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radvillain:

tfw when u too powerful

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#OMG I HAD NO IDEA PARRISH WAS SUPERNATURAL #said no one ever

(Source: peetahales)

veganvibez:

basically

(Source: zuol)

(Source: electricsexdoll)

hagakuresdrugdealer:

i legit want this on the wall somewhere in my livingroom

fearlesskesha:

'I used to dress a lot in black and now I've let color into my life, its very metaphorical'

spookyjacob:

ur not allowed to be busy youre my only friend

(Source: divasdaily)

(Source: twinmagics)

(Source: normreedus)

(Source: briebelladaily)

breenwolf:

i didn’t expect to feel anything for liam dunbar but then they made him the secretary of the scott mccall fanclub under president stiles stilinski and vice president derek hale and that’s really fucking important to me

(Source: Flickr / shokitamura)

Anonymous moaned: You and Niall cuddling on a rainy day that's filled with a bunch of lazy kisses and touching

dirtsbag:

Niall’s legs bracket you on either side of your body, his chest pressed in close. He’s careful to keep his weight off of you, but his smile is playful, his fingers curling around your captured hands. 

"You’re being bad," he bites out, wiggling his hips against yours. "I want you to be good.” He pushes into your wrists for emphasis and although it sounds rough, his fingers are brushing anagrams into your skin, his hold on you as light as a feather. (You could break out of his restraints if you wanted to — he always gives you the option to — but you know this would be over if you did, and his chest wouldn’t be as close to yours and his breath wouldn’t be fanning across your face.) 

"I’ll be good," you promise, arching your back against the sofa so you can slant your hips with his. "I promise. I’ll be good."

"Yeah? You’ll be good for me?" 

You breathe out, “Niall,” and he kisses you lazily, his mouth barely brushing over yours. He noses the scent at your jaw and grins, pulling one of his hands above your head to recollect your wrists, keeping them bound there. 

"Is that my cologne I smell?" 

You start to whine out his name, impatient, but before you can get the word out, he’s biting down onto your neck, his tongue flicking out to soothe the pain. 

"Your shirt," you gasp out, twisting your hands in his hold (although to no avail of escaping this time), "Your shirt. Was wearing… was wearing your shirt." 

"Hmmm," he hums, kissing your jaw again and again until you’re woozy and only aware of the hand he’s sliding down your stomach to push your panties aside. "You smell good. ‘m gonna eat you out now."