stripped t shirt

lift up your hearts. 12x23 coda. deancas. (ao3)

Castiel wakes in darkness.

He reaches for his grace to find that it’s gone, but his hands are still there, so he reaches out with those, instead. He claws his way up and out of the cold and damp and crushing weight, holding his breath, chest aching.

As soon as he breaks the surface, he lies there, still half buried, and gasps in lungful after lungful of cold, fresh air.

It’s only when his breathing finally calms that he pulls himself the rest of the way out of the ground. He tries to stand but winds up falling to all fours, fabric of his damp clothes chafing against his knees, his elbows. He settles for kneeling, instead, as he tries in vain to shake the sand from his hair and clothes, wipe it from his skin.

As the sun finally peeks over the mountains, he twists his head, looks over his shoulder.

They buried him where he fell. In the early morning light, he can make out the shape of his own damaged wings seared onto the ground, stretching out on either side of where he lay. There is no cross marking his grave, no cairn, just a small circle of carefully placed rocks and a pair of familiar bootprints not yet washed away by the elements.

Castiel turns back around. He rises slowly to his feet and stumbles into the house.

Keep reading

Family’s What You Make Of It

Family’s What You Make Of It | It starts when Dan stumbles through the door of his two bedroom flat with an attractive stranger attached to his mouth, and it ends with, well… a family. Or, the one where Dan is a single father of a three year old, who intends for Phil to be nothing more than a one night stand until he see’s him interact with his daughter for the first time. | Phan | Mature | Smut, self-neglect, implied self-esteem issues, single father Dan | 4,374 Words

Thank you so @phansdick for encouraging me (as always) and then being wonderful and beta’ing for me without me even having to ask ;)

(Ao3 Link)

Keep reading

His || Jungkook || 0.15

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6 | 0.7 | 0.8 | 0.9 | 0.10 | 0.11 | 0.12 | 0.13| 0.14 | 0.15

Keep reading

Here (Jason Todd x Reader)

A/N: Hope you guys are liking these so far!

Request: Prompts 1, 9, and 19 from list 2! With Jason

Warnings: Blood, injury

There’s so much blood,” Jason whispered, wide eyed as he pressed a strip of his t-shirt to your temple. “Come on baby, stay with me,” he muttered, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. “Stay with me.”


You opened your eyes, squinting as white light penetrated your vision. You groaned at the splitting pain in the side of your head. You realized you were in a hospital bed.

“Babe!” you heard from your right side, and you slowly looked over. You were met with a blur that resembled Jason. You blinked a couple of times and your vision cleared.

Jason looked concerned, has brow was turned up and his eyes were wide. “Can you hear me?” he tried again, one of his hands moving to cradle your face.

You nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered hoarsely, your throat hurting slightly. “What happened?” you asked.

Jason looked confused, then worried again. “You don’t remember last night at all, do you?” 

You shook your head, brow furrowing in curiosity. “Last thing I remember was getting ready for patrol with you.”

“You-” Jason stopped to take a breath. “You got attacked. I- I didn’t even see it coming before they were- they were gone and you were on the ground,” he continued, his voice beginning to crack.

You moved your hand to his, which was still cradling the side of your face.”It wasn’t your fault,” you whispered, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb.

“You don’t even remember what happened,” he replied, smiling halfheartedly.

“I know you, Jay. You have this habit of blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault,” you said, smiling softly.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he mumbled, moving his head to rest on your shoulder. “You weren’t responding to me,” he started, the helplessness returning to his voice. “You had this- this dazed look. Like-like you were already gone.”

“I’m right here, Jay,” you whispered soothingly. 

“I know, baby,” Jason replied. “I know.”

It’s My Job- Lin x Reader

I’m not putting any warnings, because if period talk bothers you, you need to be educated on the female body. 

Masterlist


You were laying on the bed cramping when the bedroom door opened. Your husband of six years rushed into the room, barely looking up until he saw you still in bed.

“Morning, (Y/N). You feeling okay?” His hair fell against his shoulders, slightly wavy from where his hair band had been the night before. Stubble adorned his cheeks, and the ever-present bags under his eyes were a light purple. He stripped off the t-shirt he wore to bed and tossed it in the hamper before crawling over the bed to you.

Keep reading

I don’t know why, but I kept thinking about Harry’s first tattoo this morning.

It happens a few years out of Hogwarts, after Auror training when Harry has enough experience to lead some missions or go onto the field on his own without an older supervisor.

He, Ron, Hermione, and a smattering of others from their lines of work gather every other Friday at their favorite bar tucked into the edge of Diagon Alley. It’s how they unwind after a long week at work, catch up when life becomes too hectic to know what everyone’s up to. And it’s not too popular which allows them to relax without worrying about press or excited citizens. 

It’s late, and mostly everyone has decided to head home, but Harry is just tipsy enough that he knows he may get sick after floo-ing home and he can’t concentrate enough for what’s required to apparate. So he exits the bar and wanders down the darkened streets of Diagon Alley to clear his head, thankful that everyone is too wrapped up in their own business to care that Harry Potter is in their vicinity. A few people gasp, nod, and wave at him, which he tries to minimize and keep moving.

He stumbles upon the tattoo shop by accident, ducking into the nearest door when he hears a sharp “Oh! Wait! Is that–?” from behind. 

The shop is empty save for a light coming from a back room, and Harry considers leaving again before whoever works here comes out to see him in their shop, but then movement against the wall catches his eye and he’s mesmerized into stillness. The walls are covered with prints, various small designs and occasionally larger pieces scattered all over in a similar aesthetic common in muggle tattoo shops, except these tattoos move. They twirl and interact like the paintings in Hogwarts, though they’re silent while doing so. He sees tiny broomsticks zooming across the walls, butterflies, birds, owls, and even dementors flying alongside them. There are hearts that actually beat, flames that flicker, typewriter text that repeatedly appears and disappears. There’s a whole section of ladies who giggle together, waving and winking when they notice him noticing them. One of the mermaids whispers to her friend and Harry finds himself blushing at artwork, wondering if they can actually gossip in whatever plane of existence these things exist in.

“Sorry mate, we’re closed,” a gruff voice announces behind him and it takes all of Harry’s training to prevent him from flinching or looking like he just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. The man from the back is dressed very casually for Diagon Alley, in a sweater with rolled up sleeves and dark jeans. Before Harry can even register his face, however, his eyes zero in on the moving images on his forearms. He’s not close enough to see details, but he thinks he catches sight of a rose blooming and wilting in a continuous loop. An actual moving tattoo.

“You hear me?” the man asks again, his tone making it clear that Harry isn’t welcome at this time. 

“S-sorry,” Harry stutters, still feeling the after affects the drinks. His brain feels slow and clumsy, like he can’t keep up with this new process of information.

He knows he’s recognized as soon as the man’s eyes flicker to the scar on his forehead. Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to care all that much about who he is. “Boy savior or not, we’re closed. I know I didn’t lock up yet but we aren’t open until 11 tomorrow. If you want a tat I suggest you come back then.” There’s a pregnant pause and the man’s eyes seem to see through him. “When you’re sober.”

“I wasn’t looking to get a tattoo,” Harry tries to explain.

“Then you’re really in the wrong place.” He gestures to the door and Harry turns to leave, not wanting to get on this guy’s wrong side or continue invading a closed shop. 

Right as he’s about to open the door, a flash of gold jerks away from the handle and Harry’s eyes (tipsy or not) are fixed on the familiar movement. He follows the shiny blur as it streaks across the walls, avoiding all of the other designs with ease before settling in the back corner, nearly disappearing within a pot of gold at the bottom of a rainbow. A snitch. He hasn’t played quidditch in so long…

“If you change your mind you can come back tomorrow, kid. Closed means no more customers.” Harry considers making a comment about not being a kid anymore but decides against it, leaving the shop and walking out onto the thankfully empty street.

Harry returns to the bar and uses their floo to make it back home. He thankfully doesn’t throw up but he lays awake in bed that night thinking about that tattoo shop, imagining all the different pieces of art people could have moving on their bodies.


He can’t stop thinking about the shop. It’s been a month and he’s still thinking about it. His brain has started to imagine different moving pieces on his own body and he spends a much longer time shirtless in front of the mirror considering what it might look like. He asks around, and not many people seem to have these sorts of tattoos. “I’ve heard about it,” Auror Johnson tells him, “But I think it’s new. Tattoos have always been more popular with muggles.” 

Hermione tells him that tattoos, permanent markers, have always been something wizards are cautious of. Something about ancient runes and the connection between artist and canvas. 

Ron scoffs loudly and explains the story of Bill and Charlie’s little adventure to get tattoos years back. How his mom had been furious and forbade any of the rest of them from even thinking about doing the same. “She’s popped in on us in the shower before, just to make sure.” Harry doesn’t have to ask to know that Charlie probably has a wicked dragon tattoo somewhere on his person. 

The more he thinks about it, the more anxious he is to return to the tattoo shop.


He goes back three months after the accidental entry. He’s walked past the outside numerous times, always passing it when he’s in the area getting drinks. The bright neon TATTOO sign out front is magical, the winding neon strands changing fonts and colors as it hovers in front of the shop. It’s calling out to him, literally and metaphorically.

He makes an appointment that night, right before closing, and the shop owner warns him against drinking beforehand. Because 1) he won’t do a tattoo Harry will change his mind about and 2) it doesn’t actually help you ignore the pain like people think it will. Magical tattoos don’t hurt any less than muggle ones.

Harry figures if he can die and come back to life that a tattoo won’t be so bad. 

He’s right.

That night he goes home and immediately strips off his t-shirt, standing in front of the mirror, smiling at the reddened flesh on his ribs that’s wrapped up and in a still position until it’s healed enough. It should be ready within a few days, the shop owner had said. Harry stares at the design in the mirror, giddy with excitement at his reckless decision for the first time in too long.


It becomes a game of sorts for Harry to play a Seeker’s game in the mirror after a shower or when he’s brushing his teeth. The golden snitch flits around his body with speed that’s startlingly accurate, wings fluttering at a pace that’s nearly invisible to the naked eye. It disappears behind his back, around his arms, hides itself in his hair. His hand jerks out to catch it right as it ducks down his neck, chest, under his pants. Harry laughs, feeling comfortable in this skin with it’s new companion.

He wakes up the next morning with the sunlight streaming into his bedroom through the light colored curtains. His vision is blurry without his glasses, but he sees the snitch tucked in his right palm, wings folded inside almost as if it too is sleeping. Harry curls his fingers, mouth twitched into a sleepy grin, and falls back asleep.

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VI)

Part VI – “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder”

Twenty-eight

She didn’t come back after that night – I knew she had gone back to Boston, to take control over her life. I waited. The phone never rang to give me news or an explanation, inexplicably silent even though I was certain she could find the number had she wished to. And I waited. My mailbox was painfully empty every day, while I dreamt of letters touched by her fingers, read aloud by her warm voice. And yet I waited.

I waited because I had no choice – I was meant to wait for her. Our lives were inextricably connected, vessels adrift on the sea with an intended destination written in the stars. I had tried to forget her before, to live pretending I wasn’t waiting – and that had hurt more than the hours I spent awake at night, looking at the spot where she once had laid by my side. But there was that small fraction of time, that heartbeat, just before I opened my eyes in the morning, where everything was possible – and I was happy.

Sometimes I would catch myself checking the weather in Boston, wanting to know if she could see the stars in clear skies – at least I could share that proximity with her. I wondered if she had drank coffee, dark and strong, while her eyes were still half-shut. If she had decided on a specialty yet. That was better than wondering about her marriage – every time I turned my thoughts to Frank, the idea of her being touched by him brought me to a blinding state of anger and fear. I would go outside in those occasions to run, as fast as I could for as long as I was able, until I had fled myself and was somewhat free.

I enjoyed teaching and found great solace in my students, curious and lively little fiends, always looking for trouble. I dedicated myself to the task of keeping their spirits sharp and their curiosity burning.

I had my old friends, with whom I shared whiskey glasses and laughs at the pub – keeping a respectful distance from the place I knew Laoghaire still frequented. They kept me grounded, even with their crudes jokes about my bachelor status. While I was laughing, it was easier to wait – I could almost push Claire to the back of my mind, where she would curl and sleep, satisfied.

Saturday was born in blazing glory, sun shining high in a cloudless sky like a treasure’s coin. I accepted the chance to spend the morning exploring the paths at Arthur’s Seat, pushing myself to the limit. I reached the summit with a delicious pain at each breath intake, the air fresh like crushed mint, filling my chest with the pulse of life.

Back at my apartment, I made plans to shower and spend a lazy afternoon reading and napping on the couch, while I stripped off my sweaty t-shirt, heading towards the bathroom.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

I opened it without thinking twice, expecting perhaps to see Angus or Willie, swinging by to challenge me to watch a rugby match or play a chess game.

Her hair was a bit shorter than the last time I had seen her, framing a face that was slightly flushed from sunlight and anticipation. She was wearing a white sundress and I realized I had been wrong – my memories would never be more than a pale comparison to the woman who stood before me. Her arms were bare, with no visible marks, her flawless skin resembling a painting.

“May I come in?” Claire asked softly, her eyes quickly tracing the lines of my exposed chest before she looked at my face, expectant.

“Of course.” I moved to the side, allowing her in. I brushed my hair with nervous fingers, desperately looking for an old t-shirt to dress. Eventually, I settled for the one I had been wearing, smelling faintly of sweat and crushed leaves.

“I wanted to come sooner.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been in Scotland for a couple of days, but had to take care of some papers to start my surgical residency here and find somewhere to stay permanently.” Claire searched my eyes. “I’m moving back to Scotland.”

“Aye.” I said in a husky voice. “I’m glad to see ye, Claire.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Jamie.” She smiled, more confident. “These past two years, I -“

“Ye dinna have to explain anything to me.” I interrupted, feeling strangely hollow, fighting against anger which came with a sense of relief.

“I think I do.” Claire insisted, stepping closer to me. “I want you to know that I heard you, Jamie. I didn’t want to make promises until I truly meant them. I had to finish school and decide what I really wanted for my life.”

“And did ye?” I croaked, folding my arms in a defensive gesture, pre-emptively shielding myself from bad news.

“Yes.” She whispered. In that moment she reached out with her hand, offering it to me with her palm down – naked. Her wedding ring gone. “I divorced Frank more than a year ago – and never lived with him again after I was here.” Claire searched his eyes. “With you.”

“Then why did ye never wrote or called?” I asked, hurt creeping into my words. “Why did ye waited two years to show up again?”

“I had to be worthy of you.” Claire said simply, twisting her hands – her fingers touching the ghost of the ring that once had been there. “I had to make sure I was coming because it was the right thing – not because I was wrecked. You offered me everything and I wanted to have something to give back.”

“I missed ye.” I admitted in a whisper, as her hand touched my cheek – I closed my eyes, surrendering to her caress. “A Dhia, I thought I’d go mad with the idea of never seeing ye again.”

“I missed you too.” She gasped, her body so close to mine I could feel the swell of her breasts, the compelling heat coming from her skin. “I haven’t realized I could barely breathe until now.”

“Are ye here to stay then?” I asked serious, our eyes locking. We were gently swaying along some music we could both listen, too eager to stand still, too afraid to finally meet in quietness. “Because if ye’re not…”

She silenced me with her trembling fingers, touching my mouth, learning the shape of my lips. I almost moaned with the pleasure of her touch, so sincere and tender.

“I’m here to stay.” Claire assured me, tracing the line of my chin, where stubble prickled. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have ye in any way I can.” I whispered, my voice almost breaking with emotion – and yet, stronger than ever before. “Always.”

“Jamie…” She sighed with a smile, her forehead leaning against mine. “May I kiss you?” I realized she didn’t wish to rob me another kiss, a thief taking something precious, covered in the night’s cloak.

“I thought ye’d never ask.” I gave her a lopsided smile and our lips finally met, a kiss eighteen years in the making, hesitant at first and then all-consuming.

We spent the afternoon discovering each other, laying in the living room’s rug, slowly and languidly displacing clothes in order to kiss another inch of skin, to draw shapes of desire with our fingertips.

I opened the first buttons of her dress, tracing with my tongue the curve of her breasts; she insinuated her hands on my shorts, caressing the fine copper hairs of my thighs. I nuzzled her neck, softly biting her until she moaned, so I could reward her with a soothing flicker of my tongue. She laughed and playfully clawed my back, making sure I too would wear medals of our war, marks of the victor. I marvelled with the roundness of her arse and the feel of her swollen lips, battered with kisses, ever-wanting. I was mightily aroused – that much was evident to us both – and yet I didn’t move to enter her. I didn’t wish to precipitate the voyage we had started together, to hasten something that would come naturally to us, as each one of our meetings through life had. I would finally get a lifetime of her and planned to savour each small conquest.

“Are ye hungry?” I asked eventually, kissing her shoulder. She looked dishevelled and wanton, pure lust and love in the shape of a woman – I’d never seen her more beautiful or desirable.

“I’m starved.” She laughed, nuzzling the hollow of my chest one final time. “Will you feed me then?”

“Ach, I’m too knackered to cook.” I admitted, playing with her curls – already sorely missing her lips on mine. “But there’s a fantastic Mexican place nearby – I’ll buy ye dinner.”

“If you’re planning to intoxicate me with Margaritas,” Claire sat up and started to compose her clothes. “I have to say it’ll probably work like a charm.”

We left the house walking hand in hand, like two loved up teenagers, giggling and teasing each other. I’d pull her against me once in a while to kiss her again, to the general amusement and surprise of people around us. I didn’t know such happiness was possible – I felt my chest so full that no space was left for regret or doubt.

We were talking about plans to spend Sunday together, when we heard the commotion. A loud crash, someone screaming – the air was thick with tension, harder to breathe in. I felt Claire gripping my hand one final time before she let go, prepared to face what was certainly coming around the corner.

A man with a black ski mask emerged from the sizable jewellery store, which had imposing diamond rings and golden necklaces peeking through the window displays. He carried a dark sports bag at his shoulder and in one hand sported a menacing revolver, while the other grabbed a shrieking shopkeeper by the hair. Blood dripped from the side of her head, where she had probably been pistol-whipped, her eyes blank with shock.

An alarm went off inside the store, an unnerving sound that made me shiver, the hairs on my arms erecting in fear.

The robber shouted something – a car was waiting near the curb, another masked man inside it. He forcefully pushed the woman against the sidewalk, her head bumping against the edge with a nauseating sound of crushed eggshells.

I think I screamed, trying to stop Claire from moving – I knew she would go. She had healed me times enough for me to know that she wasn’t capable of witnessing suffering without trying to interfere.

It happened in a second and yet I saw it in slow motion – how she kneeled next to the woman, trying to stabilize her neck, to evaluate her wounds, calling for her with the lips I just had kissed moments before. The man in the ski masked turned and looked at her, laughing at the sight of her unfruitful gestures – she held his gaze in defiance, insulting him with her sharp tongue.

I was already screaming before it happened – I could see it so clearly and yet I was powerless to stop it. The gunshot that announced the ending, loudest even than my heart breaking.

I ran to her, trying to catch her before she fell on her back. For a moment I thought he had missed her – but a drop of red appeared on the white of her dress, spreading quickly across her belly like a net of poison, a cloud of blood drenching the fabric.

She looked at me with her eyes wide open in painful shock. I sobbed and cried for help, trying to keep her with me through a stupor of despair, my hands pressing the wound as my heart’s blood left her body.

“Jamie.” Claire whispered weakly, searching my eyes. And I started to pray, as sirens wept around me.


Note: I know it’s angsty but - hey- it’s canon! :D

Paris

Request: MODEL Y/N AND HARRYS GETTING LONELY BC Y/N ALWAYS IN PARIS W HER FRIENDS FLUFF PLS LOVE YA

A/N: OMG IM BACK. I hope you guys liked this and if you did I truly would love some feed back. love you all - maddy

MASTERLIST —-> X

LEAVE REQUESTS —–> X

Y/n has been away for so long. I feel like whenever I am working or away she is off and sitting at home but whenever she has work or has to fly somewhere I am always home alone. I just miss her a lot and feel like we both haven’t had a proper time to really be with each other in months. Ever since y/n’s modeling job really got going and she got more important roles we really haven’t seen each other. 

I’ve been trying to contact her but every time we do reach each other she is always busy working and can’t talk. I just want her back home and back in my arms where she truly belongs. We have been together for so long almost 3 years and most of it we were seeing each other till 6 months ago she starting to do some modeling for teen vogue and ever seen then she as been everywhere modeling with so many different companies. 

Keep reading

99 and Marlowe

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jongin

Genre: Soulmates!AU (kWritersNet May Prompt) + Angst 

Prompt: “You can’t eat solids, only liquids until Thursday.”

Rating: PG-13 

Word Count: 4,158

Originally posted by princewangeun

Keep reading

Undeniable Heat Chapter 26: Feeling Better

Jensen Ackles x Reader

1250 Words

Story Summary: You’ve just gotten a job as one of the makeup artists on the set of Supernatural. Nervous on the first day, you become completely awkward, winning the affection of the divorced Jensen Ackles. You try to fight your desire for him, but he thwarts you at every turn. Will you be able you separate work and play, or will you let Jensen win?

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

Upon awaking, Jensen’s three little words he had whispered into your ear was at the center of your thoughts. You hadn’t expected him to say those important words so fast in your relationship, and you were afraid it was because of the issues with Brad. Which made your heart sad, because you were pretty sure you were in love with Jensen. You just weren’t sure how to say those magical words back to him.

Sighing, you finally opened your eyes, immediately noticing you were alone in Jared’s huge guest room, the bed beside you long gone cold. The blinds were shut, giving you no indication as to how long you’ve slept. Swinging your legs out of bed, your ribs only protested slightly, a definite improvement. With unsteady steps you made your way into the large bathroom, holding onto the counter as you stared into the mirror. Your hair was a mess, matted in some places while sticking out in others. Your face was turning an ugly shade of yellows and greens, the bruises finally starting to fade away. The hand print around your throat was still red and angry looking, a reminder at how close you had come to dying.

Keep reading

⚔ ✞ The Mortal Instruments (book series) ✞ ⚔

90 sentence starters from books one through six of The Mortal Instruments. send one for my muses reaction! Feel free to change anything that needs changing in order for it to make sense to have come from your muse.

It may look like a person and talk like a person and maybe even bleed like a person, but it’s a monster. ❞
I may be a killer, but I know what I am. Can you say the same? ❞
Unfortunately we’re all out of bitter revenge at the moment, so it’s either tea or nothing. ❞
The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me. ❞
If you were half as funny as you thought you were, you’d be twice as funny as you are. ❞
The most terrible things men do, they do in the name of love. ❞
I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain. ❞
Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound? ❞
If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked. It would have been a lot less painful. ❞
Next time you’re planning to injure yourself to get my attention, just remember that a little sweet talk works wonders. ❞
You could try not being charming all the time. It might be a relief for everyone. ❞
If you insist on disavowing that which is ugly about what you do, you will never learn from your mistakes. ❞
You know, most psychologists agree that hostility is really just sublimated sexual attraction. ❞
You tore my heart out years ago when you betrayed and deserted me. ❞
You’re skilled enough, but you could not kill me. You have always been softhearted. ❞
I’m pure at heart. It repels the dirt. ❞
You think charm is the same as honesty? I used to think so. I was wrong. ❞
I prefer to think that I’m a liar in a way that’s uniquely my own. ❞
Don’t bother feeding me some story about how you just happened to wander along after he spontaneously died. I know you did this. ❞
Look on the bright side, if they need a human sacrifice, you can always offer me. ❞
Desire is not always lessened by disgust. Nor can it be bestowed, like a favor, to those most deserving of it. ❞
I wish I could hate you. I want to hate you. I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. ❞
I admire your stubbornness. It’s so much like mine. ❞
You never got a chance to tell me the truth. I don’t trust you, I want you to know that, but I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me. ❞
We are meant for a higher purpose, you and I. The distractions of the world are just that, distractions. If we allow ourselves to be turned aside from our course by them, we are duly punished. ❞
I’ve heard the word ‘fear’, I simply choose to believe it doesn’t apply to me. ❞
I’d say it’s been nice meeting you, but, in fact, it hasn’t. It’s been quite awkward, and frankly, the next time I see you will be far too soon. ❞
I thought I’d lie on the floor and writhe in pain for a while. It relaxes me. ❞
I hope you know what I mean when I say I’m sorry you’re here, but I’m glad you’re with me. ❞
You disappear so completely into your head sometimes. I wish I could follow you. ❞
But isn’t that what love is? Ownership? 'I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,’ as the Song of Songs goes. ❞
Never believe the bad guy is dead until you see a body. That just leads to unhappiness and surprise ambushes. ❞
Every time you almost die, I almost die myself. ❞
You’re not going. If I have to tie you up and sit on you until this insane whim of yours passes, you are not going. ❞
You were just upset about being left behind, like a child, and you had a tantrum. And now we’re here. Lost. ❞
Go ahead and do whatever you want, regardless of who it hurts. You always do anyway, don’t you? ❞
You could at least pretend you were glad to see me. Even a little bit. ❞
I have a fetish for damsels in distress. My services are also available to gentlemen in distress. It’s an equal opportunity fetish. ❞
I know how you think you feel about me. You don’t, though. You just like me because I’m safe. There’s no risk. ❞ And then you never have to try to have a real relationship, because you can use me as an excuse. ❞
I felt like you were someone I’d always been waiting for. I saw you feel it too. Don’t tell me you didn’t. ❞
You think you only want me because you’re evil, not human. You just want something else you can hate yourself for. I won’t let you use me to prove to yourself how worthless you are. ❞
I’m tired of you only wanting me around when you need something. I’m tired of watching you be in love with someone else—someone, incidentally, who will never love you back. Not the way I do. ❞
Anyway, I just saved you from being burned to death, so I figure you’re not allowed to be mad. ❞
I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there’s a life after that, I’ll love you then. ❞
I always figure it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission in these sorts of situations. ❞
I want them to writhe and die on the ground. They deserve shame before they get oblivion. ❞
So now what? You’re going to kill me while I’m tied up? Does the thought of fighting me scare you that much?
You keep passing out on me. It’s extremely tedious. ❞
But I thought of you—I saw you there, clearly, as if you were standing in front of me, watching me, and I knew I wanted to live, wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything, if only so that I could see your face one more time. ❞
I am a man, and men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone, woman, and bring me something brown. ❞
Oh, good. You’re starting to talk about yourself in the third person. That’s not a sign of impending megalomania or anything. ❞
Seems an odd time to start an insult contest, but if you insist, I could probably think up something good. ❞
It’s fascinating. You know all these words, and they’re all English, but when you string them together into sentences, they just don’t make any sense. ❞
You left me. You made a pet out of me, and then you left me. If love were food, I would have starved on the bones you gave me. ❞
You would do anything to save him, whatever it cost you, whatever you might owe to Hell or Heaven, would you not? ❞
Latent homosexual panic will do you in every time. ❞
You villains and your creepy eugenics programs are starting to bore me. ❞
Killing them is the most merciful thing you can do. ❞
I am a woman. I will use any weapon and all weapons to get what I want. ❞
I don’t know why I had to fall in love with someone who’s more stubborn than I am. ❞
God knows we’re all drawn toward what’s beautiful and broken. ❞
Watching me play Scrabble is enough to make most women swoon. Imagine if I actually put in some effort. ❞
Let me break it down for you. I’m young. I’m pretty. And I’m willing to burn the whole world to the ground to get what I want. ❞
You have ruthlessness in your bones and ice in your heart. Don’t tell me any differently. ❞
Viewing my naked chest has caused many women to seriously injure themselves stampeding to get to me. ❞
I was going to kill someone today. I just wasn’t sure who when I woke up this morning. I do love mornings, so full of possibilities. ❞
Goodness is not kindness, and there is nothing crueler than virtue. ❞
Weapons, when they break and are mended, can be stronger at the mended places. Perhaps hearts are the same. ❞
We are so much lovelier when we fall. ❞
You are mine. You have always been mine. When you were born, you were mine, though you did not know me. There are bonds that nothing can erase. ❞
Mercy is a condition of your agreement. ❞
The things you’ve done are too terrible to ever be forgiven, and you don’t even know they’re terrible. I will never forgive you. I will never love you. ❞
You lie when you tell me you’ll never love me. ❞
I’ve given you your chance to come willingly now. I’ve paid in blood and inconvenience to have you with me by your own choice. But I will take you unwilling, just the same. ❞
I only have two reactions to bad news - uncontrollable rage and then a sharp left turn into boiling self-hatred. ❞
This better be really juicy. And weird. Were bicycles involved in some kinky way? Vacuum cleaners? Umbrellas? ❞
The wishes of our hearts are weapons that can be used against us. ❞
I think they’ll probably put that on my gravestone. ‘He Was Heterosexual and Had Low Expectations.’ ❞
It was a little homoerotic, maybe, but I’m secure in my sexuality. ❞
You must love me. I never thought you’d admit anyone was prettier than you. ❞
I loved you recklessly from the moment I knew you. I never cared about the consequences. ❞
There are things we want, down under what we know, under even what we feel. There are things our souls want, and mine wants you. ❞
I can read your face like a very open, very pornographic book. I wish I couldn’t. ❞
It doesn’t matter if I hurt you because you belong to me. I can do what I want with you. ❞
I don’t want other people touching you or owning you or hurting you. I want you to be around, to admire me and to see what I’ve done, what I’ve accomplished. ❞
You have a dark heart in you, and it is a darkness we share. ❞
When I am all there is in your world, when I am all that is left, you will love me back. ❞
Hate me. Rejoice when I die. The last thing I would want now would be to bring you more grief. ❞
Ghosts are memories, and we carry them because those we love do not leave the world. ❞
We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss. ❞

British Invasion | 3

Overview: In the middle of her freshman year of high school Riley Matthew’s mother gets a once in a lifetime opportunity to run her firms London Office. Much to everyone’s surprise her mother accepts the job, forcing Riley and her younger brother Auggie to leave behind everything they’ve ever known. Almost three years later the Matthew’s family moves back to New York and Riley comes to realize a lot has changed in the time she’s been gone.
Author’s Notes: [As always the text in italics are flashbacks.] This chapter is rucas centric and covers what happened when they last saw each other.
Chapter Three: “There’s never a right time.”
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2
Word Count: 3,729 

♡♡♡

Countryside bathed in brilliant summer sunlight and hills covered in weeds and daisies was all Riley saw as she climbed out of her taxi. In less than 48 hours she’d be reunited with her friends for the summer and the excitement of it all was starting to get to her.

The six of them, herself included, made a plan to spend 3 weeks of the summer before sophomore year in Texas on Lucas’ family ranch. After incessantly begging her parents to let her go, they finally agreed and she spent every second after that looking forward to the trip. She hadn’t seen any of her friends since before her family left for London so getting to spend 3 weeks with them in the sun was everything to her.

School in the UK lets out earlier than school in the US so Riley arrived in Texas a day and a half before the rest of the gang would. Her parents didn’t see the point in paying to fly her out to NY just so she can take another flight to Texas. So instead she hopped on a plane from London straight to Austin.

Lucas’ grandfather was more than willing to help her get settled in and show her the ropes of country life. He took a real liking to her the last time she visited, back in middle school, so he was excited to have her back.

Riley took a deep breath and looked around at the hot and cloudless lazy summer day. She had to cover her eyes for the sun was too bright but once her eyes adjusted she couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp at her surroundings. She forgot how beautiful it was.

She breathed in the fresh air around her and let out a genuine smile.

Keep reading

Rockabye Baby, Don't You Cry, Somebody's Got You [a future!Barry Allen imagine]

a/n: i should be working on my paper

WARNING: Angst


It has been years since you last saw your ex. Who’s your ex, you wonder? Allen, Barry Allen.

It wasn’t a bad break up necessary; you knew he still held a candle for the beautiful reporter. You couldn’t blame him for loving someone. So you did what was best. You let go. Sure, it was extremely painful to see him happy with someone other than you, but you needed to do it. If not for him, then for you.

Except, nobody could stop Iris from dying. You knew you should have gone to her funeral, but you just couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to go. Instead, you left the city. Left all the pain, left all your old friends. But most importantly; you left him. You left Barry without saying goodbye.

Now, it’s 2024. Seven years after Iris’ death. You heard about Caitlin turning into Killer Frost, Wally being in the hospital. And Cisco…you had to see Cisco. He had no one, since he and Barry weren’t speaking. You think Julian moved away; you aren’t sure. God only knows about Joe, which is really depressing.

Somethings aren’t planned; like running into your ex. What are the chances? “I see you grew out your hair… it looks nice. Really suits you.” you mutter awkwardly, rocking on the heels of your sneakers.

A small half smile creeps on Barry’s lips, lifting one corner. “Thanks, Y/N, but I know that’s a lie.” Wow, his voice did get deeper. And, okay, yeah, it’s a lie. His long light brown strands of hair look extremely greasy. Like he hasn’t taken a shower in weeks. “Why are you here?” he asks quietly, clearing his throat; hands deep in his jacket pockets.

Deciding not to comment on his all black outfit, you nibble on your lower lip. Cisco can wait a few hours; he’s probably working. “Do you think we can talk? In private?” Then, in a flash, you’re at…Barry’s apartment. It’s musty and unkempt; take out boxes scattered across the floor and every flat surface.

Barry blushes a little and frowns, removing his black army-like jacket as he walks into the kitchen. You sneakily follow after him. “What do you…fuck, Y/N, I…” he shakes his head, waving his hair in front of his dull hazel eyes. “Please help me.” he whimpers, fluttering his thick, full eyelashes at you.

How can you back out on him now? You aren’t that harsh. “First, let’s get you in the shower, okay stud muffin?” you hum, allowing your nickname for him to slip out while you lead him to the bathroom.

With pink cheeks, the speedster strips off his black t-shirt, throwing it to the floor when the water turns on. Spinning around, your eyes widen at his pale abs, hands curling into fists in front of his pecs. “I missed you.” Barry admits in a soft tone, sniffling. You take a moment to realize the bright red rims around his eyes. “Please take one with me?” he asks innocently, peering at the shower.

“Okay.” you agree softly, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes before removing your shirt. This is totally not what you should be doing. He quickly drops his bottoms, waits for you to do the same, then helps you in the tub.

The warmth from him radiates against your back, much like all those years ago. “I missed you too, Barr.” You feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. A sigh escapes you and you shut your eyes. “Do you want me to stay?” you ask quietly, staring at the wall in front of you.

One simple question makes Barry’s heart race. “Yes.” he breathes, holding you tighter. “God yes.”

Some Like it Hot

Submitted by @aqua-harry! Thank you, love. x

It was hot. It was so hot, he would’ve welcomed death. It was the kind of hot that dripped down his back, stuck to his thighs, and seeped into his veins, making it impossible to remember a time when he wasn’t so goddamn hot.

He climbed up the stairs to his apartment on the fifteenth floor, dragging his feet up the steps, the weight of his legs too much to bear under the thick heat. With each conquered flight, he allowed himself a few seconds of respite while he pumped himself up to take on the rest of the stairs - one more flight to go.

When he makes it, he slumps against the doorframe and breathes heavily, pulling a heavy hand through his sweaty hair. He groans slightly, but then thinks against it, as complaining about the heat required more energy than he was willing to emit.

Unlocking the door, he drops his belongings at his feet, whining at how hot his fifteenth-floor, one-bedroom loft is. Moving to New York City had never been in the plans, but when the opportunity to establish a homebase for his own record label came about, he knew he’d be stupid to pass it up. He’d always loved New York, always inspired by the industrial feel, never lonely in the city that never sleeps. He’d gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the city, and he enjoyed watching the seasons change throughout the year. He figured nothing could get much hotter than Los Angeles in July, but he didn’t account for what the center of New York City had to offer. At least LA had a breeze - at least LA had open spaces - at least LA had swimming pools. The heat in New York City nearly made him feel trapped, unable to escape the skyscrapers and concrete, closed in on all four sides.

He’d always liked the heat. It meant that he could cool off in a large body of water, the relief of silky waves something to write home about during the hot summer months. He’d felt at home in the water, never fearful of the ocean or diving into the deep end of a pool. He relished in how it made him feel weightless, how the water calmed his nerves and relaxed every muscle in his body. He’d always loved the heat, but he’d never experienced this. A heat that he couldn’t escape, a heat that he couldn’t find solace from.

He slowly makes his way to the windows - large, streak-free glass rectangles - and opens them up. The relief is minimal, but at least it provided a slight breeze that provided a relief lasting all of two seconds. Yellow taxi cabs honk below him, the flow of traffic at the intersection outside of his building coming to a halt. Without the traffic lights working, everyone forgot how to drive. He rests the heels of his hand against the windowsill, looking down on the street while his forearms glisten with sweat in the sun. He shakes his head knowingly and wonders if he had ever seen a more chaotic sight. He’d performed for screaming fans in stadiums that sat a hundred thousand people, but it was an experience to see the entirety of New York City shut down. The last city-wide power outage had been in 2003, but back then, he was still a young boy in Holmes Chapel, never thinking that he’d find himself here, with his own apartment worlds away from the small town he loved so much.

Keep reading

Tara watches across the junkyard as Gabriel bandages up Rick’s hand, trying to get the wound as clean as possible before he wraps the old torn t-shirt strip around it. Rick seems antsy, shifting his weight from one foot to another, and when Gabriel’s almost done with the makeshift bandage Rick yanks his hand away and points toward Michonne. “Holy shit, Gabriel, do you see that? Do you see that?”

The priest just looks confused. “What, what is it?”

“Wow,” Rick says again. “It’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Gabriel looks confused, Michonne delightfully exasperated. She rolls her eyes. “You’re dying of blood loss, you idiot.”

“Why’nt you come over here and kiss it better?”

Michonne shoots Tara and Rosita an amused and bemused Can you believe this guy look and then turns her gaze back to Rick, who’s grinning for what must be the sixth time that day (and the seventh time in probably three years, Tara’s pretty sure.) “I think you’re a few minutes away from bein’ a walker, and I’m not dealing with that.”

“Oh no,” he calls to her, sticking his arms out theatrically. “Michonne! I’m changin’! Michonne!”

Stop,” she laughs, ducking behind Tara as Rick comes after her. “Can you please be serious?”

Dead serious.”

Michonne can’t help herself; she laughs at that. Rick gets close enough to snag her by the wrist and she jumps away, running around to Tara’s other side. They’re playing like children, chasing each other around Tara.

“Must catch… pretty lady…”

“You’re getting blood on my shirt.”

“Oh, then take it off.”

Rick.”

Tara tries to lunge out of range of the two of them without tripping over Rick. “Aaron, help, the heteros are attacking me.”

Aaron just laughs, one hand over his mouth. Gabriel and Rosita watch on, confused, annoyed, but Rick’s going to worry about that later. Clearly, he has more important business right now, like catching Michonne around the waist and leaning forward to pepper her cheek with little kisses. “Gabriel, you’re never gonna believe this. She’s even more beautiful up close.”

Tara’s not gonna lie, Michonne’s smile is gorgeous, wide and gleaming and sincere. And so rare, too. Anyone smiling these days is a little miracle, but to see both Rick and Michonne smiling, laughing? It’s a goddamn reason to celebrate.

“You know you’re probably ruining the deal we just made,” Michonne points out, halfheartedly trying to push Rick off of her.

“No, you are.”

“Shut up.”

You shut up.”

“I’m about to shut them both up,” Tara says to Aaron.

“Yeah,” Aaron says, “break it up, you two. We’ve already got Carl and Enid to look out for. We don’t need another teenage couple running around.”

Which prompts Rick to fucking dip Michonne like they’re ballroom dancers and start singing, “Each night I ask the stars up above/Why must I be a teenager in love.”

“Cut it out,” Michonne says, but she’s laughing, and she honest-to-God giggles when Rick twirls her around. For just a second, they’re not in a junkyard at the end of the world. They could be in Paris, or old Hollywood, dancing beneath a sky full of stars, wine sweet on their lips and the air full of magic. No walkers, no Saviors, no problems.

But of course, Rick’s leg is injured and so’s his hand. They’re surrounded by debris and strangers, and Michonne’s more than a little tired. They do have problems, mountains of them. But they also have each other, and for just a few little moments, that’s enough to make them feel like silly teenagers again.

Fetish [Pt. 7]

Originally posted by miewmiew

Part 7 of Fetish

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6


“I bet you’re hungry aren’t you?” he spoke again, watching as you stared furiously ahead at him.

“I’m not spending the day with you, Jinyoung. All you get is breakfast and that’s only because Jaebum said we should spend some time together”.

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the stove as he flipped food onto two separate plates.

“Oh, how considerate of him,” he said through gritted teeth. His sarcasm was evident.

Keep reading

Wings; The Death of a Memory

Golden feathers; the power to remove darkness

Black feathers; the power to create it

Angel AU

Angst, Slight Fluff

All of BTS, written as she/her

7.7+


A/N: Longer than usual but I hope you like it! Each fic will reveal the member’s back story, here is Y/N’s! :) Thank you so much @17-bts-fairytales my wife for editing and screaming with me about this idea hehehehe~ @thefuturewillbeprosperous @amazzjin because I teased you guys about it Enjoy!

Originally posted by epikcry

A short tingle quickly changed to a burning sensation as her shoulder blades created more space between them, the muscles in her stomach tightened forcing her to hold in the contents of what she had just ate. The feathers brushed against her skin as the skeletal structure of her wings spread out to span behind her.

Not fucking now, she cursed.

––––––

Y/N watched as her reflection displayed her golden wings beating behind her. Panic rushed to her face as she turned her head to see them behind her. But there was nothing. Glancing back to the mirror, they remained. She rubbed her eyes, as if the image would change, but it didn’t. Dizziness rushed to her head as she grasped the sink to brace herself, taking in heavy breaths. Lifting her finger up the reflection, she traced along outline of the wings, feeling them in her touch as if they truly were there. She imagined the smoothness of the threaded feathers along her fingers as her attention was then drawn to something on her back that rubbed against the material of her t-shirt. Stripping herself of the clothing, she turned her back to the mirror where two scars remained, in the reflection two wings.

Keep reading