look what you've done to me

okay but dean cradling cas’ face gently before he kisses him

rubbing his thumbs in soothing little circles on the line of cas’ jaw

kissing feather-light at the corners of his lips before pressing in against the full curve of them

holding still, just marveling at how right this feels, how the wet warmth, the hovering breath, feels like being wrapped up in the tightest embrace

You have people come into your life shockingly and surprisingly. You have losses that you never thought you’d experience. You have rejection and you have learn how to deal with that and how to get up the next day and go on with it .
—  Taylor Swift

brodinsons asked:

a future water rescue where napoleon hauls illya out of the frozen lake or river and he's not breathing which isn't acceptable and napoleon's just frantically trying to resuscitate him on the bank "nononono peril, this isn't acceptable i need you to breathe, on my count, and breathe! breathe, damnit! peril!"

Two hundred pounds of Soviet muscle and it’s all dead weight.  Napoleon keeps Illya’s face angled out of the water as he pulls them both in towards shore, one arm hooked under his partner’s and the other clawing its way through the icy river, inch by agonizing inch.  By the time they hit the gravel and Napoleon can wade the rest of the way, Illya’s face has turned the color of ash.

“Breathe!”  Napoleon barks, slamming his fist against Illya’s chest.

The nearby roar of the river mixes with the roar of the blood rushing in his ears.  They’re a few yards up the rocky shore, Illya stretched out on his back on the flattest patch of earth Napoleon could find.  He doesn’t respond, silent and motionless even while Napoleon fills the frigid air with clouds of steam from his ragged lungs.

“I said breathe, damn it!” he barks again, punctuated with another blow, hard enough to bruise, to fracture.

Illya’s body jumps at the impact, but his eyes don’t open, his lips don’t part.  It’s never been like this before.  Illya always hears him.  Illya’s always there, always listening, coiled and waiting.  When Napoleon calls, he answers.

“Peril!”  Napoleon calls, his voice wrecked and raw from the cold and the fear.  “I need you to breathe!”

Illya is so, so cold.  Napoleon paws at his chest and face, gives him a vicious slap, then another, and then he’s got him by the shoulders and he’s shaking him he’s shaking him and Illya just lolls in his grip, his head tilted back and to the side, his eyebrow scar livid against his grey skin.

“No,” Napoleon almost chokes on the word.  “No, no, no—”

Frantic, fumbling, he layers his hands together, knots his fingers, and settles his bottommost palm on Illya’s chest.  He locks his elbows and rocks his weight forward, hard and fast, too dizzy with panic to keep count past a handful.

“This is— unacceptable—” he pants as he works, hoping to shame Illya into breathing again.  “I expected— better— from you—”

The chill has crept into Napoleon’s bones, his limbs shaking and his teeth rattling in his skull.  His eyes sting and burn like hellfire.  

“Breathe!” he sobs.  “Peril, please!

Half-blind with terror, he claps one hand over Illya’s nose and uses the other to take hold of his jaw.  Then, after a deep, desperate breath, Napoleon swoops down and covers Illya’s mouth with his own.  It’s nothing like he wanted it to be.  He always imagined Illya’s lips as warm, so warm, curling against his mouth in amusement before parting obediently at the insistent swipe of Napoleon’s tongue.  Now Illya’s lips are cold and tinged blue at the edges, as Napoleon seals their mouths together and forces a lungful of air down Illya’s throat.

“Come on,” he hisses, sucking in another breath and delivering it into Illya’s mouth.  “Come on, Peril!  Come on!

And after three breaths Illya answers him at last, vomiting out half the contents of the river while Napoleon emits a wild, wordless cry of relief.  He doesn’t breathe again until Illya does, the pair of them drawing in the same huge, shuddering gulp of air.  Illya’s dazed blue eyes wander uncomprehendingly over his surroundings before they settle on Napoleon and sharpen into sudden, laser-like focus.

“Cowboy,” he wheezes.  “Are you all right?”

Napoleon would laugh if he wasn’t so sure he’d end up crying instead.

so basically this is what we’re getting every night for 12 WEEKS:

  • pictures of the massive line
  • people tweeting about celebrities being there
  • pictures before the show of the amazing set
  • maybe pictures during the shows (??)
  • maybe videos during the shows (?????)
  • videos of darren being cute during the curtain call
  • pictures of celebrities backstage with darren
  • pictures and videos of darren being ultra cute with fans at the stage door (jealous)

i won’t survive

i’m not okay honestly lacrosse!calum is my weakness can you imagine sneaking into the locker room an hour or so before the game and he’s the only one in there, sitting on a bench and taping his stick, so you come up behind him and lean down to press your lips to his neck. he turns in surprise but smiles when he sees you, and you lift a hand to ruffle his hair and ask sweetly, “are you nervous?” and he just smirks and eyes you up and down and then turns so he can face you, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you onto him, and says lowly, “not at all… you know I always play to win.”

Jean swivels back and forth on a bar stool. “You know that’s illegal?”

“You gonna arrest me?” Eren, perched on the stool next to Jean, knocks back another shot.

“Maybe I should. You look it now, but I know you aren’t old enough to drink. It would make a good headline.”

“Yeah, a good headline about you supposedly arresting someone for underage drinking and then not being able to prove it.”

Levi intercepts the next shot the bartender slides in front of Eren and drinks it himself. “Stop arguing.”

Jean goes still and silent, looking like a soldier awaiting orders.

“Really? You listen to him?” Eren turns around and leans with his back to the bar so he can observe the room.

“I can’t help it, man.” Jean shakes his head ruefully. “You hear his voice? How can you not obey?”

“Wow. You’re kinda fucked up. Hey, just out of curiousity, completely unrelated, did your dad leave your family at a young age?”


“Damn, Jean. You should trot on over to therapy. Get that shit sorted out.”

“Be quiet,” Levi snaps.

Jean emits a noise and Eren whips around, eyes wide. “Did you just whimper?!”

“Shut up,” Jean grits out.

“I swear, Jean, if you pop a boner I am leaving right fucking now. Fuck the mission, I’m not dealing with that.”

Levi tears his gaze away from the men in the corner they’re supposed to be surveilling and glares at the two next to him. “Both of you-”

“Careful, Boss.” Eren interrupts, “If you scold him, he might just pass out right here.”

“Fuck you with a cactus, Eren.”

“Fuck you with Levi’s cane. Of course, you’d probably be all for that.”

Levi’s voice reaches dangerous levels of fury as he notices some of the other bar patrons glancing in their direction. “Stop this now, you shitty brats.”

“I mean,” Eren quips, “I get that he’s hot. I would hop on that. But this is pathetic, Jean.”

“And you should know all about pathetic, Shifter!” Jean jumps down from the stool, crowding into Eren, who rolls his eyes hard.

“Oh, shit, what a comeback. I truly have been bested.”

Levi snaps his cane against both of their shins, earning him twin yelps. “You idiots can keep fighting each other. But I’ll be focused on fighting those nasty men other there. You know, the ones who now know who we are because you yelled our codenames.”

Looking up from rubbing their stinging legs, Eren and Jean see that indeed, they have attracted the attention of the entire bar, including the smugglers they were supposed to be taking down. The men are closing in on the three, brandishing weapons.

“Great. Look what you did, Eren.”

“Fuck you, Jean. If I die, I want that written on my tombstone.” Eren pops his knuckles and shakes out his limbs.

“Fuck you, too, Eren.” Jean drops into fighting stance.

“Fuck you both.” Levi pulls the sword out of the sheath of his cane.

Simultaneously they answer, “Yes, please.”

Look What You’ve Done To Me (3903 words) by lululawrence
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: One Direction (Band)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, mostly - Freeform, inserted with some headcanon, Dom/sub, Bondage, Spanking, but only lightly, nothing crazy, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Anal Sex, Basically, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Harry, Bottom Louis
Series: Part 2 of Sexy Times

Harry allowed the silk to lightly brush over the skin of Louis’ neck, then his shoulders. As he swirled it down towards the small of his back and the beginning swell of his bum, Louis couldn’t help but shiver. Harry continued to draw it across the sensitive skin of Louis’ ass and thighs before laying out his plan.

“I’m going to mark up your thighs until you can’t remember what they looked like before my mouth got ahold of them. And then I’m going to work you open, slowly, until you can’t hold back anymore.” Harry spoke quietly, measuring his pace to match that of the scarf across Louis’ body, happy to hear the whimpers coming out of him unbidden. “Only then will I untie you, flip you over, and make you come, untouched, as I wreck you…” Harry held off the last part until he knew every atom of Louis’ attention was on his voice, “and you will be blindfolded.”

This is once again dedicated to my ladies, who gifted me with a lovely smutty convo to inspire me: tommosgun, reminiscingintherain, ostricacida, and thisismysupersecretblog! 😘😘

Happy smuttily ever after!


Great moments are born from great opportunity. And that’s what you have here tonight, boys. That’s what you’ve earned here tonight. One game. If we played ‘em ten times, they might win nine. But not this game. Not tonight. Tonight, we skate with them. Tonight, we stay with them. And we shut them down because we can! Tonight, WE are the greatest hockey team in the world. You were born to be hockey players. Every one of you. And you were meant to be here tonight. This is your time. Their time is done. It’s over. I’m sick and tired of hearing about what a great hockey team the Soviets have. Screw 'em. This is your time. Now go out there and take it.

Aftermath of an eruption

she teases
her lips curl
with a single keystroke
she suspends my breath–
every letter she shreds
rattles my senses
the ions race through my veins
i implode
i gasp–
i recall her name
under my breaths
the requiem of ancestral sin
thickens my blood
soul lingers in ether
my existense recurs
ache ache ache
lip tastes like honey
air tastes like blood
my third eye ablaze
as i keep blooming
petal after petal
till i collapse–