he gets scalped in the end


Ah, haircut blues are the inspiration behind this one. But, it’s growing on me so that’s good. Short and sweet, hope you enjoy. x 

Originally posted by wonderfllower

“Love? Where are yeh?” Harry’s voice calls out for the second time after he’s shuts the front door of your flat, boots clicking along the wood floors as he makes his way to your shared room. 

You don’t respond, cuddling deeper under the covers and making sure your hold on them is tight for when he is able to find you and your poorly chosen hiding spot.

When he hadn’t gotten a response from you after texting several times, pleading to send a photo of your recent endeavor-he had the slightest feeling that it hadn’t gone how you wanted it too. 

“Think m’gonna get a haircut today,” you had mumbled over tea that morning, scrolling through your phone as he poured you another cup.

He raised his eyebrows at you in surprise, “S’tha’ so?”

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For You

Thank you @viviena for this amazing animation!!! It is perfect :))                   In celebration of such amazing work, I present a fic

  Stiles was a very easily distracted five year old. Example A - he had managed to wander off seventeen times in the past hour, constantly caught up in his need to more closely examine every flower or bug that caught his fancy.

  He had been taken on the hike to expend some energy, to relieve the restlessness that seemed ingrained into the kid’s bones. It was a common occurrence for Sheriff Stilinski to have to revert back to countless websites that he had bookmarked to look for a new babysitter willing to look after his little bundle of spaz.

 It had been almost fate, meeting the Hales. A simple accident, one that the families had long since moved past seeing as a negative. The sheriff and Stiles had gone to the grocery store, his dad looking worn out and tired, staying up too late looking for a new sitter. It seemed like if a person hadn’t already babysat Stiles, they had heard rumors about the boy and his difficult to handle nature. So, for now, the sheriff took the boy everywhere, cashing in favours the receptionists at the precinct owed him when he was called out on duty. But even their patience was growing thin.

  It was in the grocery store after John Stilinski and Talia Hale had exchanged pleasant smiles that all hell broke loose. Or well, Stiles broke loose. He had managed to climb out of the back of the cart and wandered the aisle before running head first into a pair of legs. A boy of about nine or ten years looked down at the stumbling mess of a kid by his knees. The boy looked up, saw the man talking pleasantly with his mother and smelled the familial scents.

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56 things about James Potter

Since it is the birthday of the biggest nerd to ever exist, here are 56 facts to represent 56 years since the birth of our favorite stag 

  1. he has so much nervous energy, he constantly is shaking his leg during class or flipping his quill through his fingers 
  2. every photograph of him from before age 11 has his hair slicked to the side (thanks to copious amounts of Sleekeazy) and to this day just the scent of his fathers potion makes him gag
  3. in fourth year he decided that he looked better without glasses and for two months walked around hogwarts essentially blind. sirius was his guide. 
  4. in fourth year james broke his ankle tripping down stairs. 
  5. james refuses to say that not wearing glasses and breaking his ankle were related in anyway whatsoever 
  6. he constantly cracks his knuckles. 
  7. when james was young, he made a friend with a muggle child at the park. he really, really wanted them to go to hogwarts together so he kept on trying to teach them magic 
  8. it didn’t succeed and on the day before james left for hogwarts he went to the park and said goodbye 
  9. he cried for hours after
  10. he snores like a freight-train 
  11. his handwriting is incredibly messy, in part because his hand cant keep up with his mind, but mainly because he thinks his sloppy handwriting looks cool 
  12. he tucks his hand into his fists when he punches 
  13. bc of this he’s broken his thumbs more times than he can count so hes gotten really good at basic healing spells 
  14. but his thumbs still look a bit wonky regardless 
  15. he has random freckles on his collarbone, left knee and on the back of both of his hands
  16. each year he thinks of a new ‘cool’ catchphrase that he thinks will 100% catch on 
  17. it literally never does 
  18. the summer before 6th year he and sirius constantly hung around near muggle shops to learn about muggle fashion 
  19. sirius wanted to piss of his family, james wanted to impress lily 
  20. he had a lisp up until he was ten. he had a hard time with his ‘th’ sounds. 
  21. in fifth year he announced he wasn’t going to cut his hair until either…
  22. A. the gryffindors lost a quidditch match 
  23. or B. they won the house cup 
  24. the gryffindors never lost a match, and so his hair ended up resembling that of a lions mane (he liked to pretend he was a real-life mascot for the team instead of a 15 year old with wild, ungroomed hair) 
  25. when they won the house cup it was sirius who cut it off
  26. which was a bad decision bc sirius was drunk and delirious (both from winning and from getting a bludger to the head) 
  27. it ended up with james having fifty more cowlicks than he already had and patches of hair altogether missing from his scalp 
  28. he, of course, wore this haircut with pride bc it meant that gryffindor had won the bloody cup 
  29. he lowkey slept with his stuffed lion until he was 13 
  30. even then he always had him under his bed up until harry was born, he then passed down the raggedy old thing to him 
  31. he doesnt trust horses tbh their eyes are too human-like for him to feel comfortable around them 
  32. he has a small gap between his two front teeth. you cant notice it from far away, but up close you can tell he definitely has one 
  33. sirius and james pretty much shared a bed the first three years at hogwarts. sirius had really bad night terrors, and james had always wanted a younger brother to protect so it worked out well 
  34. he proposed to lily after a battle. they had lost ten people in under two hours. he didnt have a ring, but it didnt matter 
  35. the next day he “properly” proposed in their flat (it was really james’ and sirius’ flat but lily essentially lived there now). he gave her his mother’s engagement ring. he transfigured the diamond to take the shape of a lily
  36. in second year sirius bet that james couldnt live off of a diet of strictly chocolate frogs. 
  37. james took the challenge but ended up in the hospital wing a month and a half later with scurvy 
  38. from second year on he would always consciously change the pitch of his voice whenever he knew lily was in ear shot 
  39. it was only in the beginning of 7th year when she got drunk in the head common room with him did his tone accidentally slip back to normal 
  40. this is also the night he had his first kiss with lily, because she realized what he had been doing all this time and how ridiculous it was and how ridiculous he was and how ridiculously in love she was with him. 
  41. james would always throw the invisibility cloak over himself in the ultimate game of peek-a-boo with harry 
  42. it was great until harry started to become mobile and pull the cloak over himself, ending up in a four hour search for an infant who had fallen asleep under a sheet of invisibility 
  43. his shoes are ALWAYS untied 
  44. when he starts talking about something he feels passionately about, his voice automatically gets louder and louder until he either finishes his point or his throat goes hoarse 
  45. james’ first word was “uh-oh” 
  46. he is obsessed with qudditch. he would have practices at night because he thought other teams would spy on them and practices would last 6 hours or more. like he honestly made oliver wood look like a casual fan 
  47. before 6th year he and sirius got tattoos. 
  48. james got antlers smack dab in the middle of his back, while sirius got dog prints leading down his lower back 
  49. they were both 10000% sober and not at all drunk nope not at all 
  50. they didnt realize they actually had tattoos until a few days later when they were practicing quidditch in the potter’s backyard. they had both taken off their shirts to bc it was august and hot and ‘oh my god, padfoot you’ve got a tramp stamp’
  51. james was really short up until the summer before fourth year when he shot up like a foot in a half 
  52. it took him until he was 18 to actually get used to his height and not trip over his own gangly limbs 
  53. 6th year was the official “james potter is convinced he is john lennon” year. lily never admitted it but john lennon had always been her favorite beatle. 
  54. he never seems to get cold?? it would be the middle of winter and he would be in hogsmeade with a light-weight robe on while everyone else had on like four layers of wool. 
  55. he had a really bad habit of flipping his wand in his hand. most of the time it was fine, but one time he accidentally set a first year’s uniform on fire. 
  56. james died with bloody knuckles, he may not have had his wand but he refused to die without a fight. 
Pull Them Harder

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader
Word count: 1,321
Warnings: Smut. Masturbation (Male and Female). Oral Sex (Male). Wing!Kink. Cum Play.
Challenge:  This was written for @impalaimagining’s Smut-Entine’s Day Challenge. My kink was “cum play”.
Request: ( Anonymous ) Would you write a Gabriel wing!kink with him guiding you just how he likes to have his feathers touched while you blow him? No sex, just wings and dick sucking lol

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Something About Alarms

Finally got around to writing my first ‘official’ piece on this blog. A bit on the shorter side, but, I think it still works well. I think I’ll file it under the concept category, since the idea came to me in the wee hours of the morning. Hopefully y’all enjoy it, and please let me know what you thought ! (good or bad, I throughly enjoy and appreciate feedback)!! 

 I would love to start talking to all of you. I know I’m relatively new, but I would love to be friends. :) As for requests, I have a few more things I’m working on, but I’m not opposed to you guys sending them in, if you’d like. 

Also, very very special thank you/dedication to @loonylittlemoony for being ever so patient with me and my weird writing funk. You’re an angel, as H would say. So much love for you, sweet Sar.  x

(Also also, let’s just take a moment to appreciate sleepy Harry.. or a few, oh my.)

Originally posted by yves-saintharry

The downright, horrid screeching and disappointingly familiar pounding of your alarm causes you to awake with a slight jolt. Your heavily lidded eyes open moments later, blinking in the darkness of the room before they betray you and fall shut again. The room is cold, and if the fact that light isn’t streaming through the slightly parted shutters of your rooms window is any indication, it seems that even the sun hasn’t woken up yet. The nightstand to your left is shaking from the vibration of the continued blaring and as your body slowly starts to catch up to your rebooted mind, it starts to irritate you. It’s the exact reason you had chosen the most annoying of sounds from the plethora your device offered, to actually get you up and to turn it off. It’s much like a siren, or, perhaps it’s better compared to one of those industrial fire alarm sounds, the ones without the voice instructing you there is an emergency and to exit accordingly. 

You whine, unable to ignore the sound any longer as you try to twist a bit, glancing briefly over your shoulder at the nightstand before reaching an arm out blindly to put a stop to it. Your lazy aimless fingers wander around the nightstand, eyes still shut as you try to feel around for your device. When you don’t come in contact with the familiar feeling of your case, you huff, forcing your eyes open to see the phone just a bit too far from your reach. A hoarse grunt leaves your throat, oddly timed to fit between the millisecond of a pause among the continuous blaring as you sit up a bit, trying to squirm close enough to grab the device. The strong, tattooed arm around your waist has other plans however as it’s grip tightens around you suddenly and keeps you from moving. The arm pulls you back to the chest it’s attached too, heavy and solid, and warm against your back as you land against it with a bit of a clumsy thud. You feel Harry bury his face into your hair, forcing it into the crook of your neck with his steady puff puffs of breath tickling the skin it’s pressed against. You humph a bit, fingers tracing his tattooed arm gently as your try to pull away again. 

“Will yeh stop movin? Tryin sleep, aren’t I?” His raspy voice grumbles into the skin of your neck, the usual attached endearments he has for you at a loss with his muddled morning brain. 

You snort a bit in reply, before locating your voice for the first time that day, “Harry, I need to turn the alarm off. Would you-” You grapple a bit, fingers now gripping his forearm as you yank at it without result. 

“Harry.” You try again, voice stern yet whiny in a sense. 

His only response is, “S’cold, sweetheart, don’t think yeh should move from here”, accompanied by a series of lazy, not so soothing kisses to your neck. You tilt your head back a bit, letting it rest on top of his wild and adorably fluffy morning hair for a few moments, hand reaching up to scratch his scalp gently. 

“S’not fair, tryin to butter me up so you can sneak away. No’ fallen for tha’ , love.” He whines after a moment, burying his head even deeper into your neck as his gravelly voice echos off your skin. 

You chuckle a bit, “Harry, I’m not getting up yet. I promise, let me just turn the alarm off love.” 

He doesn’t respond for a few moments and you’re just about at the end of your obscurely tiny morning dose of patience when he whines, much like a small child and pulls away the smallest of amount of space possible, arm a bit looser around you. “Hurry. ‘M nips are cold.” He mumbles as he pushes the leg that’s intertwined between yours to jab you in the calf. 

“Maybe you should wear a shirt then.” You muse as you take the opportunity and quickly lean over to silence the incessant blaring. 

“S’enough out of yeh.” He mutters, smacking your bum playfully as you put the phone back. 

“Hey.” You grumble half heartedly , glancing over your shoulder at him with your eyebrows quirked in question. 

“Hey wha? S’not like I have any left, yeh bloody steal em all anyway.” He retorts as his hand tugs at the material you’re wearing to cover your bum again, material, indeed of one of his shirts. His hand travels up to your waist, big and clumsy with its movements as his long fingers splay across your waist and dig, tugging until you’re toppling back over to him. This time, however, he pulls you into his chest with your face buried into his neck. He grunts, a terribly sleepy grunt as he shifts a little to readjust the covers before settling back down and securely anchoring you to his chest with both arms around you, encasing you to the spot once again with the extra arm for assurance that you won’t squirm away or deny him of his obligatory dose of morning cuddles. 

You pucker your lips in a piss poor effort of a kiss to the skin where his 17BLACK tattoo is. Even with your eyes closed, you know it’s where your lips land. You intertwine your legs with his once again as one of his hand wanders up to brush through your hair, massaging your scalp gently. 

“How’re your nips now?” You mumble into his skin as your press yourself tighter to him. 

It’s his turn to laugh, and you feel his cheek against the top of your head while it rumbles from the laugh that’s shaking his chest, “Fine, now. Warmed em up, I reckon.” 

“Good.” You reply sleepily, feeling yourself slip deeper into the outstretched welcoming depths of sleep.  

He has always had a way with his hands, his fingers too, and the way the pads are oh so gently rubbing your scalp is like a sleep inducer itself. 

“Have to get up, H.” You manage to croak out with regret.

 Harry sighs, lips pressing to your head, “I know, pet. We’ll get up soon. Just, no’ yet.. No’ yet.” 

It’s a switch off routine, between you and Harry. When he has to get up early and leave you, it’s you clinging to him like a small child. Although, you can’t, and don’t really mind. He’s far more pleasant than that bloody alarm anyhow.

anonymous asked:

hi! are you accepting prompts? And if so, do you accept image prompts? I fell in love with this gif and I totally imagined caskett. It would be awesome if you could do it! the gif is a pregnant belly with a little foot <3

Hi Anon, I am so so so sorry it has taken me this long to write this for you. I hope you enjoy this, though, even though it’s been so long!

Making a Jailbreak

A Post-Series Ficlet

She loved this child beyond belief, but Kate Beckett was bored. So. Freaking. Bored.

Bed rest was important, vital; she wouldn’t ever dream of jeopardizing her baby’s health, not after months of worry and hope. That said, after almost a month of doing little more than reading baby books and listening to Castle’s sporadic creative bursts, taking only slow walks to the living room and the bathroom for exercise, she needed something more stimulating.

“I don’t know about you, kid,” she murmured, brushing a hand over the swell of her belly, “but I think it’s time to break out of here for a while.”

Castle might disagree, but he wasn’t the one cooped up in here day in and day out. He wasn’t the one being told to rest instead of being useful in some way (and she could work if someone would just get her the files she needed, but no; even her detectives had taken to following the strictest interpretation of her doctor’s orders). He wasn’t the one who practically needed a crane to haul himself out of bed each day. Once he had healed from his gunshot wound, he had been allowed to go about his life like normal.

“Just a short walk,” Kate added, assuring her unborn daughter that she wasn’t going to put her in harm’s way, not again. The shooting had put that much in perspective; Kate Beckett was stubborn, pigheaded, and frustrating as all hell, but she wasn’t going to take the same risks she once had.

It no longer surprised her when the baby responded to her voice; the little girl had been making her presence known for months, but this time the kick wasn’t a swift knock under her hand. Instead it was firm, pushing against the confines of her skin, warping the smooth curve of Kate’s belly through her t-shirt.

Kate blinked. Throughout her pregnancy, she had grown used to the flips and the flutters, but seeing her stomach ripple with her daughter’s movements was new and extremely weird.

But kind of cool, too.

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Hi! I have a prompt for 00q: Q is on a date with someone and it’s going pretty awful. It’s one of those dates where the person is so full of themselves and just talks about them and are all around insufferable. So, Q is trapped in this date. Meanwhile, Bond is at the same place they are, and happens to over hear it and decides to more or less rescue this poor, suffering, and very cute man from his horrendous date. (Bond & Q don’t know each other). And cuteness after rescue ensues. Thank you!! – anon

Ehehe. Jen.

Q was honestly debating bashing his head against the table in a desperate escape bid.

Michael was mindnumbingly tedious. A lawyer with a perfectly good balance sheet and absolutely nothing to talk about beyond himself and his very, very small world. Q had managed to get as far as explaining that ‘Q’ was indeed his real name (legally, anyway) and that he worked in the civil service, but that was about it.

“… and got a first, of course, expected nothing less…”

“Yes, I got a starred first, top of the year,” Q dropped in, spearing the last of his bland chicken dish, “and I started uni three years early.”

Michael paused for one moment, looking utterly affronted.

“Never mind,” Q completed, and ate the chicken. Michael took one more second to be offended, and then returned back to his own university successes with gusto.


The voice came from behind him; Q twisted around curiously, Michael half-oblivious in the midst of his own story, and saw a man he didn’t even vaguely recognise. “Yes?”

“Q! I knew it was you. How are you?” the man said brightly, and leaned in, covering his whisper in Q’s ear: “Follow my lead.”

Relief struck through Q’s entire body, rippling. “Hello! I’m great, thanks, it’s been ages, hasn’t it?”

“Year or two, I think,” the man nodded, grinning.

Q noticed, very abruptly, that the man just happened to be fucking gorgeous. Blonde, blue eyes, muscular, toned, just, everything Q could ever want in a man was staring at him and saving him from the ultimate Date From Hell.

“… nnga,” Q managed.

“Q?” Michael asked from behind him, voice distinctly frosty. “Care to introduce me?”

The stranger looked over to Michael, and flashed a grin. “Bond. James Bond. Q and I, we go way back, don’t we?”

“Yep,” Q agreed, not really trusting himself to speak all that much. This was not his area of expertise. “Way back.”

“Actually, I know this is going to sound a bit bizarre,” Bond said slowly, “but I was actually planning to get in touch with you again. I’ve been… thinking. And I was stupid to let you go so easily.”

Q was fairly certain he’d started to blush up to his hairline, and then continuing across his entire scalp, crimson. “You…”

“I miss you, Q,” Bond continued, fixing aforementioned blue eyes on Q, and causing another strange whimpery sort of noise to occur. “And it breaks my heart to see you with another man, even somebody as clearly worthy as him.”

(Michael was beginning to get the idea that perhaps the date was nearing an end).


“Take me back, Q. Forgive me.”

“… I should probably be off,” Michael announced, already standing, out of his depth and extremely eager to disappear as soon as possible; the new arrival was not somebody he could hope to compete with, and Q was visibly being unspooled by him. “It was nice to get to know you a bit, Q. If you ever change your mind…”

“He’ll know where to find you,” Bond completed coolly, effectively dismissing the other man.

Michael left.

“… thank you,” Q managed, when words started to happen again. “You just…”

“Would you like to share dessert with me?” Bond asked, cutting Q off. “I’m not expecting anything, I won’t be offended – only, I could overhear most of your conversation. I’m eating alone. And you’re both extremely attractive and very intelligent.”

Another slightly garbled sound from Q, which managed to make the shape of: “yes please, that would be lovely,” although the coherence was debatable.

Bond smiled in a way that Q feel slightly dizzy, and handed him the dessert menu, before crossing to sit where Michael had a moment ago, a new and beautiful apparition.

anonymous asked:

After-sex cuddling

Originally posted by jenesuispasunefilleparfaite

Fuck I am passionate about post-sex okay there’s something about it idk it’s more fun to write than the actual smut itself; but anyways let’s get down to business and create headcanons

  • During sex, the two of them glimmer with sweat and saliva and when they make love in the evening they shine underneath the moonlight. But, when they’re lying together with post-orgasm smiles and slowly calming breathing, they fucking glow.
  • Yuri’s head has a go-to spot on Otabek’s chest, just beneath his head so he has options to nuzzle his nose against his neck or to look up and stare at his lover in the eyes. It also gives him the option to run his fingers along his chest, stenciling little patterns in the skin and twirling the hair that grows there. 
  • Otabek would hold Yuri by his arms, one still and the other gently swooshing his thumb back and forth along the skin he held there. Since Yuri’s head wasn’t too far from his lips, he would take full advantage to leave kisses on his scalp or forehead. 
  • Things are only so much gentler if it’s aftercare. 
  • Beka would practically treat his kitten as if he were made of glass, taking the time to give him a warm bath or leave feather-like massages – anything to let the boy just rest while he would take care of him, making sure to whisper how good he was and how much he loves him along with all of the little reasons why. 
  • The reasons alternate every time. 
  • Who’s getting taken care of more often depended on who initiated the sex in the first place. Typically it’s Yuri because that tease, but when it’s Otabek and he needs his lovings, Yuri does not let any ounce of care go to waste. 
  • He’d smother the man in kisses and shoulder rubs and whispering to him what a good Daddy he is and how he loves having the Kazakh around, making sure to mention “I don’t even want to imagine a life where you’re not in it.”
  • Sometimes they chose to shower together afterwards, or a bath, depending on if Yuri needed to be cleaned out, but regardless they end up sleeping together completely naked in the bed. 
  • Yuri’s hair tends to get everywhere during sex – long hair problems. But while they snuggle up against each other Otabek would take his time to run his fingers through the locks and scratch his scalp. Yuri would just purr, melting into the touch, and he’s already passed out by the time Otabek starts to braid it.
  • If the sex was emotionally harrowing (AKA the post-fake-breakup sex to try and forget that incident), they don’t say anything. They don’t do anything, either. They just hold each other, losing themselves to the breathing until they finally fall asleep. 
  • Otabek typically wakes up first in the morning, and he’s the one that makes breakfast, while sleepy Yuri just wakes up halfway through the cooking and hugs him from behind, a warm smile on his face. 
  • “I love you.” 
  • “Forever and always.”
A Little Bit of Poe

Summary: Lin is good at a lot of things, but being sick is not one of them.

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

A/N: This was originally supposed to be short. For @gratitudejoyandsorrow because she works too hard.

Lin was terrible at being sick. He had been trying to hide it from you for the past few days, but you weren’t that thick. You awoke to the sound of him drumming on every surface he could reach, trying to figure out a beat. Armed with a thermometer, you entered the living room. His hair was getting long, and it fell around his face in a way that you found oddly attractive, since he usually kept it short. Bits of paper were strewn around him, littering the floor where the garbage can used to be. He had turned it upside down and was using it as a drum.

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TF2 Self-Insert Fanfiction
  • Your Self-Insert Fic: And then Sniper touched my hair nicely.
  • 'Oi like your hair,' he said.
  • I blushed. 'But it's so frizzy!' I said. I'd always been so self-conscious about it until now.
  • 'Oi love it anyway,' he insisted, snuggling me closer.
  • My Self-Insert Fic: This crazy old man smells like piss and BO. OMFG, I think he's gonna scalp me.
  • 'Get your fucking hands off me you creepy-ass hobo.'
  • 'But Oi like your hair.'
  • 'I will end you,' I tell him.
  • I'm crying.
VERSACE ON THE FLOOR | Chris Evans x Reader (request)

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain


Anonymous asked: “I ca you make an imagine with husband chris evans based in bruno mars song “versace on the floor” thank you

A/N: not so much smut as much as it is sensual but I hope you enjoy!

So, baby, let’s just turn down the lights
And close the door
Oooh I love that dress
But you won’t need it anymore
No, you won’t need it no more
Let’s just kiss ‘til we’re naked, baby

Sitting on the stairs, you bent over to slip off your heels. You lightly tossed them near the wall, where you usually set your shoes when you were too lazy or tired to put them away. You rubbed your feet gently to allow some blood to circulate back through them. They ached a little, but not nearly as bad as some of the other events you’d been to in the past. A long, hot and relaxing bath would definitely be needed tonight.

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Tasting and Enjoying

Scenario: Zico and you are stuck in a limbo of sexual frustration, feelings, and friendship.
A/N: This was honestly just a reason to write out one of the two smuts I had planned for Zico. I’m not 100% okay with this, but as per usual, I’ve done all I can with it and hopefully it’s at least halfway decent.
Genre: Zico x Reader
Words: 3897
Warnings: Smut. Shameless smut made to go with a story, because I’m a horrible person. Also, some suggestive gif use.

Disclaimer: As always, the gifs used are not mine and belong to their rightful owners.

The deafening sound of the rain hitting the roof of the car was all you could hear for the past few minutes. The air thick with tension and unspoken words that laid heavy with pride. The dangerous game you’d both been playing finally coming to an explosive end neither of you saw coming.

You both made a silent choice to never speak about what you were because, frankly, neither of you knew. You enjoyed each other’s company without the restraint or thought of time. It didn’t matter what you did or where you went, so long as the two of you were together; it made sense.

It wasn’t until a night after an underground show when you’d both had just a little too much to drink, that things changed.

You couldn’t remember what the two of you had found so funny. The alcohol clouding up your thoughts and left your body warm beside his. The both of you stepping into the elevator mumbling incoherent words through giggles while he tried to remember his favorite part of the show. His words coming out jumbled and slurred.

The elevator doors closed around you and gave a jolt that sent your unsteady legs fumbling. Zico moved to steady you; pulling you closer to him. You’d looked up at him with a smile still spread on your lips. Ready to thank him for the assist when everything stopped.

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Bubble Baths and Cute Confessions

A/N: hey guys! this is my first imagine on this blog and i’m so excited (and nervous haha). i hope you like this! any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! and requests are open as well. i write for all of the buttercreams :-)

word count: 1.2k +

“Babe?” you call, the heavy wooden door closing behind you with a soft click as you drop your bag at your feet. “Conor? You home?”

“Yeah, back here,” your boyfriend replies from somewhere in your shared apartment, his normally-silvery tone sounding raspy and strained. “How was class?”

“Good,” you respond, following the sound of his voice down the main hall. “I stopped by Nando’s on my way home. Hope you’re hungry.” Conor murmurs his assent as you step into the office and lean against the doorframe, taking in his appearance with a disapproving sigh. He’s slumped in an office chair, hair a mess, blue eyes tired, guitar sitting in his lap and crumpled balls of paper strewn on the desk in front of him.

"How was your day?” you ask lightly, moving towards him. “How’d that meeting with your manager go?” “It went fine,” Conor says, giving you a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I showed him that song I finished last week and he liked it.” “Oh, good! You’ll be recording it soon, then?” you question, running a hand through his curls and then lowering it to cup his cheek. “Yeah, I hope so,” he affirms, closing his eyes and leaning into your hand. “I need to have two more done by the end of the month so I thought I’d get a head start. Your no-procrastination productivity mojo’s getting to me,” he adds, offering up a dry chuckle.

You smile, returning your fingers to his scalp, and ask, “Are you done for the night, or…?” At his noncommittal shrug, you wonder, “Did you eat lunch, Conor?” “No time for it. I’ve been focused on writing pretty much all day,” he admits. “But I’m starving.” “And tired,” you add, and at a second shrug from your boyfriend rub a thumb over his right eyebrow. “You can barely keep your eyes open, love.” “Not true,” Conor disagrees. “Let me finish this bridge and I’ll eat when I’m done.” “Alright,” you say, turning to head back to the living room where your backpack sits. “Hey, babe?” Conor calls after you. “Can we take a bath after we eat?” “Sure,” you agree, not really surprised at his request; Conor’s the cuddliest person you think you’ve ever met and he’s usually the one to initiate such things. “We can use that bath bomb I bought the other day.” You reach out to squeeze his bicep and slip out of the room, grabbing your bag from its spot by the door before unpacking it and beginning to work on your homework.

After a half hour or so, Conor comes out of the office, yawning but in a noticeably happier mood. “Ready to eat?” he asks, making a beeline for the Nando’s bag on the kitchen counter. “Oh, you got my favorite!” “Of course I did,” you smile, moving to join him. “Did you finish that bridge you were working on?” “Yeah, and I got the chords figured out for it, too,” he replies, digging into his burger and fries. You pull your food out of the takeout bag and hop up onto the counter, swinging your legs as you begin to eat.

"How was your day?” he asks you. “Good,” you tell him. “I’ve got two papers to write by the end of this week, but I like the topics of both so I should be fine.” “What’s going on with that professor that hates you?” Conor wonders, stealing a crouton from your salad. “Nothing, really,” you shrug. “The TA for that class wants to give me an extension, but she had to run it by him and he isn’t allowing it.” “Damn,” your boyfriend sighs. “Why’s he so mean to you?” “He’s not mean,” you correct him. “He’s a good teacher. I just think he’s abrasive.” “Mean,” Conor repeats, popping the last bit of burger into his mouth. “He’s mean, Y/N.” You give him a playful eye roll and he laughs, saying, “I’m going to go start the water, okay?” “Go for it,” you assure him. “You can drop the bath bomb in, too, if you want to.” “Of course I do!” he laughs, and scrambles off to do so. You finish your salad and clean up, following your boyfriend into the bathroom.

The tub is barely half full when you step inside, but Conor’s already stripped down to his boxers, textured pink bath bomb resting in his lap. “Excited?” you chuckle, and he laughs as well. “To spend time with my gorgeous girlfriend? Absolutely. Come here.” You walk to his side and he wraps an arm around your stomach, resting his head against the curve of your hips. You watch the bathwater rise in silence, and when the tub is finally full Conor drops in the bath bomb.

“Is it lavender?” he asks as it disintegrates and colors the water a similar pink color that soon gives way to an indigo hue. “Mmhm,” you hum, tapping Conor’s arm so he drops it from your waist. “You get in first.” He slips off his boxers and settles into the tub while you undress and carefully climb in and curl up between his legs. The two of you sit quietly for a moment, relaxing; you rest your head on Conor’s shoulder and play with his fingers.

"Have I told you that most of the songs I’ve been working on are about you?” he murmurs out of the blue. You crane your neck to look up at him, cheeks flushing. “My manager jokes that I should just call the album ‘Y/N’. I’m considering it, to be honest.” “Really?” you ask. “Oh, my God, Conor. That’s ins-” “You deserve it,” he interrupts, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You deserve an album named after you. You deserve a lot more, but this is the least I could give you.” He shifts, bringing his legs up to his chest.

You draw absentmindedly on his knee while he says, “I don’t think you understand how much you’ve done for me, love. Honestly. Before I met you I couldn’t handle even thinking about my depression, much less doing anything about it. And now I’ve just had an article published in which I actually talk about it. I get work done now and my manager doesn’t have to yell at me anymore-” you both laugh at that- “and I have a ton of inspiration to pull from. I eat three meals a day and do laundry on a regular basis and I feel like my life’s in order. All thanks to you.” “Oh, my God, Conor,” you breathe, eyes tearing up. “I don’t need a long speech back, or anything,” he smiles. “I just wanted to tell you. And your fingers are getting wrinkly, so we should get out of the bath.” You laugh wetly at that and hop out, wrapping a towel around yourself and holding one out for Conor. He drains the tub and ambles into your bedroom a moment later.

"Thank you for telling me,” you murmur, giving him a hug and long kiss. “It’s nice to know. And if you ever decide that you do want a long speech in return, I’ve got plenty.”

Heavy and Hollow

Where does HYDRA end and SHIELD begin? That’s the question you must ask yourself when the Winter Soldier is sent to test where your loyalty truly lies.

author: buckysbackpackbuckle
Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Reader
word count:
!!!warnings: consensual non-consent, m/f intercourse, oral sex, thigh riding, face slapping, hair pulling, choking, marking, knife play, bound and gagged, no aftercare

Special thanks to @bucky-sempai for the prompt! I changed some things, but hopefully you still enjoy it. And another thanks to @callingmrsbarnes for helping me work through writing this fic!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Where would the most sensitive spot on each of the dark!bois be? (You know besides the obvious)

Dark is sensitive between his shoulder blades. If you press the right amount of pressure during a massage, or you trail your fingers over the area, he melts into you. He’s constantly tense, ready to fight or just stressed from keeping the other entities in line. 
(Dealing with Wilford is enough to put a kink in anyone’s back) But he’ll politely ask you to massage his back for him. The caresses make him yours in an instant. 

Anti his sensitive around the neck. Since his little “accident” with the knife, it’s left his throat incredibly touchy to fingers or lips. But he enjoys it when you touch him softly there. Trailing your fingers or brush your lips across his neck.
The sensation is enough to put him to sleep or just relax him into bliss. He’ll whine like a child for you to touch the area. 

Natemare is sensitive on his wrists. He doesn’t like people touchy them much, regarding his past.
Though there’s no scars to display what happened, he’s explained it enough and just feels unhappy when people touch him there. But also because his wrists get itchy when something is brushing against them. Like tiny needles pricking him when his jacket or something touches his skin. 

Gear and Google are sensitive around their scalps. Because their computer systems (the mainframe, the memory-chips, rotary systems) are stored there, they are very irritable about anyone going near their heads. But also because of the clusters of wires and electric nerve endings that are linking all the important functions together, it causes their scalp’s surface to be very sensitive to touch. They only let you run your fingers through their hair if they need relaxing.

The Host is around his eyes. His face in general is rather sensitive. You can probably think why that is. The injuries to his eyes not only damaged the area around them, but also hyper-sensitized his face due to the amount of power flowing around his eyes and mind. 
But he likes to be touched there. He has no fear when you run your hands over his face. It soothes him. 

Wilford is sensitive around his mustache. The hairs make it very ticklish and if you run your fingers over the rims of his facial-hair, he’ll wiggle the mustache in a way to itch the sensation.

The Blonde Is Back

“No,” Jack shook his head, taking a step back. “No way.”

“But you promised!”

“I did no such thing!”

“I have video proof!” Joe protested.

“You forced me into it!”

“Please,” The older man scoffed, “You want to do this.”

“No I don’t!”

“Jack, we’re doing this.”

“Like hell we are.”

“You’ve done it before!”

“And I’m quite happy with how my hair is now.” Jack replied, taking another step back, “I’m not dying it blonde again.”

“Yes,” Joe reached forward, his fingers wrapping tightly around the other man’s wrist, “You are.” He tugged Jack forward, grinning as a cry of surprise slipped past his lips and he fell forward into the bathroom.

“When the hell did you get so strong?” Jack spluttered as Joe moved to stand in front of the door, arms crossed.

“Been going to the gym.”

“Obviously,” The younger man rolled his eyes, “You know you can’t force me to do this, right?”

“It’ll be fine. Now, sit down.”

The two boys stared at each other for a minute before Jack finally sighed and sat down heavily on the ledge of the bathtub.

“If you are secretly pranking me…”

“I’m not,” Joe replied happily, picking up the box of hair dye as he began to read over the instructions, “But you said you’d dye it blonde if we got enough thumbs up, and we are well past that point.”

“I like my hair colour now though,” Jack whined, “Can’t we just leave it?”

“Nope. Now, shirt off. I don’t want to wreck it.”

“Ah, the truth comes out,” Jack smirked as he removed his shirt, “You just want to get me naked.”

“I can do that regardless,” Joe snorted, “But by all means, keep your shirt on if you don’t mind getting dye on it.”

“I’m good.” Jack replied quickly, tossing his shirt to the other side of the room. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The process ended up being much more relaxing than Jack had thought it would be. Joe worked his fingers through the wet locks, scrapping lightly along Jack’s scalp as he applied the dye, and the younger man felt himself relax back against the body behind him.

The two chatted easily, catching up on the events of their past week. And while they waited for the dye to set, Joe made them both a quick snack, only slapping Jack’s hand away once when he reached for the food before it was ready.

Once the timer signalled it was time to rinse the dye out, Joe lead Jack back into the bathroom, where he took his time rinsing out the now blonde locks, his fingers gentle as he worked them through Jack’s hair.

“Well, this’ll take some getting used to.” Jack commented once his hair was dried and styled, thanks once again to Joe, and he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“I like it.”

“You do?” His eyes met Joe’s in the mirror, and the older man nodded, smiling as he rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder.

“I like you blonde. I mean, I liked what you had going before too, don’t get me wrong, but there’s just something about you blonde.”

“Blonde’s do have more fun,” Jack smirked, lifting his hand to run his fingers through the blonde hair. “Still so weird seeing it this light again.”

“Get used to it,” Joe poked him, “And come on, the boys should be here any minute.”

As if right on cue, the front door buzzed, signalling the arrival of their mates.

“Do they have any idea this happened?” Jack asked as he followed Joe back out of the bathroom.

“I never said anything,” The smaller man replied, clicking the button to let their group in, “And since you had no idea…”

“Time for a surprise.” Jack grinned.

“Holy shit!” Josh blurted out when he walked into the flat and saw Jack’s new hair. “The blonde is back!”

“Oooh,” Conor grinned over at his brother, “Is the player back in the game?”

“Shut up,” Jack laughed, shoving Conor, “You know I’m not like that anymore.”

“You stopped sleeping around when you changed your hair colour though,” Caspar pointed out, “So now that it’s back to blonde, are you back to sleeping around?”

“And where did you get it done?” Oli asked, “Because it looks really good.”

“Thank you.” Joe answered, “I think I did a pretty good job.”

“You did it?” Oli looked over at him in surprise, “Really?”

“It was just dying hair. Not that difficult.” Joe shrugged, smiling over at Jack, “And I made sure he still had all his hair.”

“You’re never dying my hair again.” Jack pointed a finger at him, “And no,” He turned his attention to Caspar, “Just because I’m blonde does not mean I’m sleeping around anymore.”

“I hope not,” Joe mumbled as he walked past.

“Why the blonde then?” Josh nodded to Jack as they all settled onto the couch.

“Joe promised the viewers that if we got a certain number of thumbs up, it would happen.”

“Oooh,” The boys all chorused.

“Now it makes sense.” Josh chuckled.

“What?” Jack glanced around at the group, confusion across his face.

“It’s because Joe wanted you to. Makes sense,” Conor told him, reaching for a controller. “Who wants to play me?”

“I’m still confused.” Jack muttered.

“So am I,” Joe patted his knee, “But I figure its easier to just let it go.”

“Let’s see if the blonde made you any better at Fifa,” Oli called over to Jack, “Grab a controller.”

“I can still beat Conor, no matter what colour hair I have.” The blonde grinned, reaching for the free controller, already brushing off the boys words.

So what if he only did it because Joe convinced him? He had promised the viewers.

That was the real reason for doing it. Right?

Night On The Couch

“Sorry,” Joe smiles over at me as he walks into the room, “I promise I’m all yours now.”

“You’re just busy, don’t apologize.” I wave a hand at him, “Anyways, I just decided on a movie. So perfect timing.”

“You’re amazing,” He mumbles, leaning over to kiss me quickly before sitting on the couch by my feet. He pulls them onto his lap, his fingers running along my legs as he leans back against the couch.

“And you’re too stressed,” I reply, watching him.

“No I’m not.” He says around a yawn, and I roll my eyes.

“Stressed and tired.”

“M’fine,” Joe replies, even though the bags under his eyes are obvious, and his hair is sticking up in random places, a sure sign that he’s been running his hand through it repeatedly.

“C’mere,” I tug at his arm, and he understands what I’m wanting, shuffling to lay between my legs, his head on my chest, one arm tucked between the couch and our bodies, the other resting under my own arm.

I lift my hand to his head, gently scrapping my nails along his scalp, feeling his body begin to relax.

“You need to stop overworking yourself, babe.” I say softly.

“I’m not.”

“And stop denying it.”

“I thought we were watching a movie, Y/N.” He tells me, lifting his head to look at me.

“Now we’re cuddling.”

“We can cuddle and watch a movie.”

“Shut up and put you’re head down.”

“So demanding…” Joe mutters, but does as he’s told.

“Want to hear a story?”

“Do I get a choice?”

“Not really,” I smile as he laughs softly against me, “So, once upon a time…”

“The end.” I finish, my voice barely a whisper.

Glancing down, I can see Joe’s eyes are closed, and his breathing has evened out.

He’s asleep.

Brushing the hair out of his face, I smile at him. He looks so peaceful and calm.

I freeze as he shuffles slightly in his sleep, mumbling incoherently before he relaxes again. I press my lips together to suppress the giggle that wants to escape me, my fingers running through his hair slowly.

For some reason, he always sleeps better like this. He claims its because he knows I’m near him, I roll my eyes every time he says it because it’s cheesy.

I think it’s because I force him to actually lay still and not fidget, so his body finally realizes it can relax.

And then Joe counteracts with the fact that I’m also comfortable.

Now, looking at him as he’s sleeping, I can see just how comfortable he truly is.

Which is a slight problem.

Because I’m stuck under him.

Sighing, I reach for the phone sitting on the table beside us, quickly setting an alarm so neither of us are late in the morning before I rest one hand on his back, the other continuing to gently work on his scalp.

Apparently we’re both sleeping on the couch.

Closing my eyes, I let my own body relax, falling asleep to the sound of Joe’s gentle breathing, his body warm against mine.

the men of hamilton the musical

eliza schuyler’s husband, a smooth (both attitude and scalp-wise) prodigy of princeton college, a bisexual deuteragonist whose name starts with a “John” and ends with a “Laurens”, a spy on the inside™ that can enter a battlefield better than you, baguette, baguette except au naturale hair and was in “um…France?”, a man that was there to provide backup swag to said au naturale baguette, a president that only raps when he’s triggered, King Death and Rainbows, and a rhyming poet that definitely could have been anthony ramos crab-walking across the stage but I wouldn’t know because I couldn’t get tickets

Morning Bliss

You wake up in the loving embrace of your favourite human - Chris Evans.

Warnings: everything that is Chris Evans.

Please enjoy!


You came back into consciousness when your internal alarm clock told you to wake up.

Reluctant to actually open your eyes, you snuggled deeper into the body at your side that was radiating warmth. 

Chris was already awake but his day was free of any appointment so he did not have a need to get out bed until he was ready and with you tucked into his side, why would he want to leave? 

He nuzzled your nose as he ran his hand over your hip, rubbing slow circles on your skin with his thumb. 

With a breathy chuckle and a small smile, you cracked your eyes open and reached up to connect your lips with his in a slow, lovers dance which ended with you on top of Chris, laughing, with his hands wandering over your back and sides; your own hands had worked their way into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp just the way you know he likes. 

“Good morning, my prince.”