and his collection of ties


Harold Finch | Ties (Season One)

Mr. Harold Finch seems to have approximately 70+ different ties in Season One. They include roughly two speckled, ten plain, twelve striped, nineteen vintage patterned and twenty-seven geometric.

Now here is the fun part: one of the images above showing Finch’s ties is actually of Reese’s. Have you found it?

  • Edward Nygma: me? In love with Oswald? No. That's absurd and completely ridiculous. What is there to love? Certainly not his dazzling green eyes that change hue depending on his mood, or his alabaster skin that feels smoother than any of his silken ties. I don't love his collection of freckles that paint the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones, nor do I care for his annoyingly attractive smirk. Nope. Nothing to love. Not a damn thing.

selfies from hell, Fredams modern au pt. 1

Fun Fact: King George and John Adams relationship would actually be more strained than this on account that John Adams was a big promoter for the independence of the American colonies.

tlcinbflo  asked:

calming sentence starters: Just breathe. Sirius and Reyes. ;)

Wow. This ended up being a lot longer than I meant for it to be. It will also probably end up being in one of the next chapters of my Sirius and Reyes fic. I’ve put most of it behind a cut. Trigger warning for mentions of torture, gore, blood, and violence.

Just breathe, Reyes told himself as he approached the shivering form huddled in the seat. One breath in, one breath out. Repeat. Don’t stop. Don’t think too hard about what you’re seeing. Don’t think too hard about what he did to her. She’ll be fine; she has to be.

Sirius had been missing for three days. Three very long days during which Reyes had felt as though he were going slowly mad as he put all of his resources and contacts to use trying to locate her. She had gone out by herself in the Nomad on a mission, and hadn’t come back from the badlands. At first he had been sure that she would waltz through the door of Tartarus at any moment and airily explain that she had been delayed by a fiend or an outpost of Outlaws as she usually did, but this time she hadn’t come back.

And then he’d discovered the reason why.

One of his own men, a Collective agent who had been operating deep in the badlands, had mistaken her for one of Sloane’s Outlaws and had taken her in for an interrogation. Interrogation meaning torture. The Collective representative who had called Reyes with the information had been terrified of what he would do; the agent hadn’t believed she was the Pathfinder, she’d explained, he still didn’t, and was holding her at a remote facility at Spirits Ledge.

Reyes had gone immediately, fear and anger boiling within him, the emotions growing even stronger when the mountains around Spirits Ledge prevented him from contacting the agent by radio. By the time he arrived he hadn’t wanted to listen to the man’s excuses, so he hadn’t given him a chance to explain. There was nothing he could he say that would absolve him of what he had done anyway.

Nothing, Reyes thought furiously as his eyes lingered on the blood splattered on the floor around Sirius. Nothing could make up for this. 

A bullet had shut the agent up, and he had left him lying where he’d fallen.

Reyes gave himself a small shake and forced himself to walk, one foot in front of that other, over the blood slicked floor; his boots crunching and slithering over chunks of meat and bone that should have been attached to people but no longer were. None of the pieces had come from Sirius, of that he was sure, but he hated to think who they had come from; he had never authorised this kind of torture and never would have. His representative who had called the information in would have known what was happening here; she would have to be dealt with too.

The coppery scent of blood was suffocating, cloying, and he he swallowed thickly as the smell seemed to creep over his tongue. He’d been around blood and death before, more times than he cared to admit, but this was different. This time it was someone he cared about who was hurt, it was her blood he could smell, and it was, unavoidably, his fault that she had ended up like this. Guilt curled within him, fighting for a place alongside the fear and anger.

Reyes kept moving, though each step closer to her fueled the pain and rage he was feeling. Sirius was slumped in the chair that the Collective agent, one of his own men, had tied her to. Her clothing was bloodied and torn, and her long hair mattered with dried blood and dirt. He didn’t want to see what the agent had done to her, was almost frightened to see what he had done, but he made himself look as he drew alongside her.

“Ryder?” He spoke softly and dropped to a crouch, too scared to touch her, too frightened in case he made things worse. “Sirius?”

His stomach knotted as he took in her bloodied form; there were deep cuts and lacerations up one arm, and he could see bloodied marks around each wrist where she had been struggling to break free. He gritted his teeth, refusing to think of how scared she had been or how much pain she had suffered. Instead he cut the bonds that were keeping her secured and caught her as she fell sideways into his arms, a small mewl of pain escaping her.

“Shit,” he cursed as he saw the gleam of white bone sticking through the flesh of her other arm, the flesh around it a sickly reddish purple colour.

His chest tight with panic, Reyes settled her into his arms more securely, and pushed her hair back from her face, anxiously scanning her features.

He froze.

She was filthy, covered in dirt and blood, with bruises covering one side of her face. But it wasn’t that which had made him pause; it was the clean spots. Two twin streaks of pale skin were visible down her face, clean spots where her tears had fallen as she’d cried. Reyes stared down at her, trembling as his guilt and anger broke over him like desperate swimmers reaching the surface of a pool, and he dragged in a strangled breath.

She hated crying.

“Siri?” He tried again, his voice cracking as he struggled to keep his fear in check when she failed to respond. “Come on, Bluebird-”

Sirius moved abruptly. She whimpered faintly and pushed against him, her hand feeble against his chest as she struggled to get away from him. Reyes shushed her as quietly as he could and gathered her close, reassuring her quietly in both Spanish and English as he told he that everything would be alright, that she was safe now, that she would be fine.

Slowly, her eyes opened, and her luminous gaze fixed on him; her glowing biotic eyes focusing on him with a look that was both relieved and incredulous. She tried to speak and failed, though the word she mouthed looked suspiciously like his name. Reyes pressed gentle kisses down on her face and lips, and held her as tightly and carefully as he dared. He buried his face in her hair, oblivious to the dirt and blood he was getting over himself.

He didn’t care. 

All he wanted was to get her back home and to make sure she was alright. He was torn between the possessive desire to take care of Sirius; to make sure she was safe and protected, and a violently dangerous need to rain down revenge on everybody who had played a part in her ending up like this. Reyes closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, his anger spearing inwards as some small internal voice reminded him that he led the the Collective and it was one of his own people who had done this. 

If Sirius ever found out he was the Charlatan … .

Reyes eyes snapped open and a chill shot through his bones. If she ever found out that one of his men had done this, if she got it into his head that he condoned this kind of behaviour, or thought that he had played any part in what had happened to her, then he would lose her. She would vanish from his life forever. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow.

Sirius couldn’t find out that he was the Charlatan. At least, not yet. Eventually he would tell her who he was, but that time was not now. Not when she was so fragile and when his operation had just proved itself to just every bit as violent as Sloane’s could be.  If it meant more lies between them so be it; that was a choice he was willing to make.

He wouldn’t lose Sirius, not because of this. 

Is anyone else intrigued by that ring Asami has on his little finger? It’s probably nothing, but Asami never struck me as the ring type and now I’m just randomly fascinated by his accessory he’s wearing. Like what else does he wear and is his collection as extensive as his ties? How much more can I obsess over a fictional character?

P.S he looks rather excellent here, doesn’t he?

Trashiness isn’t specific to one race, region, nation, or city. You’d think that money, or a lack of it, would be the biggest determining factor in whether a person achieves maximum trash, but as our current president proves, that isn’t true at all. For another example, take this guy.

His name is Roger Stone. He’s been an on-again-off-again friend to Donald Trump for decades. He acted as Trump’s advisor during his first presidential run in 2000, as he did during the 2016 election, up until Trump fired him or Stone quit, depending on which one is telling the truth. He’s been a key behind-the-scenes member of the Republican Party as a lobbyist and political consultant for decades. He’s known in the political world for his hundreds of custom Italian suits and his vast collection of ties. Just one look at him and you’re struck – he’s a fancy man.

But behind that veneer of elegance resides a trashy soul like those found on COPS. Think the guy who tries to flee from officers, only for the sound of his meth pipe jingling against his crack pipe to give away his location.

Stone became rich and powerful despite (and perhaps because of) his inability to repress his tackiest instincts. The dude puts his garbage on blast 24/7, on every medium, in every way he can – on Twitter, in interviews, during photo shoots, and on his skin.

Roger Stone Is Literal Human Garbage, Here’s Why

Here In My Room - 3

As promised. Let’s all hold hands and start a prayer circle that we get some surprise Finn tonight, beyond hopefully punching Miz in the face.

Merritt swallows hard, Finn circling her like the predator she knows he can be. Her skin prickles with gooseflesh, naked before him, his hungry eyes taking in every inch of her bared skin. She keeps perfectly still, gasping quietly when his warm, rough fingers press to her hip and the slowly blooming bruises he finds there.

Keep reading

ADA Rafael Barba; His Woes; and Carmen.

This is a selfish, quick, prolly lackluster, not-really-edited piece because work is really busy but I want this to happen SO BAD.

Originally posted by eighthmark

Psuedo-spoiler alert; mention of Barba’s “secret” & the results of such.

Directly after his meeting, and learning of his ‘punishment’ for the misdeed he had committed and subsequently went to cover up- he had gone to advise her. Better him than anyone else, he figured. He had asked her to join him, poured them both drinks, directed her towards the little sofa so as to provide comfort despite the unsettling news.

Then, Rafael Barba told his long-time assistant everything.
About the trial; about the woman, the addict; what he gave her, what happened, how he’d known. He told her how it worked, the success, then the grand fall. Then the daughter, and how he’d been guilt ridden since.

Carmen had stayed silent for a long few minutes, nursed her drink and ran fingertips along the rim. After about five of those quiet ticks of the clocks, she rose to her feet, boldly took the scotch from his hand and discarded both of their glasses onto the table.

“Mr. Barba, I knew about the money-” Her voice was calm, warm, and somehow initiated sparks of tears in the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know or understand why or who that girl was, but I monitor your statements… I just assumed it wasn’t my business.”

Of course she knew. Rafael hid his eyes behind his hand, bit back sniffles to try and maintain the facade of stoicism. She always knew everything.

Though it had happened often, it had never been like this; in his moment of weakness, Carmen came to his rescue. When he wilted, she reached out, gripped hard on his biceps over his suit, forced him to stand tall. “Mr. Barba; I am so proud of you.” Delicately, she straightened his jacket, rocked forward to run fingertips through his hair to correct the mussed strands. “Since the day I met you, I knew how honorable you were. I have no doubt that you did what you had to in order to get villains off the street, and I think no less of you-”

“I’m going to be suspended,” he choked it out, somehow managed to stay stiff in the spine- stuck in the soldier boy position she had manipulated him to. “Thirty days. You- if you want to stick around, you still have your position, of course; If you’d be willing to forgive me, we can get back to how things were.”

Nodding, Carmen went to gather her purse and their coats. Without responding, she shrugged hers on then held up his. Rafael obediently slithered inside, went to quick work slipping buttons through loops. “Let’s go eat, you need dinner before you hit the scotch too hard-” she suggested, brightly, as if they were planning a happy hour after winning a case instead of the dire situation he’d conjured for himself. “We can discuss the dates you’ll be away, what I can do while you’re out, how we can best prepare… I can work to consider a PR plan if it’s needed, but perhaps you should take the time to get away,” while still rattling off her mental to-do list, she began to head to the door- “we can find you a hotel room somewhere sunny, get you out of New York for a bit…”

Carefully, Rafael gave her purse strap a tug, causing her to pause and twist to look at him before working to open the door. “Carmen,” he waited for her to catch his stare, didn’t even try to hide the tears that had fallen. “Carmen, I’d be lost without you.”

With the pad of her thumb, she brushed away the wetness on his cheek. “It’s what I do, Mr. Barba.”

It had been such a long month without him.

Of course, his suspension gave Carmen time. To think, to consider, to re-organize and breathe. She actually used some of her stockpile of collected ‘paid time off’ to take her niece to the park, an art gallery, some little coffee shop to listen to music. 

Naturally, she had forgiven him. In fact, there had never even been reason or need for his apologies. Carmen was in his corner, would likely always be, and his act of thin-lined valor didn’t sway her in the least.

While he was gone, though, she made certain to keep the place pristine. Carmen would go into his office, dust off his desk accessories. She switched out pens and highlighters for new ones, gathered up loose and irrelevant papers so she could comb through them for the important bits, even went out and purchased a fancy new Keurig to keep in his office… that coffee pot was getting old, and with him gone long enough not to notice, she wasted no time getting rid of it.

His inbox was stacking up; but Carmen had been certain to flag the actually urgent correspondences, and to settle any little fires she felt confident handling on her lonesome. All of his case files were now alphabetized, the updated ones had special tags on them in order of relevance and importance. His plants had been watered, dead leaves trimmed off, and she had brought in a rather colorful arrangement to brighten the place up a bit.

He deserved it; her diligence, her care, her respect.

On the day of his planned return- Carmen was awake earlier than usual. Before getting to the office, she had made a few stops, came in an hour before her typical clock-in time with bags dangling from her arms. This morning, she moved quicker than she did most, was nearly out of breath by the end of it all.

Rafael Barba came in in a hurry; eyes heavy but mind sharp. At the sight of her, typing diligently away at her keyboard, he could only smile. “Carmen!” Shamelessly, he discarded his briefcase, and leaned up against her desk. “My miracle worker, oh I’ve missed you so!” 

She had certainly missed him as well. “Did you enjoy your time off, Mr. Barba?” To give him a good look over, she stepped back, was grinning more than she had been able to the whole time he was away. “You look happy to be back.”

Time off… Rafael laughed at her choice of words. Suspension, time off, same difference- isn’t it? “I’m not sure about being back, but I am happy to see you,” as he had done every morning they worked together, he went for her ‘Barba Box’ and gathered up the stack of notes and messages. “I did enjoy it a little, I suppose- but I also enjoyed the care basket you sent. Your sister is a brilliant baker.”

Carmen nodded, and took her seat so she could reach for hidden files he needed to address sooner than others. “I’ll forward the compliments to the chef, I’m glad you liked it.” Noticing his brows furrow together, she quickly took away the stack of papers. “Don’t worry about all those yet, I told most of the other counselors you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

Happily, he accepted her direction, shot an appreciative wink and went to abscond away to his office so he could start to get through the sure-to-be-chaos. “You’re a genius, Carmen. I’d be lost without you.” 

While Rafael went and closed the door behind him, his assistant stayed silent, even choosing not to respond with her typical retort…

He wouldn’t have really been able to hear her, anyways.
Not over the sound of his files dropping hard on his table top.

On his desk, the new lovely bouquet of rainbow flowers. Four balloons, two smiley faces / one with a gold star / and another sporting the words ‘WELCOME BACK’ in comic-sans; all tied together and connected to a blue weight near his chair. A new coffee mug, black with a gold trim around the rim and along the handle- he gave it a twist to read all the words on the sides: ‘Coffee. Tea. Bourbon. Depends on the client.’ A nice bottle of scotch, his favorite actually, she must have taken note of the most-touched one he kept in his collection; with a bright red ribbon tied around the neck.

Celebrating his return was not what the ADA had expected. 
Leers, judgment, frustration from all ends maybe.
Suspicion, anger, or maybe even disappointment…

But, of course, he should have known better.
He should always expect the best from Carmen.

All of his files made sense, there was no mess to clean, everything was where he had left it but just a little bit better. After managing to sniffle back tears, damn her for making him well up both the last times he’d seen her, Rafael slid out of his office. Of course, she pretended not to notice him, as she would have done any time he wandered throughout their little corridor. As if nothing had ever changed.

This time, instead of dropping off papers or asking about schedules, Rafael Barba threw his arms over her shoulders, pulled her back so her rolling chair hit his chest and he could kindly embrace her. Oh, and Carmen smiled, even though he couldn’t see; she placed her hands over his as they collected near her sternum, let him give her a friendly peck on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered briefly, just before standing and patting heavy palms on her shoulders. “Sincerely, Carmen, thank you: you’ve kept the place together and you’ve… well,” he had never been great with sentiments, and really wonderful friends were so hard to come by. “Carmen, I’d be lost without you-”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Barba.” She glanced up at him over her shoulder, pat at his knuckles to prove she truly did understand his gratitude: and she’d do it all over and over again if it really made her employer (and, friend) so very happy. “It’s what I do, Mr. Barba.”

Originally posted by minidodds

tags (I’m trying to get better at this I’m so sorry): @yourtropegirl @havvkeyes @blown-transistor @esparza-army @booyahfordhamlaw

anonymous asked:

How do you think that keith is in bed like apart from amazing

So Keith is (mostly) described as a great lover, even by himself (rat lol).

“Mick Jagger was quite sexy. But Keith Richards was even better. He was my best lover. He knows women and he knows exactly what they want.”
-Uschi Obermaier

“The best night of my life? The one I spent with Keith Richards. Even now it just stands out.”
-Marianne Faithfull

“If you’re gonna be a band, you can’t sit in the studio the whole time… I’d like to do more the only thing I can do really well, apart from screwing.”

So it does look like he knows a thing or two about fucking…
It is said that Keith is extremely good with his fingers and mouth. A groupie in 1966 described Keith as ‘shy and a lovable guy’, who also happened to be one of the greatest bed artists of all time: ‘That tongue!’
Also the lyrics of his song “Coming Down Again” ruin ovaries. “Slipped my tongue into someone else’s pie / tasting better every time”
Yes daddy😪
And Keith is a guitarist and he also plays bass, so I think it’s safe to presume that his he is VERY skilled at fingering as well. Fuck💦💦😩

There is plenty of evidence that the rat actually knows the anatomy of women very well and he knows how to satisfy their every need, like a certain song suggests.

“Mick is the most charming man in the world, but Keith is the better lover. He just knows the anatomy of women…”
-Uschi Obermaier (aka Our Lord and Saviour)

“The same guys (guys who don’t respect women) they never seem to learn anything about women. Y'know, they’d be hard pushed to tell you where the clitoris is. Now if a guy doesn’t know where that is situated, then he’s got a big problem ‘cos he ain’t gonna satisfy any woman. (…) I’m not going to spend my time drawing maps for guys who haven’t learned to find their way around. All I can say is that I haven’t had any complaints. I never left a woman feeling pissed off. I never had any woman chase me and tell me I’d let her down. There’s an art to that and it’s an art that has to be learned.”

Looks like he doesn’t leave women unsatisfied..
So he’s excellent with his fingers and tongue, and he can actually find the clit! Not a bad combination, huh ;)
I’ll leave the rest to your imagination..

“But, y'know, some guys don’t want to go all night. They’re happy with something a little quicker. As for myself, I’ll keep going until I run out of steam.”

Although he probably likes to quickly fuck a groupie backstage like any other rock star, it would appear that Keith could keep fucking you for a good long while. Let’s not forget he literally fucked Uschi so fucking hard she accidentally ripped off his earring. And it is said that they spent several days in bed just fucking and stuff.. Wow😳

When we start talking about BDSM or dominace/submission things or whatever, it’s quite unclear that does Keith prefer to be top or bottom.

“‘She’s in bed with a chick,’ he told Keith.
‘Don’t worry man,’ Keith guffawed. ‘Anita’s been like that for years. You want to get in there with them and teach ‘em a lesson’”

-Up and Down with the Rolling Stones

“Like we got into trouble over the posters for the Black And Blue album - with all these chicks tied up. Well, I know a lot of chicks who like to be tied up.”

So it seems that Keith does have some dominant tendecies. So if you want Keith to discipline you or “teach you a lesson” you might want to fool around with another lady. It would also appear that he’s down for tieing you up😋
We also know that Anita had whips that she used on Brian. Mmmhhh maye she used them on Keith too..😈
Who knows ;)
So after all Keith’s preferences are kind of a mystery. We can assume that he swings both ways. Early 60s Keith is a pure and innocent mouse that is probably very easily dominated, but in 68 something happened and he turned daddy, so he might have started to act that way and start having his way with all these girls that wanted him…😪 and in his True Daddy™ era in the 80s he looks like he could just pin you against a wall and ruin you :/

“I don’t think anybody realized it, because Bill Wyman usually grabbed the honors in this department, but Keith was the member of the Rolling Stones who was particularly well endowed. He was impressive to say the least. Oh my God! He had a hard-on parallel to his knee for a solid twenty minutes. (…)
“Many men are incapable of achieving even the slightest tumescence under the influence of drugs – that’s one of its many curses. Keith clearly had no such problems.”

-Bebe Buell

Clearly Had No Such Problems. And yes, it would appear that Keith’s manhood is quite impressive. In 1972 he wore those fucking jeans all the time that showed the outline on his dick and it looks very nice indeed😍😩 And we have been blessed with many photos where you can see his bulge and there are even some pictures where you can actually see his cock.😛 So he could fuck you hard with his big cock or make you gag on it tbh 💦

“I’ve never been able to go to bed with a woman just for sex. I’ve no interest in that. I want to hug you and kiss you and make you feel good and protect you. And get a nice note the next day, stay in touch.“

Keith is also said to be extremly romantic and he has many times said that sometimes he goes to bed with a woman just to cuddle with her awwwwwwww *needs a moment*
So he can be very gentle and sweet.
Also a girl who slept with him in the sixties that after they spent the night together, in the morning he cooked for her and played her a guitar :3 she didn’t forget to mention that he was a great fuck :3

“Are you kidding, man? I’m a fucking expert when it comes to wanking. Bloody hell. Quick ones. Slow ones. In-between ones.”
-Keith Richards, world champion in wanking 1955-1963

So if I took that correctly, he might actually wank in-between you fucking. Why is that hot. And I’m sure since he’s such a wanker, he’d gladly jerk off to you masturbating :/

There is no direct evidence that Keith is into kn*feplay, but this nerd has such a kinfe fetish not to mention his fucking knife collection. And according to Pamela Des Barres Keith had tied a switchblade with a leatherband to the neck of a groupie named Flo. No offense but I bet my ass that the rat is into knifeplay. I could see him gliding a knife across a girl’s chest and cutting her strings with it… Hot
(Also I should mention that he also loves dem shooters. Maybe into gunplay as well😈)

“Oh, I do like the odd fetish. Lingerie is particularly nice to look at. It’s even nicer to take off. I can’t say the same for my own lingerie. But a chick’s stuff - that’s made to be taken off. It’s part of the courting dance.”

So yeah, if you wanna get Keith really hard you should wear a sexy lingerie and he’ll probably be dying to tear it off you💦 tbh he always said that in the early sixties girls threw their panties at him and that he kept them all. And he was such a wanker.. Mmmmh I wonder what he did with them👀

And also let’s not forget that he probably enjoys biting. Everybody knows the pic Andy Warhol took of him, where he is biting a chick. So he might leave your thighs and neck full of bitemarks ;)

Also if we think about his physical qualities, he is kinda a skinny rat (which I find attractive???fight me?) but you can see that he’s fucking strong. His fucking shoulder and back muscles god… Those are made to pin you down of hold your hands above your head💦😛 and in the (daddy) 80s he started working out and his hands were like muscular af so he could slap your face hard (if you are into that idk). Also his tummy is hot. I just had to mention that. And don’t forget his guitarist fingers!!!!

So we might come to a conclusion that Keith is a blast in bed. And he seems very considerate on what you want to do. He can cuddle and make sweet love to you just as he can treat you like a whore and make you choke on his big cock. I also bet he could keep you on the edge of cumming for hours with his tongue and fingers… Yeah I’ll stop *blushes*

jointhefight  asked:

burrcules headcanon: burr's wardrobe is mostly grey, it works for him but hercules starts slowly incorporating little spots of color, in the jacket linings, in his shoelaces, and builds a considerable collection of ties that burr uses. he has one for every day of the month

Burr with a grey suit but his lining is bright blue 💦💦👌👌 helloooo there handsome. Hercules also get burr better shoes that arnt just black they’re brown and like reddish brown

Skin slapping against skin. The sloppy, squelch of a thick cock plunging deep into his soon to be raw, needy hole. Ten minutes left alone in the dressing room and this is where they were. Minghao was bent, head first over a makeup table, the very top of his skull bumping dully into the mirror every now and then with a particularly deep thrust. His red track pants were hanging around his ankles, leaving his stiffened dick to graze against the edge of the table and jostle, leaking long streaks of precome onto the floor.

Jun had a tight, tight grip on his hips - what was normally soft, forgiving skin was now red and brazen with the force of harsh fingers being gripped tight in. His bottom lip was snagged between his teeth, getting red and near bleeding with the force to be discreet and not cry out; the tight, greedy heat pulling in his dick again and again. A ring of sweat was collecting on his brow, where the cotton of his tied bandana connected with the flushed skin of his forehead.

He ploughed forward more still, punishing and saving Minghao with his cock. When he heard the dull, barely audible murmur of grunts, maybe gasps, coming from the brunet, he knew it was time to drive it home.

He reached forward, gripping a heady fistful of the dyed hair in his hand.

“Come on, baby boy. Come for me.” He groaned out in demand.

And he did. Minghao clenched his jaw and sealed his own mouth tight, barely keeping in his own moans as he came, untouched, dribbling his release all over the front of the table and then down in a small, shameful puddle on the floor (and getting even a small bit on his pants).

Jun, feeling Minghao’s ass clench and seize around him, came soon after, shooting his load into Minghao’s hot body. He craned his head back in euphoria, letting out a long groan and basking in the moment.

Feeling sweaty, spent, and with the rest of the group long missing them by now, Jun leaned down and pressed his front flush against Minghao’s back, the latter limp and weak under him. He was poised to pull out just as he mumbled in the other’s ear:

“Happy Junhao Day.”

(A/N: so this seems like it came out of nowhere. but it was pretty much 100% inspired by @livingthroughtheexperience. yeah she is junhao trash, mostly minghao trash, and she hounded me about this day so it inspired me to write this. i wrote it in twenty minutes, in my second period class, ten feet away from the teacher, during a lesson. eeyyyy i’m a horrible student. but i love how this turned out. -Tanisha<3)

2p England Headcanons
  • Loves to collect bow-ties.

  • Has freckles on his face, chest, and back but is very self-conscious about it.

  • Has pierced ears from his youth.

  • Wears reading glasses.

  • Loves crime and mystery shows (sHERLOCK)

  • Often found sewing and making pillows.

  • Doesn’t just bake but cooks pretty well.

  • Has a fear of pests and rodents.

  • Not as innocent as he looks.

  • Only when he’s vERY mad will he swear; yes, swear.

anonymous asked:

Seunghyun probably has a HUGE room of play-toys and then a secret room within that room which hosts his collection of sex toys, complete with Jiyong tied up and gagged in a four poster bed



requested by anonymous

What does he smell like?
He obviously smells of something expensive and elegant, something faint but unsettling, with a touch of soap and touch of darkness; a pricy, sophisticated cologne; I imagine him spraying it into the air of his bathroom and walking carefully through it every morning. 

For an unknown reason (maybe the tenderness I have for him), I imagine his hair to be, in perfume as well as in colour, the only unrefined thing about him. His shampoo must give off this very kiddie, fruity smell, something sweet and young and flimsy. But you’d have to get very close to get a whiff of it. (weak metaphors 101.)

What music does he enjoy?
Oh, well. Francis doesn’t like vulgarity (he said as much in the Gucci conversation), and wouldn’t be into modern Top 50’s at all. I guess he roams between very dramatic classics (Brahms, Wagner), and old glamour (20’s Jazz, old Hollywood), with a zest of vintage French songs (Edith Piaf, Josephine Baker, Berthe Sylva—)

Because, you know, his life is a Golden Age Movie.

(He’s the kind of people who mimics the bandmaster, alone in his living-room, when listening to a very intense symphony.)

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100 Ways to Say “I Love You” No. 56

“It brings out your eyes” [AO3]

Requested by @beekeeper-cas​ | Human!AU, Dean and Cas being adorable, fluff :)

Cas sat on the bed, several ties draped over his arms and holding one up to his neck before shaking his head and returning it to the pile. This was useless. He had seventeen ties and he didn’t want to wear any of them to Sam and Jess’ wedding reception. He huffed and looked utterly dejected as Dean came into the room.

“That’s one hell of a look,” Dean commented, seeing Cas’ look of despair and his collection of ties strewn across the bed.

“I don’t know which one to wear.” He explained, tilting his head as an inclination that Dean should choose.

Dean sat down next to him, rifling through the ties before picking out a silky, dark blue one. “This one.”

He held it up to Cas’ chest, a smile on his face. Cas still seemed unsure but Dean stood up, before taking Cas’ hand and pulling him up and guiding him to stand in front of their full length mirror.

Dean stood behind Cas, his chest to Cas’ back and began to tie his tie for him. The entire time, Dean had a smile that opposed the grumpy look on Cas’ face.

“There,” Dean said and dropped his hands to loop round Cas’ stomach before pressing a soft kiss to the back of Cas’ neck which made the man shiver and close his eyes.

Castiel turned round in Dean’s arms and opened his eyes to meet Dean’s green ones, stomach fluttering and seeing him like it was the first time all over again. He kissed Dean back, lips meshing together like they were made to fit together. Dean pulled back, keeping his hands on Castiel’s waist as he kneaded the softening flesh there.

“It brings out your eyes, you know,” Dean winked and chuckled lightly as Cas’ cheeks reddened from the compliment, Dean told him things like that all the time, yet the blushing never seemed to cease and Dean seemed to enjoy watching the flush reach his ears. “C’mon, before we’re late.”

Another set of kisses were traded and Dean took Castiel’s hand and led him out the door to the Impala. Castiel gazed at Dean the entire way there, just seeing, watching, how beautiful Dean was to him. He was just so damn lucky to have him.

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 I saw this post about dorky headcanons about volleydorks and, well, @heyyyfuturefish and I got carried away…

so here.  have some dumb headcanons that really have nothing to do with anything but we found to be wonderful:

  • Daichi has so many shirts that are similar colors and leaves them around his room all the time instead of in a hamper so he has to do the sniff test on them all the time 
  • Iwaizumi always ties his left shoe first
  • Kuroo tries to look fairly badass but he literally only has tswift on his iPod
  • Tanaka has a collection of hair ties (most of them are his sister’s that she lost)
  • Akaashi has rock music and nature sounds on his ipod
  • Suga has like 5 alarms on his phone to get up, In 5 min increments.  Each one has a different alarm sound and increasingly vulgar labels
  • Bokuto made up his own language/code when he was 10.  He still uses it to take notes in class a lot of the time.
  • Noya wakes up at like 3 am every single day for no reason.  No alarms or anything just awake.  Then goes back to sleep.  He then needs an alarm to wake up for practice.  But he’s still an early bird and instantly awake.
  • Iwaizumi owns a version of each generation of Pokémon games.
  • So does Hanamaki.
  • They battle each other all the time.  Iwa always picks fire types.  Hanamaki has a Magikarp named Oikawa.  He never let’s it evolve
  • Almost every single sock that Yaku owns has holes in them
  • Lev has like 8 pairs of gloves and none of them match and they hardly ever fit so most of them have the fingertips cut off
  • Yahaba always forgets his deodorant at home and constantly steals Watari’s
  • Kyoutani absolutely has to stop to pet every dog he sees. If he doesn’t he has really bad days, as if he’s plagued with bad luck
  • Hanamaki has 4 blankets on his bed at all times and sleeps on and around and under them in a tangled mess