Soap: What Did You Do On Break, Lt?

Jensen Ackles | DallasCon 2013 [x]

Steve Rogers || what’s in your head

— when you are short.

Connor:

• does not compute how short you are, just too cute • but he’s really a gentleman about it • will make sure everything is not out of your reach • didn’t know that finding the right size for clothes could be this complicated until you two went shopping together • genuinely surprised when you told him that your dress was actually a very big t-shirt • “I’ve read somewhere that short people are usually mean because they’re closer to hell but I highly doubt that since you’re so pretty.” • so smooth with you • has he upgraded his flirting software or • he still blushes tho when you place your hands on his forearms as a support to kiss him • blushes a lot more when people mistake you for his little sibling • long walks arm in arm and hand in hand • he says it’s fundamental so you don’t get lost in the crowd • and you believe him bc he’s a negotiator model he’s good at telling (white) lies • and because sometimes you really do get lost in crowds • but of course he just want to hold you close to his body he’s  p u r e 

RK900:

• didn’t know humans could come up in this size • “do you have a hormonal deficiency or it’s just genetics?” • not in a mean or teasing way, he’s purely curious • you’re automatically ‘smol’ • every time you get mad all he can think about is ‘so much anger for such a small creature’ • ofc you always call him ‘big boi’ • what do you mean you don’t like to be lifted up • strong arms around your body all the time • gets things for you from high shelves • really protective • and by that i mean REALLY PROTECTIVE • sometimes overwhelming because “you know i can do things on my own, right?” • he knows, he has simply decided not to care bc you are his human pup and must protecc • over time he realizes he’s head over heels in love with how short you are • didn’t know androids could have a ‘type’ • you’re definitely his ‘type’  • just picture this big sturdy mess of a man leaning down for a kiss please • you constantly on your tiptoes • lots of kisses on your temples, on the top of your head, forehead kisses • gently places his chin on your head and hugs you from behind while you are lost in thoughts • please wear his clothes it turns him on so much seeing you in an oversize something and if it’s his something??? he can deactivate and blush peacefully 

RK800-60:

• “you’re tiny” “yeah i know” “no you don’t get it. you’re tiny” • really amused by your height • constant jokes about how short you are • really he doesn’t stop • downloads jokes about short people every day just for you isn’t he the sweetest thing ever • your head it’s his new armrest • but don’t get angry, he does it because he thinks it’s very cute • plus by doing this everyone knows who you belong to • when you sleep his LED is endlessly yellow because he can’t stop looking at you and thinking at the fact that you are too cute for this world • since you are so elfin he’s the big spoon FIGHT HIM ON THIS • how can you be this cute just because of your height it’s outrageous • “are you sure you are not underage?” • you desperately want to be taller so he can shut up • carries you on his back if you are tired • even if you are not

Ok so hear me out here.

The knights of Ren totally love Lieutenant Mitaka

Crazy, I know but just listen up.

Part one

I like to think that Mitaka is a great baker. (Like amazing cookies, bomb pastries etc) and he leaves them in the officer common area for others to enjoy.

Now the knights don’t usually visit the common area. Why would they, they don’t need to. But anyways they do one time and the see this chocolate chip cookies laying there on the table. And them being the people they are they all take one because food.

They get to eating them and they’re like mmmmm! These are really good!

And they want to find out who made them so they harass the next unexpecting officer on break to see who made the melt in your mouth fluffy goodness.

And the officer is just like oh yeah mitaka made those. He makes them every Thursday to bring in just for a fun treat.

And the Knights are impressed. The chefs on the ship are good but they’re not this good.

So now they’re off to find the lil lieutenant baker.

And when they find him he’s supper scarred.

Why are six big burly looking men suddenly standing in his office with serious looks on their faces. Has he done something wrong?

So mitaka stutters out a l-listen kn-kn-knights....

And it takes all the power of the knights not to burst into to laughter because it looks as though mitaka might pee himself.

One of them finally speaks up and says we really like your baking man. It’s great, like you have a talent.

Mitaka is stunned but with a slight blush and a beaming smile he thanks the knights. He says he learned to bake from his mom and that he quite enjoys doing it.

The knights inform him that they have a mission tomorrow. Not a huge important one but one where they still have to leave the ship for a few days. That asked him to make them some cookies for they’re trip. Of course Mitaka agrees with a swift nod. He assured them he will bake them a batch to take with them.

Next day rolls around and low and behold before they disembark on their mission mitaka hands each of them a quart bag of cookies.

Now since they have masks on you can’t see they’re bright smiles and shiny eyes. But they each thank mitaka and give him a small nod before they head to they’re to ship and leave.

This is beyond gorgeous and deserves more likes/reblogs

😍😍😍

Painting I did an all-nighter for to finish. This shot of Santiago “Pope” was an image conjured from my brain, and I couldn’t resist painting it. Hope you like :D 

All for now, Hulia out xo

Soft and Light & Dark and Hard

Warnings: Implied Smut. Some dirty talk.  Purgatory!Dean. (Look at that gif - it needs a warning!) Canon type violence.

Summary: What happened between when Dean popped out of purgatory and when he resurrected Benny. There's a "four days later" section of time that is unaccounted for. This is my attempt to fill that time.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader (Y/N)

Word Count: 2685

A/N: This was an idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.

I LOVE Purgatory!Dean. Hope you enjoy - there might be a sequel.

😉 Unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine. 😊

Y/N’s dad would have been very disappointed in her. She was no hunter, he’d made sure of that, but he’d certainly taught her to keep her wits about her and made sure she knew how to protect herself.

Yet, here she was, slammed against the cabin wall, with what felt like a band of iron at her throat. The man’s forearm wasn’t crushing her windpipe, but it was pressing hard enough that if she struggled at all, she would crush it herself. She was made completely immobile by him. He towered over her, pinning her body against the wall easily with his own, much larger one.

She stared up at him and, despite her best efforts, knew her terror was evident.

The man was filthy, covered in blood and mud. His face was almost obscured by it, his brilliant green eyes sparkling dangerously out of the mostly dark, late evening.

She looked down at the massive fist that held a knife to her heart and was suddenly sure she was going to die at the hands of this bloody stranger. Without warning she felt tears well up in her eyes. It wasn’t often that she cried, but she’d promised her father she would take care of herself and stay safe and she hadn’t even lasted a full week without him.

She closed her eyes and felt a tear escape to trickle down her cheek.

Suddenly the weight of the man’s body was gone. She opened her eyes in time to see him take his forearm from her throat and step back.

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice a literal growl. It was exactly what she had expected this man to sound like.

She tried to rally her scattered, terrified senses and take stock of the new situation. The man had let her go, he was still holding the knife, but it was lowered at his side. Progress.

“Y/N.” She answered, stuttering slightly.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice less of a growl, but still impossibly deep.

“I…this is where I live.” Y/N said, which wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, but it was close to the truth and she didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t anger him.

The man’s scowl deepened, Y/N hadn’t believed that to be possible. “This is Rufus Turner’s cabin. Are you related to Rufus somehow?”

A light bulb went off and Y/N began to understand; at least she hoped she did.

“I’m sorry. No…I…yes, it was Rufus’ cabin. But…I don’t know if you know, he’s…he’s passed away now. My Dad told me about the cabin a little while ago and when I had nowhere else to go, I came here. I’ve been here about a week and…well, it’s started to feel like home I guess. And my attention was…well, I was distracted coming back up here. I didn’t know you were in here until I came through the door, or I would have let you know I was coming, called out or something. But the…the lights were all off.”

She knew she was rambling. The man’s utter stillness and intense stare were very disconcerting and when she was nervous she tended to babble.

She cleared her throat and tried again. “You’re…you’re a hunter, aren’t you? A friend of Rufus’? My Dad told me other hunters used the cabin sometimes too.”

The man was silent for another minute, long enough to make Y/N begin to squirm. His piercing green gaze was unnerving but also slightly mesmerizing and Y/N began to feel a little like she was in a trance.

Finally she saw the man relax ever so slightly, and put the knife away in an inside pocket of his dirty leather coat.

“Yes.”

He’d been silent so long it took Y/N a moment to remember what she’d asked. But then she remembered he was confirming he was hunter and a friend of Rufus’.

“You can’t stay here.” The man said bluntly before turning away to light the two kerosene lamps that sat on the table.

“What, why?” Y/N asked, taken aback.

“Because I’m staying here.”

Y/N’s fear of the man fled in the face of his absolute audacity.

“Um…excuse me…you don’t own this cabin. Rufus left it for any hunters to use, not just you.”

The man turned back to face her and in the now bright room she could see, even through the layers of muck and blood, that the man standing in front of her was unbelievably beautiful.

His face was sculpted into perfect lines and planes, like a master artist had carved him out. His jaw was strong, cut square and sharp and his cheekbones were high and flawlessly chiseled. His lips, however, were molded by more gentle hands, full and lush. Y/N was suddenly aware of a desperate desire to run her thumb across his ripe bottom lip, something she didn’t think she had ever desired in her life before.

It took Y/N a moment to realize the man had said something, asked her a question maybe? Her brain was suddenly mush and she had to give herself a little shake to recover.

“What?” she asked stupidly, realizing her distracted response was likely undercutting her argument a little.

“Are you a hunter?” The man asked again, annoyance clear in his tone.

Y/N was tempted to lie and say yes, but she was nearly positive this man would see right through her.

“No. But…”

“Exactly. Then Rufus didn’t leave you anything.” The man said, turning away to the table again to begin rummaging through a backpack that sat there.

Y/N could feel her temper flare again at the man’s abrupt dismissal. She folded her arms and began to tap her foot.

“I don’t see why we can’t just both stay here. There’s plenty of room.”

“Because I have crap to do and I don’t need a civilian getting in my way.” The man answered in his growling voice again as he swiveled back around to face her.

Y/N stomped up to him. She wished she’d stopped a little further back so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck quite so much to look up at him, feeling, inexplicably, that his immense height gave him a slight advantage in the argument.

Y/N tried to make up for this by pushing a finger into the middle of his chest. “Look, buddy. I may not be a hunter, but I’m hardly a civilian. My dad’s been a hunter my whole life. I know what goes bump in the night okay.”

The man scoffed and flicked her finger off of him like she was a bothersome fly. “Great why don’t you call your dad to come get you out of my hair?”

“Because I burned his body to ash a week ago.”

Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth as though she’d said a bad word, or spilled a secret. She was silent for a minute, her mind reeling.

She shook her head and spoke from behind her hand. “That’s…I didn’t mean to…” she sat suddenly, glad there happened to be a chair behind her.

Her hand fell into her lap. “That’s the first time I’ve said it… that…that he’s dead. I haven’t heard the words.”

Y/N felt her throat constrict around the lump of unshed tears forming there. She looked up at the man standing in front of her, his expression inscrutable. She smiled weakly.

“Sorry about this.” She waved her hand toward herself. “It’s been a hard week.”

The man tilted his head slightly before he sighed deeply and pulled up the other chair and sat. He rubbed his hand across his face. “Yeah, me too.”

A silent moment passed before he spoke again. “What was his name, your dad?”

Y/N swiped at the two tears that had managed to escape, marveling at the fact that she had now cried twice in front of this stranger. That was more tears than she had shed in years.

“Steven Lane.”

The man shook his head. “I didn’t know him.” He caught Y/N’s gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, me too.” She said, echoing his earlier statement. A sudden realization dawned on her. “I don’t even know your name. Sorry, I didn’t ask. Rude.” She smiled.

He didn’t return the smile, but stared at her hard for a minute. She soon realized her mistake; most hunters didn’t like to give out a lot of information to strangers.

“Sorry.” She said quickly. “You don’t…”

“Dean.” He interrupted.

Y/N nodded absently for a second before her eyes widened and her mouth dropped into an “O”. Fragments of information began to filter into her mind and she started to piece them together. His size, his speed and agility when he’d pounced on her coming in the door, his fierce demeanor, his aura of power and strength, his ridiculous good looks.

His bright green eyes.

“Winchester?” She asked in a whisper before answering herself. “You’re Dean Winchester.”

She’d heard the stories of the Winchesters almost her whole life. First John. Then Sam…and Dean.

He nodded abruptly and looked away. She was suddenly, acutely aware that she was basically fangirling over him. She shook her head and tried to get a grip.

“Sorry.” She said, apologizing for what felt like the hundredth time since coming through the door. “I...it’s just…I know who you are.”

Then one more piece of information filtered into her frazzled mind. “I thought you were dead.”

Dean slapped his palms onto his thighs before rising from the chair. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He grabbed up the backpack from the table and moved toward the couch. “Look, I just need the day tomorrow and then I’ll be out of here. But I don’t want to answer a lot of questions okay, so let’s just stay out of each other’s way.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Sure, we can draw a line down the center of the cabin a la ‘I Love Lucy’.”

Dean looked back at her, his expression saying he was unimpressed with her attempt at humor. Then suddenly his face crumpled and he grabbed his left arm tightly, a small grunt of pain escaping him.

Y/N jumped up. “Or you can let me look at your arm and patch you up.”

Dean stepped away from Y/N quickly. “It’s fine. Just a cut. It’s healing.”

“Well, let me look at it.”

“No!” Dean barked at her, all his tense anger returning. “This is exactly my point. I’m fine and I don’t need anyone poking at me.”

Another wave of pain hit him and he half sat and half fell on the couch. His teeth were bared in a painful grimace as he pressed hard on his forearm. Y/N was very used to dealing with salty hunters who were too stubborn to listen to reason. She grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen counter and returned to stand in front of Dean.

“Take off your jacket and pull up your sleeve.” Y/N ordered, feeling surefooted for the first time since walking into the cabin that evening. This was what she did. This was how she fought the good fight. She was a healer. Never able to go to school like a normal kid because of the life she and her dad lived, Y/N had, nevertheless, excelled in science and had always wanted to be a doctor.

That was impossible, of course, she knew she'd never become a doctor with her shoddy schooling record. So she learned to be a healer. She taught herself. She studied medicine, folklore, magic, and botany and combined them to become a hunter healer. She took care of her dad, but also all of her dad’s friends and a lot of victims that her Dad and his friends managed to save.

So she issued her directive and expected Dean would listen. But he ignored her easily. Not daunted, she simply climbed onto his lap, straddling him and pushing the jacket off his shoulders. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d forced healing onto someone bound and determined to suffer.

But in her comfort in her role as a healer she had momentarily forgotten that she wasn’t dealing with an old hunter or a traumatized victim. In spite of the pain in his arm, Dean was a virile, powerful, healthy, grown man; a hunter legendary for his strength and skill.

He grabbed her wrists tightly and she gasped as she was startled back to the reality that she was sitting in Dean Winchester’s lap and he had complete control over the situation. For some reason that idea, an idea that should have scared her, instead caused her stomach to tighten and heat to pool at her core.

Dean continued to hold her wrists firmly, but not painfully as he shrugged his jacket back onto his shoulders. He lowered their hands to rest between their bodies on his lap.

“I said, I’m fine.” His voice was a low rumble in his chest and it fell on Y/N’s ears like a drop of smooth bourbon on the tongue.

He let go of her wrists but made no move to get her off his lap. Y/N didn’t want to move, so she reached into the first aid kit and pulled out some rubbing alcohol and gauze.

“At least let me take care of some of this blood and these cuts on your face.” She said, her voice more of a ragged whisper than she’d meant it to be.

Dean shook his head slightly. “Most of it isn’t my blood.” But he didn’t stop her from reaching out and gently cleaning away some of the blood and mud from the small scratches and wounds along his hairline.

Y/N could feel Dean’s scorching gaze intent upon her face as she worked. It made her breath catch and her hands tremble slightly and she desperately avoided catching his eye for fear her heart would just stop beating.

There was a small abrasion on his chin and as Y/N dabbed at it gently with the gauze, her focus shifted to Dean’s plush bottom lip. It looked so soft, such a contrast to the rest of him. Her thumb was so close now; she could probably get away with touching it under the guise of checking his lip.

And before she could stop herself or admonish herself for her lack of boundaries and propriety, she was swiping her thumb along the silky smooth line of his lip. She heard a quick inhale and couldn’t actually tell if it came from Dean or her. Her thumb rested in the middle of his lip and almost reflexively Dean’s tongue pressed gently against it, before pulling the very tip in between his teeth and biting softly.

Y/N slid her gaze to his finally and the smoldering heat she found there did indeed make her heart skip several beats. Her breathing more ragged than ever, she pulled her hand away and replaced it with her lips. The kiss was chaste and soft, her movements deliberately slow, giving him ample opportunity to pull away or push her off of him.

When she pulled back slightly his eyes were still open and he studied her. When he finally spoke his voice was so soft and low she could only just make out his words.

“You shouldn’t stay here, Y/N. You should move.”

“Do you want me to?”

“You should want to.”

“Why?”

Dean grabbed hold of Y/N’s hips and pressed her down on his lap so that she could feel the hard bulge that pushed against the front of his jeans. Y/N’s eyes widened and Dean nodded.

“Because I really don’t want you to. I want you to stay right where you are. I want to rip the clothes from your body and taste your skin. I want to pound into you until oblivion hits. Because it’s been too long and I don’t have it in me to be gentle.” He paused and grabbed Y/N’s face between his palms.

He pulled her lips to his and crushed them against his own. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot, hard and wet. He pulled away only far enough to pull her bottom lip into his mouth and suck on it before biting down, leaving an imprint of his sharp white teeth in the soft skin.

“No, I won’t be gentle.”

Y/N felt a shudder of anticipation race through her.

"Don't be.”

#bigdickenergy

these pics i took came out really good!! :0 pride flag dragon enamel pins on my etsy!

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

-

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

-

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

--

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.