when he instinctively backs away in the first one

You know what, the ‘suddenly, there’s 5 more Winter Soldiers’ subplot

has gotten a lot of flack, and I don’t disagree that it could and should have been handled a lot better, but even as it is, I really really like what it says, or rather, confirms about Bucky.

Keep reading

Overwatch Kissing Headcanons (Gentlemen)


  • Pre-cyborg Genji? All fucking over the place
    • French kisses, neck kisses, lots of groping, always in control
    • And most likely will be followed up by sex
  • But present Genji? Much different
  • To start, kisses from him will be rare since it requires him to remove his entire faceplate, and he’s still a little self-conscious of the scarred flesh beneath it
  • So if you ever did get a kiss from him, it would mean something—it would only be at the right time
  • His lips are soft, but also have a good amount of scarring on them
  • Favorite kind of kiss to receive would be a kiss on the eyelids
    • Because all he has to do is remove the one part of his face plate and close his eyes, then you can move in and carefully smooch him
  • Favorite kind of kisses to give…
    • With his mask, an eskimo kiss; doesn’t require him to remove his mask, all he has to do is nuzzle you
    • But with his mask off, probably single lip kisses
  • If it’s one of those meaningful kisses that he’s been holding out for, he’ll whisper a sweet nothing into your ear in Japanese (fuck yes!)
  • Ok, just one more thing: leave lipstick marks on his faceplate! He won’t notice and it’s hilarious to see other people’s reactions (especially Zenyatta’s!)


  • I hope you don’t mind the slight flavor of nicotine and tabacco
  • But as long as you don’t, things should be fine!
  • Favorite kiss to give is one right on the jawline or the cheek
    • Favorite to receive is when his s/o comes up behind him, wraps their arms around him, and kisses his neck or shoulder
  • And if you kiss him well and hard enough, you may even get him to swear (“Damn, darlin’”)
  • When he’s being a dork, sometimes he’ll sneak up on you, go “It’s hiiiiiigh noon” and surprise kiss you
  • A bit of a tease, as well


  • He’s not too into the overly affectionate sides of relationships anymore
    • Especially since he has a mask now and hates showing his face
  • Isn’t too pleased if his partner tries to force any PDA on him
    • So don’t try to smooch him on the mask while he’s busy
  • But, if and only if you’re alone, he’ll occasionally indulge you and take off his mask
    • Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to just kiss him; he always has to be in control
    • 90% of the time you’ll be up against the wall with your arms pinned (he’ll only get rougher if you try to get away)
  • But his s/o will have to initiate almost every kiss, he won’t actively seek one out even if he wants one…y’know cuz he’s edgy and stuff
  • Starts at the bottom, then trails his kisses down, down, down…
  • Definitely not for the faint of heart

Soldier: 76

  • Such a fucking gentleman
    • He was even more so back when he was the Strike Commander
    • But those chivalrous instincts are still there, although he will be more hesitant to kiss simply because he doesn’t like showing his face
  • So first, you’ll have to get him comfortable enough with you to take off his mask
    • Ok, now move in!
    • Give him a lingering kiss right on the corner of his mouth, those are his favorite
  • If there’s no time for him to take his mask off, he’s ok with a forehead hiss, too
  • Favorite kiss to give would be a French kiss, but he likes it best when he’s holding you, letting you melt into his arms
    • If you’re shy or sensitive, he’ll check if you want him to stop
    • So flexible and careful with what his partner likes and doesn’t like. Again, he’s a gentleman


  • Like Reaper, he isn’t into PDA either
    • Finds it distasteful, so only try to kiss him when you’re alone
  • Oh, and it’ll take a while in the relationship before he’s even ready to begin physical contact
    • I’m so sorry, he’s so hard to smooch in the beginning!
    • So the first time you kiss him, he’ll be so stiff!
  • But once he gets used to it, he’ll take his partner’s chin gently and carefully place a kiss on their lips
  • Favorite kiss to get is the shoulder and back kiss
    • This guy is a sucker for massages at night (once he’s at that level with you, that is), so go ahead and smooch him on the back during those times
    • It’ll take him totally by surprise, and he may just quit the message all together to snog you


  • Oooooh, boy…so messy, sooo sloppy
  • I hope you know what you’re getting into with Jamison, he ain’t letting you go until he’s done with you
    • He’s clingy, and he loves his PDA
  • Making out with him will probably some of the loudest, wettest, sloppiest kissing you’ve ever had
    • He will leave soot smears all over your face when he’s done, and you’ll smell like explosives
    • “Hooly dooly!” (after making out with his partner)
  • Loves being on top of them during all this. He’s skinny, so he isn’t too heavy, don’t worry hon
  • Not one for the slow and sensual
    • If you try and take it slow, he’ll just speed it right up!
    • So his favorite kind of kiss to get would be out of nowhere, forceful (bruising lips), and full on
    • Loves it when his s/o can reciprocate the same kind of passionate force that he can
  • Sometimes, Junkrat will nibble your ear, too
    • Where did that Trashmouse get sharp teeth?!
    • So I suppose he’d leave bite marks, too. Gotta let people know you’re his.
    • Go ahead and bite him back. Again, loves it if you can reciprocate


  • You can’t kiss Torbjorn because he’s too busy snogging a turret and his undeserved Play of the Game


  • Sweet old man! Loves to give pure little pecks to the check and lips~
  • All the better if his s/o is short, that way he can scoop them up in his arms and smooch them
  • I don’t think he’d be up for total make outs, though, he likes classy and old fashioned kisses
    • Too old for the more hands on stuff
  • Great to give him a smooch right before a fight! He’ll get even more pumped up!
    • Just when you think he’s gonna give out, all his s/o needs to do is give him a peck and bing! He’s back in it!
  • Just don’t try leaving lipstick marks on his “Precision German Engineering” armor. He does not like that.


  • Getting an actual, real, involving-lips-kiss with Mako is rare
  • He constantly wears that mask which I think might even help him breathe
  • So most of the time, he’ll give you little eskimo kisses with the snout of his gas mask
    • Might go “oink, oink” as he does to make you giggle
  • Smooch his tummy, he loves that!
  • He isn’t too big on PDA except for holding hands. Oh God, whenever you’re out with him, you’ll always have a big, meaty hand around yours
  • But for the rare occasion he gives you a real kiss (and most of the time he only lifts up his mask enough to see his lips), It’ll only linger for a few seconds before he pulls away
  • Oh wait, almost forgot! He might surprise hook you on occasions and yank you right over just so he can give you one of his snout kisses!
    • “Here, little piggy” (Mako as he hooks you)
    • He will stop this if you’re not ok with it, pouting from behind his mask as you scold him


  • Don’t say you can’t kiss an omnic, of course you can!
  • His favorite is when you’re so close to him that his orbs surround both of you (so it’s like you’re in perfect harmony~)
  • His favored kiss to receive is a lingering kiss right on his face (where his nose would be)
  • Despite his zen, calm exterior, he’s the most likely candidate to start giggling while you’re kissing
  • And since he can’t really reciprocate the kiss (no lips), he’ll find other ways too, such as running his fingers through your hair or massaging your palms or back while you smooch him
  • Unlike Genji, he’s more attentive to any lipstick marks you leave on his robotic face and will clean them off before seeing anyone else
    • Doesn’t mean he won’t notice a mark on one of his orbs
    • Genji might point out one day, “Master, you have something on your right orb.” “Which one?” “The one on the—oh, it’s behind you now.” “This one?” “No, over to the –” “Point to the one, please.” “The one with the lipstick on it.” “W-what?”

luminatinggalaxies  asked:

Since requests are open, do you think you guys can do one with the RFA+V+Saeran and their reactions to MC who is pregnant with their kid/kids? They can find out either from MC telling them or finding out by themselves. Thank you! Side note: I am absolutely in love with your blog, you guys are doing such a great job, I'm pretty sure you guys know this<3 Keep up the good work.

Anon said: for RFA + Saeran + V, they have been trying for a baby for awhile, Mc has wanted to surprise them but they find the pregnancy test first and you can take it from there~

These two were very similar so we kind of mixed them together. Hope you like them!


  • You buy one of those mugs that has text written inside at the bottom
  • This one says, “Number #1, Dad!”
  • You fill it coffee one morning and tell him it’s a special mug
  • He thanks you and starts drinking it
  • It’s really hard for you to stay calm…because he’s really drinking it slowly
  • Then all of a sudden he jumps up and says he has to go
  • You look into his cup and literally he has one sip left that’s hiding the message
  • “You sure you don’t want to finish one sip?”
  • “No, thank you though. All the sugar is on the bottom so it’s too sweet. I never finish.”
  • You sigh as he rushes away to get ready
  • You’re trying to think of how to tell him again, when he bursts out of the bathroom and runs back to you
  • It takes him a few minutes to speak, but finally he stammers out
  • “Y-you’re pregnant?!”
  • You stare at the bottom of the cup confused
  • Did he just realize it?
  • He tells you that he saw the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter
  • You facepalm realizing you left it out
  • He’s so ecstatic that he lifts you up and spins you around


  • He comes home after a really long day at the vet hospital
  • He says he’s so hungry
  • “You mentioned a special dinner earlier, honey,” he smiles while looking at the empty table.
  • You just smile and say you’ll serve it now
  • So he sits down at the dining room table and waits
  • You bring out jars of baby food one by one
  • He’s very confused as you set them all on the table
  • “Is this….some sort of new diet we’re starting?”
  • He doesn’t realize they’re baby food jars until he picks one up and examines it
  • You can see his eyes growing really wide as he picks up each jar
  • To finish off the whole thing, you just smile, “Hold on…I think I have a bun in the oven.”
  • He jumps out of his seat and gives you a huge hug
  • But then he steps back suddenly
  • “Oh no! Did I crush it? I can’t crush our baby…”

Jaehee: Gender Reveal

(She would’ve figured out you were pregnant way too quickly, so we decided to do a gender reveal instead…)

  • You two had spent the last few months debating on whether it was a boy or a girl
  • Jaehee insisted it was probably a boy
  • She said she had a feeling
  • Finally you found out, and decided to do a reveal
  • You place a cake in front of her
  • Jaehee smiles and says, “it’s a boy, isn’t it?”
  • You shrug and say, “Yeah…you were right. What can I say?”
  • You tell her to cut the cake anyway for a picture’s sake
  • But when she cuts it…it’s both blue and pink
  • She looks up at you really surprised, “You’re having twins!”
  • You’ve never heard Jaehee squeal in delight before
  • She keeps hugging you all day


  • You gave him a big scare when one day you nearly passed out and started throwing up
  • He called the doctor right away
  • While you were resting, he pulled the doctor aside and asked if everything was okay
  • The doctor told him that you were just pregnant, so it was a side effect and just to be careful
  • Jumin is very shocked…but he was also worried about you
  • In the midst of you recovering and him thinking you would tell him when you’re ready, he forgot to mention that he knew
  • A week later, you brought out a wine bottle for dinner
  • He assumes you didn’t know you were pregnant yet and gets worried
  • “You really shouldn’t be drinking that in your state.”
  • Your response is a mix of surprise and admonition
  • Finally, you turn the bottle around to reveal the label
  • “Drink this for me. I’ll join you soon. Baby Han coming in April.”
  • He just hugs you softly, apologizing for finding out first
  • But you both are too happy to care
  • Bonus: He also suspected when Elizabeth had been very clingy to you lately


  • You had insisted that he go for a drive since he’d been working a lot lately
  • He did, and he got some coffee on the way
  • It hits him and he really has to use the bathroom, so he rushes back home earlier than you expected
  • When he walks in the door, you’re…in a crop top
  • You never wear crop tops, so it’s strange for him
  • Besides that, your back is turned and you seem to be writing something on your stomach
  • The whole situation is strange, but his bladder is about to burst so he just brushes it off and runs into the bathroom
  • He was looking for soap under the sink when he saw the pregnancy test
  • He couldn’t contain his excitement and rushed out to you
  • Before he could say anything, you had turned around
  • You were midway drawing a loading bar onto your stomach, so all it read was “Load”
  • By the way he was crying a little, you knew he already saw
  • He just wraps you in a hug and bends down to kiss your stomach
  • Only the sharpie was still fresh and he got some on his face


  • It had taken him awhile to warm up to the idea of having kids
  • So, when you found out you were pregnant, you wanted to announce it in a special way
  • You replaced all the clothes in his closet with baby clothes
  • But he didn’t get it
  • You weren’t home when he opened his closet
  • He saw the clothes and thought it was a prank from Saeyoung
  • Despite his brother insisting he didn’t do it, Saeran grabs the nearest pillows and starts beating him down for it
  • You return home and find the two in a brawl, and you ask what in the world happened
  • He glares at Saeyoung, “Someone pulled a childish prank on me.”
  • He pauses, realizing what he said, “NO I didn’t mean that.”
  • But it’s too late and you and Saeyoung are giggling
  • You manage to calm yourself and tell him that it was you
  • At first, he’s confused, but then he realizes
  • He makes you do like five more pregnancy test just to make sure
  • You’re a little worried because he’s silent for a long time
  • But then he quietly confesses that he’s so happy and pulls you into his arms
  • While you’re hugging, he just mumbles, “You’re gonna put my clothes back though, right?”


  • You two had been trying for kids for awhile, but nothing came up
  • So when the pregnancy test finally came positive, you were in shock
  • Your first instinct was to tell him right away, but you wanted to do something special
  • So you tell him casually that you haven’t had a couple’s photoshoot in awhile
  • He agrees and you two plan it
  • During one shot, you tell him to turn his back while you hold a chalkboard
  • He thinks it’s an inspirational quote or something so he goes along with it
  • On the board, you had written, “You’re going to be a dad!”
  • He goes to check how the photo came out and you can see his eyes light up
  • A few tears slip from his eyes as he stumbles towards you
  • He hugs you tightly and just says how thankful he is for you…and the baby
  • You can’t help but cry with him

Check out our other headcanons~ Masterlist

Heart on the Line (part 11)


You and Bucky had your differences in college, but now you need a place to stay and he needs a roommate, and in order to make ends meet, you two start a phone sex line together.  

“For a Good Time, Call…” AU

author: sugardaddytonystark (formerly buckysbackpackbuckle)
pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
word count: 1603

Keep reading


How Louis Tomlinson survived the break-up of the world’s biggest boy band and became his own man

The Observer Magazine 25 Jun 2017

Photographs ALEX BRAMALL Fashion editor HELEN SEAMONS

Coming out of a dissolving boy band must be a bit like being an entrant in one of those dystopian jungle fights –a Hunger Games- style event in which bandmates are scattered across an unknown terrain and challenged to slog their lonely route back to fame. Justin Timberlake, after NSync, enjoyed the unsporting edge of natural talent and crushed his former colleagues. Robbie Williams looked supreme in the Take That scrimmage, at least until Gary Barlow circled back, gathered up the other three, and made the fight a more compelling four- on- one. By the time One Direction announced they were to go on indefinite hiatus in 2015, many of us were familiar enough with the conventions of boy-band bloodsport to start picking favourites for the coming melee.

Harry Styles – charming, a grinner – was best placed to succeed on his own. Big-lunged Zayn Malik was already out of the band by that time and had used his head start to good effect, preparing a solo album that went to No 1. Liam Payne and Niall Horan – always second-tier members – were given middling chances. And ranked last in any serious analysis, the most fitfully appreciated member of One Direction, was Louis Tomlinson. Here was a combatant you might expect to find curled up in a fox hole on the battlefield, pale and chain-smoking.

It is in roughly this position I find the 25-yearold, one afternoon earlier this summer. Slender, tracksuited, a little wan under his manicured facial hair, Tomlinson sits on a garden bench outside the photographer’s studio and rewards himself with an entire pack of cigarettes. “I know, I know,” he says of the smoking. “It’s not great. But there’s so much hurry-up-and-wait in this job. It helps me get ready to go again.”

I’ve often wondered why the fringe members of boy bands do this to themselves. Why they gather themselves to “go again”. As Tomlinson acknowledges, in One Direction he was seen by some as “forgettable, to a certain degree”. “The others have always been… Like Niall, for example. He’s the most lovely guy in the world. Happy-go-lucky Irish, no sense of arrogance. And he’s fearless. There are times I’ve thought: ‘I’d have a bit of that.’ Zayn, back in the day. He could relate to me on a nerves level. In the first year we were both the least confident. But Zayn has a fantastic voice and for him it was always about owning that. Liam always had a good stage presence, same as Harry, they’ve both got that ownership. Harry comes across very cool. Liam’s all about getting the crowd going, doing a bit of dancing…” And then there’s you. “And then there’s me.” Tracks from Tomlinson’s solo record have been playing inside the studio. They’re modest, rather lovely pop songs that in their quiet way seem to acknowledge his underdog status. Tomlinson lights another cig. “You know I didn’t sing a single solo on the X Factor,” he says, recalling the time back in 2010, when One Direction were first put together as a band on the ITV reality show. “A lot of people can take the piss out of that. But when you actually think about how that feels, standing on stage every single week, thinking: ‘What have I really done to contribute here? Sing a lower harmony that you can’t really hear in the mix?” He guesses, smiling wryly, that in those months he was best known as “The kid wearing espadrilles, stood in’t back.”

Not the best singer, not the high-energy guy, not the dude, Tomlinson discovered he was the one in the band who was most tuned into backstage logistics – the one who paid attention when “the 20th approval form” was passed around for a signature. “And if there was any bad news that needed giving to the label I’d always be designated to have the argument.” Later this would lead to Tomlinson founding a small record label of his own, Triple String, and to starting a side project managing a girl band. In his day job with One Direction, meanwhile, he toured the world, released five albums and amassed a large, equal-parts fortune like the rest of the boys. Somewhere en route, Tomlinson says, he found his feet as a performer. “In the last year of One Direction I was probably the most confident I ever was. And then it was: ‘OK, hiatus!’”

Tomlinson argued against it, he says, when the band first sat down to discuss separation. “It wasn’t necessarily a nice conversation. I could see where it was going.” Tomlinson remembers his instinctive assumption being simple. He would step away – try writing for other people, keep his label going, wait the “two years, five years, whatever it be” until One Direction reformed. “If you’d asked me a year or 18 months ago: ‘Are you going to do anything as a solo artist?’ I’d have said absolutely not.”

What changed? If the management stuff made you happy, I say, why not sit back and focus on that? “But then I’d be conceding,” he says. Conceding to who? To what? He waves his hand in the air. He could mean anything:

Niall is the most lovely guy, Zayn has the voice, Harry is very cool, Liam gets the crowd going… And then there’s me

I honestly think they’ll write books about One Direction fans. They are so fanatical. The intensity. It’s remarkable

history, bandmates, doubters, the press. Tomlinson is quiet for a while and eventually says: “I’m trying to work out why it is that I’m [doing this], now that you’ve asked that question.” He fidgets and trials a few answers that run out of steam. “It’s frustrating, because I know what I want to say and I can’t articulate it.” He pats for his lighter. The odds are against this tilt, Tomlinson seems to understand. But as we start to talk through his reasons for at least trying, I find myself hoping that this Last Directioner makes an unlikely go of it after all.

pop industry has an ineREASON ONE . TH E luctable momentum, and the star who begins something ( like a skier inching off a hilltop) can quickly find themselves bound to ride out whatever thrills and trials comes next. Tomlinson gives the example of how he first became famous. Born in Doncaster in 1991 he was raised by his mother, Johannah Deakin, and later also by her new partner Mark Tomlinson. He was 16 when he went to his first X

Factor audition. Prompt rebuff. A year later he made it into the audition process, but still nowhere near the part where ambitious young singers are briskly embraced or condemned by that great gatekeeper of celebrity, Simon Cowell. In 2010 Tomlinson, twice unlucky, gave the auditions a final try.

“I told myself I’ve just got to get to Simon, get his opinion, that’s all my ambition was. Then all of a sudden everything changed. To my friends in Doncaster I would always say [getting into the band] was the most incredible thing that happened to me. And it was. But it happened when I was already having the best year of my life. I was 17, 18, just started driving, didn’t need fake ID any more, going to house parties. That’s the time. That’s the age. And to a certain degree… ‘Having it taken away’ is the wrong phrase. But there was a price to pay.”

He says his current efforts as a soloist came about in similar fashion. In 2016, Tomlinson had become a father. (His son, Freddie, “who I love so much”, was born after a brief relationship with a Californian stylist called Briana Jungwirth.) He had some other personal matters to work through and in the summer he went on holiday to Las Vegas to blow off steam. At a club the American DJ Steve Aoiki was playing. Tomlinson, giddy with delight from Aoiki’s set, suggested to the DJ they try writing something together. In career terms, he had inched off the hill again, without necessarily considering the gradient of the slope.

A few months later, Tomlinson says, a single he’d written with Aoiki was being rolled out for release through One Direction’s old record label, Syco. Tomlinson was booked in to perform it on live TV. “And I was, like: ‘Did I really think this through?’”

Which leads Tomlinson to reason two. He’s well aware he was fast-tracked into his music career. That, as a part of One Direction, he was only a piece of a “heavy machine”. And as a self-aware northerner, from a proudly working class family, this has left Tomlinson with residual guilt to answer about wealth and status that do not feel to him fully earned. “And I know, I know it sounds ungrateful. But I think about a man, on a nine-to-five, working his arse off for six months so he can go to his family and say: ‘Guys, I’m taking you to Disneyland.’ That moment… I’ll never have that in my family life. And I’ve worked hard. But I’ve never worked hard, not like that.”

Tomlinson says he has already sweated more for this record than any before. When you’re putting together material as a soloist, he says, you quickly learn that those hot-shot collaborators who once dribbled to work with One Direction no longer pick up the phone

so readily. “I couldn’t say to you now that I could definitely get a superstar writer in a session with me. And I understand that.” Tomlinson adds, with no real vinegar: “Harry won’t struggle with any of that.”

In their One Direction days, no question, Styles got the most attention. But all the boys had their devotees and Tomlinson wants to prove to his own fans – reason three – that he’s been worth the backing all these years. “I honestly think they’ll write books about One Direction fans,” Tomlinson says. “Because they are so fanatical. The intensity. It’s remarkable.”

Tomlinson cannot talk about it with me, not without getting into muddy legal waters, but there was recently a difficult episode involving a small crowd of fans at an airport in LA. He was travelling with his partner, Eleanor Calder, who is viewed with some distrust by the fiercest corps of Louis fans. Video footage seems to show Calder being surrounded and attacked by a group of girls. Tomlinson, unable to discuss the matter, says to me more generally that he hopes his new music will reveal to fans a more complete version of himself than before. “Honestly, it’s crazy. It’s hard for a lot of people who are fanatical to believe that you are a real entity and a person.”

Which brings us to reason four. Reason four Tomlinson discusses with caution. Reason four he enshrouds with disclaimers: that it is not his intention to tell “a sob story”, that “I don’t like people feeling sorry for me”. Reason four concerns his mum.

Johannah Deakin was diagnosed with leukaemia in early 2016. Tomlinson had been worried his luck would run out; that having been “dealt that amazing hand” to squeak into the last berth in One Direction, he was due some sort of equalising blow. And he gives a bleak little laugh when he recalls where he was when the terrible phone call came. “At Jamie Vardy’s wedding of all places. Talk about your places, for something super-traumatic. My mum told me, uh, yeah, that she was definitely terminal.”

They were unusually close. He recalls how she was often one step ahead “because she had the password to my email”. It was an intimacy he attributes to them being close in age. “I remember the day I lost my virginity. I hadn’t even told any of my mates and I was, like: ‘Mum? I know this is really weird. But I’ve got to tell you…’ I remember thinking this is a bizarre conversation to be having with your mother. But it’s testament to how comfortable she made me.”

When Deakin died, in December 2016, Tomlinson was only days away from the live gig he’d agreed to do on the X Factor. “I remember saying to her: ‘Mum, how the fuck do you expect me to do this now?’ And she didn’t swear much, my mum. She’d always tell me off for swearing. And this time she was like: ‘You’ve got to fucking do it, it’s as simple as that.’ It was football manager, team talk stuff.’” The footage of Tomlinson’s performance that weekend is hard to watch. When he first appears on the X Factor stage he looks rigid, almost plastic, with grief. He’s clearly able to lose himself in the three-minute drama of a pop song. And after that the colour drains right back out of his face.

Tomlinson smokes for a bit. He says: “I’m not gonna claim this is all for me mum. But it was definitely… It was…”

He thinks. Throughout his life, he says, his mum always had greater belief in him than he did. “Sometimes my reservation, or my confidence, might have prevented me from doing something. And I’ve needed a mum in the past to kick me up the arse and go: ‘You’re doing it.’”

The boy bander has his reasons, then. “I’ve enjoyed this,” he says. “An opportunity to talk super openly. Not, y’know, answer questions about who my favourite superhero is. I don’t feel I get that many chances.”

The pile of cigarette butts in front of him has mounted to quite a height. Tomlinson, seeming to notice it for the first time, mutters: “Sorry. I’ve been chaining.” His mum hated smoking, he says. Then he smiles. “Though I remember she had the occasional cigarette herself.”

He taps his lighter on the table and asks what I make of everything he’s said. “Do you think your readers are still gonna wonder: ‘Why doesn’t he just not do it?’”

I’m not sure, I tell him, trying to be honest. But let’s see.

The day I lost my virginity, I hadn’t even told any of my mates, and I was, like: ‘Mum? I know this is weird but I’ve got to tell you…’

Louis’s new single ‘Back To You’ featuring Bebe Rexha and Digital Farm Animals is coming soon

Polynesian AU stuff

So, I think I should start making theme posts for my Polynesian AU or as you like to call it Moana AU (both variants are welcome). Since many of you seemed pretty much interested in this story I’ll try to give you a brief idea of what this whole thing is about.

Sorry for my clumsy English :)

Timeline. The story is set about one and a half century after Maui stole Te Fiti’s heart and everything became hell. All the monsters released from Lalotai and darkness spreading quickly and destroying islands made many tribes search for safe areas to stay, and if they used to be more peaceful back then when the ocean was a safer place now they had to fight for their land and protect it from the newcomers. Overall, sailing wasn’t forbidden but people were slowly losing that special connection with the ocean their ancestry used to have.

Turtles. And that’s where we should start speaking about the turts. In this AU all four brothers (not blood-related) are sons of Tu - god of war in Polynesian mythology. There’s a legend (made up of course) that when the number of tribe wars and monster attacks increased other gods made Tu help the people. He decided to send his guardians which would protect people from Lalotai monsters and maybe prevent some war cases. Following what the legend tells the strongest of female sea turtles (turtles are considered to be a symbol of strength and war) gave their eggs to Tu and he placed them on small islands in different regions. One of those islands was our turtles’ birthplace.

Firstly, their names are different in this story. I tried to choose the most fitting ones.

  • Leo is a green sea turtle named Lono which means “peace and prosperity
  • Raph is a leatherback sea turtle named Rapa which means “giant”
  • Donnie is also a green sea turtle named Roro which means “brain” (there’s a lack of names and even words starting with D in Maori and Hawaiian languages so I had to put up with this variant, it isn’t half bad I think)
  • Mikey is a loggerhead sea turtle named Maika which means “good”

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“We can’t just go around killing people!” Scott yelled, standing across from Stiles as they argued. The whole Pack was there to discuss the Alpha Pack issue but once Stiles and Scott had started yelling no one had dared interrupt. They just kept looking at each other, unsure, like children watching their parents fight.

“Everyone’s not as honest as you, Scott,” Stiles spoke, voice low with a predatory note that seemed to seep into everything he did since becoming bitten. “You can’t just make them promise to leave us alone and then trust them to keep to that.”

Peter smirked from his spot sitting on the stairs, above and away from the rest of the Pack with a wall to his back. He’d always thought Stiles would make a beautiful wolf, but even he couldn’t have imagined this. Stiles was thrumming with controlled power these days, taking to his new Alpha-dom with more grace and poise than the boy had ever shown before the Bite was forced on him. Peter would never understand what universe had made Scott McCall a True Alpha when the only person who’d proven himself in this pack as a true leader was Stiles Stilinski. Whereas Scott’s first instinct was to push away his wolf, to deny his instincts, Stiles had embraced his new abilities from day one. He’d had complete independent control of his shift within a few weeks.

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anonymous asked:

ok, I had a maybe prompt for shallura? Imagine as a kid, Allura was always confused as to why her altean markings on the rest of her body were never beautiful designs or patterns, like her mother's or father's. Instead, they were lines, all over different places of her body, jagged and rough. She never knew what they meant. Until she saw Shiro take off his shirt. She looked at all the scars on his body, looking at the markings on her own and realized, the scars and markings were the exact same

AW ANON THIS IS SO SWEET AND SAD AT THE SAME TIME? how could i resist, that mixture is like my crack. SO anyway: soulmate au time, I guess?

p.s.: in this au Allura’s facial markings match Shiro’s scar, b/c internal consistency.


The markings of Allura’s mother and father are beautiful lines, curves and loops that glow on their arms and shoulders. Coran’s marks are bold bars on his forearms. Allura’s nursemaid is covered in delicate spirals. All the marks are symmetrical and pretty. They all match those that cover the person they will love.

Allura understands all of this from a young age.

Just as she understands, standing in her room in the night, looking in the mirror, that something is different about her marks.

They are not symmetrical. Nor are they delicate or patterned in any way. They are scattered all over her body. There is a thick band of jagged pink around her right arm, and a series of jagged lines over her stomach and around her side. There are round dots on her shoulder. Her back is covered with overlapping lines, all clustered together. And there is, of course, the line over the bridge of her nose, taking the place of the traditional cheek marks.

She does not understand why her markings are different. She has heard her father and mother whispering about it, discussing a sickness her mother experienced while pregnant. She has seen the way others look at her, sometimes. Whispers that something is wrong with her.

She does not feel wrong. And it is hard to think of the marks as wrong. After all, if she has them, it means someone out there has the same marks, someone who will love her. She smiles, the mirror catching it, and pokes fondly at the identical marks paired on her stomach and back.


Allura grows used to her unusual markings as she ages. She meets others with strange lines, and she meets some who have no lines at all. That would be worse, she feels. Someone matches her. And they should be easy to find. She rubs at the thick mark around her right arm and smiles.


It is not easy to find her match. In fact, she never does. War arrives before she can, war and ten thousand years of sleep. By the time she wakes, her planet and her people are gone. Whoever was meant for her must have died millennia ago; nothing but the marks she still carries remain to bear witness to them.

The mark across the new Black Paladin’s nose, nearly identical to her own, is nothing but a cruel reminder of that loss. She catches him staring at her, sometimes, a curious look on his face, and wishes he would not. He always reminds her of everything she never had.


Allura puts the thoughts of her markings and her long-dead match out of her mind. There is plenty enough to worry about, to keep her busy. The phoebs pass, full of one calamity after another, full of scars that spread up her arms, blending in with the pink marks over her skin, until she and Shiro get trapped in Black, in orbit around a star rapidly going supernova. Black floats through space, all of her systems knocked out by the corrupted teleduv Lotor somehow built and used against them.

“Are you alright?” Shiro asks, as the sparks jumping around the cockpit fade. The sudden silence after the battle is strange, and Allura’s stomach is tight with worry about the others—they were all caught by the twisted wormhole, after all. She should not even be in Black. But she’d made a space jump in a desperate—and failed—attempt to disrupt the teleduv. Shiro had only barely managed to grab her in Black before they were swept through.

“I’m fine,” she says, standing carefully. Their journey was less than gentle, and she was thrown around the cockpit. She rubs at her shoulder, where she took the worst of the impact, and winces. “You?”

“I didn’t get thrown,” Shiro says, standing and cursing when he sees her. He steps towards her, and raises a hand, hesitating before he touches her jaw, tilting her head slightly. “That looks bad,” he says, nodding at her temple.

She raises a careful hand to the sting there, and her gloves come away stained with red. “It’s not that bad,” she tells him, after probing it carefully. Head injuries are always ugly. “What’s wrong with Black?”

Shiro is still frowning at her head wound. He says, “I’m not sure. I guess we’d better find out.”


Here is what they find out: Lotor’s teleduv does not function properly. It somehow scrambled Black’s systems and it threw them far, far away from where they were. They could have just as easily landed within the sun, and Allura is not sure even Black could have withstood that amount of heat. As it is, things are becoming uncomfortably warm inside the cockpit.

“The others will find us,” Shiro says, wiping at the sweat on his forehead and waving his hands over the unresponsive controls.

“Mm,” Allura says, blaming her head wound for the way she watches a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. It is not appropriate. He is not hers, and she shouldn’t look at him the way she wants to. But it is so often hard to remember that.

She makes the effort.


The others do not find them. It gets hotter inside of Black. Allura deeply regrets not cutting off all of her hair. She is so hot. Unbelievably hot. She is sitting with her back pressed against one side of the cockpit, trying to think cold thoughts, when Shiro makes a disgruntled sound, and starts yanking on the clasps of his armor.

She freezes, staring as he pulls off the breast-plate and sets it to one side. It is followed by his gauntlets, leaving him wearing his gloves and thin black undershirt, which clings to his skin. She swallows, abruptly even warmer, and looks away before the heat in her cheeks transforms to open flame.

She should not look at him so. He isn’t hers. Her match died. Long ago. She should not betray that person’s memory. They should have that, at least. She likes to think that they did not betray her, while she slept.

“I think,” she says, thickly, wishing she could remove any piece of her own uniform without simply peeling it off, “I’m going to try to bring communications online again.”


The communications system will not come back online, no matter how Allura pleads with it. She ends up leaning against the wall, tilting her head back, and closing her eyes, just for a moment. She only stirs when Shiro makes a frustrated sound. She assumes something else must have gone wrong and looks towards him, in time to watch him pull his shirt over his head in one smooth movement.

Her first instinct is to look away, to give him privacy for… whatever he is doing. But she cannot. She can’t even blink.  His skin is covered with marks—scars—and she knows the shape of them. She has seen them every day of her life.

“I was thinking,” he says, turning to face her, the words abruptly coming to a stop when he sees her expression. His ears stain red and he starts shaking out the shirt, looking away, his body suddenly held awkwardly. “Sorry,” he says, stiff, “I know it’s not great to—”

His words cut off when she jerks to her feet, her head full of the realization that they match. He is—she wears his scars, and—and she can see familiar black marks on his palms and up his left arm. She recognizes them. Their twins still pain her, sometimes.

“Princess?” he asks, suddenly raspy-voiced, as she takes a step forward, reaching for the closures at the throat of her suit. He sucks in a breath, eyes widening, the flush on his chest stretching lower even as he moves the balled up shirt in front of his hips. He grinds out, “Allura, what—?”

And he stops again as she yanks her suit open, off of her shoulders and down her arms, revealing the thin tank-top below, and the bright marks across her skin. She does not know what else to do. She cannot think of words to explain, and he has to know. She cannot bear for him to go on a moment longer not knowing. He stares at her for a beat, and then says, hoarse, “I don’t understand.”

Allura laughs, nervous, stunned. “I have carried these marks all my life,” she says, her stomach fluttering when he takes a step towards her, his gaze heavy on her skin. He reaches out and almost touches the thick mark around her right arm. Her skin yearns for him to complete the movement.

He says, pulling his hand back a little and turning it, displaying the black mark that stretches across his palm, “I was born with these.” He gestures at his arms, the marks that stretch past his elbows, and at the black mark near the center of his chest. “With all of these. The doctors thought they were some kind of weird birth mark, but that’s… that’s not what they are, is it?”

She reaches out, fitting their palms together, more daring that she can imagine being. Their marks align perfectly. Her heart feels overfull. She is dizzy. She does not think the heat is entirely to blame. She found him. “What are they?” he asks, low and quiet, thick.

“On Altea,” she says, her gaze heavy on the scars, on the black marks that mirror her poorly healed wounds, that prophesize injuries she has not yet sustained, “we shared the same marks as the partner of our heart.”

He sucks in a breath, and she does not dare look up at him. She does not know how he will react to the revelation. His people are unmarked. This is obviously not a characteristic they share. “Partner of your heart,” he says, and his fingers tighten on hers, drawing her forward, just a little. “And you—you think I—I mean. Is that—are you saying I’m—am I—”

She risks a look up at him, unable to stop herself. “Yes,” she says, because he must be, she felt it, even before she knew. He stares down at her, his eyes wide, full of—not the fear she had braced for—but a wild kind of hope. And hunger.

He says, his voice warm and thick as a summer night, “Allura, can I—”

“Yes,” she says, because she can suddenly bear to wait no longer. She has waited so long already, resigned herself to the loss.

Shiro leans down, then, and her thoughts dissolve into white noise, because kissing him is like waking up within her skin, from a slumber she did not realize she lingered in. He groans against her mouth, arms around her, pulling her closer. She curls an arm around his shoulders, going willing into his embrace. And it is then that Black’s communication system crackles finally to life, Pidge’s voice coming through, as she says, “—hear me? We’ll be there in thirty seconds. You guys better be alright.”

Thirty seconds turns out to be just long enough for Allura to get her suit back into place, though she can do nothing about the heat rising in her she every time she glances towards Shiro.


They make it back to the Castle safely—Black seems to recover with suspicious speed, once the others find them. They determine everyone else is unharmed, and then Allura excuses herself, and Shiro follows her back to her room. Her heartbeat gets louder with each step she takes.

She holds the door for him, once they arrive, her spine all liquid heat. He says, staring at her with dark, hungry eyes, “We should talk.”

“Yes,” she agrees, stepping closer, remembering the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body.

“Later,” he suggests, moving to meet her, his hand brushing her hip.

“Yes,” she agrees, and kisses him again. She has waited so long. It seems madness to wait any longer.


Later, she stretches out beside him on her bed, tracing the marks she knows so well, though they are colored differently on his skin. He is tracing the curve of her hip, his fingers brushing back and forth, back and forth, hypnotizing when he says, “Do they—do they hurt you?”

She blinks, resting her chin on his shoulder. “No.”

She can feel him relax, some level of stress easing out of his body. He says, “Good. That’s—good. I hoped they wouldn’t. Yours don’t. But.”

“Mm,” she says, content to settle back against him. She is tired, to be honest, but she does not want to sleep. She wants to stay here, in this moment, for as long as she can. Besides, it seems that he has questions.

He shifts a little, rolling so they face one another on their sides, and asks, gesturing at the marks on his arm, his hand, “How did these happen?”

She shrugs, not wanting to delve into the details. “These,” she says, showing him her palms, the scars there, “are from opening the giant teleduv.”

“Shit,” he murmurs, drawing one of her hands close and kissing the center of her palm. “And the ones on your arms?”

She hesitates, knowing he will not like it. But it is what it is. She sighs. “When Haggar and her druids attacked Voltron, and you could not move, and I—”

“It did this?” he interrupts, his voice so thick it makes her ache. He traces the scars, his expression grim, and presses delicate kisses to her wrists. She shivers, distracted, and sucks in a breath when he brushes his fingers across her sternum, the skin there that bears no scar, despite the black mark on his chest. “There’s no mark here,” he says.

“Not yet,” she agrees, because she has thought about that, as well. Someday, she will take an injury there, clean through, if the matching black mark on his back is to be believed.

He shifts again, rolling her onto her back, bracketing her in with his arms, his expression deathly intense. “I won’t let it happen,” he says, fierce and low.

She stares up at him, wondering how she could have ever not known what he was to her. She reaches out and brushes her fingertips over the bridge of his nose, his cheek, his jaw. She says, “It does not work that way.”

“I won’t let it happen,” he repeats, kissing her hard, his palm pressed over the place where her scar will someday be. “I won’t—I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, between kisses.

She does not try to correct him again. He kisses her with a ferocity that almost makes her believe that he can make it so.

Hearts Don’t Break Around Here: The Divide Series

Here is a link to the song, if you’d like to listen along to help set the mood. x

It wasn’t often that Harry got to spend more than a week or two back at home, so whenever he did, he cherished the time deeply.

He’d been in Holmes Chapel for a week now, spending time with his family and catching up with the few old friends that he’s still in contact with. It was where he would go whenever he needed to wind down, or when he needed to ground himself from all the fame and attention. He’d been receiving a lot of it lately, with all of the lead-up to the release of his first single. And he knew that after the song was released everything would be crazy for a little bit, so he decided to get in as much home time as he could.

That afternoon, Anne had sent him to the grocery store to grab a few things for dinner—he was walking through the wine section, carrying a basket filled with different cheeses and a carton of eggs. It was a small locally sourced store that had been in business ever since Harry could remember—when he was a little boy, he would always come here and buy a chocolate bar on Friday’s after school. Everyone who worked there knew him, and greeted him cheerily.

The Beatles’s Here Comes the Sun was playing over the radio through the speakers, and he caught himself humming softly as his eyes scanned the wine rack. He was in no hurry—there was something about being back home that made it seem like time was frozen. He picked out a bottle of his mum’s favorite wine and set it in his basket—that’s when it happened.

He caught the familiar scent of Alien perfume.

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For the last the of the cluster during the 9 days of sense8, we have Lito! Dramatic as always, he is always there to get the sensates out of sticky situations. Whether is be pretending to be a bar tender or just dropping down to his knees and screaming bloody murder, Lito has their back. Lito is the one I relate to the most. He tries to laugh away the pain and doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone. HIs first instinct is to avoid confrontation at all costs and protect himself and those he loves first. Lito will runaway from a situation if it means everyone gets out safely. This is one of the reasons why I love Lito. There is no cowardice in running away to protect those you love. This is one of the many reasons why I could understand where Lito was coming from when he was blackmailed by Joaquin. That is also why it made reunion that much better when Lito returned to make up with Hernando with Dani. 

Lito is one of the few characters I have ever seen to get a proper coming out story line. Everything about feels very real and was one people could relate to. It made his acomplishment of speaking at the PRIDE parade in Brazil so much more satisfying and one that people who could not attend feel like they are there. 

Lito is so much more than the silly character inside the cluster meant to lift the tension in the room. He brings a beautiful relationship with Dani and Hernando to the show. Dani while not in a relationship with the neither Hernando nor Lito is loved by them both. Heernando accepts that Lito was not comfortable with being ou tin public together just yet and did not push him to do something he was not ready to do. While he take being dramtic to the next level (ex. lying on the side of the street saying that he’s practicing for his future as a homeless unemployable failure), he never looses heart while doing it and while his world may be falling apart around him he’ll always push through and give you a smile. Which takes more strength than any punch someone could throw. 

Trying Something New

A/N: Hey guys! I haven’t uploaded an imagine in a while but tbh I’m so fucking busy it’s driving me mad.

Warnings: smut, kinda (male masturbation, Stiles has an overly active imagination 😉), mentions of blood if that kinda stuff creeps you out (not anything major)

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Words: 1500 ish


By the time Stiles finally drags himself back to his dorm, the sun is slowly rising and his hair is starting to stink with drying slime from the Kanima (most likely) blood that he’s had the unfortunate displeasure of coming across.

Honestly, he thought that when he went to collage he would finally be away from it all, finally be safe. God knows that he’s put his dad through enough stress with all the shit he and Scott pulled.

The guilt gnaws at his insides at night.

It seems like all this shit just keeps following him around. Not that he’s complaining or anything, but it’d be nice if the monsters were a bit more considerate of Stiles’ upcoming exams.

So, all things considered, seeing his roommate, (Y/N), up at the ungodly hour of fuck-that-o'clock making pancakes naked in the kitchen is probably number 12 on the list of Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week. (Y/N)’s got her back to him and in the low light of morning, he can only just make out her soft curves and smooth skin.

“Um,” he says, sounding a like a fucking moron who can’t pull four words together to ask *‘what are you doing?’* Luckily for him, his roommate turns around and saves him the trouble.

And suddenly, this entire thing goes up a few spots on the Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week list because (Y/N)’s not naked. She’s got a scarf wrapped around her neck that only just covers her chest bits and a - ridiculously tiny, *oh good lord* - pair of black panties on that makes her ass look absolutely. In a second he realizes that the scarf is the one he asked his dad to send over last month.

And oh, *oh* doesn’t that just make whatever blood Stiles still has in his head go south. Because it’s *(Y/N)* and she’s got his scarf sitting atop her bare chest, the only thing shielding his eyes from the glorious view of her naked body.

He feels weirdly possessive.

Stiles very pointedly shoves those thoughts down along with any other inappropriate images that his mind tries to conjure up. It’s a failed attempt.

“Are those pancakes?” He eventually finds the mental capacity to ask, because now that his upstairs brain’s caught up with the situation, this doesn’t seem that odd compared to all the shit (Y/N)’s pulled in the past. The girl in question nods as Stiles continues to stand in the middle of the kitchen instead of getting the fuck out of there.

“They’re shaped like Mickey Mouseâ„¢,” She informs him and Stiles tries not to be jealous when she flips a pancake and it lands back in the pan, and not on the ceiling. “You want?”

“Pass.” He says, knowing full well that the Kanima blood was drying and if she noticed he’d have some explaining to do. He pointedly tells himself that he’s not running away to hide the tent that he’s now sporting in his jeans. “What are your wearing?” And then something else occurs to him. “Did you just say ‘™’?”

(Y/N) shrugs. “It’s laundry day.” She says lightly, her full attention turned to the pancakes now. “Gotta get it all done. Hope you don’t mind. I stole your scarf.”

Her saying it so casually makes Stiles fell scarily possessive, and his brain is already thinking of the best way to get out of this situation right now. “Keep it.” He says, and clears his throat because his voice is suddenly deep and raspy. “It looks better on you.”

(Y/N) looks at him, as if she knows all the filthy little thoughts running through his head, before putting the pan on a cold plate and walking over to him. It takes a great deal of effort for Stiles to maintain eye contact.

“Really?” She quirks a brow. Now, she’s standing right in front of him, so close that he can see the gorgeous tint of her eyes, can smell the remnants of perfume and vanilla extract on her skin. Stiles gulps. “Honestly Stiles. You put your dad through all the trouble of sending it over only to give it to your roommate so carelessly?”

He should look away. He wants to, because he knows (Y/N), knows that she doesn’t do relationships and loves to play games and, if her screams at night are anything to go by, loves to fuck hard and wild until she can’t walk properly the next day. He should walk the fuck away because he knows that if he does, (Y/N) won’t try it again.

But right now, all he wants to do is fuck her senseless, preferably tied to the bed with that damned scarf.

“Umm,” is what he stupidly replies with instead. (Y/N) raises a brow, but Stiles can’t worry about that because she’s got *hands* and suddenly those hands are being placed delicately on Stiles’ shoulders so that her thumb grazes gently over the dip of his collar bone.

He stares at her for a moment, and Stiles quickly realized he could do it forever. She’s so beautiful, she doesn’t even know it. The set of her bright eyes, the smell of her body, that shade of her skin that Stiles could spend years looking for but never actually match, the way her nose fits perfectly onto her face, the arch of her brows and swell of her lips; it drives him mad.

But then those gorgeous eyes are filling with surprise and she’s laughing slightly when she asks him: “Why is your shirt wet?” Suddenly, Stiles is reminded of the reason he’d come back late in the first place, of the blood and gore and *danger* that seems to come along with his life, and he can’t help this primal instinct within him that begs Stiles to *protect* and *fortify* and he knows it. Stiles knows he just can’t.

Even if it was just for one night, he can’t drag her into the hell hole that is his life.

“I need a shower.” He says and pulls away and it takes everything inside of him to ignore the hurt look on her face as he does.

He practically runs to the bathroom, not even bothering to strip down before he stands under the harsh spray. The water’s freezing cold and it turns his face red, but Stiles knows that blood washes off better this way (he also acknowledges that it’s a fucked up thing to know) and honestly, he needs it.

It takes a full five minutes under the freezing spray before Stiles actually strips down. He piles his dirty clothes in the corner and knows that those jeans are probably ruined. As he turns the heat up, Stiles closes his eyes, enjoying the way the water feels cascading down his sore and taut muscles.

And for a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to picture what it would feel like to have (Y/N) in there with him.

It’s wrong, he knows it is, but Stiles can’t stop the thoughts from entering his mind. She’d come in after him, the thinks. Probably when he was just about to step out. He can imagine the way she would look through the frosted glass, the way he would see her delicate hands pull the clothes off her body. He imagines her, finally pulling the shower door open and standing before him, as bare as the day she was born.

Stiles reaches bewteen his legs and strokes his length swiftly, unsuprised to find that he’s already hard. He goes back to the images he’s created in his head. Pictures the way (Y/N) would smirk at the flustered and confused look on his face, and - no.

In his head, this isn’t the first time they’re doing this. In his head, she walks forward with a smile, the genuine kind she gives when she’s high or when Stiles tells a dumb joke. She wouldn’t even wait for him, she’d just step forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders - Stiles pictures the way she had done it moments before - and joining him under the warm water.

He pictures the way the water starts to wet her hair and face, pictures the droplets running down her body. He squeezes himself at the base. He imagines the way her soft skin would feel under his touch, hears her soft gasps and quiet moans as he dips a hand between her legs. Stiles strokes his dick faster, picturing the look of ecstasy on her face when he slides his fingers into her wet opening. His hand’s moving fast now as he imagines pulling away and silencing her moan of disapproval with a kiss as he slides his length into her cunt.

Stiles gasps slightly as he pictures how she would feel around his dick. He hears her moaning gasps as he slides into her, presses love bites to her neck and breasts and she pants and screams and finally, *finally* Stiles is the one making her do so instead of all those guys she brings home. He feels the way her legs would tremble and her body shake as he reaches between them to press a thumb to her clit, he pictures the way she could clench around him as she comes, gripping onto his shoulders and moaning into his ear and -

Stiles almost let’s his shout slip as he comes in his hand.

It takes him a long while to gather himself. He takes deep breaths and tries to fight away the guilt at what he just did. (Y/N)’s his friend and he’s an ass for thinking about her like that, but goddamn* the way she looked and spoke and laughed - it all made Stiles’ head spin.

It is with a belated sense of worry that he realised he’s fallen for her.

❧ y.jh | emergency

Originally posted by jeonghney-archive

pairing; seventeen jeonghan x reader (ft. joshua)

genre; angst, fluff

synopsis; you faint in school and get admitted and jeonghan freaks out. really bad. 

word count; 2k words 

notes; i’ve been so damn busy with everything and i’m honestly wondering when i’ll finally get a proper break sighh // dance training isn’t going very well either haha but i’ll cope i guess !! august is coming already omg the year’s passing too fast

text message from hannie;
have a good day at school,, please do survive till the end of the day :)

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s sarcasm.

you replied;
of course you ass, survive @ work too ;)

Holding the warm cup of coffee with both your hands, you used the heat that it was giving off to warm your frozen hands. You were so cold that you felt like your joints were locked into place — you could barely bend your fingers.

No, it wasn’t snowing heavily or anything; it was just so very windy with the temperature lower than usual, and you merely donned a hoodie and leggings. 

You brought the paper cup up to your lips, taking small sips from the piping hot brown liquid. It was cold out, but the bitter coffee still burnt your tongue.

You scurried into campus, briskly walking to the nearest building to get indoors as quick as possible. Your class was in the next block and the direct way to get there was to walk through the outdoor quadrangle, but you couldn’t care less. You’d rather walk a whole round around the warm teaching blocks to get to that class than to walk out in the freezing cold — you were sure you’d get hypothermia or something sooner or later. 

The heaters in the school buildings were turned on, and you felt so snuggly and warm once you were inside. You were proud to say that your school had a relatively high budget and doesn’t cut costs to improve the learning environment for the students. That made you hate waking up early in the morning and dragging yourself to school a little lesser. Just a little. It really wasn’t that bad.

You started to slowly stroll through the hallways, dropping by your locker to pull out a few books you needed for classes that day. You felt your stomach grind at nothing, and then grumble, and you internally pray no one else around you heard that. 

You hadn’t been eating proper meals for the past three days. You were busy, having a task of choreographing a full song thrown at you recently by your dance instructor. Dancing was a co-curriculum activity that you had taken up outside of school, and it was more than important to you. You wanted to do your best at coming up with the choreography and doing your instructor proud, and you had started to skip lunch meals so you could use that time to practice. 

You didn’t even find time to have little snacks or even to just have a quick bite on sandwiches. You pretty much made yourself full with water while practicing.

Dinner isn’t any full-set meal either. You’d simply munch on small energy bars or chocolate, just to satisfy your cravings for food. You never noticed nor paid attention to your growling stomach, eager for proper, solid food.

This went on for close to five days.

As a result, you were completely oblivious that there was something wrong when you started having dizzy spells. You’d be sitting in class, at your desk, paying attention to whatever the lecturer or teacher is saying — you were good at not being distracted, you would say — and your head would start to spin slightly, and your vision would blur as the blackboard in front of you divides, then joins again. 

You shook your head, trying to get rid of the lightheaded-ness you were feeling, but it only made it worse as everything spun just a little faster. 

But that was enough to make you feel like throwing up. 

“It’s Gym now, everyone! Be at the class in five minutes!” your class chairperson, Joshua announced, and groans were heard from the girls, and cheering came from the boys. 

But everything was ringing and echoes to your ears.

You pushed yourself up from your chair, your body weight leaning onto your unstable desk. 

How you imagined fainting would be like was with delicate femininity where one gracefully and gently falls to the floor, then lays still. 

But that’s just in stories, and fairy tales, just like how Snow White passed out after biting into the poisoned apple. Your case was nowhere near that.

Everything became quiet. Your ears felt plugged, and your head stopped spinning — everything just went entirely numb. Beneath your feet, the ground felt soft, not even half as firm as how carpets would be. You didn’t realize that your breathing was barely apparent, and you briefly heard someone calling out your name — or maybe you had imagined it — before you crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings. 

There was a moment of absolute silence from the other kids as you knocked into other tables and chairs when you fell to the tiled floor, the chairs toppling over with a clang and the loud thud that was heard when your body hit the ground. 

Then everyone snapped back into reality as they stared at your motionless self on the ground.


Joshua instinctively rushes over, pushing the table that was in contact with your head away as he stuck a hand under your head to provide cushioning. 

Not that it was of any help, now that you were already unconscious.

“Go get the teacher from the next class!” Joshua ordered, and one of your classmates dashes out to the class next door.

“Where’s her phone? I’ll call her parents first,” Joshua said, looking over at your desk. 

“Not her parents,” Jelene, your closest friend, said instantly. Joshua frowns, then nods as he briefly understood what she meant. 

“I’ll call Jeonghan.”

When Jeonghan’s phone rang, he was elated to see your contact name on the caller ID. He took a few deep breaths, exhausted from the hardcore training that was taking place. He swipes the screen, putting the phone to his ear.

“Hey, babe! How’s it going?” he jokes cheerily, but when he hears the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line, his smile vanishes.

“Jeonghan,” Joshua starts, cupping his mouth and the end of the phone. He watches as the paramedics places you on the stretcher, and he follows them out to the foyer where the ambulance was. Everyone else had returned to their original scheduled classes.

Jeonghan hesitates for a moment. “Shua?”

Joshua inhales sharply. “Y/N…”

“Y/N? Y/N what? Why is her phone with you?”

“…She passed out.”

Jeonghan never ran so fast in his life. He sprinted down to the lobby, having nothing but his wallet and phone with him, as he hailed a cab and rushed to the hospital you were admitted to. His heart was pounding ridiculously hard against his hollow chest. His palms were sweating, his fingers rubbing against each other roughly as his leg impatiently jerked up and down non-stop. 

“I’m the ambulance now,” Joshua had said, glancing at you, lying down on the stretcher with an oxygen mask over your nose and mouth. “The medics said she’s ice cold. She’s malnourished. I don’t know.”

Tears of frustration and worry were welling up in Jeonghan’s eyes as he repeatedly tries to hurry the taxi driver, who was already going at the maximum speed limit.

When the taxi finally reached the hospital, Jeonghan hands $20 to the driver, not bothering to wait for the change as he rushed out of the cab, slamming the car door shut behind him before bolting into the building. His eyes furiously scanned his surroundings before they landed on Joshua, who was at the entrance. Jeonghan ran over to him.

“Y/N? Where is she?” Jeonghan spluttered, slouching forward a little as he panted heavily.

“Calm down, Jeonghan,” Joshua said, placing his hand on his shoulders. “She’s upstairs, in the ward. She’s being checked on.”

Jeonghan bites in his lips, squeezing his eyes shut before letting out a heavy breath as he opened them again. His eyes were even glossier. 

“She’ll be fine,” Joshua said, even though he was unsure himself.

The both of them quickly went upstairs, and the doctor comes out of your room as soon as they reach. 

“How is she? Is she fine?” Jeonghan rambled again. “W-will she be fine?”

The doctor nods. “She will be. She’s extremely malnourished, she probably hasn’t been eating for a while. She just needs plenty of rest, that is all.”

Jeonghan lets out a sigh of relief before entering your ward. It wasn’t the worst it could’ve gotten. 

You were still not yet awake. The room was dead quiet; the only sounds that were heard was the beeping of your heart monitor and your soft breaths that fogged up the oxygen mask whenever you exhaled. 

“I’ll get going first,” Joshua said. “I have to be back in class.”

Jeonghan nods, giving him a friendly hug. “Thanks for everything.”

Joshua smiles, taking his leave.

Jeonghan sits down at the chair beside your bed, leaning forward as he stared at your peaceful self. 

And he stared some more.

You were just perfect. 

He was filled with self-blame — he felt guilty that he hadn’t been taking care of you. As your boyfriend, he should’ve noticed how you had been getting weaker, and paler. He should’ve noticed how you were not as bubbly as you were before, although you still are. He should’ve noticed all those signs. If only he did — you wouldn’t be lying there, on an uncomfortable hospital bed in some creepy white room with a fat, painful tube stuck up in your lower arm. You and Jeonghan always facetimed each other at the end of every day to talk, but due to both of your busy schedules, facetime sessions were cut, and you two only talked on the phone for the past week.

That probably led to him being absoultely unaware of your physical state. Jeonghan inhales sharply, folding his arms on the edge of your bed and buried his head in there, sniffing softly as he blinked his tears away.

Two hours later, he was awoken by you shifting slightly as you drifted back to reality. You stared at the ceiling for a good minute, trying to process what the hell was going on. Your thoughts were still foggy. 

Then you see Jeonghan beside you. Awake now, although it was obvious that he had been asleep beside you. 

Jeonghan widens his eyes and stands up abruptly, moving closer to you as he scans yours, his hand gently grabbing your face. 

“Hannie,” you said, your voice coming out hoarse. 

“Y/N,” he murmured uncertainly, not knowing if he was still seeing things since he just woke up from his sleep, or if it was really real that you were awake. 

When the corners of your lips pulled up slightly, tears pooled his eyes and flowing down his face as he broke out in a smile, pulling you in a secure embrace. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.”

You hugged him back, ignoring the tug on the tube that was inserted under your skin. Something made you feel so relieved that he was by your side.

After what seems to be a short minute (but it was really like five minutes of you two in a hug), he lets go. 

“Why didn’t you eat? Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?” he nags. “I was so worried something would happen, I was so scared you wouldn’t wake up, I— I don’t even know, oh God.” 

You chuckle sheepishly. 

“I didn’t have time to,” you mumbled. “I’m fine now, though.”

Jeonghan scoffs. “You’re not! I’m gonna keep you with me for the next few months, Y/N, I’ll place food right in front of you for every single meal.”

“I have a dorm room—”

“Well I have one too! And I have a big bed!” Jeonghan argues, and you laugh. 

“Fine,” you said. “I’d be happy to wake up next to you every morning.”

Jeonghan smiles, leaning in and pressing his lips to your forehead. 

“I love you, Y/N. Please don’t ever frighten me like that again.” 

Late Night Desires

Note: As always, thanks to @skittle479 for the feedback.

“Barba, the suspect’s past abuse is relevant. With the way he was raised, the kid did not stand a chance at a normal, healthy life.” Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your voice, despite your growing frustration at Barba’s refusal to agree with you.

Being the child psychologist that the Manhattan SVU often consulted, you had gotten to know the snarky ADA quite well during the past few months. Many evenings were spent together preparing your expert witness testimony for his trials. Despite your familiarity, he insisted on thoroughly prepping you every time, claiming that he wanted to eliminate the possibility of any surprises. Since you were paid regardless of whether you worked in your own office or were on loan to the DA’s office, you humored his need for perfection.

Though you wouldn’t openly admit it to him, you had grown to enjoy spending time in Barba’s company. Bickering over a difference of opinion was a common occurrence between you two, but in the end you both enjoyed a healthy debate. The fact that he was incredibly easy on the eyes did not hurt.

At present, you and Barba were at the edge of another heated dispute. A teenager had assaulted two of his classmates. Barba was insistent on trying the perp as an adult. Although the crimes committed were heinous and churned your stomach, your professional experience told you that the teenager needed psychiatric help, not to be locked with the general population of adult criminals.

“Abuse is not an excuse for his behavior. You said yourself, he is mentally competent to stand trial. I will be charging him with murder one,” Barba rebutted your attempt for leniency while shuffling papers.

Keep reading

I blame @starrose17 who posted an evil prompt. Here, have a thing.

When he was ten, John Silver learned to read. He learned his letters, his numbers, he learned how to pull a story from the page, and learned to read the name written on his wrist.

The other children had more than one, usually at least two, if not the normal three. The story had been told so many times, John had memorized it after the first few weeks in the orphanage.

A red name was the person who would be your deepest love.

A black name was your greatest enemy.

A blue name was your greatest ally.

John only had one name, and it was bright silver, a colour he took as his name later. No one understood, no one really cared. He was odd and he stuck out, and having only one name made it worse. He began to cover it, and by the time he ran away at sixteen, he’d almost forgotten about it.

Until one day, almost ten years later, when he was swimming for his life, the wrapping came off and once more he was confronted with the name on his wrist. He tried to ignore it, tried to survive, tried to keep the ruthless Flint from killing him for the Urca schedule. He didn’t think on it again until they had rescued Abigail Ashe. Then his heart had stopped.

He was across the tavern when Flint had come in, sitting down near the girl, who asked if he was the feared pirate captain. He’d seen Flint sigh, before the words the tumbled out of his mouth sent John’s world spiralling.

“My name is James. James McGraw.”

He itched to tug the wrapping from his wrist but he didn’t dare, not here, not in front of people. It wasn’t until he was back in his room that night that he tugged it away and started down at the name on his wrist, shining in the low light of the single candle.

James McGraw

Furious, he threw a cup across the room, tears in his eyes and the next morning they sailed for Charlestown.

When he woke missing his leg, his first instinct was to look at his wrist, make sure it was covered. It wasn’t, and when Flint offered him a cup of water, he defiantly took it with his left hand, his tattoo clearly visible.

“Which one am I?” he asked, taking a drink and flicking his eyes to Flint’s wrist. “What am I to you?”

Flint sighed, sinking down in the chair and rubbing his forehead with one hand. Slowly, he pulled back his sleeve and held it out for John.

In red was Thomas Hamilton.

In black was Alfred Hamilton.

In blue was Charles Vane.

Then there was his own name, a fourth name, below them all in shining silver letters. Solomon Little.

“You knew,” John croaked. “As soon as I told you that story, you knew.”

Flint nodded, still not saying a word.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Flint said at last. “I don’t know.”


Sum: He is not a morning person. Fluff

She wakes up without any help. She doesn’t need any alarm or device to make that work for her, she just does. It’s difficult, yeah, but once her feet touch the ground and she opens her eyes, doing a big stretching in the bed, is time to move on.

He, on the other hand…

Since they were recently married and shared the bed, there isn’t a single day where Sasuke could lift his body from the bed by himself. She knows this is because when he is home, his guard is – finally – down and he actually rest. It should not be a surprise, but it really is.

So, he does that. He rests.

Looking at him – sleeping on his stomach, his face turn to her – she smiles, because he is really snoozing, eyes closed, mouth a little open, completely gone. He even looks peaceful.

And this is where the shows stars: Part one: do the calm and lovely voice.

“Sasuke-kun” She calls him, curling herself around him “Darling, wake up”

He doesn’t. He is still like a log beside her. He does not even flinch.

So, this is part two: Touch him.

“Anata” She locks her fingers around his shoulder, shaking him softly “You ask me yesterday to wake you up this early, something about meeting Naruto, so please, please, wake up”

“…Hn” He emits, his eyes still fully closed.

Well, that is something.

You see, there is a technique that actually work all the time, but that is for the final part. Her last resort. You see, waking up anata is a plat of five steps, each of them increases in drastic measures.

The third step is: Kissing.

“Sasuke-kun” She stand her face next to his, her nose touching his. She deals kisses around his face: On his cheeks, his forehead, his nose until the last one is on his lips “You have to wake up, darling”

(One time she awaken him up yelling, to this day he still feels angry)

“Hn” (No)

And to make his point very clear, he moves his head to the other side, giving her his back.

She smiles. She is just like a kid on the mornings.

“Yes, Sasuke-kun” She caress his check, one of her legs curling beside him “You never are late, you are not Kakashi-sensei”

“…Hn” (Don’t compare me with him)

“Oh, yes, I know you are a lot of better, but you see, is already six fifteen, so you really have to be on the shower now”

“Hn” (five more minutes)

“There have already pass five minutes, Anata” She moves her mouth closer to his ear “I told you yesterday you wouldn’t wake up, but you still wanted to do it”

“Hnnnnnnnn” (Annoyinggggggggggggg)

Then, completely silence. Nothing. His breath collected and neutral, his eyes still very close, his face away from hers. Is still very clear he doesn’t want to wake up.

So, the final step: Tease him

“You see, Sasuke-kun” She stars to touch his abdominal under his pajamas, delicately, her fingers playing imaginary lines up and down, pinching those little hairs that lead to the path of happiness, using the voice he really likes “Maybe you want a second round from last nite, ne?”

The answer is immediate: He rolls back, until her back is on the mattress and his head is pillowing between her breast. It was too fast, that now her hands are locked between their bodys.

“Sasuke-kun” She kissed his forehead, chuckling “You really are heavy”

“Hn” (So are you)

“Hey!” She manages to take out her hands between them, and she puts them inside his pajamas, caressing his back “I’m really going to use chakra!”

He lifts his hand to her hip, his fingers entering on her pajama too “Hn” (No, you better don’t)

She uses it anyway. A little amount on her palms so she can roll both of them back, so his back is now on the mattress and she is sitting on him, a sardonic smile on her face.

He still has his eyes closed.

Oh, c’mon!” She retorted, pointing a finger on his chest “I know you are awake, Sasuke-kun!”

He doesn’t respond. No even open his eyes. (But his lips are doing this strange grin, like he is holding back a smile)

Final – final step: Bring out the big guns.

She come closer to his mouth, and star the tease: Butterflies kisses up to his neck, a little one on his chin, making them sound strong on purpose, dramatically sweet. Her fingers running through his hair, so the final one will wake him up and incidentally, take his breath away: On the lips.

Is a little pressure, in the beginning, and little by little, she stars to pull out her tongue, and smile through the kiss when he opens his lips too – that bastard. His good arm is on her back, and rises up slowly until he reaches her nape, both surrendering to passion. She plays with his lips: She sucks, she bites and even their teeth collide when-

Mamaa! What do we have for breakfast?

It ends.

She is the first one to pull away, her mother instincts is activated.

“Well, good morning to you, sunshine” She kiss him rapidly when she notices his eyes now are open, slightly, but awake “I have to do the breakfast. Go and take the shower, you already late!”

“Hn” (I hate you for waking me up)

She laughs, trying to get out of his body “You are really a piece of work on the mornings, Anata” She kiss him again - a trick to cheat him and finally, get free of his grip “What do you want for breakfast? I would pack a bento for your travel. Tomatoes and onigiri sounds good?”

“Hn” (yeah)


“I’m coming, Sarada!” She goes to her closet, picking of her usual clothes “My god, Sasuke-kun, what have you done?” catching the reflection herself in the mirror when she walks on the room, noticing all her navel with hickeys.

He opens one of his eyes, lifts his head and smile, approvingly. She is exasperated.

“I can’t believe you!” She starts to pick up random dresses of their closet, the sound of hanging cabinets filling the room “How I’m supposed to use these clothes!”

“Tch” (What are you complaining? You didn’t complaint anything last night)

She dresses her in a burgundy dress, that actually cover everything from last night “You better wake up, Uchiha, I want to hear to water running while I make breakfast!”

“Hn?” (is that so?) He asks playfully

Her cheeks actually turn into flame, even when he don’t see her, he can ensure that “You know what I mean!” She closed the door with a big slam.

He lay down, again, closing his eyelids. Five more minutes, no one would notice. Yeah, that sounds great, five more minutes and he can-

“You better be in the shower, Sasuke-kun! Or I am coming for you!”

He takes one pillow and press it agains his head “Hn!”


Soldier 76

  • Prompt: “First kisses on your favourite ow characters”

Soldier 76 would be too reserved and cautious on the regular basis to let a lick of romantic contact happen. The man has a damn visor on majority of the time anyways. But in general, he believes involving others in his life is a horrible idea. He has a personal mission to achieve, a past that can’t exactly be forgotten. If there were any developing, feelings, he would stamp out the flame and shove the ashes to the back of his mind, hoping they will blow away in time. So when he kisses his S/O for the first time, it is a primal, animalistic- instinct driven kiss.

The moment when the danger passes, he goes up to them, shoulders tense, hands clenched tightly. He looks like he’s one second from lifting his pulse rifle up and shooting them in the chest himself. Once he’s in front of them, he grabs them by the wrist and pulls them roughly away from everyone who’s gathered around them. Even if his S/O tries to break his hold, he barely notices. His mind replays the scene over and over again, like a never-ending nightmare. Every time his mind plays the moment when the bullets hit the wall inches away from them, his breath catches, barely able to force air into his lungs.

When they’re in a secluded area, he releases their wrist as he was burned, and brings both hands to grip his hair tightly. He lets out a frustrated growl, as he paces a few steps back and forth, until he abruptly stops and stares at his S/O. Instantly he reaches up, presses the button which opens the latch on his visor with a hiss, and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t care that this is the first time his S/O saw him without his visor. He ignores the wide eyes that are frantically trying to take in this revelation all at once. He’ll reach up, thread his fingers into their hair, gripping almost too tightly and pulls them forward.

They’ll both breathe one sharp breath at the same time, whether it was from the contact between skin, the shock of the situation or adrenaline running through their veins. But as if the kiss was a starting gun, they both jumped passed the first hurdle and didn’t look back. He kisses them as if he is drinking them in, as if he is dehydrated to the brink of death. It becomes a disarray of messy kisses, breathy moans, hands grabbing onto everything and nothing at the same time. It was tongues fighting for dominance, painful moments when teeth met flesh and gasping breaths. It was only when the soldier himself started slowing down, directing the panicked hunger into a pleasant ache, that the kisses became gradual and heavy– sweet and passionate. His grip turns into a caress, trailing from the back of his S/O’s head, to their hips. He breaks the string of small pecks, resting his forehead against theirs, breathing deeply. Finally, he allows the sense of relief wash over his body. He tightens his grip on their hips, as miniscule tremors affect his muscles, his body winding down from the adrenaline rush. He leans back reluctantly, his brow slightly furrowing as he kept his eyes closed. He lingers in this unreal moment because he knows that once he opens his eyes, reality will slap him in the face and he will see the unrepairable damage he made.

The silence between them almost breaks his resolve, but it was the lightest touch on his brow that makes him open his eyes. His S/O stares at him, glassy- eyed with the gentlest smile on their face. They smooth the lines between his brow, tracing their fingertips down the side and cups his cheek. He leans into their touch subconsciously, barely believing that the world is still okay, that reality was merciful and gracious. He tries to speak, but his words catches in his throat as it seems to tighten. His S/O beats him to the words he wanted to say.

“I’m sorry, I should have known better.”

He shakes his head once, clearing his throat. “I overreacted. I’m sorry.” He manages to say, as he takes their hand that cupped his cheek with his own, weaving his fingers between theirs. He is pleasantly surprised on how well they fit together, letting a shy smile grace his lips. In turn, his S/O grins, that teasing expression he knows all too well. Soldier 76 raises an eyebrow, challenging them to say anything. His S/O laughs, bringing their hands down so they settle more comfortably between them.

“Come on, the rest of them will be worried.”

He grunts and doesn’t move for a long moment, staring at their clasped hands. It is only when his S/O releases one hand and bends to pick up the forgotten visor, that he brings his eyes up to meet theirs. They lean in, placing a sweet kiss on his bristly cheek and then brings their clasped hands up so they can place another peck on his weathered hands.

“You shouldn’t have taken your visor off. Now I know what’s underneath that emotionless mask and I won’t settle for the fowl thing anymore,” they tease, trying to lift the heavy moment between them. Solider made an amused noise, reciprocating their previous action and kisses their hand. They feel the smile on their skin as his lips press against their hand.

“Can’t start spoiling you now,” he murmurs, smile still plastered on his face as he placed his visor back on, much to his S/O’s displeasure. He never lets their hand go, even when they leave their hidden haven and joined the others, ignoring the curious gazes.

“Back to the rendezvous point,” he barks out, authority back into his tone.

“Let’s go home.”

TMNT Boyfriends: Donatello.

Donatello is a sweet, awkward boyfriend. No matter how long you’ve been dating, he’ll always blush and stutter around you. His S.O. is everything to him, you are his sun and stars.

Confessing: Donnie wouldn’t tell anyone about his crush, even though it’s painfully obvious. Eventually, he would go to April for advice and plan the best way to tell you. I think he would wait until you were alone before blurting it out.

PDA: Donnie is a dork with PDA. Whenever his girlfriend kisses him in public, he’d do that cute little snort and smile like it was an early Christmas. Donnie won’t often initiate it on his own, but he will hold your hand when he thinks no one is looking.

Dates: You are in charge of planning dates. While he does love them, Donnie tends to get lost in his work. It’s up to his S.O. to pull him away from the lab when he needs a break.

First Kiss: Donnie would be freaking out when you kiss him for the first time. He’d freeze and mentally panic before his instincts took over and he started kissing back.

Making Out: Donnie does this in steps. He starts off slow and sweet before getting a little bit hotter. He’s prone to sliding his hand under your shirt and feeling you up. He will attack your neck and collar bone with little kisses as well. Side note: most making out will be done in his lab.

The First Time: So, it is in my totally unbiased opinion that Donnie is the biggest of his bros. This would be a cause for concern and the first few times would be extremely slow and gentle.

His Perfect S.O.: Someone who is sweet with a big heart but could put a bear in it’s place. Who will support His scientific research but make him take breaks and eat real food. Loves books, cuddling, and is pretty damn nerdy.

His Family: Donnie wouldn’t really know how to tell his family. He’s not ashamed or embarrassed, he’s just…unsure. What if they don’t approve? What if they force him to break up with you? But his family is in fact, happy for the little dork.

Oh Castiel - Lucifer x reader

Originally posted by cassammydean

[A/N]: Well, I have no idea where this came from and it might be my first ever legit post on Tumblr, so… heh. 

Based off the imagines: Imagine being able to see Lucifer’s wings (AKA: being his soulmate) + Imagine Lucifer hugging you with his wings + Imagine finding out that Lucifer is possessing Castiel 



Oh Castiel~” You sung with a silly smile as you made your way to the sound of the angel rummaging through texts in the bunkers library. Slinging an arm around the surprised angel’s neck, you kissed his cheek with a slight titter at his taken-aback expression. It had become your personal mission to wrench emotional responses from the former seraph, loving the obliviousness of Castiel.

Catching sight of something white and shiny behind the angel, you stood on your tip-toes and peered over his shoulder before backtracking violently and letting the angel-blade strapped to your forearm slide into your hand. Your body sunk into a defensive pose Castiel had taught you as your eyes raked over the vessel of the angel you had come to see as a brother.

“Who the hell are you?” You hissed, angrily clenching the blade in your hand, kicking yourself for not seeing the huge luminous white wings that flared out behind whichever angel this was. How the hell had you missed them in the first place?

“What are you speaking of, Y/N, are you alright?” The faked concern only fueled your anger but you knew better than to attempt to engage him in battle, there wasn’t a chance in heaven or hell that you’d be able to defeat an angel without a plan. You took a step back from the angel when he took one forward, making a motion to reach out to you.

Not Castiel, your instincts were screaming at you.

“Stay away from me, angel.” You warned and that’s when whatever charade the angel had been keeping up faded, leaving a mocking smirk staring back at you, looking so wrong on Jimmy Novak’s face that something clicked in your mind.

“Oh but dear Y/N, you were so enthused earlier.” The angel’s eyes narrowed in smug victory as you backed away from him even further. Throwing his arms out in an overly theatrical motion, he pouted (pouted!) “Can I have another hug?” He asked, silver tongue dripping with faux-innocence as he tilted his head in a mock-replica of Castiel’s usual behavior.

“Lucifer…” The distinct dread in your voice stretched the angels grin even further, revealing rows of perfectly white teeth. His glowing wings arching high in satisfaction.

“Bingo! Now there’s just the little question of how you knew it was me…” He was still grinning as you backed into a wall, your head tilted up to stare into his glowing blue eyes as he hovered over you menacingly. “Care to share?” The archangel purred, voice dangerously low as he focused solely on the tiny woman at his mercy, and wasn’t she a delicious-looking little human.

You stared at the expanse of sleek shiny feathers over his shoulder before looking back into his eyes. The motion didn’t go unnoticed by the angel and his hand came up to trace his fingertips up your arm in a gentle motion that surprised you. Lucifer’s eyes were conflicted with a mix of hopeful and apprehensive when he stared down at you.

Could it be? Had his father truly?

Somehow, you had lost the angel blade in your mad-scramble to get away from the looming archangel and now you had zero line of defense that didn’t involve pissing the heavenly being off beyond bounds and that was hardly something you wanted to do in your current situation.

“I-I… Your wings.” You choked out as Lucifer’s fingers settled around your delicate throat. He wasn’t squeezing, just resting his hand there in a gesture that was usually reserved for lovers. You attempted to press further into the wall, away from the angel, noticing that his wings seemed to droop just a tiny bit at the motion.

Releasing your throat, he snaked his hand around your waist, yanking you from the wall and pressing you into his frame almost violently. Fear coiled in your chest; you were completely at the mercy of the devil.

Heh, if your parents could see you now…

A low whimper escaped your throat as Lucifer treaded his fingers in your hair, tugging at it lightly to make you tilt your head back and look up at him. You were breathing heavily as you looked up at him, from fear or desire, you didn’t know. Perhaps even a bit of both. The way he pressed against you awakened a primitive part of you that hadn’t been active in a very long time. It was just your luck, really, to feel like this for the darkest of the angels.

“So you can see them hmm? What a curious little thing you are…” He trailed off and your breath mingled as one when he leaned down just a bit, his wings curling in around you, encasing you and him in a glowing cocoon of warmth and light.

The malicious intent on his face had vanished, replaced with a fragile blossom of hope and affection. It was almost as if he’d found a missing part of himself. You didn’t know just how correct that observation was.

Nonetheless, Lucifer wouldn’t be letting go of you anytime soon, having always believed that his soulmate had been slaughtered by his father all those millennia ago, when he’d first rebelled. It had been the most devastating price to pay, even more so than his time in the cage. It had very nearly broken him, that his father had taken away that one creation that would love Lucifer with all their heart.

But to have found you in a human… That was a surprise, especially when you were a hunter associating with the Winchesters. And yet, when he gazed down at you reverently, he couldn’t find it in himself to question the decision.

Now, only to convince you to accept him…