he writes with his left hand

anonymous asked:

You're doing adam kisses headcanons??? Omg I feel I'm gonna die already


Originally posted by mseffervescentdreamer

  • Hand kisses. Like, all sorts of hand kisses.
    • The open palm kiss where he lightly places a kiss on your palm. Usually while your sleeping and he’s left awake unable to fall asleep himself. Prince Adam watches you peacefully, his fingers tracing your palm before he leans over and lightly presses a kiss there. 
      • The usual back of the hand kiss. The kind where he brushes his lips against your knuckles in some sort of greeting. It’s barely a touch, and Prince Adam looks up at you from the kiss with a small smile.
      •  Or, even better when he’s hand in hand with you and merely lifts your hand up and kisses the back of it. A small simple way of saying I love you.
        • Fingertip kisses. Don’t get me started. JK, please do. Prince Adam lifting your hand up and kissing each of your finger individually before pressing kisses to two fingers at once and so on. 
        • This is something you do as well, but usually in private where it’s just the two of you. It makes him feel giddy inside and he loves to watch you kiss his fingers. (Not saying it’s a turn on but yo, it is).
          • Literally the cutest thing when he occasionally lets his lips trail up your hand to your wrist, where he lightly kisses just to tickle you.
  • Forehead kisses.
    • Prince Adam lightly placing his hands on the sides of your face. His thumbs rub your cheeks tenderly and he’s looking into your eyes like you’re the most sublime thing he’s ever looked at. And in his opinion, that’s true. He swallows softly, tilts your head towards him and kisses your forehead. It’s a slow sort of kiss, and he really takes his time letting his lips sink against your skin. 
      • Something that’s not quite a forehead kiss but still falls under it is the butterfly kiss, something that Prince Adam gives you when you’re tired, stressed, sad, etc. He’ll hold you tightly, letting his fingers trail up your neck to the back of your head where he holds you still before leaning down and kissing his forehead against yours. His eyelashes blush against yours, he’s murmuring to you, “I love you so much, you do know that. Right?” 
        • Much like his need for assurance for your love, he likes to validate his love for you when he feels you need it. 
      • You giving Prince Adam forehead kisses when it’s the early morning and he refuses to get out of bed. You roll over, give him a quick peck on the forehead before getting up. He mumbles to himself, but still manages to watch you get ready before deciding he needs to get up.
  • Cheek kisses.
    • A sort of prudent way of showing affection. Usually done in rather spontaneous spurt. 
    • Before Prince Adam leaves a room where a lot of people are watching, he’s turns his attention to you and always leaves you with a warm kiss to your cheek. The smile on his face as you watch him walk away is always something that makes your heart swell.
      • Even when his time with you is interrupted by something that needs his immediate attention, he’ll give you a kiss to the cheek before attending to what ever it is.
        • You giving him flusters of cheek kisses whenever he’s not feeling like himself. You probably kiss his entire face when he’s feeling down, but always centralize your kisses to his cheek.
  • Ear kisses.
    • A bit more secretive and used that way as well. 
      • During parties and what not, if there’s something that Prince Adam wishes to tell you without others knowing, he’ll lean towards you, kissing your ear before whispering whatever he has to say in your ear.
        • Constantly leaves a shudder to slide down your spine and the mare closeness of his lips to the shell of your neck.
        • When the two of you are together, just enjoying one another’s company in silence or reading, Prince Adam likes to lightly press kisses to your ear to remind you that he’s there. 
  • Jawline Kisses.
    • An early morning sort of kiss. You’re snug in his arms, wrapped up in complete and utter warmth. You don’t have to get up yet, and if you wanted, you could stay in bed for the rest of the day. Prince Adam breathes in slowly, his face dug into the crook of your neck. He yawns, lifting his head before pressing a kiss to your jawline, perhaps to entice you to play around this morning.
    • Jawline Kisses usually lead to neck kisses. (Mild NSFW)
      • Pretty self-explanatory but just imagine Prince Adam peppering kisses against your neck before snarling his teeth and lightly scraping them up and down to tease you.
  • On-The Lips Kisses.
    • A rather feisty and more secluded sort of kiss, meaning you usually only kiss each other in private like this. Very rarely does Prince Adam kiss you in front of others on the lips.
      • Probably once or twice if he’s noticed someone’s been looking at you, his protective instincts kick in and he’ll lightly press a kiss to your lips to assure that they know you’re with him.
        • Has a little smile he pulls before he finally lands a kiss on your lips. It’s the cutest little thing, his lips curling around the edges. He continues to smile while kissing you. He’s just so in love.
          • (Mildly NSFW). No doubt that they’ve lead to more heated sessions of kissing and fondling with one another. Imagine, the two of you are at a celebration but get impatient. You think you can make it back to the bedroom, but get half way there before he pulls you towards him. With a light chuckle,Prince Adam ravishes your lips with his, his hands grasping your shoulders and holding you against him. You respond right away, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for an even harder kiss.
  • The Surprise kisses.
    • That’s what you call them at least. The first one always starts with a flower that he picks for you. Holding it up with a small smile, you take it from his hands and respond, “Thank you, love.” To which he replies always with a rather head-spinning kiss and a very gentle, “I love you.”
    • The second kind are when he surprises you with a kiss while your reading. He knows you like to enthrall yourself in the words and pages and so takes this as an opportunity to place a kiss to your cheek, and then your lips.

Sorry I didn’t get more done, I am way tired and I need to sleep haha. Like, I said, there’ll be a part two(Probably with more NSFW kinds of kisses for those who want them). Thanks for reading, I really appreciate it. Reblogs and likes are helpful, thanks y’all!

Tagging: @ciaprincess


Feels Like Home
(A Rodeo Cowboy!Dean x Reader Series)

Dean left his small hometown years ago for the Rodeo circuit, and now he’s back- trying to return to his roots. Reader wasn’t sure she’d ever see the young stable-hand her dad hired years ago, but there he is- much more handsome than before. Sparks fly between them, but will the new neighbor unsaddle our cowboy?

> Coming Soon…

All users in my Dean tags will be tagged in the first chapter, but to continue to be tagged, you have to opt in to the series on my taglist form.

Keep reading

What’s Left of Us

Chapter 2

They are sitting in Vic’s kitchen this time, solemn expressions on their faces, their hands on the table as if brokering a peace deal.

“How do we do this?” Robert asks tentatively, his eyes slipping to Aaron’s hand that holds no wedding ring. He can’t help but wonder where he has stashed it, or if he has thrown it in the lake.

“I don’t know - we talk, I guess,” Aaron says, shrugging. “I need to know what you’re thinking, what you’re going through, and I want you to know how I am.”

“I want that, too,” Robert insists, and the smile Aaron gives is almost believable.

“I want to forgive you, I want to be able to not see the two of you when I close my eyes, I need to be able to let go of what happened… but that probably means I’m going to have to talk to you about it, as well,” Aaron says quietly.

Explicit, 2/3 chapters, 3.2k words, angst, reconciliation

Discovering Leo

I’ve had a few different people asking me how Shiro and Keith came to find their little Galran boy. I thought of many different scenarios, but one stuck in my mind.

“Haggar’s lab should be dead ahead.”
Shiro wiped sweat from his brow with his left hand, the other raised and glowing with deadly light.
“Copy that, Princess.” He answered, cutting down another sentry. Keith pressed up against him back to back, panting.
“I think that was the last of them.” He flicked his head, brushing hair out of his eyes with the tip of his bayard. The floor around them was riddled with dead sentries, their limbs sheared off, wires crackling with electricity.

“…Did you hear that?” Shiro asked, craning his neck. “I thought…”
“I heard it too.” Keith murmured, eyes wide with shock. “It can’t be what I think it is.”
“Come on.” Shiro sprinted ahead down the long, dark corridor, Keith close behind. He skidded to a halt in front of a sealed door, looking to his companion. “It’s coming from in there, I think.”
Keith stepped forward, slapping his open palm onto the door’s panel. It unlocked with a hiss, slowly opening. The room was too dark to see clearly. Keith paused for a moment before taking a few steps inside. Paper crackled under his boots and he looked down to see a sprawl of paper with various charts, scrawled notes in an angular language. Research? He frowned, peering into the darkness. What he saw hit him like a bullet to the gut.

The room was filled with carts, labeled chronologically, lined up wall to wall. Why did Keith feel so uneasy? He stumbled forward, trying to get a closer look.

They weren’t just empty containers. They were empty bassinets.

Shiro let out a despairing cry, and Keith knew they had come to the same realization. Haggar had been experimenting on live subjects. This they’d known for months. But children? Infants? He could feel bile building in the back of his throat as he rested his hands on the edge of one of the abandoned cradles.

“Oh my god… Shiro…” He choked.

“They’re gone… They’re all gone…” He felt the familiar weight of Shiro’s hand on his shoulder, but it did very little to comfort him right now. “How could she… that witch…!”

Shiro looked at his husband and felt his heart break. They had done so much to get here, to locate the right ship, to track Haggar down. He could feel deep in his chest that they wouldn’t have a second chance. They had failed all of them. Each of the numbered bassinets felt like a piece of him being chipped away. He started as Allura’s voice echoed through his communications link.

“Shiro? Keith? What’s going on? There’s a third life sign in that room. Have you found someone?”

Shiro felt a burst of hope, turning in circles to see if there was any sign of life. What had he heard earlier? A whimper? A cry? He flinched as one of the fallen books hiccuped. What was that…tuft of purple?

Keith was hardly paying attention, still trying to simply pull himself together when he heard a yelp of surprise and joy. It seemed like such a foreign emotion that it startled him. He turned to see Shiro’s beaming face, dark eyes moist with tears.

“One survived…!” He exclaimed, voice trembling. “One of them made it…!” In his arms he gently held a tiny Galran baby, who began to wail uncontrollably as the noise upset him.

Keith rushed to Shiro’s side, kneeling in front of him. “…Oh….” Was all he could manage. The baby boy was slightly dirty, with a few small scratches, but seemed otherwise healthy. Keith felt his eyes brim over, holding a finger out to the infant. It grasped his hand immediately, reaching for him and bawling loudly.

“I think he can smell that you’re Galran, too…” Shiro said.
“You really think so…?”

“You’re just about the closest thing he has to family right now…Here.” Shiro handed the baby to Keith, who accepted the little one into his open arms. He could feel the tiny heartbeat, the warmth. The baby’s cries quieted as he rested against Keith, comforted by the familiar scent of his own kind.
Keith couldn’t bear it.
He sobbed, holding the infant close to his chest. Shiro smiled.

They hadn’t failed completely. They had saved one. 

One, precious, priceless life. 

I had to give this story the attention it deserved. T v T b I hope you all enjoy! *pulls at heart strings* Sad au is the best au.

Being Jughead’s Girlfriend Would Include:

Originally posted by marorra

  • being bestfriends before you start dating
  • your friends getting too excited after finding out that you are together because they lowkey shipped you the whole time
  • sometimes being jealous of each other but you two are too stubborn to admit it
  • him comforting you when you get scared because of Jason Blossom’s dissappearance and telling you that you’re safe with him
  • being very protective over you 
  • you being really supportive when he tells you about the idea of writing a novel
  • helping him with his writing
  • dates at Pop’s
  • stealing each other’s food
  • movie nights at the drive-in
  • him walking you home after school
  • always hoding hands
  • him letting you try his beanie on
  • often doing your homework together and helping each other
  • you getting really mad when people are being rude to him
  • always knowing when he feels sad and always making him feel better
  • you finding his sarcastic jokes extremely funny
  • him not telling you that he left his house because he doesn’t want you to be worried
  • you getting really upset after finding out about that and trying to help
  • him giving you the best hugs in the whole world
  • you both finding comfort in each other
- Lina 🌻

DAVID DUCHOVNY IS THE NICEST PERSON ON THE EARTH. okay, so i went down for my photo with him and i asked nicely if i could give up the photo for him to sign my wrist, like bookends, because this last year has been one of growth for me. and he said, “you can have both! bookends?” and i told him he inspired me to start writing again and showed him gillian’s signature on my left wrist. so he says, “that’s great! but what is that?” and i told him it was gillian’s signature. so he grabs both my wrists and pulls me toward him and starts inspecting my tattoo “to make sure they match” and his hands are soft and he smells good and he is so nice and i will post my 2nd tattoo later tonight and I AM DEAD AND THE SHOW HASN’T STARTED PS I LOVE DAVID DUCHOVNY

anonymous asked:

31 and 23 from the nsfw list ( with 23 can you please write it as the first time she/he asks for this?)

Prompts: “bend over,” and “wrap your hands around my throat.”* [from this list]
797 words; Bucky doesn’t want to hurt you, but you manage to convince him to be rougher with you. (18+, smut, choking, surprise sex, metal arm awesomeness, gif for reasons, story under the cut, *edit later)

Originally posted by buckybarneswintersoldier

Keep reading

no guarantees

When the knock falls on his door in the middle of the afternoon, Chowder is so grateful for the distraction from his homework he could cry.

He gets up, opens the door, and smiles–it’s Farmer, and she has a cardboard tray with two carry-out cups from Annie’s in her left hand. Kissing her briefly in greeting, he grabs one of the coffee cups. (It doesn’t matter which he takes, since they both drink it the same way anyway-no cream, two sugars.)

“You just saved my life, Cait,” Chowder informs her, sitting back down in his chair as she sits cross-legged on the bed. “I’m pretty sure another two minutes of staring at this screen and I’d, like, snap. Like those people on the news who are just, you know, postal workers or whatever, but then one day out of nowhere they try to stab a nun or something.”

Farmer raises an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

Keep reading

I need a Gangsta

Dan Howell x Reader
Song fic : Gangsta by Kehlani
Word count: 2,905
Warning: (very) Rough smut, sex toys, underage, mentions of drug use

‘I need a gangsta’

He walked into my house, it seemed in slow motion, his black jeans and black sweatshirt were being undressed by my eyes. White bold writing going up the arms of the sweatshirt, and a 3d triangle on the upper left of the front. I looked at his clothes intricately, eyes laced with hate because they were covering his toned body. His short brown hair looking neat, contrast to his messy job. His black boots were softly made their way through my house. He walked downstairs, following my brother to the basement, biting his lip, and flashing a smile and then proceeding down the stairs.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I know requests are closed but "please dont leave me"?

Harry startled himself awake, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead. It took him a moment to remember where he was, to remind himself that you weren’t really here, it had just been a dream. The same dream he’d had over and over since you’d left; you looked at him with such disappointment, tears streaming down your face followed by mascara. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t fix it, couldn’t make you stop crying. Now, he wiped a hand down his face, squeezing his eyes shut again to push down his own tears. He got up from the couch where he slept now. He couldn’t bear sleeping in the bed you used to share and he hadn’t washed the sheets since you left… Lipstick smudges still on your pillowcase and your scent so palpable he had trouble reminding himself you didn’t sleep here anymore.

If he closed his eyes, like he was now as he stood in the threshold of the bedroom, he could see you curled up on your side of the bed. Hair splayed across the pillowcase. Harry sighed and turned away from the bedroom, still unable to cross past the door. He walked past the glassless frame that held his favorite picture of the two of you. Harry was smiling at the camera, but you were looking up at him, laughter lighting up your whole face as you hung on his arm. He couldn’t remember now why you had been laughing. You would’ve remembered. The night you left he had been so distressed, he flung the picture across the room, shattering it. He hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it until the next day and he hadn’t had the heart to throw it away so there it stood, back where it was before. He stopped in front of it for a few moments before placing it facedown on the table and walking away.

Remnants of you were still all around the house. The sticky note on the fridge to remind yourself to buy eggs a few weeks ago, your favorite ice cream in the freezer, the lilies you bought dying in their vase in the dining room. He knew he should get rid of them, they only made him upset, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Harry couldn’t bear living in a house with you all over it but he couldn’t bear acting like you had never lived here either.

He had known this was coming, had known it for weeks, and yet when he pulled up to the house and saw your bags lined up outside, something in him broke. Repeatedly, he had let you down. You hadn’t asked for much and he remembered the exact moment when he could see in your eyes that it was over for you.

Where are you? You had texted him for the fourth time that night. And for the fourth time he ignored it, slipping his phone back into his pocket and redirecting his attention to Jeff as they talked about his music.

By the time he got home that night, the house was empty and you were cleaning up cups and plates, throwing away empty bottles and cans.

“Where is everyone?” He asked as he closed the door behind him.

You had looked at him then, with a look of pure contempt. “They went home.” And you resumed cleaning.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I was held up at work.” Upon further observation he noticed you were in his favorite dress, hair curled just the way he liked it.

You slammed a bottle on the counter, “You missed my birthday, Harry.”

He opened and closed his mouth, “Come on, love, it’s not your actual birthday.”

“Do you know how humiliating it was for me,” You swallowed past the lump in your throat, eyes shining, “When everyone asked where you were? All your friends were here, both our families were here, everyone was here except for you. On top of the humiliation… the only person I really wanted to see tonight was too busy for my birthday.”

“That’s not fair—“

“It’s not?” You were really crying now and he wanted to go to you, but he stayed put. “I’ve been patient, I’ve accepted every excuse for every postponed date night, every missed family function, you promised you’d be here tonight.” You shook your head and rolled your eyes back to stare at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears in. “You promised, Harry.” You said softly this time.

And the way you looked at him that night before storming past and slamming the bedroom door shut… You had looked at him like you had expected this from him and you were more disappointed with yourself for getting your hopes up. That was when he knew that he had ruined everything.

And still, he tried to change your mind as you walked away from him that night. “Stop. Please, love, I’m begging you, bring your bags inside, we can talk about this.”

You continued packing your car, tears streaming down your face. “We have talked, Harry, you don’t listen.”

“You can’t…” He shook his head as he watched you, unbelieving. You were really doing this. “Please don’t leave me.” Harry was crying now and the desperation in his voice made you pause.

You calmly walked over to him and ever so gently kissed his cheek, “I’ll always love you.” You whispered, barely keeping your composure.

He turned his head, pressing your foreheads together, mixing your tears with his own. “You’re the only one.” He choked out and you both shook with sobs, neither one wanting to let go. You let go first.

And so he watched you go and walked back into the empty house, prepared a meal for one, turned on your favorite TV show out of habit before turning it off and sitting in silence.

Weeks had passed, but your ghost still floated around.

He wondered if you’d ever leave him alone… he wondered if he even wanted you to.

A So Called Blind Date

Summary: After not wanting to celebrate his birthday, Steve and Tony convince Bucky to go to a “Blind Date”.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1780

Warnings: angst at the end, mentioning of german food

A/N: yooo guess who’s back after her unplanned break of 141 days? I am so so sorry guys. You have no idea how many times I tried to write but just couldn’t. But for now, I’m back with the usual portion of fluff and angst <3 I hope you like it!

“You did what?” Steve asked, shoving his left hand through his hair before he let it fall to his side again. He looked at Tony, shook his head (twice) and then started scratching the back of his neck. He didn’t know what to say. Not after the thing Tony had just told him.

“The guy’s a hundred years old, Steve”, Tony defended himself. “He didn’t even want a birthday party. That’s the least we should do for him. When was the last time he was on a date? With a cute girl in a pretty dress? Huh? 1941?”

“That’s not…” Steve tried to say but Tony waved it off and Steve shrugged. Maybe Tony was right. Bucky didn’t want to talk to Steve about his birthday. Not to him, nor to Natasha or to Clint who he had kind of become good friends with in the past few months.

“It’s good to have a date every once in a while Steve. Even when he’s not ‘looking for something’”, Tony made some quotation marks in the air and rolled his eyes. The last time Tony had suggested Bucky go on a date, this had been the exact answer he had been given. 

That Bucky was too old. That he was carrying too many problems. That he was not looking for something. That he was just trying to be normal again if that was even possible for someone with a past like his.

Keep reading

a little bit about Kevin Day who is also A Massive Loser:

  • feels the need to remind everyone that he’s left-handed 
    • brings out statistics about the pros of being a lefty
    • annoys the shit out of everyone when he constantly complains about hard it is to be left-handed
  • can get ready in the mornings in under 5 minutes to maximize sleeping in time
    • it’d be under 3 if he didn’t brush his teeth
  • holds secret funerals every time his racquet breaks
  • had the weirdest muscle gain/loss after Riko broke his hand
    • lost a ton of muscle on his left side and got built on his right because that’s the one he focused on training the most
  • likes to stand extra tall and look down on Neil when they’re arguing
  • wouldn’t have to eat quite so healthy if he wasn’t on track to giving himself alcohol poisoning
  • once tried to take revenge on Andrew by hiding his chocolate syrup in a higher cupboard
    • so. much. regret.
  • is super judgy about dollar store Exy racquets
    • tests the strings and handle quality as if it’s comparable to his own racquets and looks at them like they’re a disappointment anyways
    • honestly cried that one time Nicky switched out his racquets as a prank
    • (the Foxes couldn’t stop laughing)
    • (Wymack is not paid enough for this)
  • tries to convince Renee to donate to sports-initiative charities
  • went straight from yelling at a Fox to encouraging a six-year-old girl to follow her dreams and make Court
  • once called Abby “mom”
    • the kindest thing Abby could to was pretend she didn’t hear
    • but also sometimes Kevin would wonder what if
  • calls out misogynistic bullshit lightning quick
  • once watched the wrong History Channel while drunk and believed every single word
    • he won’t admit it to the other Foxes, but Kevin definitely thinks aliens built the Great Pyramids
  • does not have the keys for Andrew and Neil’s apartment but keeps banging on the door and leaving voicemails until they finally open the door only to find him carrying bags of fresh vegetables
    • tells them he should be charging their team for his time because Kevin is a fucking a s s h o l e
  • gets his first dog from the shelter and the poor guy’s malnourished and has a missing leg but Kevin skips out on practice to help him heal 
    • when the dog’s healthy and happy Kevin brings him to practices and they play a dangerous version of fetch with Exy balls flung around the court but both of them love it
  • goes to see Wymack at least once a month but spends the whole time complaining about his team’s quality
  • leaves Andrew and Neil angry voicemails after their games, no matter the score
    • leaves them angry voicemails after his own games
    • leaves them angry voicemails after Jean or Matt’s games
    • leaves incoherent fanboy screaming voicemails after Jeremy Knox’s games
    • (they won’t admit it, but Andrew and Neil definitely look forward to these as they’re absolutely hilarious)
  • is able to look at his racquet at the beginning of each game and think, I’m better than he ever was
    • is able to prove it to the world

baby-g, darling

Jeongguk walked to the entrance - a large, garage-door with graffiti on it - and slammed his hand against it to signalize he was there. It shook under the force of his palm and seemed unlocked, so Jeongguk leaned down and lifted the door up. He was questioning the fact that an illegal car dealer left his entrance unlocked when he heard a very loud, “WHO THE FUCK IS THERE,” shouted from inside. The large, open repair shop in front of Jeongguk seemed to have no people present, but it took less than three seconds for a guy to emerge from a room in the back.

Keep reading

if Riko was faster OR if Andrew wasn't fast enough

Dark liquid pooled around Neil’s abdomen, his grey t-shirt soaked through with bright red. Riko lay ten feet away, eyes staring up lifelessly with a smaller puddle of blood left from the clean cut to his heart. Andrew didn’t care about him. He was looking only at Neil.

Neil’s eyes were unseeing, but his hands scrabbled at anything he could reach, scraping for purchase he could not find. His breathing was rapid and panicked, but his chest was rising ever slower. Andrew was shaking.

“Yes or no?” He said, not able to keep a tiny tremor from his voice. Neil didn’t stop his desperate struggle as he inclined his head slightly. Without a pause, Andrew took his hand, and the flailing stopped immediately.

Neil grasped Andrew’s hand like it was a cliff edge. His blue eyes looked straight up, his chest rising and falling in smaller and smaller movements. The grip he had made Andrew lose feeling in his fingers, but he didn’t dare do anything except squeeze back. Neil’s lip quirked the tiniest bit, and Andrew wasn’t breathing.

“540%, Josten,” he whispered. Pretty lips smiled, and Neil’s hand fell limp.

Happy Unbirthday. Here, have some fic.

Chances are high you’ve never heard of me. I retired from fandom over five years ago … but I found your stories and greatly enjoyed them. You inspired me to write, so this belongs to you–whether you like it or hate it. Thank you for reminding me why I love writing.


Shiranui Genma stood in the Hokage’s office, chewing on a poisoned senbon. He almost spat it at the Hokage as the final words left his mouth. “Leave immediately, Shiranui.” Sarutobi Hiruzen gestured to whatever disposable chuunin was his lap dog assistant for the day. The kid offered Genma a scroll. “No,” Genma said. He kept both hands tucked in his pants’ pockets, so he wouldn’t assassinate the Hokage for what he was attempting. The other jounin in the room, all awaiting their own mission assignments, turned their attention to Genma sharply. The majority appeared beyond incredulous, or narrowed their eyes at him as if he were a traitor and they were plotting his execution. A few, though, rapidly turned their attention to exits and obstacles; he knew they were calculating who to kill first if they had to fight their way out of the room. The Hokage’s office had seals on it that prevented teleportation jutsu of any kind. A cloud of smoke escaped Sarutobi’s pipe. “Your mission, Shiranui.” He withdrew the pipe from his mouth and gestured toward the scroll the chuunin held out. Genma didn’t take the scroll. He stood his ground. “No.” Nothing in the world could compel him to leave the village now. “I’m unavailable for missions for the next four days,” Genma drawled. He rolled the senbon from one corner of his mouth to the other. The chuunin shook, glancing between Genma and the Third Hokage. He lowered the scroll; Genma smirked. “What the hell is going on?” a jounin Genma had never worked with asked. “Treason,” another muttered. Sarutobi frowned. If it was meant to convince Genma to change his mind, or be a chiding correction, he didn’t care. Genma would die before abandoning his duty. He knew his sworn vows; he knew his families’ oaths and covenants; he would not betray them.  Genma wasn’t Konoha. “Why?” Sarutobi asked. If the Hokage really didn’t know … then Genma’s opinion of him, as well as Genma’s compatriots’ opinions of him, would only sink lower. He was a poor, pathetic man–clinging to power after Namikaze Minato-sama’s death.  “Kakashi is out of the village on a mission,” Genma drawled. Sarutobi blinked. “I know.” “Why does my eternal rival’s absence mean you can’t take on the Hokage’s youthful mission, Genma?” Maito Gai asked with great enthusiasm. Genma bit the senbon hard. He didn’t want to have to fight Gai, not seriously. But if Gai left him no choice, Genma would do it. It would hurt … but Genma was a shinobi. He couldn’t remember life without pain. “Uzumaki-dono is to be guarded by a Hatake or Shiranui at all times,” Namiashi Raidou stated, from where he stood at Genma’s back. “It’s the law.” Raidou’s voice was bitter, as all the Uzushio survivors were, at the loss of Kushina-hime and the last Namikaze, as Naruto bore his mother’s name due to its prestige. The second born child would have carried the Namikaze name … but now it was just one more thing of Uzushiogakure that was dead. It didn’t matter which Uchiha in particular had been responsible for ripping the Kyuubi from Kushina-hime. The Uzushio survivors would bide their time and see all of them dead for it. It would be a massacre so bloody that no one would ever, ever forget it. Ninja had long memories. “Truthfully, Uzumaki-dono should be guarded by both a Hatake and a Shiranui at all times,” Genma clarified.  Genma wondered if the Hokage would even notice he was a shadow clone. He would never leave Naruto alone, not even with a shadow clone of Hatake Kakashi. Kakashi hadn’t sent a shadow clone on this mission, as he normally did, because two Uzushio genin could not be trusted to a Konoha commander. Once Naruto was old enough, once the Uzushio survivors had more time to grow and recover, they were leaving for Uzushiogakure. And there would be an Uzumaki as Uzukage again. They would rise in might and strength, and the world would tremble before them. And when Uzushio rose again, there would be no treaties. There would be no allies. For Konoha had taught them that allies, that trusting, that letting outsiders in only led to the destruction of all they loved. No Uzushio ninja ever needed to be taught the same lesson twice. Konoha taught them what it was to be stabbed in the back by someone who was smiling that claimed to be a friend as close as family. “Ah, I see,” Sarutobi said. Genma laughed at him on the inside until his guts almost burst from his body. No, no the Hokage didn’t. Because if he did, he wouldn’t be smiling at Genma with fond indulgence. He would be attempting to separate Genma’s head from his shoulders.  Uzushiogakure had proverbs. The two every parent taught their child went like this: “War rages all around you. Its name is Hatake.” And, of course, “Death is your constant companion. Its name is Shiranui.” At seventeen, Genma was the Shiranui Clan Head. He had always lived up to his name. With Kakashi at his side … well, all of the Uzushio survivors and descendents knew what awaited Konoha. “When War and Death unite, desolation follows.”

Author : Mel
Gif given by : @bigdaddymongoose
A/N : I’m really having fun writing based on gifs. Especially with this one.

Groaning as he came to, Dean opened his eyes, but was met with darkness. “What the-” He tried to move his hands, but was met with the cold steel of handcuffs. He smirked softly to himself remembering the girl he had left with. He moved to shift his legs, but found he had cuffs around his ankles as well. “Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart.” He smiled.

His smile faded when he realized, there was not a single sound to indicate anyone else was there.

“Sweetheart?” He moved his head, straining to hear any sound. Was he wrong, was he no longer in his motel room? “Sammy!?” He called out, hoping he wasn’t captured somewhere. Wouldn’t be the first time some hot chick turned out to be supernatural. “SAMMY!”

“Dean?” He could hear his brother behind a door before knocking. “Dean is everything okay?”

“What the fuck is going on Sam!?” Dean was a bit panicked. He didn’t like being restrained like this. “Sammy!?”

Hearing the panic is Dean’s voice, Sam picked the lock quick, but when he opened the door, he had to stifle a laugh.


“I’m here, Dean.” Sam was smiling as he walked closer to his brother. He reached around and untied the blindfold. Dean groaned, turning his head away from the light to let his eyes adjust. “I’m not suppose to laugh, right?” Sam was grinning.

“The fuck are you talking about..” Dean turned his head back, and looked down at himself. “Son of a bitch!” His hands and feet were cuffed to the bed frame. He was completely naked except for a flesh light around his cock, and written across his chest in bright red lipstick was ‘Asshole’. “Wipe that smile off your face Samuel, and help me get these cuffs off.” Dean growled.

Sam chuckled, and started to pick the lock of the cuffs on Dean’s right wrist before moving around the bed to do the other. “How long were you like this?”

“Fuck if I know..” Honestly, Dean couldn’t remember much of last night. He vaguely remembered a girl, a fun girl, a little kinkier than he was use to apparently.

As Sam worked on freeing his left wrist, Dean reached down to move the flesh light. “Don’t fucking look at me like that, Sam. It’s not mine. Which is really fucking grossing me out right now.” As he gave it a tug, his face paled. “You better be kidding me…”

“What?” Sam freed his brothers left hand, and moved to do his foot.

“Crazy bitch glued it on!”

Sam couldn’t hold back anymore, and burst out laughing.

Lefou in Love

Super generic, dumb title. But anyway.

I saw this headcanon a few days ago about Stanley teaching Lefou to read and Lefou obviously using his newfound love for literature to write poems for him – I couldn’t find the original post but I’m sure others have seen it. I’ll edit this with the user who came up with it when I find it – but I decided to tweak it a little and tack my own headcanon onto the story.

(Edit: the headcanon was thought of by @le-fou-s)


Keep reading


Running Home to You

She lifts the hem of his tee, untucking his undershirt from his pants with skill. She’s not sure what exactly she’s expecting, they had only been apart for seven days, but she’s nonetheless relieved to find the same navel splashed with dark hair, the same pale freckled skin, the same slim hips just as she had left them, just as he had always been.

She feels his chuckle under her palms before she hears it leave his throat. As she skirts her hands across his abdomen, upwards to his chest, intending to pull both garments over his head, she’s taken aback by the sudden motion of him sitting upright and flattening her back against the mattress instead.

“Not so fast,” Barry teases, sliding the sleeves of her dress down, unveiling one shoulder at a time. “I’ve missed you too, you know.”

While he’s bent over kissing her collar, she squirms beneath his weight, desperate to resume her previous activity, longing to make up for a lost week of touching him. She can sense his smirk stretch wider against her skin the more she twists under him.

“Give up,” comes his raspy, satisfied voice midway through kisses.

One thing Iris knows she won’t ever do is that, not especially after she has him back in her arms again, has the promise that he’ll keep running home to her still ringing in her ears, has the symbol of his devotion wrapped around her finger, has supposedly only months left to be with him.

So she takes a deep breath before slowly plunging a hand below his waistband, finds where he’s already stiff between his thighs.

That halts his kissing, replaces it with a sigh of warm breath into her neck.

“Iris…” he croaks, and it’s her turn to feel satisfied, to edge him to give up.

When he cups her cheek and coerces her to look at him, when she meets his earnest, pleading eyes, the satisfaction wanes.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please let me make it up to you…”

You already have. She wants more than anything to make him believe it, make sure he knows that it doesn’t matter to her anymore who’s right or who’s wrong, who left or who stayed. What does matter is every possible hour of theirs that remains, that every minute of his is spent with her or running back to her.

Still, she relents, for his sake.

She withdraws her hand from his length, out of his pants to link her fingers with his, making sure he can feel the silver of the ring she wears, a ring that graced the fingers of the Allen women of the past, that assures her she may live to become an Allen herself, that she will live to marry the man gazing down at her, the way no one else ever has.

“Alright then,” she murmurs, raising the hem of her skirt, bringing his hand to her thigh. “I guess it’s my turn to sing.”

Homecoming Series

Left Hand Man

lin manuel miranda x reader

prompt: you’re really tired the man next to you in the coffee shop who won’t stop bumping into you

a/n: i read somewhere that lin is left handed so here’s some fluff as i try to finish my hamwriters write-a-thon fics


You were infuriated.

Okay, maybe not infuriated, but definitely greatly annoyed.

For what felt like the 100th time today, the man sitting beside you bumped his arm into yours, spilling the latte in your hand onto the counter top’s surface. He didn’t even glance over at the exchange, just continued to sigh deeply and write as though he was programmed only to sit in the spot beside you and write till his hand fell off.

You had had enough.

Keep reading

A gentleman entered,with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale,with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too,as he swept off his very curly-brimmed hat, waswas grizzled round the edges and thin upon the top.As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of foppishness,with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. He Advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses
—  Watson what are you writing? A “Dear diary” entry?