Robert gritted his teeth in frustration as Aaron’s mobile rang out yet again, going straight to voicemail for the third time in ten minutes. The weather outside was absolutely ridiculous - it was thundering down, and Robert had started to panic when he saw the first flash of lightening.
Aaron was driving back from Birmingham after a scrap deal, which he’d normally be fine with (Aaron was a good driver, he was) but this sort of weather put a knot of worry into the pit of his stomach.
“Aaron, it’s me. Again.” Robert sighed into his mobile, glancing out the window. “This weather is insane, I’m worried about ya. Will you give me a call back so I know you’re okay before I go totally mad?”
Letting out a shaky breath, Robert continued. “Just, get home as soon as possible, okay? I love you.”
He hung up, tossing his phone onto the couch before he began pacing their flat again. Robert hated feeling like this, he hated not knowing where Aaron was, or how he was.
They were constantly in contact. It wasn’t even intentional at this point, they just were - if either of them had to drive for a meeting or a big deal, Robert would be constantly texting Aaron mindless updates on his day, and Aaron would send him a constant stream of snapchats - of the yard, of Scrappy, of whatever gross looking sandwich he’d picked up while driving.
It had been radio silence for an hour now, and it was making him feel sick.
What if something had happened to him? What if Aaron had crashed the van?
Before Robert could work himself up into a complete tizzy, he heard the front door opening, and he practically ran the length of the hallway to find Aaron there, shaking the worst of the rain from his hair, as though he was a dog.
“Aaron!” Robert exclaimed, not caring in the slightest that his husband was soaked to the skin as he threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Aaron, thank god you’re okay.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You weren’t answering your phone, and this weather - I was afraid something had happened to you,” Robert admitted, pressing kisses against Aaron’s rain damp cheeks.
“You’re daft, you know that? My phone died.” Aaron pulled him in for a proper kiss. “I’m fine, Robert. You don’t need to worry so much.”
Robert just hugged him tighter. “I always worry about you, you know.”
the entire longbottom family, canonically speaking. then i’ve always thought in my heart that narcissa black must have had a pretty difficult life and that in the end she only made the choices she could make and yeah.. but that’s not really canon
oh and ??? oliver wood???!!!!? like he’s not underrated but hello??? i need SO MUCH more on him like a ton shit like i need a series of his life idc if it’s only him brushing his teeth for ten books i need it okay
shallura + 22 ( and 2 if u don't mind writing two)
better yet, i’ll combine them.
Shiro grits his teeth as he stumbles out of the Black Lion, thinking that maybe - if he’s lucky - he’ll never have to get into the robot again. That this really is the end of the war, of the Galra.
It takes approximately five seconds for his legs to give out on him, and he manages to not fall to his knees by the grace of whatever strength that is still him, somewhere underneath the fading adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Allura rushes to him as soon as she is out of Castle of Lions, wrapping her arms around him, pressing a palm to the blood blossoming over one side. Her hand glows, and she winces as she feels the pain he’s in, and lets her own energy wash over him in soothing, healing waves. “You’ll be fine, Shiro,” she murmurs in his ear.
His hand is tight on her waist, holding her close. “Allura,” he says, his jaw tight, “I need to tell you something.”
“Tell me once you’re healed,” she requests, softly shushing him. She raises her head to look at him instead of his injury, her eyes bright as they lock with his. “We have time, now, Shiro.”
He smiles through his pain. “I guess we do, princess.”
Summery: This is the first in a series of oneshots about Tim dealing with insomnia in creative ways, based on the ways I’ve dealt with insomnia. I have about five of these lined out already and based on the reception I get I’ll do more. Comments, likes and reblogs are all always very appreciated! Let me know what you think!
Tim Drake was struggling.
It had been nearly an hour since Bruce had found him in the cave, still finishing up some report or another, and forced him to go to bed. He glanced over at the electronic clock that he’d been checking every few minutes for the better part of that hour.
A groan of annoyance burst through his gritted teeth, and he had to resist the urge to pick up the offending object and throw it across the room. He really didn’t keep himself up deliberately, at least not anymore, but he just couldn’t seem to break the habit of not sleeping. It’s not that he wasn’t tired, oh god he was tired, he just couldn’t make himself fall asleep.
He turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling for as long as he could bear to, internally debating whether or not actually counting sheep would help him at this point, before glancing back at the clock.
Tim sighed in defeat. He was starting to wonder if you could die from sleep deprivation. The manor was silent, save for the quiet whirring of the ceiling fan hung above Tim’s bed, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to risk making Damian going into the living room to entertain himself with the television for a few hours.
He flicked on the light and got up, turning to look suspiciously at his bed. It seemed perfectly normal, a comforter, two decently stuffed pillows, but it had betrayed him. The floor would be better at this point.
Tim had an idea. An idea fueled by sleep deprivation, but an idea nonetheless.
He ripped the comforter off his bed and laid it in the center of his carpet, folding it in half first to maximize the padding, then grabbed his pillowed and set them down at the head. He took a step back to examine the setup. It was good… but not enough. He needed more.
He pushed up his glasses, which had slid down the bridge of his nose as some point during the assembly of his new and improved floor bed. The project required more pillows, and more blankets, which meant he was going to have to brave the potential warzone that was the stretch of hallways that separated his bedroom from Damian’s. He chewed on the corner of is lip, weighing the risks in his mind. On one hand, waking Damian at three in the morning would mean world war three. On the other hand, getting more blankets might mean he actually got a decent night’s sleep for once.
Tim decided the blankets were worth it.
The hall light was already on, which meant that he only had to dim his bedroom lights before stepping silently onto the old hardwood floors. He could see the linen closet at the end of the hall. Taunting him. He narrowed his eyes (and not just because his prescription needed to be updated and he couldn’t quite see that far). Directly between him and his target, was Damian’s bedroom, the door open just enough for Tim to see the demon child curled up in his bed, asleep.
Tim crossed his arms.
Damian turned in his sleep, as if in response to the silent insult. Tim held his breath. If Damian woke up now and saw him out here he’d be finished. Although he supposed that being dead might be somewhat restful. Tim shook his head. No. He wasn’t giving up yet. Not that easy.
He took a hesitant step forwards cringing at the creak the echoed through the manor. Damian shifted again, but still didn’t wake up, and Tim wondered bitterly how a kid raised to be a paranoid little assassin managed to sleep more soundly than he did. It wasn’t fair. He crept further down the hall, avoided the boards that he already knew couldn’t support his weight without an audible groan.
Finally, after what felt like an hour he made it. The linen closet. He opened the door and carefully selected the thickest, softest blankets and the best pillows. He was just turning to creep back to his room, when Damian’s bedroom light flickered on.
Tim ducked around the corner in a panic. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Damian saw him up, but even the best thing Tim could think of was still something he’d rather avoid.
The sound of light footsteps drifted down the hall, followed shortly after by the sound of the bathroom door opening and shutting. This was his chance. Tim looked cautiously around the corner, and after confirming that the hall was clear, he booked it, pillows and blankets tucked underneath each arm, running as quietly as he could to his room and shutting the door behind him.
He held his breath for a moment, listening, his back pressed against the door.
Nothing. Then, after a moment, the sounds of Damian returning to his room.
Tim smirked to himself at having outsmarted his smug little brother. He’d have to rub that in at some point. He dropped everything he’d carried into a pile on the floor and started to form it into some sort of a nest of blankets.
He was laying the new pillows down next to those he’d already arranged when he was startled by a knock on his door. Quickly he pushed his makeshift floor bed out of view before he opened the door a crack and looked into the hall to see a tired looking Damian glaring up at him.
“What- Damian what do you-“
The twelve-year-old put up a hand to cut him off, “Drake, the next time you decide to stomp about the manor in the middle of the night, if you wish to actually evade my detection, try not dropping your glasses outside my bedroom door.” He held up Tim’s glasses, clutched in his other hand.
“Oh… yeah. Uh… thanks for giving them back.” Tim took them from him sheepishly and Damian turned on his heel to walk back to his room. Alright. So, Tim didn’t have much to gloat about. At least that interaction had been relatively painless.
He turned his attention back to the pile of blankets pushed up against his dresser, and set about arranging them back into a vaguely bed-like formation on his floor. Once he was satisfied with that, he flicked off the lights and set his glasses down on top of his clock, which now read 3:42 am. Good. Maybe there was still enough night left for him to get a good couple hours of sleep.
He laid down on the misshapen mass of pillows and cocooned himself in his bedsheet. This was decidedly less comfortable than sleeping on his bed, but after the work he’d gone through to set this up he was at least going to stick it out for a little while.
He snuggled himself into a crack between two piles of pillows and closed his eyes, hoping when he opened them next some significant amount of time would have passed. He stared at the backs of his eyelids, listening to the whir of the fan for what had to have been at least an hour, before he let himself check the clock again.
Tim gave up trying to sleep. He pulled out his tablet and started working on the case Bruce had made him leave earlier that night.
His alarm woke him up at 6:30 am. When he didn’t get up, Alfred came in to wake him at 6:45, finding him curled up in a nest of blankets in the middle of his floor.
“Master Timothy, is there any particular reason you decided to abandon your bed in favor of raiding the linen closet in the middle of the night?”
Tim poked his head out from the mass, his hair sticking out at impossible angles. “The bed failed me Al.” He said, deciding apparently, that that was sufficient explanation as he pulled the covers back over his head.
Alfred sighed and smiled fondly, “I see, well, be that as it may, it is still time for you to get up for school.”
He received only a groan in response.
“Master Tim, I really must insist that you get up, or there won’t be time for you to get ready before the bus arrives.”
Tim’s head reemerged from the nest, “What are my chances of convincing B. to let me take the day off?”
Another smile, tinged slightly with pity this time, “Slim to none I’d say”
The young insomniac sighed and slowly pulled himself out of the pile he’d used for a bed, “Alright… I’m up.” He rubbed at his eyes miserably as he shuffled over to his dresser and pulled out the slacks and dress shirt that made up his Gotham Academy uniform. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Alfred nodded and stepped back into the hallway, “Very good.” He turned back, poking his head in the door once more before leaving Tim to get ready, “And might I suggest that returning the blankets to their proper location be your priority once you’ve returned from school?”
Tim cracked a tired smile at the elderly man, “I dunno, I was thinking of making this my bed full time, what do you think?” Alfred cocked an eyebrow in warning, and Tim put and hand up, “Just kidding Al, I’ll clean it up.”
Another nod, “Very good Master Tim. Breakfast will be ready for you downstairs once you’ve dressed.”
Tim looked down at the mess covering his floor and shook his head sadly. It was a valiant effort, he thought, but alas, a failure.
The time on the clock blinked mockingly at him: 6:47 am. He’d gotten about an hour and a half of sleep in the end.
Blue is a deep ocean dragon! That’s to say, he’s huge. A bit smaller than red, he still surpasses my two story home in size with ease. He is a deep sapphire shade of blue with sea-green eyes. He has no horns, but small floppy ears. He has four wings that help push his huge body through the water. When he flies, the second pair of wings stay close to his body and he flaps with only his front two larger wings. He has gills right under his chin and down his neck, but he can survive out of water. He has a very thick strong tail, used to help push along under water and navigate the skies. Blue can coat his teeth in poison at will, and has a small poisonous spike at the back of each paw.
Blue is an incredible drama queen. In Florida, he swam under our boat and used his sea magic to cause waves for us to ride. When we speed faster, he would leap beside us, and make this loud wailing sound of dying souls before falling in the water. Drama queen. He’s playful and childish despite being thousands of years old. He understands memes, often saying how he’s gonna fight the sun.
Blue would like a witch who lives near the ocean or at the very least has lots of open land for his large size. He would love to educate anyone in sea magic, and work along side a witch who shares his love for his home under the waves.
Hello, I'm working on a chapter in my story where I need to describe a adolescent male character's appearance from the point of view of his admirer but can't seem to find the words. Do you mind helping out?
Sure, I’d love to!
Seeing as I don’t know anything about your character, I can’t really hit any specifics of his appearance (hair, eyes, skin, etc), but I can give you a general tip: in a lover’s eye, the good shows through much more than the bad. It might be that in his admirer’s view, his acne or his prominent chin diminishes in favor of his shy smile or his intelligent eyes; his oily skin or buck teeth might pale in comparison to his long-fingered hands or the gradual slope of his shoulders. Basically, just describe your character with the most positive, loving language possible – and that includes his bad points (maybe something like “he had a very prominent chin, but my only concern about that was if it would get in the way, should I ever have the courage to kiss him” or “his skin was oily, but that was okay – who cared?”). If your character is being described by someone who’s in love with him, his bad points won’t be completely ignored, but they also won’t matter.
(Also, keep in mind that it’s generally better to steer clear of using hair color and eye color in description – your readers will imagine your characters how they want to no matter what you say. Instead, describe the set of the eyes (wide-eyed, far apart, small, beady, etc) and the texture/thickness/length of the hair (frizzy, soft, long, shaggy, thick, sparse, etc). In my experience, these go through to readers much clearer than color specifics.)
Hope this helps! If you need anything else, please feel free to ask! - @authors-haven
Dorian would rock back on his heels, looking up as he gnawed the inside of his cheek as he quested for words before looking back at you with the same gentle smile he has always saved just for you. “There has been a lot of talk lately about asexuals,” he would say, “quite a bit of it negative.” He’d make a thin, scoffing noise between his teeth. “Small minded people expressing small opinions. I-” A sigh. “Listen to me,” he would say in a softer tone, taking your hands in his, if you are comfortable with touch.
“There is nothing wrong or shameful about how you experience your sexuality, or the lack of it. Quite the opposite, in fact. It is a part of you, and trying to smother that or telling you that it makes you lesser is, if you’ll pardon my Orlesian, a giant steaming pile of mouldering demon shit.”
“There will always be people who will look at you and not like what they see, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t just as many, more, people out there who will think that it is just one more later of icing on the celebratory cake. I’m one of them, naturally, and having a subscription to my friendship offers free ‘emergency hug’ services. Or, alternately, face punching. Not by me, of course, I am a delicate flower who bruises if you sneeze at me. No, no, I delegate that. But faces WILL be punched, and I will laugh and recount it dramatically to you later, whenever you want.”
In all honestly, you’re not sure how you got to this position - lying on your back with his hands squeezing your thighs.
Your heads spinning quickly as you look down at your boyfriend. He furrows his eyebrows when he looks down at you again and for a second you wonder if something’s wrong.
“God. You’re perfect like this.” He stresses, teeth catching his lips for a split second before he continues, “Lying down, legs spread out just for me.”
“I’m not exactly sure,” and Michele can’t miss the way Emil catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “This takes a long time to cultivate,” he scratches his untrimmed beard lightly with his nails. “Without it, I’m afraid I’ll look like a kid.”
“Trust me Emil, the ladies like a clean shave.” Michele clenches his jaw and smirks in a way that’s rehearsed. He always does that when he tries to play the cooler older friend.
“Did Sara say that?”
Emil considers it for a moment. Michele offered to help him. The opportunity to have Mickey hold him close and have his undivided attention is too alluring to simply brush off. “You can do the sides.” Then he adds, “And maybe a trim. If you promise to be gentle with me.”
He doesn’t for a moment miss the way Michele blushes. It makes his chest swell with pride, and maybe something akin to hope. Michele’s hands are soft, but apply just enough pressure as he grabs his chin and tilts it upward.
The rapid strokes of the razor are hypnotic. Emil hopes that Michele will dote on him in this way always.
everything about jungkook is just so cute and precious.. like… the way his nose scrunches up and all of his teeth show whenever he laughs really hard.,,. the way his eyes light up whenever he smiles…… his cute little cheeks…. the way he claps …… his big heart….. his kind soul……… hes a precious boy and i hope he’s always feeling happy and loved
Shadow Dui was absolutely dominant tonight. His kisses, his positioning, and his hands. You were like his doll, his plaything. It was so hot. You had been sitting on your couch when he showed up in your apartment. He didn’t say a word…picked you up by the hair, and dragged you to bed. His lips met yours hard and his teeth were sharp on your lips and neck. He held your arms down with one of his hands and used the other one to choke you. He wasn’t even inside you and you were on the edge of coming.
You pressed your center to his erection and you whimpered. You wanted him so bad. You rutted against him. “Don’t do that,” he absolutely growled, choking off all your air and working a bruise into your shoulder. You struggled against him. He never cut your air off like this. You tried to get your hands free as you began to panic. “I’m ten times stronger than you, _____. You’re not gonna get away.” You started seeing spots. You tried to plead, but nothing came out. Slowly, his hand let go and you hauled in breath after breath. Your lungs burned.
Shadow Dui got off you and started stripping. You could hardly move your arms as you began undressing too. You were shocked and scared, but all those emotions made your stomach tighten. It all got you closer to orgasm. You looked at him with uncertain eyes. He smiled down at you. Gently hooking his fingers into your waist band he got rid of your shorts and panties. He took care to take your panties out of your shorts to examine them. You knew they were soaked and you looked away embarrassed. "God, _____,” he sighed. “These smell so good.” He shoved them in your face. “Smell them.” You smelled them and you recognized your own scent. “That’s how you feel about me.” He said, “That’s how you’ve felt about me from the start.” His fingers played over your folds. “That’s why you let me fuck you after the first date… You’ve always been my little slut.” He growled, climbing back on top of you as you blushed hard. “You want me in this tight, wet cunt, don’t you?”
You moaned and nodded. “Please.” You needed him inside of you. "You want this? You want this cock?” He asked, placing his dick, heavy with desire on your belly. It was hot and hard, but soft as silk. "I do, please,” you begged as his hand covered your throat. "I’ll ask until you can’t answer anymore. How about that?” He asked stone faced. God, he was sadistic tonight. "Please, fuck me, Dui,” You plead. “Please, please, f-fill me u-up,” You were losing air by talking. “Dui- I want- I want… Y- ya- y…” Breath was beyond you, he was choking you so tight. After that it was just gasping and Shadow Dui looking at you straight faced. Like, he couldn’t care. Like, it was impossible for him to care about your comfort. But he needed this, and you enjoyed it. Hell, you were soaking wet.
He knew you liked it when he dominated you. Maybe he was giving you his all. Maybe he had lost it. All you knew was you fucking loved it. You grabbed at his hands with yours. Nails sharp, but careful. Intricately showing him your concern. Then he thrust into you. You would have gasped, but you couldn’t take in air. "That’s what I remember,” he huffed in your ear, as he thrust hard. “That tight, dripping pussy always so ready for me.” He groaned as he fucked you. He let up his hand for a moment. “Dui! Let me breathe!” You pleaded on a gasp. "I’ll do what I want.” He informed you. "You know better than to ask, _____.”
He fucked you relentlessly. He was hitting your sweet spot over and over as his dick opened you up; stretched you. You cried out as he did and he looked down at you like you were the only thing in the world. "Dui, I’m gonna- I’m right there,” he knew what you were asking and he put his hand on your throat again. You held his wrist with both hands, feeling small, weak, and completely his. You belonged to him and he belonged to you. You were connected more than physically. He was choking you because he knew you liked it. He knew you.
You arched off the bed and into his thrusts. It felt like you were going to tear in half, like your whole body was going to explode. You came harder than you ever had before, clamping down on his dick. He made a noise somewhere between distress and pleasure. It was like music to your ears. "Fuck, ____…That feels like heaven.” He said, taking his hand off your throat to hold you. He held you close as his finish washed over him. He always said filling you was the hottest thing on earth. You burned at the thought of him enjoying this as much as you did.
You felt his heart beat hard in his chest as his chest touched yours. You ran your hand through his hair, and sighed. "Dui, are you okay?” You were still trying to figure out why he did what he did. "Better than okay.” He replied. “My goddess,” he said, pressing you flush to him. “Is right here. I’ll be okay as long as you’re…” He kissed your forehead. “Right here.”
I can't wait to have you on your back screaming. Take as you will.
The question had only made Jack clench his teeth. It made him highly uncomfortable that the anonymous did not state whether or not the question should be taking into an inappropriate format or that the creature actually wanted to see him screaming in pain.
The samurai inched his seat father away from the grey being who had now decided to sit by him, only making him feel much more uncomfortable than he was before.He was exhausted and was in no mood to be dealing with a battle…or…more. He made sure there was a good distance between the two.
Why did these beings always had make everything seem sexual. He ad noticed this was a frequent habit they did, even with others. not only himself. Jack opened his mouth slowly, his voice tried to stay as calm as possible.his brows sank down on his eyes.