize in her gaudy salmon dress just to get out of this situation.

Y/N bites her lip and shakes her head, searching his gaze. “Why do you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Dean counters.

“Because it’s not your problem, Dean.” Y/N snaps, like a twig bent so much it has to break, like the warmth in her chest has turned into a full-fledged fire and it’s taking hold. She then feels it, pulsing through her, a vehement bitterness because inside feels corrupted and wrong and—

He flinches, inching away. His hand slips form around her shoulders as his brow furrows, an expression of hurt taking over.

“It’s not your problem to always look out for me, to try and figure out what’s on my mind.”

“Look, I’m just trying to help out here.”

“Don’t. Don’t try to help.” Y/N can feel tears stinging in her eyes, clouding her vision, painting Dean in a blurry silhouette. “ Just because you’re playing my boyfriend, doesn’t mean you have to act like it when my family’s not around.”

And then there it is. The finishing blow, the shot to the heart.

Dean gapes at Y/N in disbelief, frozen, like he’s trying to decipher if she just said, if he’s hearing right because no, she couldn’t have really just said…

“Just…” Sighing, Y/N rests her head in her hands. Shakes it.

Dean stares at her some more, until it strikes him, and instead he feels resentment swell in his stomach bit by bit. “Wow…”

“Just go…”

He doesn’t hesitate. Rising from the bed, the elder Winchester grabs his keys from the bedside table and stalks over to the door, pulsing with irritation, face hot. He’s almost at the door when he whips back around and looks at Y/N.

Frail, vulnerable Y/N. Crying Y/N. Magical.


A surge of sadness gets him and Dean scowls.  “I really wish I was doing this just because I have to play your boyfriend.” He says.

And Y/N lifts her head, looks at him, ready to reply, but before she can get a word out he’s already out the door.


Part 5

I Love to suffer :))

Not gonna lie: writing the argument between Dean and Y/N was a bit tough for me. I’m an intense anti-Dean-angst fanatic because I hate seeing my boy in pain, but…man…I had to.Feel free to throw rocks, I understand.

If not ,however, and you happened to like this, show some love by liking, reblogging and/or following to keep updated and check out some other Dean-stuff I’ve written

Have a nice day!

Top 10 Facts Of The Day (April 3, 2017)

10. Goosebumps author RL Stine never include things like divorce, drug use, abuse in his books because he didn’t want to terrify kids. He wanted kids to be sure that his stories were fantasies that could never actually happen. 

9. A Shaggy Defense is the name given to a legal strategy in which the defendant flatly denies guilt in the face of overwhelming evidence against them. 

8. In 1991, the real-life Mickey and Minnie Mouse got married. Wayne Allwine, who was the voice of Mickey for over 32 years, met Russi Taylor when she became the voice of Minnie in 1986. They fell in love and remained happily married until his death in 2009.

7. New York city’s Washington Square Park used to be a graveyard. There are over 20,000 people buried there.

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You’ll Regret Him... {Reader Insert}

Imagine: A bride-to-be is caught up in a dilemma, and is left with a choice. The boy she’s grown up with, who’s held her heart so carefully since they met. Or the man that promised her danger, but risks there future with his line of work every day.

Summary: It’s the night before {Y/N}’s wedding, when a friendly face turned up on the threshold of her hotel room. She tries to push away the memories, keep back the need for the man she hasn’t seen in years. But FP gets to her. Will she let her marriage fail before it’s even begun?

Request?: Yes, a lovely little nonny asked for an angsty pre-marriage situation. The reader is planning to marry, but FP turns up and tells her not to go through with it. But she turns him down, knowing things would never work.

Warnings: F/M Smut, Very minor really (thigh riding and make out sessions, slight dirty talk), Reader is early twenties (the other kiddos are the same age)

Word Count: 2256

Taglist: @theserpentgod 

Disclaimer: The gif is not mine, credits to the owner that made it. Riverdale characters are not mine, credit to the writers and producers. There is minor smut in this, so if you do not like smut, do not read.

A/N: This was kinda cute? Maybe, let me know what you guys think. Thank your patience, it’s very appreciated. Exams are over now, so I’m free for at least two months to dedicate myself to this blog. The requests I have are almost finished, so I’ll be open to more soon. Enjoy, my little bookworms 🖤 

Originally posted by jordank95

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Snow Day

I wrote another fic! Since people were so lovely about my last one, I thought I’d give it another go- fingers crossed. The start is somewhat similar to the last one? I don’t know why I love writing about Betty and Jughead in bed together but I can’t stop.

Much love, I hope you enjoy! 

Waking up in Jughead’s arms was Betty’s favourite way to start the day.

She’d stirred slowly, in the early hours of the morning when sunlight was only beginning to creep through the gaps in the curtain. Yet to flutter her eyes open, she smiled as she became aware of a strong arm draped lazily over her waist, lightly holding her body in place. Betty tenderly touched her fingers to his, then began trailing them along his skin. Her fingers danced gently along his forearm, across his broad bicep, towards his shoulder blades. Betty finally opened her eyes, still glazed with sleep, and she could not hold back the smile that graced her features as they fell upon the vision before her.

God, he’s so beautiful.

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Prince Adam Headcanons

Yeah I just physically couldn’t. stop. myself…

Word Count: um…a lot. I might as well take out the dots and make it an imagine bc LOL I GOT A LIL CARRIED AWAY HERE

A/N: yes, I’m still working on my Gaston series, but while I’m writing that, here *dumps fanfic in ur lap* have these post-curse headcanons that I thought up at 4:00am of the purest most adorably precious cinnamon roll prince ever

Originally posted by imanewrevival

  •  Prince Adam still literally unable to wrap his mind around the fact, even weeks after the curse is broken, that someone could find it in them to love him in his darkest and most hopeless of times
  •   Adam, not surprisingly, suffering from post-curse nightmares. He’ll dream that he’s once again the vain, cruel prince who turned away the rose, and wake with hands clutching at his chest and face to make sure that they’re not animalistic and covered with fur again
  •  on nights when the dreams are particularly bad, he’ll wake you and you’ll stay up till dawn comforting him, his head on your chest or in your lap while you whisper soothing words and brush your hand through his hair
  • sometimes you’ll snuggle into him and place your cheek on his shoulder, bringing your fingers up to his face and tracing his cheekbones, his eyebrows, and his jawline with soft strokes to remind him that his features are human again, and always will be
  • Adam catches your hand and gently presses his lips against your fingertips, his eyes closing and his forehead furrowing before kissing your palm. When his eyelids open, his gaze locks on yours and you almost can’t breathe for the amount of love in his stunning blue irises that shine like moonbeams
  • eventually lulling him back to sleep by singing or reading softly, admiring the peacefulness of his expression as he dozes, marveling at how truly lucky you are to love someone so beautiful and pure and to have his love in return
  • having literally the most perfect and healthy relationship ever. Seriously, the two of you are the stuff of romance novels (the happy ones that aren’t all dramatic and angsty). You can practically read each others’ minds, which really comes in handy when trying to find each other new books to read. You know everything about each other. How you like your tea, what position you find most comfortable to sleep in, your favorite author, your favorite composer, even what things you find annoying or frustrating
  • One more time now: RELATIONSHIP GOALS
  • being able to match Adam’s mischievous side with your own. Don’t get me started on snowball fights during the winter seasons which always leave you soaked to the bone (much to Mrs. Potts’ amused dismay when you leave puddles through the halls and on the stairs) and grinning like idiots. Mud fights are frequent during the summer as well (poor Mrs. Potts indeed). You never miss a chance to enjoy the fresh scent of rain after a summer storm, so you head out with Adam to enjoy the dewy gardens…then come back looking like you bathed in a swamp
  • just. imagine. tho. You’ll be sitting on a bench glossing over a book, or breathing in the crisp warm air when all the sudden you glance up and see Adam looking at you from a few feet away, his lips upturned in a smirk and his gaze peering through his eyelashes. He slowly brings one hand around from behind his back and you see a ball of sticky brown mud oozing between his fingers. You barely have time to growl, “Don’t you even think about it.” before it smacks you in the face, instantly dribbling down your neck and shoulders. Adam’s deep laugh bounces off the statues before it’s cut off by the sound of mud splattering against the back of his head. Total chaos ensues, and the cleaning staff shares a collective sigh as the sound of hysterical laughter from the gardens meets their ears
  • fervent apologizing on both your parts to the gardeners afterwards
  • kisses. Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the camel, the k i s s e s. Kisses that stop time. Kisses that make the ground spin under your feet, or sometimes even make the ground disappear completely. Standing with your toes touching as Adam brings both hands to the sides of your face, dips his head and kisses you with such deep, slow passion that you forget who’s air you’re breathing, or you forget to breathe entirely. Gathering the fabric of his shirt in your hands and standing on your toes to be even closer to him. He brushes his thumbs across your cheeks, and when you finally break apart, you can’t move or draw oxygen for several seconds after. In these moments, if he were to ask you the sum of 2 + 2, you would only be able to answer with his name
  • waking up to feeling the feather-light touch of his lips against the side of your neck, along your jaw and on your cheek, unable to conceal the shudders that ripple along your skin or the butterflies that fluster uncontrollably around your stomach. Feeling him smile against your shoulder when he runs his hand along your arm and feels the goosebumps that his actions have caused, asking in a deep, husky morning voice if you’re cold or if there’s some other reason for the reaction. You sit up and stuff a pillow in his face
  • he’s not the only one who uses affection to rouse the other from sleep. Before the break of dawn, you’ll wrap your arm around his torso and lightly trail kisses across his features. On each of his closed eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, the corner of is mouth until the arm that he has around your shoulders tightens and pulls you against him, his lips spreading in a drowsy smile. After he’s awakened, you wrap yourself in blankets and lead him by the hand through the silent castle until you reach the tallest tower. There you stand in his arms, his lips pressed to the top of your head as the two of you watch the sun rise over the distant hills and flood the skies with pale pink light
  • spontaneous dances. This is 100% a thing. Imagine standing in the library at one of the tables, alphabetizing a stack of volumes when Adam’s arms wind around your waist and his firm chest presses to your back. “Do you hear that?” he’ll ask softly, prompting you to grin as you hear Cadenza’s playing a few rooms away. Before you know it your swaying to the sweet rhythm, then Adam’s twirling you across the floor, lifting you into effortless spins and dipping you nearly to the floor, making laughter flow from your lips
  • making faces at each other from across the diner table
  • holding balls and dances at least once a month to stay connected with the rest of Villenueve, and even though Adam is supposed to be socializing, he can’t help staring at you practically the entire night
  • Plumette helping you get ready for said parties, lacing up your dress and fastening back rebellious strands of hair when Adam appears in the doorway, his eyes widening in loving disbelief at your astounding beauty, which of course makes your face turn the color of a ripe pomegranate. Plumette smiles, her hands on your shoulders as she says, “Isn’t she a vision, my prince?” Adam’s shakes himself from his stupor and responds, “One almost too beautiful to behold.”
  • your face reddens ten shades
  • pet names. And lots of them, though mainly “love” and “my darling”

      • “(Y/N), I’m not wearing that.”  

      “Oh come on, it’ll look wonderful.”

      “It will look ridiculous.”

     “But Lumiere looks so dashing in them, I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

      “(Y/N), it’s got bloody bows in it.”

     “It makes it look more fashionable. Now just try it on!”

     “I’d rather be a beast again.”

     “Oh honestly, it’s just a wig.”

     “Take one more step and I’ll throw that thing in the fire.”

  • the staff of the castle may as well be payed family members. Plumette is of course your best friend, Adam’s being Lumiere. Mrs. Potts is a second mother to you, and Cogsworth is always overjoyed to play the part of the father figure. Maestro Cadenza and Madame Garderobe took you under their musical wings as soon as the curse was broken, and you can never go through a conversation with either of them without being called “my dear” or “darling” at least five times. Your closest bond however is with Chip, and often you’ll glimpse Adam sitting with the young boy on his lap as well, exploring the surface of an atlas or looking at old maps
  • Adam being brilliant with children, despite thinking that he’s not. Sometimes he’ll watch you interacting with Chip and find himself wondering what it would be like to start a family of your own someday, not noticing the soft smile that graces his lips at the thought of it
  • going on adventures together. Not major ones necessarily, but even small journeys through the nearby mountains and forests are enough to mostly quench your wanderlust. You’ll often drag him to the top of a hill that overlooks Villeneuve and the surrounding countryside, standing with hands linked as the wind rushes over you
  • returning from such journeys to the warm castle, Mrs. Potts setting out tea by the fireplace, and you curling up against Adam by the huge marble hearth, practically on his lap with your face buried in his thick, smooth hair. Your fingers absentmindedly play with the laces of his shirt, his heartbeat echoing smooth and steady against your chest. Adam draws you closer as the warmth of the crackling fire surrounds you in a drowsy haze, pressing his lips to your forehead and murmuring a tender, “I love you.” to which you smile and tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “And I love you. For evermore.” His smile makes your heart swell to the point where it aches with happiness. “For evermore,” he replies.

uuugghhhhhh save meh plz

A Good Time (2/4)

SUMMARY. College AU. Bucky Barnes x F!Reader. As a joke, your friends wrote your phone number on a graffiti wall for anyone who “wants to have a good time.” You didn’t expect someone to call. But someone did.

WARNINGS. Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader. Cursing / swearing. Don’t call any numbers on graffiti walls, kids!


AUTHOR’S NOTES. I hope I wrote Bucky well. And have I told you guys how much I enjoy writing Bucky and Sam’s frenemy-ship? It’s so much fun. As always, I welcome and appreciate your feedback!

#1 // #2: you are here // #3 // #4

Bucky was going to kill this man. The temptation was growing stronger, in each passing day of living with him and his best friend in the same apartment. It didn’t help that even after two years of getting coffee together almost everyday, this fucker still doesn’t know his usual coffee order.

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electrokinetic  asked:

Hi!! Could I get number 5 with Warren pls?? Tysm!!!

5. Tucking their lover’s hair behind their ear + Warren Worthington III

this has been sitting in my askbox for a while now and i feel like writing today so here we are! sorry for the wait!

The smell of sweat and cheap perfume fills your senses once you come back into focus, body trembling with the afterglow of your high.

Next to you, the handsome stranger shifts, skin brushing against yours as he tries to get comfortable in the minuscule bed. The ruffling of his wings catch your attention and you turn on your side, letting your eyes trail over his features; flushed with your previous activities. He smells like vodka and fresh leather - a scent that shakes you to the bones, so intoxicating.

You can hear the usual ruckus of Berlin’s night life through the paper thin walls, but none of it really matters to you as you feel the man’s fingertips glide over your hipbones.

“You’re so beautiful.” he mutters, voice rough and hinted with awe, as if he didn’t believe someone like you would let him touch you. The comment makes your head spin and your cheeks burn red, your gaze meeting the stranger - you recall him saying his name was Warren - before you look down.

Swallowing back your nervousness, you lean into him, relishing the way he sighs contentedly - you can tell he hasn’t had any kind of human contact in a while, his demeanor screaming of starvation of affection.

You know it’s only a one time thing, but you want this man to feel wanted, you want this man to feel loved.

And as his fingers reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you find yourself thinking that you wouldn’t mind this.

That you wouldn’t mind healing his broken soul.

He knows it, too.

And you know full well that he’s grateful for it.

77 with Rocket

77: We’re meant for each other

You were with Rocket getting ready for the mission you had lined up. You grabbed a few guns throwing them into your back pack. Rocket handed you a few bombs and space suits and you put them in your bag too. You grinned over at him strapping a gun into your thigh holster.

Rocket watched you intently as you got ready. His eyes trailed your features lingering on your lips for a second too long as you grinned at him. He finished putting his stuff into his own bag keeping track of what you were doing. The both of you jumped a little as Peter knocked on the door of the workshop.

“We’re going now you guys ready?” He asked you giving you a big grin.

“Yeah we are.” You answered standing and throwing your bag over your shoulder.

Rocket huffed putting his bag on his bag too. He followed you out of the room closely. The two of followed Peter out and into the sunlight of the planet. You were hired to take down an arms dealer who was using one of the bars as a cover. You all stopped outside the bar getting your guns ready. Peter slammed the door open yelling for everyone to get down. As usual no one listened to Peter and started shooting.

You ran into the bar shooting as you did. Rocket followed quickly behind you shooting and yelling. The two of you usually stuck to each other in fights. You worked amazingly together and most days you and Rocket could take most groups out. You were shooting down people left and right. Rocket watched you and in that moment he couldn’t stop himself.

“Hey (y/n)?” He yelled as he kept shooting.

“What is it Rocket?” You yelled back ducking as a chair flew at you.

“I think I love you!” He shouted looking over at you.

“I love you too Rocket but this is NOT the time!” You shouted shooting another guy down.

Rocket froze at your answer. He didn’t think you would ever say that to him. He’d imagined it. He’d imagined it a thousand times. He was staring at you when he got hit with a chair across the back. He fell to the ground like a rag doll.

You saw it happen and shot the guy the second you could. You ran to where Rocket was guarding him as he slowly tried to stand back up. You were shooting people down one by one and when Peter gave you the signal you reached into your bag grabbing out a bomb. You grabbed Rocket throwing the bomb behind you and running out the door. You all made it back to the ship before the building exploded.

Rocket pushed himself out of your arms as you made it back to the ship. He threw off his bag holding the back of his head. You smiled down at him shaking your head. You followed him down into his room grabbing an ice pack as you did. He didn’t stop you from going into his room with him. You shut the door behind you walking with him to his bed. You handed him the ice pack with a smile making him hold it against his head.

“You really love me?” He asked after a while.

“Of course. We’re meant for each other. We fight together, we design guns together, we blow things up together. I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t love you.” You responded rolling your eyes at the grin on his face.

“That’s good because I got hit in the fricken head to tell you.” He pointed to his head.

“I told you that was not the right time. Don’t blame me for that.” You laughed but you gently ran a hand over where he got hit.

The Willow maid (Thorin X Reader)

Request: @deepestfirefun ; hi! can i ask request thorin x reader? company ask reader to tell a story so she tells a tale by a singing a song The Willow Maid - Erutan. Thorin is affected by her ability tell stories by singing them.he has feelings for her and the end tells her that. fluff is you please. love your writings! thanks!!

A/N: I am so sorry!! I have been so slack and haven’t gotten on to post in forever, but I’m back now and I hope I can make it up to you guys. Hope you like it @deepestfirefun.

Word Count: 1,702

The air was somber as the aching feet of over a dozen travelers relieved themselves of the empty, repetitious marching that had carried them over mountain, valley and stream that day.

The company’s harmonious gasps filled the air, as burdensome baggage is removed from their shoulders, and their reddened torn skin upon their palms is relieved from their whitened grip upon the reins of their horses, whom Thorin had ordered his company to dismount for their health.

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You Should Know Better Pt. 9

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven) (Part Eight) (Part Nine) (Part Ten) (Part Eleven) (Part Twelve) (Part Thirteen) (Part Fourteen)

Summary: Look above?? I suck at these. 
POV: Joe
Characters: Joe Merriweather, Natalie
Word Count: 3500ish
Author’s Note: FYLDNFF coming at cha with not one but TWO gifs. I’ll probably do two gifs from now on.
Quote: “Like I said, I’m three steps ahead of you in thirty different directions, Naïve little Natalie.”



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So Art Deco- Sub!Yoongi(m)

Originally posted by yoonkooks

(m)- mature, (f)- fluff, (a)- angst

The best experiences can come from giving up control… 

Req: thank you for opening requests!! ahh could I have something sub!suga?

Req: Sorry if you’ve already done this and I haven’t seen, but could you do a Yoongi smut where he asks you to dom and cuff him to the bed and shit? Possibly with praise kink? There isn’t enough sub Yoongi in this world 

A/N: Okay, so for the second request it is altered a bit, there is no cuffing and no bed so, but I hope you still enjoy. Much love~~

“Y/N?” His careful voice breaches the still silence in your ears, the pastel dropping from between your fingers and a gasp freeing from your lips, open in concentration.

“Yoongi?” You grope for the blindfold around your eyes until you can untie the ribbon from your head, pupils dilating in the harsh light of the empty art room, Yoongi standing just beyond the door with a funny look on his face.

“What are you doing?” The corners of his lips are turned up in an expressive smirk, gesturing to the pastel on the floor, then to the silk tie in your hands.  

“I swear if you make any gross jokes-”

“It was just a question.” He throws his hands up, slowly coming round so he can get a better view of your canvas, a cacophony of bright color and intricately woven shapes. “That looks really great. I’m sure the professor will love it as soon as he sees it.”

You shake your head. “It still needs a lot of work. Which is why,” you wave the tie in your hands, “I have this.”

“…for color blocking?”

“No, you dumbass, then I wouldn’t have been wearing it.” You give him a wan look, turning back to your artwork. “I use it when I’m blocked. I can see shapes better in the complete darkness, then just let my hand create them without my eyes to overcomplicate the process.”

“God, I’ve been blocked like crazy lately.” Yoongi jokes, throwing down his bag. “Maybe I should try it.”

“You should.” You nod, all serious. “It sounds so weird, but it’s honestly great.”

“Let me try then.” He shrugs, nonchalantly, ruffling his hair.

Widening your eyes in surprise, you kick away your scattered books and replace your canvas with a fresh one from the easel beside you, clearing the space and stepping back to give him room to set himself up.  

“Don’t be nervous.” You smirk at how he eyes the dark tie you’re holding out, while motioning for him to sit in the chair you’d been occupying.

“I kind of am.” He satires, looking up at you. “What if you take advantage of me?”

“Oh please.” You roll your eyes in exaggeration, covering his and tying a knot loosely at the back of his head, making sure it pulls on the strands of his silky hair just for good measure. “Like I’m interested.”

The corners of his lips turn up again, so minutely you almost miss it, swallowing as you take your favorite pastel from the box and set it in his open palm. “It’s Robin’s Egg Blue.” You inform him. “What shape does that make you think of?”

“It doesn’t make me think of a shape.” He says factually.

You lick your lips, letting go of his wrist and stepping back. “Then just draw.”

His hand stretches out to blindly reach for the paper, holding back your mocking laugh as he misses it by a good foot to the right, swiping the air with the pastel like a drunk. “Help me out a little.” He deadpans, and you just know that his eyes would be thin and unamused if you could see them.

With a shake of your head, you grip his thin wrist, the veins showing along his hands and forearms as you swivel it left, stopping once he’s made contact. “There you go, solider.” You give a firm shake of your head although he can’t see it. “Now, you can go ahead and start.”

“I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He admits, making a streak down the canvas at a 45 degree angle, doing the same on the other side until they meet at a round point in the center, slightly askew from the blind contour.

“Just let your subconscious do it for you.”

“I don’t know…” He trails, yet his lines keep going, lips slightly puckered in concentration.

“Talk to me. How do you feel? What are you feeling? How does what you’re drawing make you feel?”

His bowed lips purse in thought, making a slope in the center of his conjoined lines. “Joy…?” He begins, somewhat questioningly. “Amusement. Affection. Laughter… Lust.”  

You smooth down your skirt, leaning against the table behind you so you can observe his progress, watching every stroke and every brush of color that he unknowingly makes turn into form and face.

Your lips part in amazed appreciation for his skill, letting a finger trail over your features as he draws them from memory. “Yoongi…”

“Yeah?” His voice is quiet with focus.

“It looks perfect.”

“What is it?”

You come around and bend next to him, taking in the puckered concentration on his proportional face with silent intensity.

“What does it make you feel?” You repeat the question from earlier and ignore his.

“Um…” He twirls the pastel in his fingers with slight agitation, staining his hands a delectable blue. “Joy. Amusement. Affection. Laughter. Lust. Want.”

“Want?” You swallow thickly and nervously, inhaling deeply through your nose. “You want me?”  

Yoongi’s head snaps in the direction of your voice, lips parting to draw a loud breath. Your mind runs wild at his silence, not denying it, yet not affirming it either; the sound of him dropping a pastel so blaringly loud you flinch.

“I dream about you.” He begins, bluntly, your eyes attached to the way his wet lips are moving. “I dream about getting pastel and smearing it everywhere, I dream about getting to feel you and hear you and taste you and smell you. I dream about fucking so hard you can’t walk and until my throat is sore from moaning.”

Between your legs is pooling with arousal, hearing such confession come from the plump lips of this absolute angel in front of you. “Why don’t you do that to me then?” You venture, standing up to move between him and the easel.  

“No.” He says, short and decided. “I want you to do that to me.”

Your eyes widen, and you’re relieved he can’t see your resolve break and shatter at your feet. Slowly, carefully and with quiet calculation you reach your hand out to him, shivering with expectancy as your fingertip comes into contact with the soft skin above his collarbones. Yoongi lets go of a heavy breath, tensing up beneath your small touch and curling his colored fingers around the ends of the arm rests.

With a flick of your thumb and index you undo the top button of his shirt, slowly exposing more smooth, pale flesh to your wandering eyes. Yoongi’s nose is scrunched up in anticipation and expectation, breath coming out in little puffs of need.

His lips are soft and lush as you lean down to kiss him, consuming you with his taste and his hands as they slide up your shoulders, his body a twitching jumble beneath you. Sinking your teeth into his lips, he lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ against you, groaning wildly.

Just a little bit more. You think to yourself, pulling away to spot his busy hands and smiling with idea. Yoongi grunts in disapproval as you get off of him, crawling over to the desk to grab the few extra ties left there, before you come back to him, grabbing one of his thin arms in your hands and placing it firmly on the sides of the chair.

“I don’t want you getting any ideas.” You say in some sort of reason, double knotting the ribbon at the bottom and repeating the action on the other arm, admiring your handiwork as he grits his teeth at the loss of more control.

The first pastel that your hand gets is a bright orange one, painting a solid line down his chest before smoothing it out with your hand, loving how vibrant the color looks on his ivory skin. Next is pink, and blue and purple and green, until every inch of the skin he has exposed to you is a mirage of blended color, falling into one another and moving as one.

“You’re doing so well.” You murmur, smearing the last bit of bright pastel down his pale stomach. A deep moan is drawn from the back of his throat, like artistic music to your hungry ears, like angels singing heavenly choir.

Yoongi tips his head back, the expanse of his long, vein-ridden neck exposed to you, just one more blank canvas you can turn into a masterpiece. Plucking a dark purple that had rolled to the floor, you trace the outline of his bobbing Adam’s apple, the veins and arteries that carry blood to his heart, beating fast against your chest.  

You draw blossoming flowers, with your hands and your lips, sucking a round bruise into his skin before surrounding it with petals in purple pastel, a garden blooming before your eyes. There is something undeniably erotic about seeing him like this, back bowing against the chair, eyes covered, hands bound and white from gripping the hand rests.

“Relax.” You soothe, watching with lidded eyes as Yoongi bites his bottom lip, the flesh red and swollen between his teeth. Wrapping your arms behind him you slide his body up the chair, the ribbon binding his wrists easily sliding with you to accommodate the position change.  

He bucks hips up, trying to find you like a desperate animal, a beautiful sounding whine leaving his lips when he gets nothing but air. “Be patient.” You murmur, watching him struggle to calm himself down as he writhes in the chair. Your eyes stick on the bulge of arousal in his pants, floor cold against your bare knees as you kneel in front of him.

“Y/N…” Yoongi’s voice is so so deliciously broken. “I-”

“You what, baby?” Your hands, come into contact with his thighs, scraping your nails lightly down the fabric of his pants, keeping the tone of your words light and airy.   

  A ragged sigh leaves his lips as whatever he was going to say flees, making an appreciative sound in the back of his throat as you get closer and closer to his throbbing heat. Smoothing a single finger between his spread legs, you almost lose yourself at the groan that comes from him, long and laced with lust. “More.” Is the only thing he says, heady and rough.

“That’s not how you ask.” You chastise him, standing up from your position against the floor, almost regretfully to walk around him, leisurely throwing your arms around his neck and letting them drape against the mural of his stained chest. “Only good boys who ask with nice manners get what they want.”

He moans, relishing in the fleeting pleasure of your fingers as they wrap around one of his erect nipples and tweak slowly. “Please…” His voice is quiet with shame at having to beg, not wanting to swallow his pride.

Your lips are hot against his neck, licking his wildly beating pulse and biting the skin softly as your hands reach further down to tease at the waistband of his pants. You can feel the breath release from his lungs, opening up his pants button and slowly zipping down, knuckles brushing against his straining heat as he groans louder, “please…”  

His boxers are a dark blue color, perfect against his skin, traveling further to get under those as well. “Lift up, baby.” You instruct carefully, standing on your tiptoes so you can reach down and push both articles of clothing over his milky thighs until his cock springs free.

Yoongi groans at the cold air against his hot, sensitive skin, turning his head sideways to nip at your exposed shoulder, getting a single moan from you before you swat him away and inform him to be a good boy, removing yourself completely to get back in front of him.   

He looks so perfect below you, colored chest expanding with ragged breath and lips parted as he waits for what you’ll do next. A thin layer of sweat covers his face, bright hair sticking to his forehead in small clumps, throat skipping and a muscle feathering along his jaw as he tightens it.

Sliding your panties down your legs, you pull up your skirt and straddle above one of of Yoongi’s thigh, licking your lips at the sight of his hard, pink cock, tip glistening in the light with precum. Part of you wants to just ride the fuck out of him, fast and hard, but the other part wants to completely control him, slowly and steadily.

Using one hand, you grip him, smiling at the loud string of curses that fall from Yoongi’s lips at the unexpected contact, slipping your hand up and down, unrushed and smoothing a thumb over his tip to spread the liquid arousal leaking from him.

“I want you.” He moans, thrusting his hips up and making you bounce on him, the movement against the wet flower between your thighs making your eyes pinch shut and throat work in silent pleasure.  

Pushing a hand on his chest to force him downward, you rub your clit against his thigh, the friction of his jeans on your throbbing bud causing you to stutter in your movements along Yoongi’s length, squeezing his shaft tightly to try and hold on to your orgasm as it threatens to take you over far too early.  

“I can just imagine what you look like.” He fists his hands in their restraints, voice a distressed mess. You are already staining his pants with cum, touching yourself with a free hand to gather the liquid before pressing it against his lips.

“Open up.” You gently direct him, pumping your hand faster as he gets the first taste of you.

You watch his throat bob and lips work around you, the warm, wet cavern of his mouth so stimulating. He mutters a compliment on your sweetness, muscles going rigid when you squeeze his cock once more.

“Do you want me to let you cum?” You ask, completely innocent.

He nods furiously, tongue licking whatever was left on his lips with fervor. “Yes…”

You slap him, a bright red mark appearing on his chest amidst all the color. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please.” His voice quavers. “I want- I need-” His words are cut off by an aggressively loud moan, white seed releasing from his burning cock and over your hair and arm, staining you in his sex and in the pride of what you made him do.   

Continuing to pleasure yourself against his leg, you grab at the ties binding his wrists down, getting the one closest to you undone and leaving him to do the other, watching with unabashed attention while he reaches behind his head to loosen the blindfold as well, the silk slipping from his eyes and to the bridge of his nose, obscuring his features from view as he looks at you.

Just as his lips crash against yours, your walls begin to clench around nothing, releasing with a breathy moan that he swallows whole, invading his mouth with your tongue and tasting the lingering remnants of your cum on his tastebuds.

“I must’ve drawn something pretty fantastic.” He breaks away to breathe with amusement, ragged and panting as you let the last of the blindfold slip from its position to turn with him to the canvas, bright color bleeding from your eyes, nose, lips, cheeks…

“You drew me.”   

Hope you enjoyed~~ Much love:)

~Admin Eggplant

NewtxPrincess!Reader smut request

As promised (although late lol) here it is! Can be read in conjunction with my other princess works, as they take place in the same story.

Others can be found here

Originally posted by starsareforeternity


“Let the King know I’m resting. And I don’t want to be disturbed.” You stood cautiously by the large double doors of your chambers, hand holding the knocker as the servant nodded quickly and ran off down the marbled halls. You just wanted some form of solitude, everyday life just seemed to be getting more tiring, and your new husband wasn’t much help. All this time you believed it was the right thing to do, to marry this stranger because your father deemed this match necessary.

But, now your father had passed, and what was left of his reign was merely in your own blood. Your husband was now the King of this entire valley, stretching far along passed the blue hills. And you, his Queen. If it wasn’t for the safety of your subjects, you’d of ran off long ago.

“King Grindelwald…” It left your mouth with a hint of disdain, and you shut the door as you strolled towards your folding screens to change. You wanted nothing more than to sleep, to forget the daily struggles of your reign and to pretend that you were back in his arms instead.

You undid the pin in your hair, your silky locks falling messily around your shoulders. The white dress you had on was tiring to get out of, and you inched your fingers back to untie the laces but you couldn’t quite reach. “Oh, I shouldn’t have sent that servant away.” You mumbled, fighting with the outfit, and just as you were about to give up his voice carried along the walls of your chambers.

“It seems my lady is in need of assistance.”

You jumped back when he spoke, and you turned swiftly to see your ex-manservant leaning against the post of your bed. He wore that same smile he always did, the same one that captured your heart years ago.


He pushed off the post, coming up next to you as he placed his hands gently on your shoulders. He turned you around, his eyes trailing to the laces of your dress. “May I?”

It wasn’t proper, of that you were sure, but having him so close once again, after weeks apart it just…made you feel alive once more. Ever since you were married off to Grindelwald, he ordered you new servants, obviously having seen some sort of connection between you and Newt. Neither of you were happy about it, and even though your heart belonged to Newt you played the role of the dutiful wife.

You dropped your hands to your sides, allowing him to untie your dress.

“Why are you here?”

Newt sighed deeply, his fingers working at the stubborn laces as he spoke. “Is it so wrong that I should come see you?”

“No-no…I just-” But, the words were lost on you, because in truth you’ve been wanting to see him for so long. Yet, you knew the effects this relationship had on you. It was a dangerous game to play, to even have him in here right now. The passions you felt for him were unbearable, and you couldn’t possibly erase years of the nights you both shared together from memory.

“Do you think I’ve come to steal you away, your highness?” Newt chuckled, finally freeing the strings from the back of your dress. But, he didn’t drop his hands, at least not one of them. He had it raised up, still hovering over the opening in your dress he had just made. How long had it been since he’s touched you? Since he’s heard his name slip passed those perfect lips of yours? He knew coming here was a terrible idea, and it was not only foolish on his part but extremely dangerous. If the king, or even a servant caught wind of this he was sure he’d be hanged before the nights end.

But, he couldn’t help himself anymore. He knew it was his idea to push you into Grindelwald’s arms, knew it was his fault you were currently inaccessible to him. At the time though, it seemed only the best course of action to take. Because, you needed to be queen, and he knew you’d be the greatest one this kingdom had seen in centuries. Now though, he regretted it, even if it was a selfish reason.

“Steal me away?” You laughed at his mock of a warning, but there was no humor in this situation. If he didn’t leave now then you couldn’t promise his life would be saved. “Newt you must-”

Your words stopped, breath caught in your throat as his fingertips trailed up the bare skin of your back. It was like fire had touched you, and you wanted to run away from it but also just embrace the heat of the touch. He didn’t stop, he just focused on the soft expanse of your flesh as he ran his hand up, fingers tracing over the dip of your spine. There was no turning back now, he knew that. You knew that.

“Y/N…” He whispered out your name, conveying his want and love for you all in one word. And it frightened you, because you couldn’t bare the thought of losing him and if he didn’t go soon you were afraid that would be the end result.

“I am your Queen! You will address me as such.”

It was harsh, but you needed him to leave. For both your sakes. This wasn’t a torrid affair anymore, it was adultery and if anyone heard of this your reputation would be compromised. Newt, however, wasn’t so bothered by the insulting tone. He smiled down at you, bringing his hands up to remove the crown from your head.

“What is a queen without her crown?”

“This isn’t a game, Newt. We are no longer hiding behind my father’s back! This is my husband, the king and I his-”

But, Newt just cut you off, his hands cupping your cheeks as he leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. You wanted to fight back, you really did but his kiss was something you had been longing for, aching for.

His hand slid down to your neck, holding it gently as he tilted his head, moving his mouth softly against yours. In this moment he didn’t care if the King himself waltz into the room, feeling your lips on his was worth the gallows.

He pulled away, eyes filled with desire as he looked down at you. Your hands were bundled into his waist coat, gripping the clasps of it tightly in your turmoil. Both your breaths were labored, and the lip coloring you wore was more than likely a smeared mess on your face. Newt lifted your chin, thumb running across your bottom lip. His eyes trailed up your features until he met your own, and the look you had pooling in them undid him completely.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, throwing you on the four post bed, and climbing atop you. His lips crashed down on yours, and worked at the dress you wore. He tore the sleeves down, leaving you in just your corset that pushed your breasts up so beautifully he could admire the view all day.

“Newt…” You threw your head back into the silk covers, the feeling of his lips kissing every patch of exposed skin making you shiver. He worked his way down, kissing the tops of your breasts before lifting the bottom of your dress and petticoat. He bundled them around your hips, kneeling down before you and taking your clit into his mouth. His green eyes stared up at you, not wanting to miss the way your mouth hung open in pleasure, or how you shut your eyes tightly to fight against the building heat inside of you.

“Ahh-” The feeling of his tongue swirling around you was maddening, but you had gone so long without the proper touch of a man. Your husband was no joy in bed, not that you wanted to bed him to begin with. The only thing that made it tolerable was thinking of Newt, and all those times you shared a bed together before your coronation. If only you could go back…

He parted your lower lips, his hot tongue lapping up your wetness and groaning at the taste. He delved the tip of his tongue in, gripping the ends of your dress as he held you firmly in place.

“Unh my…my love…” Your fingers covered your mouth slightly, trying to soften the sound of your voice as you called out to your ex lover. But, the pleasure was building and if he continued flicking his tongue like that you would be a screaming mess of moans and curses.

Newt sucked at your clit, his breathing becoming heavy, and you could feel the hot brush of air that escaped him when he released your need with a loud pop. He glanced up at you, eyes heavy lidded as he spoke with purpose.

“Does he make you feel this way? Can he possibly know how much you enjoy when I do these things to you?”

He wasn’t sure why he said it, but he had to know. The idea of you wrapped in the arms of the very man he despised was infuriating. He needed to know that only he could cause you such pleasure, that only he could make you cry out his name in the heat of the moment. And for his name to be the only thing that comes to mind when your husband bedded you.

“No…no, Merlin’s beard, Newt. He can’t.”

As you begged him to continue, he removed his clothing, leaving himself in just his trousers as he kneeled back down to your wet center. He leaned forward, breath ghosting over your sensitive need and making you tremble. He unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down enough for him to release his aching cock. He gripped himself in his hand, stroking along his length as he went back to pleasing you.

“Does he know how much you like this?”

Newt kissed the tip of your clit, eyes never leaving your face as he continued down.

“Or perhaps, when I do this.”

He sucked you completely into his mouth, only parting his lips to allow his tongue to lick from your entrance up to your reddening clit. You were whimpering out, squirming under his touch as he continued to assault you with his jealousy. You wanted to tell him no one, not even a King could possibly make you feel the way he did, and nothing in this world would ever change the love you had for him. But, the words just got caught in your throat and all you could manage was a soft moan, incoherently purring out his name as he growled into you.

“Bloody hell…” He had to stop for a second, his cheek resting against your thigh as he pumped his erection. He was hard, maddeningly so, and all he wanted was the relief of feeling you around him once again.

“My love…” He kissed your thigh, leaving a hot trail along your leg until he worked his way back up. He didn’t have to say it, you knew what he needed, because you wanted the same thing.

You spread your legs wider, grabbing your dress and lifting it higher as he settled himself between your legs. His cock rubbed against your folds, coating it in your wetness as he seductively cooed out your name.

“Y/N…I love you.” He grunted into your neck, finally sinking himself into you as you clawed at his back. Your nails dug into his skin, chin resting atop his shoulder as he buried himself completely into you.

“I-” Your addled brain couldn’t quite get the words out, the desire you felt was making you utterly dizzy and all you could do was moan into his ear. But, he seemed to understand because he turned his head, pushing your sweaty foreheads together as he thrust forward.

“Never leave me…” He whispered out, fingers tangling into the bedsheets as he rocked his hips into you. “Let me be by your side forever.”

If this was your logical side speaking, you’d tell him it wasn’t possible. That you both couldn’t keep this up, but logic was no longer a concern. You just wanted this man so desperately and nothing would take this from you.

He snapped his hips forward, gasping when your walls clenched around him, and you laced your fingers into his hair pulling him down to your lips.

“I am yours, Newt.” You sensually spoke, meeting his eyes as you kissed him deeply. Whether that would remain true was a mystery, but right now in this moment you were endlessly his.

Newt pulled away, his lips lingering above yours, practically breathing each other’s air as he pushed forward. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the chambers, and Newt caressed your thigh as he brought his hand down, thumb rubbing your clit as he quickened his pace.

His affections were making you writhe beneath him, and you lifted your back off the bed as your orgasm began to approach. You rolled your hips down into his hand, trying to set the perfect rhythm. But, he already had you there, his length slammed into you, fingers rubbing down on your need as he helped you ride out the waves of your climax. Your inner walls twitched and convulsed around his length, and you entwined your legs around his lean waist keeping him trapped there as you cried out.

“Newt! Ah…” Your moans were swallowed by his lips, and he massaged your tongues together as you squirmed against him. His hips still worked quickly, pace beginning to falter as he growled and grunted above you. He didn’t want this to end, but the heat of you wrapped around him was too much to take. He pulled his hips down harder, watching as his cock disappeared into you one last time as he came.

Warmth filled you, and you let slip a soft gasp as his seed spread inside of you. You caressed the skin of his chest, sighing when he loosened your legs around him and slipped out of you his cum dripping out of your entrance just a bit. He admired the sight for only a second before his weight fell on top of you in exhaustion. He was spent, but he wanted nothing more than to spend the entire night taking over and over again until his very name became a mantra on your lips.

Your legs dangled lazily around him, fingers walking along the sweat slicked skin of his back. How you’ve missed this, just basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. Newt was everything you’ve ever wanted, and knowing he was out of reach for you as well was painful.


“Shh…” He smiled into your neck, giving you a quick peck on the pulse of your throat as he groaned out. “Your mine, my lady. Always will be.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“Shall I prove it again?”

You giggled at his teasing, pinching him gently as you pushed him off of you. He rolled to the side, whining a bit at the loss of contact.

“You’re leaving me already?”

You removed the rest of your clothing, throwing your petticoat over his head as you looked over your shoulder.

“Draw me a bath.”

Newt removed the offending item, grinning at you. “I’m no longer your servant, my lady.”

“Oh…well, I was going to ask you to join me, but-”

He tutted at you, swinging his legs off the bed as placed his boots back on.

“Have you always been this manipulative?”

“I’m Queen, Newt. Sometimes it comes with the role.”

He chuckled at that, his arm coming to wound around your waist and bringing you close to him.

“And what would your husband think of this…?”

The mention of the King made you stiffen, and if not for Newt peppering kisses along your shoulder you would’ve been a bit frustrated with the subject. But, instead you opted to just enjoy this for now, and cross the other bridge when it came to it.

“Never mind what he thinks.”

Newt eyed you cautiously, unsure if you meant that, but your smile was enough to make him return the gesture. He pulled away from you, bowing as he spoke.

“Your highness, I’ll have that bath ready for you in a minute.”


Hope ya liked! Loved writing this ❤️


Geisha dancing kimono. Meiji period (1868-1911), Japan. The Kimono Gallery. A tall geisha silk ‘susohiki’ - trailing kimono for dance - featuring yuzen-painted portraits of famous stage actors. Embroidery highlights. A 'susohiki’ (trailing skirt) is a type of formal dance kimono worn by maiko (apprentice geisha) and geisha that is designed to trail on the ground. This example was worn by a geisha, as it has short, unpatterned sleeves. While all women’s kimono are longer then the length of their body, modern kimono are designed to be folded over at the hip. Susohiki are not, so they are even longer and have a padded hem to drape more attractively. Another word for susohiki is hikizuri. Although both the dancing susohiki and wedding uchikake share the characteristic of having a padded hem, susohiki are designed to be worn closed in front and tied with an obi, contrasting to the uchikake, which is worn with front open without obi. This susohiki is decorated with famous kabuki stage actors, with a bamboo fence at the bottom, perhaps alluding to a specific performance. This example was an expensive garment to commission, and is obviously the work of a talented textile artist, and would have been worn by s senior and wealthy geisha of the day for important stage dance performances.

My Lady

Originally posted by bubble-wonho

characters: monsta x x [y/n]

word count: 1,212

a/n: hi guys! i hope you like this but i apologize if it’s too short. i don’t own the gif and i apologize for any grammatical errors.


Being a daughter of a well-known government official and businesswoman was something that had you used to having butlers and maids in your households. Having been served here and there was nothing special for you, and being surrounded by men in suits and woman in such uniformed dresses had long grown into you. 

Years has passed and your family still had butlers and maids living in your household, however, you were greeted by new faces which made you realize that those loyal and hardworking butlers and maids have finally signed their papers and retired. 

With your father’s service coming to a stop, the doors were opened by your family’s chauffeur and been escorted by a new face. “This way, My Lady.” ushering you in the house, a line of butlers and maids on the side had you unfazed. Giving them a smile in return, you proceeded to your father’s room and was a bit surprised to see seven grown men standing on the side with their chin held up high, stomach in and chest out.

“I’m glad to have you here, dear. How’s university going?” he casually asks with his hand gesturing you to take a seat. With your eyes glued on your father, you couldn’t help but feel a couple of eyes boring on your back. “University’s okay and I’m actually running for latin honors.” Transferring your gaze to the men, you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows at them.

“And who might these young gentlemen, father?” 

Your eyes trailed over their features, each one had a certain charm in them and you’d be fooling yourself if you denied the fact that they certainly were gorgeous. “Oh, they’re going to be your butlers, dear.” 

Gawking at your father’s remark, you pointed a finger at them and exclaimed, “They’re going to be my butlers?! Father, you do know that my apartment is just good for… I don’t know.. me?” 

“Don’t worry, dear, I had the apartment next to yours bought already for them to stay in and I’ve also requested the landlord to connect your apartment with theirs, which they are currently working on it now.” Your father shrugged his shoulders and just flashed you a casual smile, not really bothered by the fact that you didn’t seem to like the idea.

“Are you serious?” you scoffed and stared at the men standing in front of you. “Gentlemen, would you please introduce yourselves to your new master?” And with just one request, the men immediately obliged and introduced themselves with such elegance.

Before you could even just comprehend of what just happened, you were now followed by the seven men throughout the whole day long. They kept their distance from you but would only go near you when you have something to ask them about and much more. In the midst of losing yourself on the thick book sprawled on the table, you somewhat found yourself looking at your butlers.

Hyunwoo, the eldest of the six, was a man that has the qualities of a leader and a father. He was quiet and only spoke when it was necessary. However, he was also a man who was ready to protect you at all costs, just like when a man sudden dashed towards you and before you knew it, Hyunwoo was standing in front of you, blocking the man from getting his hands on you. Hyunwoo wore a suit with a black dress shirt under his coat, and his jet black hair was just neatly kept. 

Hoseok, the second eldest, was a man that has a big heart. The way his gaze softened when he saw a stray kitten purred for milk but despite having a big heart, Hoseok still knew how to separate his personal life with his career life. He wore a suit with a cream dress shirt under his coat and wore a golden chain necklace under his shirt and his platinum blonde hair with blue tips almost covered his eyes.

Minhyuk, the third eldest, was a man filled with sunshine. He was the one who seemed to keep everyone up and alive with that toothy grin of his. Minhyuk was quite a chatterbox, as well, which you are thankful since he was able to give out a couple of choices for you to choose. Minhyuk wore a suit with a white dress shirt under his coat and dark brown locks were slightly waved on the bangs. 

Kihyun, the fourth eldest, was a man who knew his stuff and he gave off a mother vibe to him. He would always keep you clean and when you just sneezed, he worriedly approached you and asked if he should get you some advil or make you some chicken soup, which you kindly declined and reassured him that it was nothing. Kihyun wore a suit with a baby pink dress shirt under his coat but wore a pendant on his collar and his hair was dyed in pink, which somewhat suits him.

Hyungwon, the fifth eldest, was a man of few words but his actions were loud enough to speak what he wasn’t able to say. When you were in your wits, Hyungwon was able to catch on the pleading look in your eyes and had himself beside you, giving out a couple of suggestions and relevant information that helped you out right away. Hyungwon wore a suit with a cream chiffon dress shirt under the coat and had his fluffy hair down.

Jooheon, the second youngest, was a man who looked a bit intimidating but was a huge softie. You were intimidated by his looks at first but when he brought you a blanket when you were cold, you were able to realize that he was someone who cared and also had a big heart. Jooheon wore a suit with a black shirt under his coat and you could see a small hint of a tattoo on his collarbone, which kind of amused you and had his jet black hair pulled back.

Changkyun, the youngest of them all, was a man that had a lot of things up his sleeves, well he was pretty random at times. He would blabber random facts about a specific word that you’ve asked him about and he’d sometimes just stop and leave when he sees you staring at him. Changkyun also wore a shirt with a cream dress shirt under his coat. 

Each and every one had totally got your attention and quirked up that interests of yours once more. You let out a sigh and gazed up at them, only to see that they were also looking at you. “Gentlemen,” you called out and was a bit surprised at how unison they were.

“Yes, My Lady?” 

Chuckling at their synchronization, you propped your elbow on the wooden desk and rested your chin on your palm. “Oh, so you’re going to call me as ‘My Lady’, huh?” you query in amusement.

“Yes, My Lady,” they answered in unison once again, making you let out a fruity laugh and gazed at them with stars in your eyes. Huh, so I’m going to be their Lady now, then.

“Well, I hope that we have a great time together as your Lady and butlers.”

“The feeling’s mutual, My Lady.”

Title: Deaf’s Love

Character: Erastus “Deaf” Smith

TV: Texas Rising

Warnings: Smut!!

Photo/GIF credits go to the original maker/owner

Deaf had made it home safe and sound, ready to relax and spend time with his wife.

The war had been wearing the Rangers down, so General Houston granted the men to have a two day leave. Rest up, eat properly, get a woman and have some fun.

Erastus had fed and watered his horse, making sure that she was in the barn to rest her tired hooves as well.

Upon entering the spotless home that he shared with Y/N; the not so pleasant scent of gunpowder, blood and sweat slapped him in the face.

Shaking his head, he started the water for a nice hot bath, but he most definitely needed to rinse off first.

After going for a quick dip in the large pond that was located on the property, Deaf trudged back up to the house, his white long John bottoms soaked through.

At the door, he removed the wet undergarment and wrapped a towel around his waist. It took a little while to fill the tub, but the second he sank down into the cozy hot water, the knots and kinks unwound from his sore muscles.

Within moments of being squeaky clean, he was asleep with his head and arms propped up on the side of the tub.
Soft hands ran over his shoulders, while a feminine voice spoke his name.

Erastus blinked slowly, breathing deeply as he came to. Looking up, he saw the beautiful face of his wife.

“Hey Sweetness,” he said, sleepily.

She smiled, leaning down to kiss his lips, “Mmm, hello Deaf,”

He sighed into the kiss, holding the back of her head as their lips moved together.

She slid a hand down his chest, gasping and pulling away once her hand was in the water, “Deaf, you need to get out of this water before you catch a cold,”

When Deaf moved his legs, he then realized that the water was chilled.

Y/N laid a towel on the table that was next to him and kissed his cheek, “I’m going to turn down the bed,”

Deaf smiled, watching the natural sway of her hips as she went to the bedroom.

He sighed, feeling his length grow at the need he felt for his wife. It had been far too long.

He held the towel around his waist, leaning against the doorway as Y/N moved around the bedroom.

She was in her thin nightgown, her hair still up. The comforter and top sheet on the bed were turned down, ready for them to occupy the comfortable mattress.

Deaf had more in mind though… a lot more in mind.

With her back turned to him, Deaf walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her waist as he ran his nose up her neck.

Her sharp intake of breath made him smile.

Deaf ran his hand across her abdomen, placing feather kisses when she tilted her neck.

“I missed you Darlin’,” he whispered, kissing her earlobe.

Y/N laughed lightly at the tickle of his beard. Turning in his embrace, she smiled up at him, “I missed you too, Erastus,”

He licked his lips, his eyes trailing over her features and down to her cleavage. The front of her nightgown was tied in a simple bow, that being the only thing holding it together.

Reaching for satin string, he pulled at the ends deftly untying it.

The cotton gown fell open, revealing the swells of her breasts while still covering her nipples.

Y/N rolled her lips, biting the bottom as she anticipated the next move.

Deaf cupped her cheeks, threading his fingers into hair at the nape of her neck. Tilting her head up, he bent down to make up for the height difference.

At the contact of her supple lips, Deaf groaned into the kiss.

His wife’s fingers grasped at his damp shoulder blades, her soft fingertips running down his back and ending at his waist.

Their heads moved in sync as they kissed, the light smacks of their lips connecting and disconnecting sounding very mute to Deaf’s ears.

He broke the kiss when Y/N removed the towel from his waist, letting it fall to the floor.

His length jutted proudly from a thatch of curls, just begging to be touched.

When Y/N sank to her knees, Deaf let his fingers trail through her hair as he put his head back and stared at the ceiling.

At the feel of her lips kissing the helmet of his length, his legs shook.

Peering down at her, he watched as she slowly took him into her mouth, bobbing her head at a snail’s pace.

Deaf grunted, the suction and warmth of her mouth beyond perfect. He could feel the pull of his orgasm approaching quickly, but he didn’t want to finish so soon; and certainly not before Y/N.

Pulling his hips back, his member fell from her lips with a slight bounce and pop.

Y/N licked her lips, wiping away any excess from her mouth.

Deaf helped her stand, the nightgown falling from her shoulders and pooling at her feet.

Without wasting another moment, Deaf grabbed her bottom, and hoisted her up so that her legs would wrap around him.

He carried her to the bed, where he laid on it, letting her sit on top of him.

Her hands on his chest ran up and down, her fingers gliding through the his damp chest hair.

Y/N rose to her knees, the tip of his length brushing against her wet lower lips.

Reaching behind her, she held him still as she lowered herself down onto him.

They both sighed, adjusting to the length and tightness.

With his hands resting on the dip of her hips, Deaf held onto Y/N as she began to raise and lower her hips.

Sitting up, he grasped her chin, his fingers sliding to her neck as he kissed her softly.

She moaned on a breathy sigh, twirling her tongue with his. When she pulled back, Y/N rested her forehead against his, “I missed you Erastus,”

Deaf raised his hips as she lowered herself, burying himself deeply within her.

Throwing her head back she let out a loud moan and rolled her hips as he held her against him.

Deaf kissed and nipped at her neck, whispering words that he had missed saying so much to her, “Missed you too, Darlin’.”

Giving her chin a nip, he let her hips go so that she could continue riding him, “I love you so damn much,”

Y/N cupped his cheeks, pecking his lips and smiling, “Show me how much you love me,”

He grinned, twisting them around so that he was on top of her.

Deaf held her thigh high on his hip and snapped his hips forward in a hard, deep thrust.

“Oh my God,” Y/N cried out.

She hooked her other leg with his, using it as leverage so that she could meet his thrusts.

Leaning down, Deaf took a hardened nipple between his lips, teasing it with his tongue.

“Don’t stop, Erastus,” Y/N cried, running her fingers through his messy hair.

He felt her warm tunnel begin to tighten as her release hit her hard.

Pushing his hips forward one last time as she cried out, he filled her with his hot seed.

While his body twitched, Y/N continued to roll her hips to prolong their release.

Deaf laid there, his head resting on Y/N’s breast.

“I love you too, Deaf,” Y/N whispered.

He felt her chest vibrate from her words, but they were muffled.

“What?” he asked, raising his head.

“I love you too, Deaf,” she repeated, also signing it to him.

Rolling to the side, he pulled Y/N to him, letting the night time air cool their heated skin.

As Y/N started to pet his chest, he kissed her forehead, letting his lips rest there.

“You will always be my desert rose.”