I miss possessive!Remus, alright?

  • Remus’ stared, expressionless, at Caleb Brice.
  • Well, Caleb Brice’s hand to be more precise.
  • His hand that was dangerously low on Sirius’ back, palm pressed just over the curve of his arse.
  • It made Remus’ blood boil.
  • He stayed motionless at his desk, however, staring over the rim of his cauldron as Brice attempted to help Sirius get potion ingredients - apparently that included touching Sirius in his opinion
  • And Sirius wasn’t squirming - but Remus couldn’t be mad about that. Sirius had always been rather oblivious about people hitting on him.
  • So, Remus supposed, it was his job to keep it from happening.
  • And he was pushing back from his Potion’s station, crossing to the store cupboard in long strides until he was right behind the two. He just caught the end of what Brice was saying.
  • “-I know all about dragon’s blood… I could… show you sometime, y’know…” He was smirking suggestively, hand sinking lower and lower, “Maybe you come to the common room… show you what us Ravenclaws are made of-“
  • “Nothing he couldn’t find in a book.” Remus interrupted, his hand closed tightly around Brice’s wrist, rendering his hand motionless and making Brice’s eyes go wide at the surprisingly strong grip. Their eyes connected, Remus’ staying hard and narrowed, “Don’t you agree, Caleb?”
  • “Wh.. What?” The Ravenclaw stuttered, caught off guard.
  • Sirius stood there, smirking knowingly at Remus, sliding away from Caleb’s hand and pressing into Remus’ side.
  • “The dragon’s blood.” Remus continued, raising an eyebrow, “Most likely in the library.”
  • “Well… Well, yeah.”
  • “Good, I’m glad you agree.” Remus started backing up, tugging Sirius with him, “No need for this little one-on-one meet and greet, then.”
  • And with that, he turned with a smirk, leading Sirius out of the classroom just as Slughorn opened his mouth to tell them class was over.
  • Sirius was pressing right up to Remus’ side as they walked the second they were out of earshot,
  • “Jealous, are we?”
  • Remus just kept walking, “Oblivious, are we?”
  • And then Sirius was tugging them around a corner into a deserted hallway, hidden from view, pressing Remus into the wall. He had to tilt onto his tiptoes a bit to keep their lips almost brushing, “Says who?” He breathed.
  • Remus rolled his eyes, “Oh please. He was all over you, Pads. Breathing down your neck, with his hand..” His eyes narrowed pressing his palm over the place where Brice’s hand had been. In doing so he pressed their bodies together making Sirius’ breath catch.
  • “You didn’t even catch what he was saying?” Remus said lowly, their foreheads touching now, “What did you think, he was inviting you to his common room for a cup of tea?”
  • But the smirk was yet to be wiped from Sirius’ face, “Who says I didn’t know exactly what he was saying?” Remus felt his fingers move down to his waist and under the hem of his shirt, thumbs drawing circles on his hips, “Maybe… I just wanted to see you come stop it..”
  • And then Remus’s eyes were widening in realization and suddenly Sirius was the one pinned against the wall, Remus towering over him, “You little faker..” Remus’ hands slide down, smoothing over Sirius’ arse and squeezing lightly.
  • Sirius bit his lip, eyes glazing over slightly, his body leaning towards Remus on its own.
  • Remus’ hand tightened on Sirius’ hip, the other one still on his back, fingers spread, “You were flirting on purpose, were you?” He grazed his lips over Sirius’ cheek by his ear.
  • Sirius’ hand caught against the wall, keeping himself upright, “I know what it does to you..” He breathed, “I love what it does to you.”
  • Remus just shakes his head, “You git.”
  • And Sirius is just smirking against Remus’ mouth, “C’mon, Re…” His  teeth graze Remus’ bottom lip, “You know you want to remind me whose I am..”
  • And Remus is growling softly in his throat and pressing his lips hotly to Sirius’, pressing their bodies close together.
  • And Sirius just smiles into the kiss because the old flirting trick never fails to bring out this side of Remus- a side that he can’t get enough of.

“Well,” Harry says, “I don’t really dance.”

Louis’ eyes flash up to meet his. “You should,” he says, and Harry watches his mouth curve up even more, his eyes crinkling. “It’s fun.”

“Do you dance?” Harry asks.

“Never alone,” Louis answers. He angles his body closer, leans up until his mouth is brushing the shell of Harry’s ear. “Always with the fit boys.”

And then he takes Harry’s hand, pulling him towards the dance floor, and Harry can do nothing but stumble behind him.

Louis leads them to an empty spot, before leaning closer, his breath hot on the side of Harry’s face. “Dance with me,” he says, and then he turns around, presses his arse to Harry’s crotch. He snakes a hand around Harry’s neck, playing with the curls on his nape, before pulling him down, close enough so Harry can hear his words. “But keep your hands off.”

He grinds back and Harry’s breath hitches, his hands coming up to caress the skin on Louis’ stomach, above the waistband of his jeans. But before he can get really into it, before he can splay his fingers on the warm skin of Louis’ stomach, Louis is pulling away from Harry’s grasp.

“I said,” and though Louis’ voice is low, quiet in the thrumming noise of the club, there’s a firmness to it, like it’s an order Harry needs to obey. “Hands off, Styles.”

Title: Sugar Me Sweet
Author: penumbra
Reader: consulting_smartass
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: Mature
Genre/Tags: different first meeting, strip tease, frottage
Length: 25:48

Summary: “Let’s get started, shall we?” Sherlock says as he sheds his coat. A   black, diaphanous shirt hangs loose on his shoulders, clings tight to his abdomen. A pair of studded, leather trousers like a second skin. They complement the curve of his plump arse and emphasize the length of his outrageously long legs. Powerful thighs. Muscular calves and…John’s not entirely sure how Sherlock got himself in them, but he’s not complaining. On the contrary. A bit distracted by the idea of him removing them, honestly. Peeling them off, and he’d have to go slow. May even need a little help.

MediaFire (mp3/m4b)
SoundCloud (mp3)

Pre/Post Music - Pour Some Sugar On Me (acoustic) - Def Leppard


Admittedly this wasn’t anywhere on your job scope. You are an extractor, you extract information. Apparently, he’s the type to like a pretty face but not a smart mouth it seems. Sitting all prim and pretty and coaxing him up isn’t really your style.

This would have been over alot easier had Morganna lifted the strict no combat or weapons engagement clause.

Eggsy: “Really, pretty girl like you all dolled up like that and no man in her life?”

“Me and long-term commitments don’t get along too well.”

You would have ignored the subtle lowering of his hand on your waist to the curve of your back.

Eggsy: “Well, that’s a relief to know. ‘Cause neither do I.”

“Please don’t touch my arse.”


Joël hasn’t heard from Megan for over a week, not since he hung up on her after she drunk-dialled him at work. As far as he’s concerned though, Megan isn’t an issue in his relationship with Anita. The biggest issue facing them by far is Anita’s insecurity. 

Joël: Of course you’re curvier since you had Jared. Duh. And you know what? It’s the biggest turn on ever. Jesus, babe. You’ve got the most awesome waist- to- arse ratio I’ve ever seen. And your boobs just make me want to- 

Anita: Bullshit, Joël. If curves turn you on so much, why did you go out with a stick thin model for five years?

Joël: I’m not doing this. 

Anita: Not doing what? Not being honest?

Joël: I’m not comparing you with- her.

Anita: You’re allowed to say her name. Megan. M-E-G-A-N-

Joël: Look at me, Anita. You and Jared are the centre of my universe. You know that. I know you do. Why the hell do I have to keep on proving it to you? 

More fics that I’ve read recently which I highly recommend.

They’re all fab but Sugar Me Sweet is pretty hot. I saw Def Leppard live in December and I’m bloody glad I hadn’t read that then because i’d have lit up the whole arena with my blushing. Yeah, can’t listen to the song now without going bright red. Not complaining.

As always, please take heed of fic ratings and always read the tags. Enjoy xx

Sugar Me Sweet - penumbra

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Sherlock says as he sheds his coat. A black, diaphanous shirt hangs loose on his shoulders, clings tight to his abdomen. A pair of studded, leather trousers like a second skin. They complement the curve of his plump arse and emphasize the length of his outrageously long legs. Powerful thighs. Muscular calves and…John’s not entirely sure how Sherlock got himself in them, but he’s not complaining. On the contrary. A bit distracted by the idea of him removing them, honestly. Peeling them off, and he’d have to go slow. May even need a little help.

Onomatopoeia - aquabelacqua

“Would you like to understand?”
“Understand what?”
“Why people are so passionate about certain words.”

Something is the matter with John. Sherlock is determined to figure out what it is. Mark his words.

Three Gold Sovereigns - Citrine (orphan_account)

When a male prostitute brings Holmes home after he’s been attacked Watson knows that he shouldn’t ask questions;-

Vena Cava - SilentAuror

Sherlock has been shot in the chest; John has been shot in the heart. Though everything is broken, they do their best to heal the wounds that Mary left on them both.

The Greenhouse Affect - Sherlock_addict

I am sure the ghost bride appeared enough time later to let the boys finish what they had started. My version of the events that took place in the darkened greenhouse. 

Observational Failure, or: Seeing is Believing - SilentAuror

Lestrade is almost sure that Sherlock and John are together now. All the evidence is pointing to it, yet he just can’t seem to wrap his brain around the concept.

Staking a Claim - SilentAuror

Sherlock is focused on testing evidence. John is in the mood for something else. It doesn’t go over well.

Fill our mouths with cinnamon now - lbmisscharlie

When Sherlock invited John to live with him in 221B, he forgot to mention he was a single father to a four-year-old girl.

He held Claire close, curving his free hand low over her belly.

She sighed, a small sound of pain in it, and settled herself, her arse nesting round as an egg in the cup of his thighs. He could feel the melting begin as she relaxed, that odd merging of his flesh with hers.

At first it had happened only when he took her, and only at the last. Then sooner and sooner, until her hand upon him was both invitation and completion, a surrender inevitable, offered and accepted. He had resisted now and then, only to be sure he could, suddenly fearful of the loss of himself. He had thought it a treacherous passion, like the one that swept a mob of men, linking them in mindless fury.

Now he trusted it was right, though. The Bible did say it, Thou shalt be one flesh, and What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.

He had survived such a sundering once; he could not stand it twice, and live. The sentries had put up a canvas lean-to near their fire to shelter them from the rain. The flames sputtered as the rain blew in, though, and lit the pale cloth with a flicker that pulsed like a heartbeat. He was not afraid to die with her, by fire or any other way—only to live without her.

There was no world outside this small confine, he told himself. Scotland was gone, the Colonies were going—what lay ahead he could only dimly imagine from the things Brianna told him. The only reality was the woman held fast in his arms; his children and grandchildren, his tenants and servants—these were the gifts that God had given to him; his to harbor, his to protect.

The mountainside lay dark and quiet, but he could feel them there all round him, trusting him to see them safe. If God had given him this trust, surely He would also grant the strength to keep it.

He was becoming aroused by the habit of close contact, his rising cock uncomfortably trapped. He wanted her, had been wanting for days, the urge pushed aside in the bustle of the Gathering. The dull ache in his balls echoed what he thought must be the ache in her womb.

He had taken her in the midst of her courses now and then, when the two of them had wanted too urgently for waiting. He had found it messy and disturbing, but exciting too, leaving him with a faint sense of shame that was not entirely unpleasant. Now was not the time or place for it, of course, but the memory of other times and other places made him shift, twisting away from her, not to trouble her with the bodily evidence of his thoughts.

Yet what he felt now was not lust—not quite. Nor was it even the need of her, the wanting of soul’s company. He wished to cover her with his body, possess her—for if he could do that, he could pretend to himself that she was safe. Covering her so, joined in one body, he might protect her. Or so he felt, even knowing how senseless the feeling was.

He had stiffened, his body tensing involuntarily with his thoughts. Claire stirred, and reached back with one hand. She laid it on his leg, let it lie for a moment, then reached gently farther up, in drowsy question.

He bent his head, put his lips behind her ear. Said what he was thinking, without thought.

“Nothing will harm ye while there is breath in my body, a nighean donn. Nothing.”

“I know,” she said. Her limbs went slowly slack, her breathing eased, and the soft round of her belly swelled under his palm as she melted into sleep.

-The Fiery Cross

Cameron has always been a huge fan of your butt. Whenever you kiss, his hands are on your bum. Squeezing and pulling.
He loves seeing you in skinny jeans, leggings anything that makes your bum look great.
If anyone was to ask him his favorite part of you, it’s your bum.
Every time he goes to the shop, he buys you a thing, or a few. Just so he can see you wearing them. And because you know he loves your bum, you tease.
Bending over in front of him because you “accidentally” dropped something.
Sitting down on his lap and wiggling your bum around, “trying to get comfortable”.
Laying on the bed tummy down, showing the curve of your arse perfectly.
Best thing is, he knows, he knows your teasing him but can’t help but love it, and love you. That’s just Cameron.

Harry wakes up flushed, having another dream that he knows he has to push down. So far down that even he doesn’t know he’s having them. The bloody bastard would probably have a field day if he knew Harry was dreaming about him. But he can’t help but be drawn in by the elegant way Malfoy’s hips move when he walks, or the gentle curve of his arse when he rides his broom. Harry would very much like to think he rides other brooms just as enthusiastically.

Maybe a fic where Bond wakes up to Q reaching for something on the top shelf wearing nothing but sweatpants that sit on him wayyy down like you can see the curve of his arse and all? – anon

Hope you enjoy honey. Jen.

Bond blinked languidly, yawning as he tried to convinced himself that wakefulness was not, in fact, the end of the world.

His body and brain had yet to be convinced of that fact.


The usual, comforting presence of his partner was not there. The warmth expected in the bed next to was absent, with only the after-effects of a body to suggest there had been somebody there at all.

Of course, Bond was sitting up in an instant. “Q?” he asked, a little more sharply.

“Just a second.”

The mildly irate reply came from near the door; Bond glanced over, and saw his partner trying to grab down an exceptionally battered-looking something that was once presumably computer-based. Q was handling it as though it were likely to go off at any moment – given Q, not an implausible scenario – and Bond didn’t really care, as it meant Q was moving slowly.

Moving slowly, while wearing near-enough nothing but Bond’s old tracksuit trousers, that were very nearly entirely falling off.

“… Q?”

Did I not say in a second?!”

More irate, but Q’s arse tensed as the rest of him became angrier; Bond all but purred as he saw Q’s body become entirely formed of eloquent lines and perfect curves in every single location one could want.

Q returned to normal posture, device resting on a lower shelf, and Bond could honestly say he was disappointed.

Q noticed. “Everything alright?”

Bond nodded dutifully.

“You’re looking at me weirdly.

“You’re looking gorgeous.”

It was certainly gorgeous watching Q’s face flush a little, his smirk just the correct side of cheeky. “Prove it,” he grinned, and yelped with shock as Bond pounced forward, kissing him senseless.

Romione: What the Horcrux does to her in the Chamber of Secrets, for anon

The badger glared tauntingly at her; its beady emerald eyes almost challenging her to try and destroy it. She glanced at Ron.

“Go for it. It’s going to try to scare the shit out of you, if it’s anything like that ruddy locket but I know you’ll kick its puny badger arse.” He squeezed her clammy hand tightly.

 She turned to the cup. A golden shimmer floated around it and she could almost feel the heat. She could do it.

Hermione raised the curved yellow fang high above her head and took a deep, shaky breath. “One…two…”

The cup glowed a bright red. She raised a hand to shield her eyes; the fang dropping out of her hand as she saw the horrifying scene in front of her.

A figure loomed out of the cup: it was Ron. His face was twisted into a cruel grimace and his eyes were scarlet.

Keep reading

and you are always trying to be somewhere else
dancing to the wrong places,
now you’ve gone too far you
can’t see the sky.
always saying, “i won’t go on the path
in front of me”
forehead sweat
tapping fingers
chapped lips
spine lying crooked, like Jenny’s teeth.
you remember his words
like he does the curve of your nose,
“but listen baby,
it’s not all about the future.
just live in the sun.”
bare naked arse cheeks
ice cream cone
depeche mode
stand up straight, like Charlie’s sister.
the rumours are true,
today is a tragedy
and you can become afraid of
the amazing people.
fresh cut grass
homemade cookies
pour another drink,
people you loved, like Michael’s superheroes.
always saying, “I’m a
struggle, accept it.”
facebook friend requests
ill fitting shoes
dirty bath water
waking up late, and haven’t you heard,
you should’ve stayed.
—  r.l.m, “there are people who know the soles of your feet better than you know your own face. (don’t leave)”
Fishing for Compliments

For @timepetalsprompts weekly drabble prompt, to include the words success, fish, and watch in a drabble. (Technically I used fishing. But that includes the word fish.)
I was thinking Twelve x Rose, but it wouldn’t take much imagination for it to be a different doctor.
Teen for suggestive themes

Rose entered the room wearing a shimmery dress that revealed her back and clung to every one of her curves. To make matters worse, she was wearing heels that made her arse look so good. The Doctor gulped quietly. She bent over, selecting a purse from the bottom drawer. “Oh, now you’re just fishing for compliments,” said the Doctor. “It’s not going to work, Rose, not on my watch.”

Rose’s gaze followed the grey hairs down the Doctor’s chest. She looked pointedly at his groin, where a sizable bulge was growing under the sheets. “I’d say it’s been a success.”

leave your life open

hello your blog is awesome and I was feeling briefly inspired so idk have a flintwood drabble?

It was a very miserable, rainy Wednesday morning, and Marcus was still about three-quarters asleep when Oliver rolled over and told him, very seriously, that they should have a housewarming party, now that they actually had a proper house.

“’M sleeping,” Marcus told his boyfriend flatly, and pushed his face further into the pillows. “Sod ‘ff.”

“If you’re up to talking, then we both know you aren’t about to go back to sleep any time soon.”

“Go away,” Marcus said, though he changed his mind when Oliver cuddled into his back and started pressing gentle kisses all along his neck and shoulder. “Still not awake.”

“You’re getting there, though.”

A hand ghosted down the curve of his spine and over his arse, and Marcus hid a grin in his pillow before giving in to the inevitable. He rolled over onto his back, blinking blearily at the morning light, though that was blocked almost immediately as Oliver draped himself comfortably over Marcus and leaned down for a kiss.

“Mm, there we go.”

“I hate mornings,” Marcus said, in case he hadn’t yet made it obvious. It was hard to tell, sometimes, with obnoxiously cheerful ex-Gryffindor Quidditch captains like Oliver. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Housewarming party,” Oliver said promptly. “As in, we should have one. Invite our friends around, do dinner and drinks out on the porch while the weather’s still decent, show the place off a bit.”

“Do I have a choice, or have you already decided?”

Oliver offered his most winning grin and rolled his hips in a very deliberate fashion, and Marcus gave up thinking for a while.

Oliver in the morning was always easy to get lost in, messy hair and soft kisses and bright, morning-person grins, and Marcus had never been very good at denying temptation even when he had a good reason to. It was almost half an hour later, the rain beating down even harder, though the room had still managed to grow lighter as the day progressed, before he remembered that he owed Oliver an answer.

“All right,” Marcus said on a sigh, slinging an arm around Oliver’s waist and pulling him back against him. “We’ll have the bloody party then, if you really want it. You’re doing the planning, though.”

Submitted by @nobodyandnowhere

Thank you so much!!! This was fantastic to read!!!