hi ears

Link: “You’re right, I’m cold-natured.”

Rhett: “Yeah…” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Link: “You’re looking out for me.”

Rhett: “Yeah, I thought about this…”

Link: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) *takes off wedding ring* 

When DC brings back Kon I want him in his leather jacket, one ear pierced, stupid hair cut with his sides shaved. But I want him also to be obsessed with the 90s like those kids who think the 80s are so cool. Like he’s wearing hammer pants and listening to a CD-man. Older heroes are horrified by that week Kon El is a grunge kid

New-York Tribune, New York, June 10, 1914

“Hell, oh, hell,” said a small yellow bird, climbing out of Feldman’s pocket.

“What’s that?” demanded Magistrate House.

“Hell-o, hell-o,” said the paroquet cheerfully.

The magistrate smiled and regarded the bird more kindly. But the moment he turned to resume the case the same syllables, differently accented, smote his ear..

She’s Every Woman

Pairing: none specified - you choose!

Word Count: 760 (including lyrics)

Warnings: fucking cavities, dude.

A/N: A little drabble written based on the song She’s Every Woman by Garth Brooks

She’s sun and rain
She’s fire and ice
A little crazy, 
but it’s nice

He watched her sleeping, her hair forming a halo around her face and shoulders, fanned out across the pillow. It’d been a long time since he slept, but tonight was the first night he enjoyed missing out on rest, just watching her muscles twitch, her eyeballs moving behind her closed lids, and the gentle sound of her breathing as her chest rose and fell was like a song to his ears.

She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, just curled closer into him. He’d never understand how she could go from this gorgeous, ravenous, unpredictable hunter during the day to such a sweet and kind, perfectly untainted angel at night. 

And when she gets mad
You best leave her alone
‘Cause she’ll rage
Just like a river
And she’ll beg you 
To forgive her
Oh, she’s every woman
That I’ve ever known.

His mind shot back to the first time they’d kissed. He took her by complete surprise, his mind and heart racing with adrenaline post-hunt. They almost died. Their lives were too damn short, too dangerous to risk not spending every minute he could with her by his side, as his woman. 

She drew back and her fist connected with his jaw when their lips broke away from one another’s, cursing him, ‘how dare you’s’ flying through the empty night air as people watched on in both horror and shock. Blood spattered her face and hair, but she was beautiful. He laughed while she stormed out to the car.

When he found her, propped against the hood, arms folded over her chest while she looked at her feet, she was crying. Her apologies came out in sobs, tears streaming down her face while she asked him over and over again for his forgiveness, that she didn’t mean to punch him, it just happened. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest while he calmed her down, told her she had nothing to be sorry for, that he could take a hit, but he’d trained her well, because damn it, that hurt. 

Looking up at him with a new sparkle in her eyes, she giggled lightly and smacked her hand against his chest, rolling her eyes. That was the night they both figured, why not? Why not give it a try? They were together all the time anyway, sometimes posing as a married couple if the job required it, and there was no denying that either one of them was attractive enough. 

She was like no other woman he’d ever met before, and somehow, all of them compiled together in the perfect package, wrapped up in a bow. She was caring, loving, would do anything for him and everyone he loved. But she was so… different.

Her instincts took over on a hunt, slicing and dicing the things that go bump in the night without a second thought. She was a force to be reckoned with. But he could handle it. 

She’s so New York and then L.A.
And every town along the way
She’s every place that I’ve never been
She’s makin’ love on rainy nights
She’s a stroll through Christmas lights
And she’s everything I want to do again 

It amazed him how she could just take on the persona of any person she’d come in contact with. Once, they had to go check out a college after sixteen people turned up dead with scars along their arms. She fit right into the sorority scene, despite the fact that she couldn’t stand those girls. 

The rain reminded him of her in every way. It came quietly, always calm before the biggest storm hit. But when it rained, it poured. Nothing about her was subtle. If she was happy, she was beaming. If she was angry, she was on fire. And if she was upset, hurt, lonely, everyone in the room felt it. 

Every new memory with her became one he wanted to relive again and again until the day he died.

It needs no explanation
‘Cause it all makes perfect sense
For when it comes down to temptation
She’s on both sides of the fence 

She was everything he’d ever wanted… and everything he never wanted. This wasn’t what hunters did, not the life they deserved. But here she was, beautiful, glowing, carrying his child, tempting him to step away from the only thing he’d ever been good at. 

So he did. For her - the only woman that he’d ever really known.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

My friend says to tell you they think it is going to be a scene where they are having phone sex. You know since they have not been able to spend time together. By the way my friend wants to tell you they are a big fan but to shy to post any messages. Which is why they make me do it.


(It looks like Maya has no pants on and he’s saying something with nipples and twist and ero and stuff - I’m sorry, my japanese sucks xD - and he’s looking at his phone, maybe Nemu is playing with his nipples?? VIDEO CHAT????)

(And Nemu could totally have a phone on his right ear OR FILMING HIMSELF)

OH MY GLOBB!!!!!! 
My imagination is running wild rn xDD

Please tell your friend they’re a genius! And thank you! <3

And in general, people don’t be shy, message me, message us! 
You can add me on facebook and message me there, I have a curious cat account too, I love to meet new people! 

Okay, I’m gonna go and breathe into a paper bag or something….
Phone sex… video chat… imagine… *heavy breathing*


First Time [a E2!Barry Allen smut]

Request: I know you must have so many asks and things that people are asking you to do but can you please make a earth 2 Barry Allen smut like his first time and just yeah ( whenever you can YOU must have a life and stuff to do than just Tumblr😭❤️)

a/n: oh boy earth 2 barry’s first time


“O-okay.” Barry agrees, shifting on the end of the bed nervously. “Um, should I… get undressed?” he gulps, toying with his long fingers as you come to stand in front of him. “I’ve n-never had… done this before… like… ever.” he admits bashfully, curling his shoulders; soft fabric of his burgundy cardigan touching his ears.

Abruptly, you stop, hand hovering around his striped gray bow tie. Did you hear your boyfriend right? “You… Wait, wait, that’s why you’ve only fingered me before?” you gasp quietly, carefully sitting down next to him. That comment makes Barry blush harder; face turning a tomato shade of red.

His styled chestnut locks bounce when he scoots farther up the queen sized bed, tan trousers riding around his ankles. “Yes…” he says quietly, fixing his spectacles to gaze at you. “I-I wanted t-to wait. For you! For-for the one I want to spend forever with…” he sputters, pressing his knuckles together awkwardly, focusing his bright mossy green eyes on his lap. “I-I know it’s silly b-”

You cut him short by forcing your lips on his, hands cradling the back of his head. With a gasp, the brunette presses his hands to the side of his hips, bracing himself while you suck on his bottom lip. Whimpering quietly into your mouth, Barry shuts his pale eyelids, feeling your lips move to the corner of his lips.

Starting to leave open mouthed kisses along his impeccable jawline, your fingers work on the buttons of his pearl white shirt, popping them off one at a time, leaving the bow tie for last. His breath hitches as soon as your fingers touch one of the moles on his upper chest. “Y/N…” he whispers, peeking down, watching you pull his tie; it unravels.

Then, very carefully, you allow your hands to creep up to his slender shoulders, pushing both the button down and the cardigan off. Barry blushes, pale freckled cheeks becoming rose pink at his exposed chest. “You have very nice abs, Barr.” you mutter, running your hands down his torso, ending at his belt. “Is this what you want?” you ask, looking at him through your eyelashes.

He nods slowly, cupping your cheeks in his palms to tilt your face up. His lips connect with yours and he cocks his head to the side, moaning softly when you unbuckle his dark brown belt. You continue to kiss him as you shimmy his pants down his long legs, letting him kick them off.

Sitting back on his thighs, his lips linger on yours, eyelashes feeling heavy- too heavy for his eyelids. Barry flutters his eyes open, watching you peel your shirt off, giving him a front seat to your breasts. Gulping, his trembling hands wrap around your waist traveling down to the edge of your underwear, slowly pulling them down. Discarding them, you place your hands on his chest, nibbling on his jaw.

He moans low, squeezing his eyes shut when you sink down on him. “Oh… sweetheart… I…” he breathes, panting as one of your hands moves to push his glasses up.

You slowly rock your hips on his, attempting to be gentle. The movement makes your breasts jiggle in his face, causing him to blush harder. Speeding your pace, you hear a muffled groan drop out of him; lens’ of his glasses partially covered in fog. “Are you close, Barry?” you ask, feeling his dick twitch as you bounce.

Gulping, Barry nods, thrusting his narrow hips once before his mouth hangs open and he cums. A tiny smirk appears on your face when you hear his blissful moan again. Nibbling on your lip, you follow him, hair dangling in your eyes while your body shakes.

Getting ahold of yourself, you climb off him, falling at his side. Barry, with his hair matted to his forehead, glasses crooked, pulls you to his chest. “I-I’m glad I waited.”

Piano!lock AU

Part 1

He hurtled in his room crying out in frustration and anger that you rarely see in an eight-year-old child. His sister watched him wide-eyed cuddled under the covers of her bed at the other side of the room. The boy spent some time with his eyes directed at the shut door furiously before darting to his own bed and falling face-first on the pillows.

After a while his sister forced her blankets over her head trying to ignore her brother’s muffled sobs as tears rolled her soft cheeks silently.

His fingers twitched unoccupied. He was sitting in a car at a corner of a dark street. Music could be heard from the nearby club. Music his ears painfully recognised and his mind reminded him of. The man beside him was crouched to the wheel with a pair of binoculars stuck in his eyes. Stake out. What could be worse in their line of work? His ear caught another melody and his head turned almost violently to glare at his partner incredulously. Ah, yes, of course that was the only thing missing. Sherlock Holmes humming on his own rhythms that dangerously resembled Bach. Damn it, this wasn’t a good night for him.

‘Sherlock.’ He managed.

‘Eyes on the subject, John.’ Came back the low voice commanding, not even granting him a glance.

Doctor John Watson sighed in his eternal turmoil of a situation. How did this man always manage to make him unnerved in the end? His leg was twitching in anticipation now. This was officially the Worst.Night.Ever. Weeks afterwards he might actually reconsider that decision of proclamation but now it seemed quite appealing.

They were on a crazy, unusual case as was usual with them about a mysteriously stolen antique this time and honestly John couldn’t comprehend what was so special about that one. The way that was stolen was pretty obvious and the thief as well, already caught by the police. However, as always, Sherlock insisted on a stake out at the other side of town, of some utterly irrelevant salesman’s house.

Soon the music died out, the last people from the pub passed their car oblivious of their presence, overwhelmed in music and alcohol, the hours drew ahead of them like endless pauses on a pentagram. John’s agitation soon left when there was no more music (thankfully his detective partner had got bored of humming hopeless tunes), and his body was soon sliding lower, his head fell on the side and his eyes slowly started to close in the small hours before dawn.

Sherlock let him drift off for a while. He didn’t need much sleep anyway but John slept indeed much more even though it was uncoordinated and scarce for a proper normal person, it still was more than Sherlock. The detective smiled softly hearing the impalpable snore from the shorter man and wondered if it would be like that when he slept in a proper bed. He quickly shoved the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand somehow frustrated that nothing had happened yet.

It happened when he was seven. His mother had gotten sick. The grown-ups wouldn’t talk about it in front of them but both him and his sister knew. Soon she couldn’t get up from bed. Father wouldn’t take her to the doctors at the hospital. He had been there once. They had helped his leg mend. He was sure they could help Mother.

Their walks on the park had stopped long before that though. Father said he should concentrate on his lessons from now on. He didn’t mean Mother’s lessons, just school. The child had done everything he could to finish everything early every single day so he could at least proudly go to Mother and ask her to teach him again. She would just smile and guide him through every single challenge. He loved it. He didn’t mind that he wasn’t allowed to go to the park anymore. He loved her. Now she was sick.

His little sister had whined and complained and cried about the park. She wanted her friends and their games back. She blamed him for spending time with Mother rather than fighting like her. She was little then… No more than four years old. He didn’t blame her. One day she would understand the beauty of it. One day he dreamed of her admiration. One day he wished he could teach her too.

Their little childish dreams hardly mattered in reality though. Once Mother was sick the music was gone. Father forbade him of practicing, of even getting near Mother’s game. The little boy hated him for it. He told Mother, he begged her to get to the good doctors, to get up and play with him. She just smiled as always and dried the tears from her son’s eyes whispering he should be strong. She told him a story of a prince that never gave up his dreams and one day he won against the dark wizard and came back to his kingdom victorious.

John woke with a start, trying to get up. Damn it, Sherlock is humming again. That was the first thing he registered, the tremor in his hand visible now. John grunted trying to hide it by pressing his fist against his thigh. It didn’t work. In the meantime, Sherlock was looking at him.

‘John, alright?’ The detective frowned at his hand before looking directly into his eyes.

‘Yes, alright. Thanks. What did I miss?’ The doctor said with a stiff voice and pretended to look around as if something would happen exactly because he woke up.

Dawn was almost upon them. A faint light that spread through the clouds of London. The road in front of them was hopelessly the same. John’s hand stiffened when a warm touch on the wrist was applied to it. He glanced down and saw Sherlock observing intensely. John shivered and tried to pull away but Sherlock was already resisting the force with a steady tug of his fingers.

‘John.’ He said letting John’s hand free after a close examination.

‘Sherlock.’ John replied as if nothing at all was concerning.

‘I hadn’t seen your hand tremble like that in years.’ Sherlock knew where not to push John with his immediate deductions anymore.

‘Yeah, well, it never stopped.’ John provided looking away.

‘Yes, it had.’ He persisted.

John knew he could see the tensed shoulders and clenched jaw. He knew Sherlock had already thought of all the possibilities. John was hiding something important at the moment. Sherlock must have realised from the moment the doctor woke up, maybe even before, that he was having a nightmare. It wasn’t one of the usual ones of war and Afghanistan, this was something else, something Sherlock hadn’t seen before. However, John didn’t give in. Sherlock sighed deciding to keep it for another time. John Watson always surprised him. What could possibly be new and unknown about the good old doctor for Sherlock after all those years? This wasn’t exactly new after all. Sherlock could see the lines stressed across John’s face, the elevated pulse, the reluctance of acknowledge. This was deeply rooted. How could Sherlock miss something like that for so long? Still he would like very much to take it slow and find out while John grew accustomed to the idea of him knowing. The detective didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past on something clearly important. How could it not be? Everything was important about John.

She died not a year after. The little boy had prayed and wished to all the stars he could see in the sky to let her live. He hadn’t forgotten her tale and so hoped his Mother meant that the victory would be theirs and the bad sickness would leave their home soon but that never happened. His sister hadn’t said a word to him or anyone else for a long time even before Mother died. Now she was utterly quiet. He had stopped trying to talk to her or explain to her how school and friends worked and how small numbers were not good in the paper that the teacher would send to Father. He was tired.

The day she left, Mother had taken her son’s fingers in her palms. They were already stiff from almost a year of non-usage. The boy was ashamed for he had forgotten all she had taught him to play. But Mother just smiled… as always… and whispered.

‘Promise me, you’ll never give up, Johnny. Promise me, you’ll take care of your sister. Promise me that one day you’ll be great at playing and you will teach her as you always wanted. Promise me, Johnny. Promise me.’

‘But I’m not the prince, Mother.’ His voice had cracked. ‘You are not getting well. I am not the prince. I cannot make my dreams come true.’ tears were streaming from his grey eyes. Mother only smiled.

‘I am not your dream, little one. Promise me, now.’ She had fallen back to the pillows that almost engulfed her and buried her whole. The little boy straightened his shoulders and nodded that day.

‘I promise.’ He had said, and he broke that promise.

The stake out was proved pointless. John was driving them home glancing at a very grumpy Sherlock beside him from time to time rolling eyes. The detective was crouched in his seat buried in his coat, legs bent and curled to his chest. You could only see some black curls standing up from the end of his coat collar. John humphed in exasperation. He would have to deal with this for quite possibly a whole week. Crime was slow this time of year and this was the only case Lestrade could come up with that might get Sherlock out of the flat for a few hours. He was right on the practical part, but failed to look further ahead. Sherlock didn’t like being wrong and he liked being fooled much less. A small smile appeared on John’s lips remembering the last time Sherlock had a shouting match with Greg at the police station. He only hoped Sherlock will be more discreet this time and call him to Baker Street.

Finally, at home. John parked nearby at a lonelier street and got out desperate for a good snooze on the couch with morning tea. Cars and buses were already moving almost hectically to the streets and it wasn’t even properly working hours yet. Sherlock took a bit of time to gather himself and although it frustrated John immensely, he couldn’t help but smirk at the detective’s dishevelled form struggling out of the car as if drunk. They both quickly paced towards 221B feeling the cold creeping up their exhausted and unfed bodies. Once in, John alerted Mrs Hudson knowing she’ll be well awake by now and by the time he got to the stairs he could hear Sherlock’s door shutting closed with a loud bang.

‘Bastard…’ he whispered through gritted teeth. Now he would have to make tea on his own along with almost a dozen experiments on the kitchen table. Good luck to him finding the real sugar.

The earlier incident was all forgotten and especially for John that sounded something like good news. The last thing he needed was Sherlock looking into his most sacred and deep past. There was a reason it was buried and should stay that way. Gosh, that music earlier must have triggered the memory in the dream. John should really be careful next time. He couldn’t quite name a date for when his memory started to fight back at him by recognises pieces and notes randomly wherever he went as if looking for stimulation. He could either let it alone or steel himself in case it happened again. John knew the second could quite possibly make him prone to those incidents even more but he could not risk leaving it to mere chance. He had to do with Sherlock Holmes after all. Definitely the last thing he needed.

So yeah, decided to write this because it was so damn cute <3 Part 2 coming soon, I stayed up all night to write as much as I could and it is not beta-ed so sorry for any mistakes. Going to post it on Ao3 as well, I’ll soon get a link here especially for when it becomes smutty but we have time for that ;) a few people were interested so tags below the cut

Keep reading

super super super shitty quick concept sketches of jonathan for the whole ~heathers~ au? like pre-heathers he just looks generally disheveled and tired and just wears hoodies but the heathers give him Gud Clothes, dye and cut his hair, and pierce his ears while theyre at it for Maximum Edge lol

also i decided that since the heathers are providence, jojo, and lil, that im just gonna make their last names heather because then it would make sense why theyd be called the heathers 

can you imagine prov sitting there with the earring hole puncher thingy and being like “ok stand still this is for the AESTHETIC” and he probably cries

tanktoptiger  asked:

Jikook 9

hey angel ily (i hope i dont let u down)

9. things you said when i was crying; jikook

Golden maknae his ass. How could he be worth of that title when he couldn’t even get his voice to not crack in the high notes? When he couldn’t even get one simple dance move right? Hoseok said it was okay, the choreo was really hard, but deep down he knew he was expecting more from him. Everyone was.
It got worse when he dropped Jimin on the ground during a no more dream’s rehearsal for a concert – the terrible sound of his hyung’s body hitting the ground still resounding on his ears. They had done that a million times over – he had never dropped Jimin once –, but it seemed like his mental state was affecting his physical strength and everything was just so damn shitty.
From this day forward, he kept working on gym nonstop, wanting– no, needing to be stronger. However, each day spent in front of those glass mirrors was only useful to make him even more aware of all his flaws. All the imperfections on his body and face he wasn’t allowed to have.
The pressure was growing bigger within each day until it hit a point he couldn’t take anymore. He missed his mother, missed his family, his house – he missed the days he just felt normal and not like an useless burden to everyone around him.
He knew his members, and even the managers, were going easy on him because he was younger – that’s why he also knew he wasn’t allowed to feel that way he was feeling. He wasn’t, but what could he do when the pain was only growing bigger evey day? He was already trying to hide it as much as he could from the hyungs, not wanting to be a stupid kid sticking around their shoes, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t and it fucking hurt, but it was also refreshing when the tears washed his cheeks, simultaneously warm and blazing.
He was alone. Alone and weak in the dance studio, his inner demons pulling up a battle, but there was something relaxing about it. Everyone was already home, so it was okay. He could cry. At least for one night. He could, right? No one had to know.
But Jungkook belatedly realized – in a pent up breath of shock and shame washing over him –, he wasn’t really alone when Jimin appeared with a towel around his neck, black hair still soaked from shower. There was no way he could hide himself behind the couch, or dig a whole in the ground to bury himself there. There was also no way Jimin wouldn’t realize the reddish skin around his bruised eyes, from too many harsh rubs. He had no way out so he just accepted his fate and silently fought a sob. He could only wish Jimin wouldn’t see him in the poorly lit room.
“Jungkook-ah?!” Maybe not that day. “What are you doing over there?”
Jungkook heard him getting closer, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up, too embarrassed to show his hyung how much of failure he was.
“Jungkookie?” Jimin crouched down in front of him and it was when he realized it, concern spreading over his face in a second, “Oh my god, what happened?! Hey, Jungkookie! Look at me…” Jimin kept searching for his eyes worriedly, but Jungkook just couldn’t. He couldn’t because he was trying so hard to not break, but Jimin’s voice had the contrary effect on him. It kept him on the verge from falling and– he just couldn’t. “Jungkook…” Jimin reached for the younger’s cheeks and it wasn’t like electricity, but it was like fire, Jungkook’s skin instantly burning from the touch. A sob escaped from his lips and it was all it took for Jimin to pull him closer in the tightest hug he had ever received.
It was so warm and comfortable it made Jungkook completely forget why he was holding back in the first place. He smelled like washed clothes, soap, and most important of it all, he smelled like home.
Suddenly, Jimin’s shoulder was completely wet with Jungkook’s tears, but he didn’t seem to mind it, dragging the younger further onto his lap, tight arms around him trying to build the safest shelter he could ever.
Seeing Jungkook cry was definitely the most heartbreaking thing Jimin had ever gone through.
When the boy stopped shaking under his touch, Jimin slided his hand into his hair, drawing soothing circles with his thumb on the back of his neck. He leaned against the wall – Jungkook’s body still glued to his chest –, and waited. He wasn’t going to say anything – Jungkook was, if he needed to.
Jimin just wanted him to know he was there for him, nevertheless.
“I’m no good, hyung…” it came some seconds later, his body shrinking within each word, “I don’t know why y'all keep telling me that I am, ‘cause I’m not.” Jungkook sniffled, and Jimin searched for his hand to intertwine their fingers. “I let you fall, hyung.” The maknae hid his face in the crook of Jimin’s neck, tears overflowing from his eyes once again. “I hurt you, how can y'all even say I’m good enough after this…”
Jimin closed his eyes, throwing his head back; searching for words to say. “You know…” he started, squeezing Jungkook’s fingers on his, “Remember when I entered the group? The first day I arrived? I was so nervous I couldn’t even sleep. I heard all of you had been chosen for a company or two, but only bang pd-nim had wanted me so I was really insecure. I worked the shit out of me to keep up, because I kept thinking I was not worthy. I’m not going to be an hypocrite, I still think like this sometimes. We all do. But in one particular day… Ah, I was terrible, Jungkook. I was feeling insecure and homesick, and all the bad things at once. I couldn’t stop feeling like a real trash, but…” Jimin giggled and Jungkook felt a little tug on his heart, “You appeared in the middle of the night with bedhair and a pillow, whispering 'hyung, can I sleep here?’ Do you remember?”
Jungkook smiled.
“Yes…” his voice sounded muffled against the skin of Jimin’s neck.
“It was the first time we had ever shared a bed, but you kept talking about that game you were addicted to and about that favorite character of yours, and… eventually about how I reminded you of him. His coolness and such.” Jimin laughed again. “Aish, I felt so warm and relaxed that night I couldn’t quite believe it. I don’t know where I’m going with this, really, it just– You felt more than just enough that night, Jungkook-ah. For me.” Jimin slightly blushed, but he didn’t find the time to bother, “I know feeling like you’re no good sucks, but… You are. Really. You are way more than that, and not only for me.” Jungkook pulled away just enough to look Jimin in the eyes, which got the older to instinctively brush his fingers through the messy strands of hair sticking to his forehead, shoving them backwards to hesitantly place a soft kiss on it. He kept his mouth on Jungkook’s skin while murmuring, trying to ignore his heart violently knocking against his ribcage, “Take this things out of your mind, please… I can’t even bring myself to imagine spending a single day without you.” Jimin leaned down, touching their foreheads and drowning into Jungkook’s eyes – their hands still clasped together, only a breath apart between them “How can you be possibly not enough?”

princ3ssf33t  asked:

"It wasn't supposed to end this way."

Roy stared down at Riza bleeding out in his arms. She smiled weakly up at him when his words reached her ears, hoping her sentiment would get through to him with her look alone. Riza knew he was blaming himself for what happened, but she didn’t blame him. He didn’t know. He wasn’t infallible, as much as he might have thought he was. Roy was human and there was no way he could have known they were walking right into a trap.

Tears formed at the corner of Roy’s eyes and threatened to fall. If help didn’t arrive soon, it would be too late. Her death would be on his hands.

He couldn’t lose her. Not after everything they had been through. They still had so much to do, still had so many things that needed to be said.

“Please…Riza,” her name passed his lips in barely a whisper. “Hold on. Stay with me. I need you.”


Leave the first sentence of a fic in my askbox and I will answer with the next five. (or probably more if I end up with ideas lol.)

tell me all about it | alfie + polly

Built on my headcanon that Alfie and Polly are now best friends and also founding members of the ‘Tommy Shelby ain’t shit’ club

also kinda part of the ‘ar maidin’ verse?

Alfie jolted from sleep at the sound of the phone, flinging his head up from where he’d been napping against his arm on the desk. He pulled it off the stand as quick as he could get his foggy brain to process the movement, looking up to check whether it had woken you too. You were scowling and adjusting on the sofa but didn’t seem to have roused fully.

The muffled sound from the phone reminded him that there was someone on the other end of it and he turned it towards his ear from where he’d had it hovering in mid air.


“Did I wake you?”

He swiped a hand over his face. While the lamp was the only light on in the entire building, his tender eyes hadn’t adjusted yet and it seemed like staring into the sun.


“Sorry, love”

“No, no. Don’t you worry. Shouldn’t be sleeping here anyway”

“Thought if I rang the office you’d either be awake there to answer it or at home asleep and I wouldn’t be bothering you”

“You ain’t bothering me. What’s happening?”

“Just wanted to check in. How is she?”


Polly laughed down the phone and Alfie smiled sleepily at the sound.

“You’ll get used to it. It’s the cold, gets in her lungs, bless her. Should have heard her as a baby, I’ve never heard such a sound come from something that small”

Alfie hummed in response, leaning back in the chair.

“How’s things at your end?”

“Tommy’s causing havoc as usual”

“Oh well, that’s Thomas for you”


“How you put up with that the whole time – you deserve a medal, you do. I’d give you mine but it’s buried in a corpse somewhere so”

He could practically hear Polly rolling her eyes as he spoke.

“Go on, then. What’s he done now. Tell me all about it”

“Alfie, I tell you, one of these bloody days-“

anonymous asked:

19 and 38 Reader x Bucky plz!!! 😄

19. “Come on, admit it. You like me.” - “In your dreams.”

38. Person A hears Person B touching themselves

Bucky froze, he had to be sure he wasn’t imagining the sounds coming from your room. He pressed his ear to the door silently, listening to the almost nonexistent moans passing your lips. He could hear the sounds of your body writhing around on the bed as your fingers toyed with your clit.

He held his breath, he knew what you were doing in there and he needed to know just exactly who you were thinking about. He closed his eyes, focusing only on the noises coming from the room. 

He could hear you speeding up, growing closer to your release. The sounds of your wetness against your fingers as you moved from your clit to your entrance. He knew you were close by the whimpers escaping you, verbally begging yourself to go faster and to let your climax wash over you.


His legs nearly gave out when he heard his name. It sounded so blissful coming from you, the way you shrieked it as you hit your climax. He could only imagine how you looked: hair a mess, body sprawled out, chest heaving, your entire body covered in a thin layer of sweat. The rustling of your bed sheets and your feet on the floor triggered his leave.

You sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal, your fantasy of Bucky fucking you still playing through your mind from earlier. You bit your lip and chuckled softly, you wondered what his fingers felt like pumping in and out of you. You smiled when he entered the kitchen, joining you at the table. He remained silent for a few moments before smirking up at you.

“Come on, admit it. You like me.” He licked his lips as he watched you process his words. When you seemed almost unphased he stifled a laugh- you were always so great at acting.

“In your dreams.”

anonymous asked:

For Solavellan: who kisses the other awake and who asks who if they can join them in the shower please :)

Thank you for the ask anon!

Usually Lavellan kisses Solas awake.  Little kisses pressed to his brow, eye lids, tip of the nose, each cheek, his ears, along his jaw, and then his neck.  At which point he stirs and she moves to his mouth.  

Sometimes though, after they are back at Skyhold after particularly trying missions Solas will wake first.  He uses these moments to explore her with fingers and eyes.  A slow memorization of her that he can hold with him.  When he is satisfied he allows his mouth to trace along her skin till she awakens, then they spend time in bed taking of each other until the sun is high.  The advisors and other companions pretend not to know exactly why the Inquisitor does not make an appearance till lunch on those days, allowing the lovers their stolen moments.

For the shower it is Lavellan, but she doesn’t ask.  Instead she will watch him, admire his form and the way the water runs along his skin.  Intent in her admiration until his ears turn pink from the attention.  In the end he pulls her in with him without her having to say a word.