knees in the shirt

anonymous asked:

#45 with Dash Wilder please and thank you 💕

Since I’m the plaid queen married to Dash the plaid king.

“You look pretty hot in plaid.”

You and Dash had been friends for years, you two got into wrestling together and were both moved up to NXT at the same time.

You two usually went out to coffee or went on walks together, just typical friend things to do. One day you were walking and a downpour just hit you both. Dash quickly grabbed your hand and ran with you back to his house as you two were soaked.

Panting, Dash took you inside and grinned before you two both started to laugh. “Here, I’ll grab you some of my clothes” he said walking to his room to grab a towel.

Once you were in the bathroom you dried off and changed, a plaid shirt that went to your knees and some boxers. You groaned at your ‘bum-like’ appearance so you lost the boxers and kept the underwear you were wearing on.

Walking out, Dash raised an eyebrow seeing you “well, you look pretty hot in plaid” he said lowly. “In fact, you look hot without anything on as well”.

Viktor and Yuuri are a blame-it-on-the-dog couple.

As usual, it works one of two ways.

Someone farts and no one wants to cop to it.

“Must have been Makkachin,” Yuuri says, not even looking up from his phone. Makkachin is in the kitchen and hasn’t left in ten minutes.

“What have we been feeding you Makkachin?” Viktor asks, and Makkachin hops into the room with tongue lolling and ears aflutter. Viktor rubs him behind the ears and coos, “What a smelly dog,” while side-eyeing Yuuri with a smirk. Yuuri kicks him.

On the other hand:

“Do you like this shirt?” Yuuri asks, standing in front of the mirror. It’s a sweater of a not entirely flattering yellow color, and about a size too big. It’s also made with some kind of speckled yarn that makes it look almost flea bitten. “My mother sent it to me. She said one of the ladies in town knitted it for me, which is sweet, but I just…I think it makes me look weird?”

“Well, as you know darling, I think you look good in everything.” Viktor crosses his ankles and clucks his tongue for Makkachin; Makka hops up onto the bed and curls up over Viktor’s knees. “But oh, what’s that Makkachin? You think that shirt makes Yuuri look like a molting canary? That’s so rude, Makkachin.” 

Yuuri exaggerates a gasp. “That’s so mean, Makkachin! You mean you don’t like this sweater that Tanaka-san made me out of the goodness of her heart because she’s worried I’ll freeze to death in Russia? How could you!”

“That’s no way to talk to one of your fathers,” Viktor says, rubbing Makkachin behind the ears. ‘What’s that? You’d rather see Yuuri in that awful blue necktie than this sweater? Makkachin!”

Yuuri crosses the room and kisses Makkachin’s muzzle. “Shh, he’s whispering something to me. What? Oh, okay. Makkachin wants me to tell you that he thinks you’re a fashion snob.” Yuuri crawls onto the bed and straddles Viktor’s thighs, brushes the hair away from his face, and kisses his nose. “Isn’t that the meanest thing you’ve ever heard? Your dog is a bully.”

“Oh, so he’s my dog right now?” Viktor mumbles against Yuuri’s cheek, kissing noisily.

“Yes? He’s your dog when he says mean things and he’s my dog when he says nice things.”

Viktor leans around Yuuri’s shoulder and pats Makkachin’s head again, then moves his hands up underneath Yuuri’s sweater. “Makkachin says you should just take the ugly sweater off.”

Yuuri laughs and tilts his head back, lets Viktor nuzzle his face there. “I think Makkachin should leave the bedroom, now.”

Viktor bounces his knees to get Makkachin off the bed, rolls Yuuri over and physically removes the sweater himself.

Yuuri finds it at the back of their closet months later, during a round of spring cleaning.

“Makkachin says that it’s still the ugliest sweater he’s ever seen,” Viktor tells him, and gets swat with it in the face with it for his trouble.

  • Tim: *At the Batcomputer waiting for results, dipping Oreos in his coffee and wearing nothing but boxers, knee high socks, and a SuperBoy shirt. His hair is in the messiest low pony and his nails are still painted black from the last time Cassandra did them while he was sleeping*
  • Damian, looking at him with disgust: Drake is a disgrace to this family.
  • Jason, sighing dreamily: I know
Stealing Hoodies

If I didn’t have twelve hundred ideas for longer fics already this would be one. So instead it shall have to be a snippet of what it could be, with invisible beginnings and ends you’ll have to imagine for yourselves.

(Also posted on AO3)


Harry frowned. He was certain he had left it hanging over the end of his bed. He knelt down and looked under the bed just in case but there was nothing, not even dust bunnies thanks to the diligent house elves.

“Neville, have you seen my hoodie? The red one I was wearing yesterday?” Harry asked.

“He’s down in the common room,” Neville said, not bothering to look up from his little windowsill garden.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion, “What?”

“Malfoy’s down in the common room,” Neville said absently. He glanced up at Harry’s prolonged silence and shrugged, “Who else would take it?”

“Thanks,” Harry said hurriedly, heading out of the room and down the hallway to the common room.

Sure enough, there was a red-clad figure laying on one of the couches by the fire. He was slumped down so his neck was at an awkward angle he’d come to regret later, hood pulled up and hiding most of his ridiculous blond hair, sleeves pulled down over his fingers. He had a book balanced on his chest about three inches from his face. Harry rather suspected that Draco was in dire need of a pair of reading glasses but would rather die than admit it.

Harry walked over, stopping in front of the couch to demand, “Give it back.”

“No,” Draco said flatly turning a page and squinting at the tiny type.

Harry sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair, “Come on, all the rest are being washed.”

“I know,” Draco said smugly.

“You’re the worst, why are you like this?” Harry groaned.

Draco twitched an eyebrow up, “Have you met my father?”

Harry frowned and grabbed the bottom of the hoodie Draco was wearing.

“What are you doing!” Draco sputtered, his book falling on his chest as he grabbed Harry’s wrists, pushing back down.

“Taking. my. hoodie. back,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

He pushed up harder and Draco pulled down. The book slid to the floor with a thump. Harry climbed onto the couch, a knee between Draco’s legs. The hoodie along with Draco’s shirt rode up his chest as they struggled. Draco raised his free foot and braced it on Harry’s shoulder to shove him back and Harry furiously leaned against it. Until Draco’s foot slipped and Harry tumbled onto Draco in a heap that left them both breathless.

“Fuck,” Draco groaned, “Are you made of lead, Potter?”

Harry tried not to laugh, he really did, but Draco’s pouty frown pushed him over the edge and he started laughing so hard he had to hold onto the couch to keep from falling off.

Draco rather unsuccessfully fought down a smile, “Arsehole.”

Sitting at a small table nearby Ron groaned, “Merlin, they’re doing it again.”

Hermione smiled fondly, her chin propped on her hand, “I think it’s cute.”

“This is torture. I’m going to the library,” Ron said, shoving his parchment in his bag, “They don’t even realize, how do they not realize?”

“I’ll come with you,” Hermione smiled, twirling her wand and sending all her books and parchments neatly into her bag, “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

“And then they’ll be worse!” Ron grabbed his bag, “You know they will be!”

Hermione smiled and took Ron’s arm, “You’ll be fine, I promise.”


Part 1 (you are here) ~ Part 2  ~  Part 3 ~ Part 4

His || Jungkook || 0.14

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6 | 0.7 | 0.8 | 0.9 | 0.10 | 0.11 | 0.12 | 0.13 | 0.14

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A few things:

1.) I agree with you folks that Viktor Nikiforov is not as sexually experienced as his playboy persona would indicate. 

2.) Viktor Nikiforov ABSOLUTELY wants to get married, buy a house and settle down with three dogs and two kids 

3.) As of [mumble mumble some fukin day] in December of the year of our lord two thousand and fifteen, Viktor Nikiforov fully intended to do those things with Yuuri Katsuki

4.) Viktor Nikiforov is 100% A TART. HE IS A PROUD TART. THOSE SUNGLASSES? THAT HAIR? “YUURI THESE PANTS SAY ‘THIS ASS IS FIRST CLASS’ I’M BUYING FOUR PAIRS.” HIS FAVORITE COLOR IS HOT PINK. IF IT WAS SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE TO WALK AROUND NAKED, HE WOULD. BACKLESS T-SHIRTS. KNEE-HIGH BOOTS. Tart is not an insult for Viktor Nikiforov, it is a Title. 

5.) Yes, he can class it up. He enjoys classing it up. But Viktor’s default state involves him wearing a crop-top and ripped skinny jeans with 500$ Gucci sunglasses holding his hair back, sitting in Yuuri’s lap and giggling through his nose. Maybe there’s Starbucks involved.

Memory Lane ft. Yoongi

Originally posted by allforbts

Drabble game #100: “I adore you.” 

grumpy husband yoongi au aka lots of fluff (mentions of sex)
→ 1.7k words

A/N: I recently had a realization that the way my blog is structured doesn’t really give me a great leeway to express my creativity and feels for the members at random. So this is the start to a really short series of drabbles for all of the members in super short (less than 2k) drabbles! To be continued! :) Hope you guys like it. 

more from this au: here, more drabbles: here


“You’ve got a wonderful wife there, son.”

Yoongi gives the elderly man a small smile and nods in agreement, clinking his beer can against his and tipping back the cold liquor into his throats with his eyes trained on you, a feat that happens quite often.

Often Yoongi finds himself just staring at you, in awe of how someone like you ended up with someone like him.

Your friends would describe you as sweet, bubbly, kind, selfless, and bright. His friends would describe you as “the light that shined in Min Yoongi’s horribly dreadful bitch ass life.” And although he always gives them a glare or just brushes their comments off with an eye roll it’s moments like these when he feels like the six dickwads’ words can never be any more accurate.

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you know you’re on my mind

This is part 1/? of a human AU I’ve been wanting to write for AGES in which Derek and Stiles are long-distance friends/pen pals. Derek lives in California and Stiles lives in Poland. Features brief past Stiles/Malia (Derek and Malia aren’t related in this AU). Idk how long this fic could eventually get; I’m hoping to just work on it as I get the time/inspiration. 

 Title from “Mind Over Matter” by Young the Giant because that song always makes me think of LDRs. 

EDIT: This WIP is now also up on AO3 here.

*

If there’s one thing Derek’s learned in life, it’s that crushing on someone who lives on an entire other fucking continent is probably a bad idea.

He’s got dozens of photos of Stiles saved to his phone, and a whole box of letters from Stiles, and years’ worth of emails from Stiles, and a whole wall of postcards from Stiles pinned up on the wall over his bed, and none of it is enough.

He wants to do things to Stiles, okay, things besides just watch movies together in two different time zones or talk on skype.

…which… is kind of a new feeling.

Derek didn’t even know he liked guys until three years ago, freshman year of high school, when Stiles came home from a party raving about this girl he’d kissed, Malia something-or-other, and how Malia’s hair was so soft, and how Malia had the prettiest brown eyes and the best laugh, and—and suddenly Derek wanted to throw his computer against the wall.

“I have to go,” he’d snapped, and slammed his laptop shut and thrown on some jogging clothes.

He was five miles deep into the Preserve before it really sank in, not just the jealousy but the absurdity of the jealousy. He and Stiles had never even met, technically. They were probably never going to live in the same country. There was no logical reason for them not to date other people. Especially given that Stiles might not even like guys, or like him.

Still, he was secretly, guiltily, viciously satisfied when Stiles and Malia broke up barely two weeks later.

And since then the crush has gotten, if anything, worse.

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Star spangled brushwork

Summary: You need help painting your apartment, and the weather and Bucky Barnes are both hot. Sniping and sexy times ensue.

Characters: Bucky x Reader
Word count: 3,220
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Seriously. If you’re not of legal age, go away, this is not for you.

A/N: It’s my first attempt at smut and smut is hard (no pun intended). Any advice and/ or feedback is always more than welcome. 

Originally posted by maddiekittenlover

After years of saving pennies, working multiple jobs, and one too many nights of boxed wine and Ramen noodles, you had finally, finally, saved enough money for a down payment to buy your own apartment. Sure it was small and on the top floor of an elevator-less building, but it was yours, and that’s what mattered.

In a bid to save money like a responsible homeowner, you also decided to paint the place yourself, and with a little cajoling and a little blackmail concerning that time you filmed him singing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ while he made a PB&J, Bucky grudgingly agreed to help as well.

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