"I know you are not John Harrison".
Her words stilled his movement; his lips closed, resting upon the soft and bruised skin just below her left ear. He always devoted an adequate time of their foreplay to mark her, to show the others that she was taken, not at someone else’s disposal. In one word: his. He remembered one time, when he had covered her body with love bites, and in return, she had branded the skin of his back with the scrapes inflicted by her short nails. The light pain had only enhanced the sweet agony of being inside her, engulfed in her tight warmth, waiting for her to reach her orgasm, before letting go and fill her; but it was a sacrifice he had made gladly, because his reward was witnessing the moment in which she finally lost control over her body, over her mind, and welcomed the chaos.
He chased away the memory, and lifted his face, and a drop of sweat dropped from his eyebrows: his gaze followed with envy his path, from the valley just upon her breast, slowly marching down, towards her flat belly, finally reaching her navel. He trembled from the effort of restraining himself from replaying the same trail, and decided to observe the now silent woman trapped under his arms. She was shivering, but not because she was cold. It was because of the lust, obviously, and…for the first time he saw something different in her chestnut, deep eyes. Oh, what a fool had he been - he could now feel the raw passion, bubbling underneath the surface of a prim-looking girl; the fury, barely restrained, ready to explode. He could understand her anger: after all, he had lied to her, about a lot of things, for months. Since the first time he had seen her, outside the Starfleet hospital, and he had decided that he wanted her. A flicker of defiance appeared in her eyes; unfortunately, it was time for him to take action.
His left hand closed against her neck with the speed of a snake assaulting its prey, but he didn’t tightened his grip on her. His voice deepened, and a part of him exulted at the spontaneous moan that escaped from her sinful lips.
"And. Who. Are. You, Molly Hooper?"
This is the link for the other fic inspired by this drawing:
The title of this fanart (and the inspiration for do it) was taken from this song:
Sherlock’s feet get cold at night. He is always tucking them in with Molly’s.
But it’s okay because her hands get cold and he’ll cover them with his own.
date a boy who’s an angel. not like when people use angel as a synonym for sweet but a literal angel with six wings and thirty eyes and three heads of different animals. date a boy who uses a flaming sword and has a murderous vengeance that burns even hotter.
My Aunt Jeanie had a stroke today. she caught it in time that she’s not, you know, as bad as it could be. But it’s hard to understand her speech and her face droops. Still, they’re saying they may send her home tomorrow. (???????????)
Family emergencies and drama, ooh good.
Portals to Hell by hrmphfft
I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO FIND THIS AGAIN FOR MONTHS
I AM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW
This is one of those posts that you need to save and tag or you’ll never see it again for 84 years.
Whoever drew this is an amazing person and I love them.
What in hell
The Doll Test
This self hate thing is DEEP
this makes me mad
This is a compilation of doll tests featuring children of many races.
This is so fucking important
this (unintentional) social conditioning is so sickening.
Dug is the single most accurate portrayal of a dog in anything ever.
Dug is the best thing to ever happen in the world. Ever.