slacken

shakespeare aesthetics

romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now. 

much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there. 

king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

“If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.”
–The Good-Morrow, John Donne

Imagine You Won a Cruise in Space

Part 1

You couldn’t believe how lucky you had been! Only six people had been selected in the whole country and you got to be one of them! An interstellar alliance had recently made contact with Earth and offered six lucky people - randomly drawn, of course - the chance for a year long cruise through the galaxy.

You were greeted on the ship and led to a cozy room with soft carpet and cushy chairs to sit in. You had been the first to arrive, but the other winners had quickly followed. As the six of you - three men and three women - sat and chatted excitedly amongst yourselves, you couldn’t believe how swanky this ship was. Especially given it had been designed by other species. Soon, a human-looking man in a suit greeted you all.

“Welcome!” he chirped, with an enormous grin on his face. “We’re beginning takeoff as I speak, but you shouldn’t feel any turbulence. And don’t worry, this ship is the safest the alliance has to offer. And, of course, you will all be well taken care of during your stay on this ship with your new mates!”

“Mates?!” all six of you cried.

“Why, of course,” he stated, as if it were obvious. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Well, it’s only for a year, right?” one of the other women offered hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” your host retorted, sounding almost offended. “All of the species you’ve been paired with mate for life. As I understand it, you humans are monogamous, are you not?”

“Sometimes,” one of the men snorted with a smirk.

Another man appeared confused. “But how could we mate with different species? Obviously there will be no offspring.”

The host rolled his eyes. “You humans are so behind, technologically. We are more than capable of making all of you compatible with your new mates.”

“Aren’t you human?” you asked.

“No,” he replied patiently. “I’m a shape-shifter. And you’re all very lucky none of you are going to be impregnated by my species. Our females are pregnant for five years,” he informed them with a smirk. “Obviously all of you will carry your young for different lengths of time, though. Two of you will be assigned to each species, but even if you have the same species, there will be variance in the lengths of time you each carry the young.”

“Each?!” the three men cried.

“We’re not getting pregnant, right?” a small, pale man asked.

“You most certainly are,” the shape-shifter corrected. He received a ping on a device and a large smile split onto his face. “Okay, each of your mates is prepped in a room for all of you, so after your physical, you can go straight to them.”

You were then ushered off into an examination room as you were thoroughly examined - particularly in your child-bearing abilities. Just when you thought all the poking and prodding was over, you were given multiple injections all over from your neck to your uterus. At first you didn’t feel anything but after a few moments you began to feel…strange.

“Don’t worry, honey,” the nurse - who was a reptilian species - told you in an attempt to be comforting. “Molzon hormones tend to make you feel a little funny, but you’re just fine.”

As she lead you to where your ‘mate’ awaited, you asked her, “What’s a Molzon?”

“Oh, they’re amphibious,” she drawled. “If I’ve read my human folklore correctly, then they’re kind of like your mermaids. Except: instead of a fish tail, they have tentacles as their lower half. You seem like a sweet girl, so I’m sure you and him will get along just fine.”

She stared expectantly at you as you stood outside the door. Feeling as though you were going to throw up from a combination of nervousness and Molzon hormones, you opened the door.

Inside, you saw him and he was close to what the nurse had described. He was a sort of octopus merman with blue-green skin that was shifting color slightly. However, unlike the mermen conjured in your imagination, he a little thick around the middle. It almost looked a little like a beer belly. He noticed you come in and his eyes grew wide as he blushed. “Oh, hi!” His voice cracked nervously. “I thought you might want to have some dinner, first. That’s what humans do, right?”

He appeared unsure as to whether or not what he’d done was appropriate, so you nodded silently as he lead you to a candlelit table - like something you’d see at a fancy restaurant.

You knew you were staring, but you couldn’t really help it. After all, he was an alien species. He appeared to have very little difficulty walking above water with his tentacles and because his tentacles were so long, he was about seven feet tall.

The dinner went surprisingly well, given the circumstances and Zeri, that was his name, was actually a total sweetheart. He enjoyed puzzles and playing musical instruments, and reading. The nerdy Molzon would have been exactly your type…had he been human.

“This isn’t fair to you,” he stuttered after dinner. “I know a female of my species would be much better suited-” But he cut himself off with a slight groan before stuttering out, “Did they give you the hormones, already?”

“Yeah,” you squeaked back.

He began massaging his belly and whimpering. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, before gently pulling you into an adjoining room that had a large, marine pool. He gently removed your clothes and eased you into the pool, before doubling over and moaning in pain, clutching his belly again. Then, as he lowered himself into the pool, he began panting and moaning a little as he tried to explain. “The pheromones…ghhnnng…they make me….hoo hoo hoo….I can’t stop….gaaah!” he gave a sharp cry, continuing to rub his belly, which appeared to be…clenching? “I have to mate.”

Then, he let out a monumental groan before pulling you to the middle of the pool, careful to keep your head above water. You felt something begin to prod around your vagina before unceremoniously entering. You gave a pained cry, causing Zeri to flinch, but he didn’t stop and you felt the appendage slide far up into you, past your cervix, and enter your uterus.

You were trembling from the pain and Zeri continued to stutter out apologies as his eyes watered from the great deal of pain he was obviously in, too. His tentacles held you in place as his human arms wrapped around his middle and he let out something between a groan and a grunt. “Hnnngggg.” His face slackened a little in relief as you saw a large object come out of his body, slowly begin traveling up the appendage he had inserted inside you before it, too, began prodding at your entrance.

“Zeri,” you cried in a panic.

“I’m so sorry.”

The object forced its way into your vagina, eliciting a scream of pain from you as it traveled slowly up to deposit itself in your uterus. The result was a slightly distended belly, while Zeri’s belly looked slightly smaller.

He moaned again, grunting and crying as another came out of him to force its way into you again.

This process continued for the better part of two hours and you were now HUGE - filled with eight of the damn things.

“This is…the last…one,” Zeri huffed, having difficulty breathing from all the effort exerted on his part. He continued uttering apologies as he began to expel the final egg. But this one took a lot longer than the others. “Ggghhh,” he grunted after twenty minutes, before giving out a startling cry as the egg left his body.

As you saw it traveling towards you, you found out why he’d had so much difficulty. The eggs, which had all been about the size of an elephant bird egg, paled in comparison to this one, which was almost twice as big as the others. “No, no, no, no, no,” you bawled, as it inched closer. “Please, no,” you sobbed as it began to make contact with your already sore pussy. But of course, it went in, anyway. You thought for sure you would be ripped in half and die as the ninth one was shoved in, but it made it into your uterus, just as the others did.

“One final part,” he promised.

A liquid began to pump out of his appendage and fill you. Your belly, once misshapen due to the lumpy eggs, began to smooth out and expand even further. You gasped and wheezed through the next few minutes as you were pumped with the fluid.

Then, it was finally over. Zeri, as sweaty as he was, and as much as he panted, helped you out of the water, though his tentacles were far from steady. It was difficult for you to stay upright since you felt as though you’d gained over 100 pounds since entering the water and, looking at your girth, that was definitely possible. You couldn’t wrap your arms entirely around your belly and there was about five or six inches between your fingertips when you tried. “I’m sure your exhausted,” he huffed, trying to keep both of you upright. “I’ll take you to your room.”

Your room was luxurious to say the least. You wanted to shower, but decided against it and just collapsed onto the bed, naked.

“I’ll arrange for some clothes to be brought for you tomorrow that should fit.” He had the biggest look of guilt you’d ever seen. “I’m so sorry,” he cried again, before leaving you alone.

You covered yourself with blankets, painfully aware of your newly distended belly. It was impossible to get comfortable with how angry the stretched skin felt and the extra weight, but you tried to sleep nonetheless. As Zeri had suspected, you were indeed exhausted.

The final thought that popped into your head as you drifted off was: how long will I be like this?

To be continued…

Not My Girl (Jeff Atkins x Reader)

Originally posted by cynicalsunset

Word count: ~3,930 

Request: Anon- Jeff request please! “She’s not my girl”, could you make it like something reader overheard? For example she passes her friends, the jocks, on the way to class. But not before she heard Justin say something like, “look Atkins, it’s your girl” And she get’s upset because they’re not dating, but they’re not not-dating either. And she’s upset and mad at school, but he’s her ride home. Then in the car, could reader be petty at first like Jeff asking, bad day at school/practice? And she’s like nope! And he puts his hand on her thigh when he’s driving as she pulls away so he’s like “oh so you’re mad at me?” And he won’t leave until she tells him. 

Warnings: None I don’t think. A little swearing, Justin being kinda pervy, Jeff being too adorable for words. I think that’s it. 

A/N. Thanks for the request! I’m sorry this took me so long, but I loved writing this one :) I summarized the request, but I feel like I got the gist. I should be answering requests a little more frequently now that I’m getting back in the flow so feel free to keep sending them in. Alright guys, you ready? Enjoy!


(Y/n) hummed to herself as she walked down the hallways, practically skipping as she made her way towards her second period class, weaving through the crowded hallways that usually angered her without a care in the world. She had crashed at Jeff’s last night, after a Fast and Furious marathon had run late, and had skipped first to go home and shower. She had been thinking about skipping the whole day, but she had a chem test in third and couldn’t afford to miss it.

Even the thought of covalent bonds couldn’t dampen her good mood. Things had finally happened between her and Jeff last night. The movie marathon had begun as a friend thing, with Clay, Hannah, and Tony over as well to spend the rainy day watching television and hanging out. As the day had changed to night, first Tony, then Hannah and Clay had excused themselves to finish the last of their weekend homework and get to bed early, leaving (y/n) alone with Jeff. He had merely shrugged once the others had left, flashed a breathtaking smile, and asked if she wanted pizza or chinese for dinner.

The two had been casual friends forever, the way kids in small towns all knew each other, but over the last few months (y/n) had noticed things start to change between her and Jeff. He was no longer the awkward, gangly kid with braces who collected baseball cards, and she was pretty sure he had felt the shift too. Suddenly there was a lot more touching, a lot more teasing, late nights spent texting and lunch periods spent sharing inside jokes. It was amazing. Everyone else had begun to notice too, teasing the both of them about the flirting and the ‘eye sex’, which they both resolutely denied. If anyone asked, they were just friends. But obviously (y/n) wanted more. And she was sure Jeff did too.

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Break M'Own Rules

Harry X Reader: Angst

In which alcohol and pricks make for a messy, angry Harry.

Request? No

Author’s note: I don’t really see Harry ever being violent, but I had a dream about this and really wanted to write it soooo.


Tonight has been the most fun you’ve had in a while. You’re sat at a table in Harry’s favorite pub, crowded with his close friends. There are some that he keeps in regular contact with, but more that he only gets to see on the off chance that he’s home for a while and free from any work.

Harry’s been smiling all night, cracking terrible jokes and laughing overzealously at the little quips that anyone else makes. He’s had at least one too many. His smile is lazy, an uneven little smirk. His arm is stretched out across the back of your chair and he keeps touching you, brushing his thumb over your far arm, randomly spattering kisses along your cheek or over your bare shoulder. Sometimes he leans on you and you have to shove him off when he becomes a little too heavy, worried about tipping out of your chair. But he only grins at you and then joins back into whatever conversation is happening.

The group has begun to thin out. A few friends have left in pairs, babbling about being tired or having things to do tomorrow. You and Harry assure each of them that there will be more get-togethers before he’s off around the world for work again. Harry expresses his love with sloppy words, too buzzed to get up from his chair and hug them. Then there’s only Nick left.

“Yeh ‘bout ready to g’home, kitten?” Harry’s leaned his head on your shoulder again, growing hair falling into his heavy eyes.

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Imagine: teasing Sam while he’s hacking.

Sam X Reader

Content: Smut: Dry Humping


Sam’s fingers flew over the suspect’s keyboard. Flashes of color flickered over his face as he cycled between screens quickly with a shortcut maneuver. You watched as he licked his lips, intently focused on hacking into a zipped folder. His eyes narrowed catching some detail of significance. When he swallowed, your eyes followed the shift of his throat greedily. You pulled your eyes away attempting to continue through a pile of paper on the suspect’s end table. A slip of paper dropped from the stack in your hands, catching the air to flutter to the floor behind you. You turned to pick it up, eyes drifting over an accent mirror near the far wall. You paused. Sam’s eyes had lifted from the monitor to your form. You ducked your head hiding a smirk. Keeping a secret eye on the mirror, you stood, lifting your ass first in fluid motion you often used when dancing. He licked his lips, shifting lower in his seat. Shuffling the papers in hand, you turned just in time to see his head snap back to the computer.

“Got it.” He cleared his throat after a minute.

You dropped the papers on the end table, sauntering to the desk with renewed confidence.

“It looks like there’s a thread of emails here and-” His explanation was cut short as he glanced up at you.

You slid onto his lap, resting your elbows on the thin strip of cleared table before the keyboard keeping your back arched forward. You could hear him gulp audibly and feel him shift awkwardly trying to find a place to put his hands.

“What emails?” You asked innocently, seeing full well the emails in a smaller window behind the main one.

Sam released a shaky breath. He moved forward, chest pressing against your back as he reached for the mouse. You leaned against him, tilting your head to the side to give him view of the monitor. His breath touched your neck bringing a tingle to travel across your skin. You didn’t suppress the light shudder it caused.

“It’s, uh, here.” He replied breathlessly.

You responded with a deep hum. A smirk curled your lips as he shifted beneath your thighs. You scrolled through the emails, which would have been painfully dull if not for the pleasant distraction hardening every time you slid forward or back to “readjust” your reading position. Finally, you finished. Making a show of stretching your arms upward, you unleashed a satisfied moan and turned to face Sam. For his effort, he attempted to look unaffected. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his nails dug into the leather armrests.

“So, it doesn’t seem like the emails contained much, did they?” You asked in hushed tones.

He glanced between you and the monitor quickly, obviously having no idea what was in the emails. You twisted in his lap, grinding against an evident bulge between your legs.

“Sam?” You lowered your eyelashes, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His eyes darkened briefly lowering to your lips before he found composure. “Yeah, fine.”

“Are you sure? It seems like you’re having a… hard time focusing.”

His hand paused halfway to the mouse.

“I know these emails can be… lengthy,” You continued finding it increasingly difficult to hide a smirk, “and having to sort through them is… really shafty…”

Sam sat back, embarrassment coloring his features.

“I know it would really… grind… my gears if I had to hack into every dude’s computer while Dean gets to take a break at the bar.”

“Are you done?” Sam interrupted.

“No, no… wait! I think I can come up with something for penetration and erection-”

Hot lips met the juncture of your shoulder and neck with leisurely-paced open-mouthed kissed, effectively transforming your teasing words into a sharp inhale. His fingers wrapped around your hips, gripping your pelvis firmly before pulling it back. A flash of sudden pleasure surged through your core. His nose dragged against your shoulder inching closer to your neck, heat building between your flushed bodies. A shiver ripped up your spine as he found a sensitive spot. He paused, pressing a kiss there. Your head lolled back against his shoulder. His hands slipped up your body, sliding under your shirt. His rough fingers pressed and caressed in disorganized trails, drawing each nerve to maximum stimulation. You gasped, unable to stop an onslaught of shivers from his touch. He sucked at the spot on your neck, locking his arm around your waist as you squirmed with assailing pleasure. His tongue flicked against the spot, his teeth following immediately. A cry broke from your lips. You slapped a hand over your mouth, surprised by the outburst. Sam chuckled darkly against your skin, the deep rumble sending an aching between your thighs.

“Oh, fuck…” You breathed, heat enveloping your body with a savage ferocity.

His hands grabbed your chest, barely restraining his strength as he kneaded. He closed his fingers over hardening nubs sending your hips to jerk forward in response. You bit your tongue holding back a moan, as your clit rubbed along his impossibly hard shaft. He moved quickly, grabbing your hips with a near bruising force. Every nerve in your body seeped with the heat building between you, overreacting with every little stimulus. Pleasure pulsed through your body with every breath hitting the tiny hairs along the nape of your neck, each finger digging against your hips, and every inch where your center rubbed against his.

He thrust up pulling your hips back. Sparks of unadulterated ecstasy exploded from the friction. Before the sensation could cool, he pushed you forward. White flashed before your vision. A helpless moan left your lips, an animalistic need for contact infecting every cell in your brain. You jerked against him, heat blazing, pleasure mounting endlessly. He grunted desperately against your ear, whimpers rising from your throat as you grinded together fueling an erotic fire threatening to consume your entity. There was nothing but sharp concentrated pleasure coursing through your core like live electricity. A strangled cry broke the room as he thrust against your sliding bodies finding an edge so high, you couldn’t believe a pleasure could be so intense, but it kept building, growing until you found a new edge before the other could finish. Your body shuddered, head falling to his shoulder, completely at his mercy.

He embraced your body, crushing you against him as he stiffened, broken groans tumbling from his chest as he shuddered against your back.You squeezed your legs together, his hold slackening as you felt a warm stickness in the apex of your jeans. You slid to his knees, turning to see Sam’s face. Surprise, mirroring your own expression, bloomed from a devastatingly sexy look of contentment. You jerked off his lap, stumbling to your feet.

“S-sorry!” You yelped, yanking your head away from the dark patch on his jeans.

“N-no, I’m…” The chair crashed into the wall as he pushed to his feet. He skirted around the opposite side of the desk muttering something you couldn’t catch over the blood pounding in your ears.

He retreated from the room. Your hands trembled, pleasure still lingering along your skin from his contact, as you hugged yourself close. It seemed the heat would never cool and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ll Always Come Back

Fandom: Gotham

Pairing: Jerome Valeska x Reader

Forever Tag: @angelicshinigami @tothetardissterek (if you’d like to be added to this list, please notify me)

Prompt: “Ok but Jerome coming back to life and having to rescue his gf who is locked up in Arkham, cause when he died, she was crying over him and the cops took this chance to cuff her. He finds her tortured(like HQ in SS)and insane. He takes her back and When she recovers, maybe some smut can happen with dom!reader, which takes Jerome by surprise cause this is new. Hope this isn’t too long 😂” - Anon

Summary: The prompt says it all.

Word Count: 738 (I guess the 700s is the normal length now)

Warnings: Jerome’s death, torture, some angst, some semi-fluff.

A/N: I’m sorry but I felt going down the fluff road instead of the smut road for this imagine. I hope that was okay with you, Anon. Btw, the Arkham Asylum I was imagining here was the one in Batman: The Telltale Series.

Originally posted by rxven-clxw

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Eric Bittle Is A Problem

(AO3 here)

Eric Bittle is becoming a problem. Not the problem Jack thought he was going to be in the beginning, no, he hasn’t had to worry about Bittle not pulling his weight on the team since pretty much the first time they played together. And certainly not now, when they work so well together on the ice. And off of it, too; it was surprising, but Jack considers Bittle to be one of his greatest friends, even if sometimes it feels like there’s maybe something shimmering around the edges of their relationship, something Jack doesn’t quite understand, it’s good with them, comfortable and fun in a way Jack isn’t used to.

But he’s becoming a problem, worse, a distraction . A menace, really.

The first time it’s a problem, Jack and Shitty had gotten back from a beer run, and Shitty was explaining some essential feminist theory to him as they made their way from the car to the Haus, “And that, my Canadian friend, is why intersectionality is so important. Like, you can’t really understand anything  unless you understand all of the realities and identities that inform a person’s existence, my man. I me-” as Jack turns to enter the kitchen, the rest of Shitty’s lesson is lost to a loud thrum in Jack’s ear that he distantly realizes is the rush of his own blood through his veins as he almost fumbles the case of beer and the bag of fancy nuts and chocolates that he thought Eric might appreciate- for his bakin g- and had purchased on a whim.

He manages to save the beer and the bag of goodies, but not to suppress the inelegant “ Buh -” that escapes his slackened mouth. Because Bitty is bent over at the waist, looking into the oven and making a satisfied little hum at the progress of whatever is baking in there, and he’s wearing those shorts, the short, short shorts that barely qualify as such in Jack’s opinion. And the way he’s bending is causing his muscles to tense and bulge, and his butt . Oh, Crisse , his butt is like a work of art and on display right in front of Jack, and he is in so. Much. trouble.

Jack manages to turn his random noise into a reasonable approximation of “B-Bittle,” and to reassemble his face into a generally neutral expression as Bitty stands and turns toward him and Shitty, who now stands next to Jack and thankfully doesn’t mention his near stumble. The late afternoon sun slanting through the window catches in Eric’s hair and he appears to glow for a moment, Jack manages not to choke on his sharply indrawn breath at the sight, because Eric Bittle is beautiful, and Jack is awed that he hadn’t noticed it until now.

“Oh, hi, y’all,” Bitty says brightly, a genuine smile lighting his face and stretching his lips distractingly. “You’re just in time, because this pie is almost done, so if you wanted some, you’ll just have to wait for a few while it settles,” Bitty checks the timer with a brief glance before looking back toward the doorway where Jack is still frozen, he quirks a perfectly shaped blond brow as if to ask what Jack’s problem is, but when he speaks again, he says “Did you two have fun at the store?”

Shitty moves into the kitchen, patting Jack’s shoulder on the way, “It smells swawesome in here, Bits. You’re the best!” Bitty grins and a slightly pink tinge paints his cheeks as he watches Shitty begin to put away his beer and the few other groceries they procured. He looks back at Jack, eyes darting briefly to the bag he is clenching before settling back on his face, a curious little smile on his pink lips. It spurs Jack into action, finally, and he moves into the kitchen holding the bag out like an awkward shield.

“These are for you,” he says, sounding too loud to his own ears, and maybe too loud in general, because Shitty looks over from where he’s stacking beer into the fridge with a strange look on his face that Jack will not analyze later. He continues, careful to regulate his volume this time, “Um, for your baking, I mean. I thought you’d like them,” he amends. Jack can feel his face heating, hopes Bitty doesn’t notice, that he writes it off as the heat from the oven, but when Bitty takes the bag and their fingers brush he feels the flush deepen. It gets worse still when Eric opens the bag and he makes an excited little sound.

“Oh, gosh, Jack, thank you! I know just what to make with these,” Bitty places his hand on Jack’s forearm and squeezes gently, repeating a thank you and grinning at him, his smile is open and fond and it warms Jack in a different way than the hot flush that he knows is painting his face and neck now.

“ Bienvenue ,” Jack says, voice a little too quiet and close now. Bitty smiles at his slip into Quebecois. It’s almost too easy to slip into the quiet of the moment, the little bubble of space around them, warmed by the sunlight through the window. They stay close, looking at each other for what feels like a long time, but realistically can’t be more than a second or two, then the sound of Shitty shutting the the refrigerator door and exclaiming “Shit, Bits, that pie smells fuckin’ delicious! Think it’s done yet,” effectively breaks the moment.

Bitty laughs and turns away from Jack, his fingers trail along Jack’s arm leaving a warm tingle lingering on his skin. The buzzer sounds as Bitty steps away fully, and Jack shakes himself, realizes he’s still holding the case of beer and places it on the counter. Bitty looks at him briefly as he takes the pie from the oven, and Jack feels the confusion rumbling through him play across his face, but Bitty thankfully looks away before he notices.

*****

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anonymous asked:

Can you possibly write about what would have happened if Snow hadn't come in when she did? I'd die happy!!

omfg anon I WASN’T PLANNING ON WRITING THIS because flkjhlkj i have so many things i should be writing (and also i have work today that i’ve been putting off) but like… i get it cause that scene fucking ruined me too, so here you go, have some porn with feelings. aslkjhs.

the scene (kitchen table sex with no interruptions) – AO3
~1800, explicit, obvs

“To hell with the pancakes,” is a sentiment that Killian wholeheartedly agrees with. He much prefers the taste of her tongue and the smell of dried sweat and lingering morning sex on her skin to anything else right now. And, it seems, she has nothing on her mind now either, aside from consuming his groans of pleasure and sliding her deft, teasing fingers across the back of his neck, down his shoulders, his chest, his tense abdomen, all the way there, where he is alive and awake and quite ready for another go at it.

He loves kissing her, always has; she’s a hell of a kisser and she knows it. Though he may have a few more centuries of experience, she’s managed to master the art in her short decades on this earth. Push, pull. Tongue, teeth. Wet lips, plush and pliant, with a gentle ease even when forceful and wild. He could drown in her kisses, although he has, in fact, been resuscitated by them once before. (Whatever excuse she’d had about that “CPR” nonsense had been just that: nonsense. It was definitely the press of her lips that saved him, of that he is entirely certain.)

It’s the combination that does him in – her mouth on his and her hands massaging him through the jeans that he wished he hadn’t even bothered putting on this morning. He can’t stand it, is too revved up and desperate for her that he couldn’t care less about anything else.

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Yes, Oppa

Hoseok
Genre: Smut
Word Count: 3430-ish
When faced with Jung Hoseok, how could you not be a tease? Just a little?

A/N: There might definitely be a second part. Involving that goddam dancer’s body. I’ve been struck and killed by the Hobi train, along with @yoongis-sass, and it is to be war between us. A fic war. Oops.

Originally posted by taekookie-bts

You loved all the boys. They were your closest friends and brothers, and even if you didn’t get to spend as much time with them as you would other friends, they were really the only friends you needed.

Especially Hoseok. But in a different way. You were, without a doubt, 300% in love with Hoseok. His smiles, his laughter, his warm hugs and unfailing kindness. His unintentional and incredible sexiness. Just to begin with.

And when faced with Jung Hoseok, you couldn’t help but be a tease. Just a little.

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Do we turn you on? (Muke threesome)

Summary: Your best friends pick up on the fact that the both of them make you insanely horny (i can’t do summaries okay i suck)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: This is smut! Luke assumes ‘dom’ position and they all have a threesome ;) 

There’s a little bit of NSFW above the ‘keep reading’ line!

A/N: I’m such a slut for muke I’m surprised this is my first threesome with them? Let’s just say I let my imagination run pretty wild haha :) enjooooy!

Originally posted by ariana527

Michael’s warm fingertips trail across your upper arm, the heat causing goosebumps to pebble across your sensitive skin. As you’re sitting so close to the boy, you can smell the deep musky scent of his aftershave and feel a tug of desire to lean across and smash your lips against his.

You would if you weren’t in a room with your other best friend.

Luke’s leaning against a white wall, his blond hair tousled into loose curls. You take a moment to admire his wide stance before your attention drifts to his fingers curled around his phone. So many night you’ve spent - in the crowd at one of their shows - watching his fingers work magic on his guitar.

You’ve always wondered what they’d feel like inside you.

You imagine they’d be nimble: Luke always brags about his ability to twirl his fingers at perfect angles. But at the same time, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’d move quickly, immediately establishing his dominance before proceeding to bend you over a table.

“Did you just moan?”

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Isn’t A Dream

Characters:  Dean x Reader x Sam

Summary:  No plot.  Literally zero.  This is straight up porn. With both Winchesters (no wincest).

Word Count:  2704

Warnings:  A whole lotta fuckin’.

Tags are at the bottom.  There is still room on my Forever Tag List, you can add yourself here.  Thanks!

Originally posted by mockingbbird

Isn’t A Dream

This isn’t a dream.

This is really happening.

Dean’s lips are soft and pliant against my willing mouth. Sam’s kisses skim the delicate skin below my earlobe, his hair dusting my collarbone.  

Sam’s mouth travels upward, his warm breath tickling when he whispers into my ear. “Do you trust us?”

My heart skips a beat but it knows the answer. The answer is yes. Implicitly. There isn’t a person alive or dead that I trust more than the Winchesters.

“Yes.” The word rolls of my tongue and vibrates against Dean’s mouth, which turns up into a sexy grin when he hears my answer, his green eyes sparkling.

Sam’s chuckle is throaty, rumbling in his chest. I tilt my head and turn to look at him and once again, I can’t believe this is really happening. Dean reaches up a finger and hooks it under my chin, directing my gaze back to his. Perhaps a competition for my affections is brewing. I can’t say the idea doesn’t thrill me.

“We’re going to take good care of you, (Y/N).” Dean says it like a promise with a hint of threat. It sends a wave of lust from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

“Hell yeah, we are,” Sam reaffirms Dean’s promise. Sam loosens the knot on the tie at the base of his throat while Dean lifts the hem of my shirt. His hand caresses my skin as he works the shirt up and over my head.

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In His Dorm, In His Room

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Smut
Summary: The inner-workings of your relationship with a dance partner, friend, and crush, Jeon Jungkook.

{credit to original photo} [Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5]

The adrenaline still ran through your veins as your dance instructor permitted you guys to “disperse” from the atrium. Your dance group, along with all the others, had a ‘pow wow’ where you performed the pieces you would dance at the showcase only just a month away. Your mind drowned in the hoots and hollers of the other performers as they watched your group perform, it was a well-needed confidence boost.

Jungkook was at your side in an instant as you gathered your belongings, putting on your sweater.

“So, you were pretty amazing today,” he complimented shyly. You smirked.

“Really, for which group?” Both you and Jungkook belonged to one dance group, Dance From Motion (DFM), while Jungkook belonged to Tertiary Movement and you also danced for Evolution of Dance (EoD).

He gathered his backpack, following you though he should have been the one leading the way. “Both, idiot. You’re an incredible dancer.”

You heart warmed at the compliment. “Thanks. You were pretty amazing, too.”

His smile fell and you instantly thought of what you could have said wrong. “Really? I wasn’t feeling the set for Tertiary.” You nodded instantly, having an idea of what he meant.

“You look a little bit uncomfortable when the couple dances of the set come in.”

He shrugged while nodding at your critique. “Maybe it’s because I’d rather have someone else all up on me for those parts of the set.” He bent towards you, wiggling his eyebrow suggestively as you rolled your eyes. It was no guess that he liked you, and you liked him back. You had already had that conversation with him, but neither of you said anything about it after your confessions. You guys had, what you believed, a healthy flirtationship.

“Either way,” you countered, “you need to get into it. It’s not like I can take the girl’s place just cause you want me in there.” His silence only made you think he was actually considering that as a possibility, so you quickly changed the subject. “Are you going back to your dorm?”

Jungkook nodded as you walked outside to the fresh, cool autumn air. “Jin is making dinner tonight. You wanna come over? Or will it be too late for you?” You were a commuter on campus, meaning you didn’t live there but came to class from home everyday. It was only 8pm, not too late. You gave a confirmation that coming over wouldn’t hinder you at all.

You got to the dorm building in less than 10 minutes; the trek there has gotten easier since the first time, seeing you’ve frequented Jungkook’s dorm countless times. You’d already met his other six roommates, and they’ve grown accustomed to your company.

“[Y/n]!” You heard Seokjin exclaim as you followed Jungkook inside. The other boys were in the living room, as well, playing video games and conversing with one another. The others greeted you as you did them, and Seokjin called you over to their small kitchen.

“I already baked the cornbread muffins,” he said with a low tone, as if it was a secret. Before you could either decline or accept, he slipped the muffin into your hands, staring at the guys in the living room to make sure none of them were looking.

“So, what’s wrong with my face, exactly?” Jungkook asked, stealing a bite from the small muffin as you dropped your stuff into the corner of his room. It was rather expansive, meant to fit two beds, but there was an odd number of boys, and he lucked out as the last addition to their roommate arrangement.

You plopped into the seat by his desk as he pulled another chair from by his bed. “You just weren’t convincing me, y’know?” He shook his head, silently saying he didn’t know.

“The song, the dance, it’s all sensual,” you explained. “It’s about the tease, making them follow you not only with your movements, but with your face.”

He sat quietly, letting your words marinate properly, before he finally looked with a grin. “You maybe want to demonstrate what you mean?”

You shrugged, getting up to go to your bookbag and retrieve your phone, already scrolling through the songs.

“Woah, what are you doing?” Jungkook questioned, watching as you placed your phone on his desk and you stood in front of him.

“Lapdance,” you answered nonchalantly. “Lap dances are all about the tease. They’re very powerful.” You waited patiently, watching as he measured how serious you were. Seeing your sincere, leveled expression, he nodded.

“There’s only one rule: no touching,” you state, shuffling from foot to foot as the music slowly builds. The beginning is on the longer side, and fortunately so, since your rule ignites curiosity out of Jungkook.

“Is that, like, an actual rule?” His head cocked to the side, eyes trained on yours and attentive on getting answers. “How do you know that? Who else have you given lap dances to?” His genuine wonder made you smirked before giving a heavy sigh of exasperation before focusing again.

“Are you jealous? Do you not want me to continue?” He shifted in his seat at your threat of stopping before you even started. You allowed the music, amplified by the hard surface of his wooden desk, to take over once again, your swaying becoming more pronounced with every beat.

It starts off as an act - the sensual swing of your hips, the arch in your back, the way your hands fell limp as they slid down your neck and lightly down your chest - all of it was just to get into the mood, more focused on the way the music controls your movements. Your eyes had closed when your act started, the spotlight you imagined shining down on you all behind your closed eyelids. But as you open and meet the fire burning in his brown eyes, it’s simply not an act anymore.

Soon your hands are burning a trail that his eyes ignite, a fire that flickers to life in your stomach as your movements become more purposeful, exact. He’s guiding you to drag your feet forward with the longing in his expression, but you’re the one still in control, the one on top. You slide your knee to the chair, grateful it’s big enough so you can maneuver without having to touch him so excessively. You’re there, knees digging into the plush cushion of the chair as you straddle him, hovering over him and holding his intense gaze. Your hands rest at his shoulders, moving the small distance to settle at the crook of his neck. You see his hands twitch on his lap, and you’re quick to remind him, “No touching.”

“But you’re touching me,” he argues with the slightest hint of a whine in his voice.

“Keep your hands to yourself unless I say so. That’s how this works in the real world,” you pause, moving your hips back and forth and letting your head fall to the side with a heavy breath, “so this is how it’ll work in here.”

He pouts, his eyes unable to keep from roaming over your motions, begging for more. “You’re really no fun, [y/n].”

Even with his complaining in the beginning, soon you’ve gotten his full attention, entranced with the way your thighs lowered you ever so slightly, just a hair away from grazing his lap. You could forgive the burn in your thighs from all the work when you saw his jaw slackened from awe, staring intensely with a hitch in his breath every time your hips went down. You let one of your hands move down his chest, his skin burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your eyes followed your hand, glancing up through your lashes to see he did so as well. He was still in the palm of your hands, right where you needed him.

His throat bobbed with the heavy gulp as you took his hand in yours, placing it firmly on your hip, his palm damp from heat. Almost unconsciously, his thumb slid under the hem of your shirt, aching for more contact than he was allowed. You stilled, a glare burning your gaze before you yanked at the collar of his shirt until it pulled over his head and threw it to the side. You weren’t sure how long you could keep up this act, what with the rise and fall of his chest giving away his desire as much as his tensing muscles as you continued to caress softly at his torso.

Your skin began to prickle with heat and sweat under your efforts; you took both his hands, placing them on his hips before letting your arms wrap around his neck, your mouth moving to his neck, nipping at the skin before whispering, “Do you what you want,” before dropping into his lap, sharing a groan as you ground heavily against his hard member through both layers of clothing.

He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you in tighter as you continued your grind, while the other moved over your skin, sliding up your thigh, making its way up your torso, your skin jumping under his blazing touch. He grabbed at your breast as he bucked upwards, sending a jolt through your core that brought a moan to your lips, muffled by the burning skin of his neck. He twisted his face, catching your lips with his as he ground against you. The song had ended, you noticed through the lust-filled fog of your brain, and the room grew quiet safe for the smack of your lips, the heavy breathing as you both tried to grab onto air without breaking apart.

Your grip on his neck grew tighter as you slid your body against the hard planes of his, trying to get as much friction out of your current position. Nothing was enough, and a whine escaped between the sloppy kisses. His hand slid back down your waist, hand pushing at the hem of your shirt and you leaned back just a tad so he could keep his hands moving up and up-

“Yo, it got way too quiet in here!” Taehyung bellowed, bursting through the door with a huge grin on his face before his eyes bugged at the sight before him. You jerked away, losing your balance and falling to the floor with a dull thump against the hard carpet. Taehyung’s eyes flashed between you and Jungkook, before laughing, doubling over from where he was half inside the room. “I can’t believe I actually walked in on something, holy shit!” He continued his laugh before shaking his head and leaving the room, closing the door.

You and Jungkook shared a sigh, thinking the interruption was finally gone. But, alas, there was a yell right outside the door.

“Whenever you get your shirt on, dinner is ready!”

You huffed out a laugh, more amused by your initial embarrassment than anything else. You finally meet Jungkook’s gaze and your eyes trail down his body until you see the hard-on showing so visibly in his tight jeans and you deflate because there’s no way you can do anything now.

“I should probably go.” You find your voice to be rather low and small since it fills the room so easily. When your statement receives only silence, you nod and stand up, stretching out your legs and not letting yourself walk as if your knees were bent for too long. You grab your sweater and book bag, heading to the door when Jungkook finally reacts, standing in front of the door before you can reach the handle.

“You don’t...have to go,” he says, his voice wavering with his still heavy breathing. You lick at your lips to hide the smirk, watching his bare chest move and the way he shifts from foot to foot faintly with his body still reacting to your makeout session.

You used your finger to push him aside, enjoying how easily he let you pass. “Just use what I did,” you said as you opened the door. “It’s not just the moves, it’s the facials. I hope you were paying attention.”

The light clicked in his head as he watched the way your teeth grazed your lip. “Yeah, I’m a fast learner,” he said. You waved your goodbyes to the guys sitting in the living room as you walked towards the door, not showing how obvious their stares were as they watched a shirtless Jungkook escort you to the door.

He opened the door for you. “I promise to show you what I learned tomorrow in practice,” he paused, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, “and maybe afterwards?” The hope in his eyes was too childlike for you not to giggle at. Goodness, what had this boy done to you?

“I’ll see you at practice, Kookie,” you cooed, walking towards the elevator.

Jungkook sighed as he watched you enter the elevator, closing the door and tugging at his pants again to try and relieve some pressure from his still ever-so-present issue. Taehyung poked his head from the  the corner of the living room before sashaying to his position against the door. He presented Jungkook with a bottle of water.

“You want this? You look a bit thirsty.” He barely got the joke out before he laughed out, doubling over again. Jungkook only cursed under his breath before heading back to his room. Your words echoed in his head: It’s about the tease, making them follow you not only with your movements, but with your face. The only thing that filled his head as he headed to the bathroom was the run of your tongue against your lips as your hand trailed down his chest.

“You gonna take care of something, Kookie?” Jimin called out, followed by a howl of laughter from the rest of the guys as he pushed on the bathroom door and slammed it shut. You’d played the tease until the very end and one day he’d pay you back.


*A/N: Since this is a repost, Part 2 will be coming soon ^-^*

Sleepovers

“I’m not taking your bed, Potter!”

“Damn it Draco, you’re my guest, just take the bed!”

“Why would I want to sleep in that-” Draco gestured vaguely in the direction of Potter’s bedroom. “That mess? I’d rather sleep with that crotchety old house-elf!”

Okay, so that might be taking it a little too far, but Draco refused to care. This isn’t what he asked for. Just because he was worried that the threats were getting a little too specific. Just because someone managed to get a Howler past his wards a few days ago. Just because that happened at three o’clock in the morning, disrupting his already fitful sleep… Really, none of that warranted this little “sleepover” at Grimmauld Place. And he’d be damned it he’d let Potter make him feel guilty for his favour. To emphasise that point, he crossed his arms and lifted his chin in an effort to look down his nose at the Auror in spite of their height difference.

“Mess? You’ve never even seen my-”

“What else would your bedroom be?” Draco muttered, petulantly.

Potter pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing his glasses down. “Draco just - You know what? Fine.” He glared over the rim of the glasses, now riding low on his nose, then turned, waving a hand behind him dismissively as he made his way up the stairs. “Take the couch. I don’t fucking care. Don’t mind the dog hair, it hasn’t been cleaned since Sirius lived here.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Now that I think of it, Remus probably left some hair on it, too, when they-”

“Fine!” Draco cut him off, shooting a disgusted glance at the sofa (dog hair? Wait, when they what?!) before jogging up the stairs to push past him. “Fine, Potter. Merlin, you’re a bastard. Enjoy the dog hair!”

A smug smile spread across Potter’s face for a moment before freezing in place.

“Er, wait, actually… I mean, that thing really is…” He scrubbed a hand through his rat’s nest before letting it rest on the back of his neck, eyes shifting sheepishly around the corridor. “And, you know, it is a pretty big bed…”

Draco scoffed. “I doubt a bed exists that’s big enough for us to share.” He sneered, gesturing between them. “Isn’t it enough that we have to sleep in the same house?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t want stay with Ron.”

“Yes, well,” Draco sniffed, aiming for haughty. “Weasley and I can’t coexist on the same  street, let alone in the same-”

“And,” Potter added, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. “It didn’t seem like such a bad idea, last night.”

Draco swallowed, willing his voice to remain steady.

“I was drunk, Pott-”

“Hardly,” he chuckled. He was even closer, somehow, caging Draco mere centimetres from the bedroom door and safety. “You sat at that bar with one drink for an hour before you came stumbl-”

“I needed your help… “ The argument sounded weak, rehearsed. It was, of course, but it wasn’t supposed to sound like it. And, apparently, Potter wasn’t buying it.

“That must have hurt,” he quipped, cocking his head with a grin. “Only, I don’t think that was just you needing help… Hell, you were-”

“What’s your point?” Draco whined. He couldn’t help it. Potter’s heat was burning him, his voice, lowering as he leaned closer, was too much. Too suggestive, too interested, too-

“My point,” he whispered, stepping still closer, until the wall was pressed to Draco’s back, Potter flush against his front, leaving no room to back away further. “We’re going to be here for a while, I’ve got that big bed,” he tipped his head forward an inch, breathing heavily into Draco’s ear, “and I’ll be damned if all we do in it is sleep.”

Potter’s knee was nudging Draco’s thighs apart, effectively removing the very last of the distance between them, not to mention coherent thought, and Draco let his head drop against the wall. The sensations, Potter’s warm thigh trapping his cock, big hands holding his hips in place, were overwhelming, overpowering. Distantly, Draco realised he was panting and wondered when that started.

“I suppose I could be, ah, convinced to-” he gasped when Potter lowered his head, sniggering, to nip at the pulse point fluttering in his throat. “Re-reconsider the…. um…”

Potter pulled back, circling Draco’s wrist with rough fingers. “Good,” he growled before crushing his lips over Draco’s.

With a whimper, Draco allowed himself to be dragged into the bedroom. The size of the bed, forgotten until Potter lifted him by his hips to toss him into the lake of blankets and pillows, is quite acceptable, he decided. He took a moment, even, to be thankful for the size since it meant there was no threat of Potter miscalculating and landing him on his arse on the other side, before locking his eyes on Potter again. His shirt was  hanging open, his fingers working on the zip of his trousers. But his eyes, darkened to the color of the canopy deep in a forest, were raking over Draco’s form.

When the stiff material finally fell, Draco released the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and let his gaze fall with it. Over the broad shoulders, the bronzed skin that stretched across coiled muscles, to the dark hair trailing into pants, clearly painted onto the trim waist and sturdy thighs.

“You’re drooling.” The amusement, while evident, didn’t mask the arousal thickening his voice and Draco snapped his eyes back to Potter’s face,making an effort to close his slackened jaw.

Shaking himself, mentally, Draco reached for some composure, some fucking balance. “What can I say?” he shrugged, a jerky, one armed thing that had Potter laughing, again. Giving in to the admission, Draco scowled. “What? I’m supposed to stare down the wizarding world’s number one wet dream with any kind of poise?”

Potter grinned and dropped his weight forward, latching onto Draco’s throat again, and fumbling with the clasp of his robes. “Glad to see you’re coming around.”

“Let me make this clear, Potter,” Draco gasped, hands scrambling for purchase in the tangle of bedclothes. “I’m not one of your simpering fans.”

“I don’t know, Draco, looks like you’re simpering, to me.” With a grunt, he pulled Draco’s trousers and pants halfway down his thighs. “You’re fucking trembling.” What does he expect when his hand closes around Draco’s cock like that?

Seeking a level playing field, Draco reared up, catching Potter’s mouth in something resembling a kiss, and pushed him until their positions were reversed. Potter let him, obviously, and tossed his arms up to prop under his head, angling for a better view. On his knees, Draco pushed his restrictive clothing down further before kicking them off, entirely, and straddling Potter where he lay sprawled across the bed. His hands, so much paler against the darker background of Potter’s skin, slid firmly over the muscles, paused to tweak nipples until they were straining and Potter was arching under him.

Leaning forward, he closed his mouth around the corded muscles on Potter’s throat, sinking in his teeth briefly before swiping at the spot with his tongue. Potter’s hands came around, finally, to rest on Draco’s arse, squeezing and releasing, molding the globes and pulling Draco’s cock hard against his own.

“Holy fuck,” Draco moaned, releasing Potter’s throat to grind back against him.

“Too many fucking -” Potter muttered, grasping at the robes still bunched around Draco’s hips.

Draco lifted his arms to help him drag the offending fabric over his head before flattening himself out again to slide his skin against Potter’s. Once started, he didn’t stop, sliding down Potter’s body, licking and nipping at the heated flesh, drinking in the sounds that escaped him when Draco reached his target.

Nuzzling at the hard flesh through the cotton pants, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged, laughing when Potter’s flushed cock slapped gently against his face as it sprang free. Potter’s hand on his head, fingers slipping between the strands of his hair and loosening his stubby ponytail, drew his attention and he wrapped the slender fingers of one hand around the base, flicking a sly smile up to him.

“Eager, are we?”

“Fuck, Malfoy, if you don’t -” but Draco already was, so Potter dropped his head with a groan, fist tightening in Draco’s hair as he swiped his tongue over the head, slipping in under the stretched foreskin, before engulfing it entirely. “Jesus fucking  Christ!”

Draco pondered that for a moment. Muggle-borns used the term, frequently, but he had no actual idea what it meant. It seemed to be used as a swear word, similarly to “Merlin.“ Some Muggle idol, then? A forefath-

Potter’s hand tightened almost painfully and Draco shook the thoughts away. What was he thinking? Potter’s cock was in his mouth, leaking onto his tonsils, and he was philosophising semantics? With renewed focus, he applied himself to his task, swirling his tongue around the shaft, pulling away until his lips rested on the very tip before plunging back down until he could feel the blunt head just barely breaching his throat. And then, doing it all again.

Before long, Potter was pulling his head away and hauling him against himself for another kiss, rolling them easily until Draco was molded to the mattress beneath him.

“God, Draco,” he rasped, scraping his barely-there beard against Draco’s jaw, neck, chest. “I knew, I fucking knew you would be amazing.”

Draco jolted. Potter thought about this? About him?

Propping himself on his elbows, he watched that dark tangle of hair dip as Potter bit and kissed and scraped along his hip, his cock, the junction between his groin and thigh. With a shudder, he flopped back when Potter lifted his leg, exposing Draco to his view.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, breath hot against the sensitive skin between Draco’s arse cheeks. “Fucking gorgeous.”

And then, Draco was arching his back, groaning wantonly as a wide, hot, wet, stripe trailed over his entrance. And then, again. And again, until Draco thought he would weep. At which point, of fucking course, Potter plunged that wicked tongue as deep as he could, bending Draco’s pliant body into the air for a better angle and a sob ripped from Draco’s throat. Had thought been possible, he might have cursed Potter for drawing such reactions from him. As it was, he couldn’t force out a curse until, because, Potter was pulling away.

“What the fuck, Po- Oh, fuck!”

Potter was chuckling, again, rotating the slick finger that had replaced his tongue before withdrawing it to add another.

Draco was begging, fuck, yes, more, please! but he couldn’t care. And when Potter finally covered him, again, stretching out over his limp form, it was all Draco could do to sling his arms over those broad shoulders and return the kiss as Potter pushed into him in one, swift, determined stroke.

Tearing his mouth away, Potter panted into his hair, grunting. “Simpering yet, Malfoy?”

Fuck, Potter, please-”

“I am,” he laughed, pulling out and driving back in to prove it. “God, so fucking tight!”

Any more words either dissolved unspoken or hung unheard as Potter set a punishing pace, slamming into him, again and again, rocking the bed with the force of his thrusts. As Draco alternated between clinging, flailing, and sagging into the mattress.

Draco was vaguely aware of his building orgasm and hooked his legs around Potter’s waist, desperate to take the other man with him when he crashed over that jagged edge. He flexed his muscles, clenching, gripping Potter tighter and thrilled when he cried out, his rhythm stuttering. He held tighter to Draco, reaching blindly for a kiss and Draco met him halfway, moaning into his mouth when he came and swallowing Potter’s shout when he followed, moments later.

Ragged, gasping breaths echoed in the sudden silence as Potter collapsed, his chest pressing fully against Draco’s again. His weight forced too much of the air from Draco’s lungs, but he didn’t care. He tightened his legs around his waist, locking his ankles to hold him there, and slid his arms over broad shoulders, toying lazily with the soft hair at the nape of Potter’s neck. A smile stretched his lips, one he couldn’t stop if he’d bothered trying.

After a bit, Potter hummed, shifting only to find himself anchored to the bed. Turning his head to blink blearily at Draco, he opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it on a tired smile.

“Hi,” he finally managed.

Laughing, Draco craned his neck back so he could see better. “Hi, yourself.”

Potter cocked his head, a slight frown crinkling his brow. “You look awfully pleased…”

“Do I?” Draco tried to scowl but was pretty sure it came out as a grin. “Hmm, what do you know, I am a little pleased.”

With a laugh, Potter reached up to disentangle himself, groaned when he met with resistance. “Alright, I gotta piss, let me up.”

The grin turned mischievous and Draco tightened his grip. “Huh-uh,” he shook his head, playfully. “Not until you admit that I do not, nor ever have… simpered.”

Draco squealed when Potter rolled them to their sides and dug his fingers mercilessly into Draco’s ribs with a shouted “Never surrender!”

Okay, so maybe sleepovers weren’t so bad.


Is this better, @l0vegl0wsinthedark?
Omg, NSFW -NFSFW!!! D:
Am I doing this right?

I AM SO INTO THIS SHIT YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I tried to make them kinda different, but in the end they still wound up pretty similar, Please Forgive.

Keep reading

“Flat out” - h.s. Part 7

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

—–

—–

You had your head on your kitchen island as you stared at the small fish tank in front of you. The little beta fish swam around with it’s burgundy tail flipping through the water as it swam in little circles around and around. 

“Same,” you sighed, spooning a mouthful of cereal into your mouth while continuing to watch your little fish. You’d bought him two weeks ago, after living on your own for two full months, and you were quite content just watching this little guy swim around with no worries in the world. 

He soothed you.

You may or may not have named him Harry. 

David had already texted you twice today around five in the morning like an apparently normal person in the law world. You had been working the same case for about a month now and you seriously were started to get agitated. Patience had never been a strong suit for you. 

Keep reading

tiny-klancer  asked:

Okay so I don't have the emoji for it (or I can't find it) but I'd love the washing each others hair ask art thing? Thanks! Xx

Haha based on the content I make and your url, I’m gonna assume you’re after some klance. SO HERE YA GO!

“I can’t believe we got in another goo fight.” Lance sighs. His large hands expertly support Keith’s neck as he leans back into the basin. Long fingers gently card through black hair and begin to rinse away traces of green. 

“It was Pidge’s fault.” Keith pouts.

“It absolutely was not.” Lance laughs under his breath. Keith had let his temper get the better of him again, and when Allura had reprimanded him about his lack of decisiveness and leadership, he had snapped. It was true that Pidge had supported him, but Keith was the one to initially talk back to Allura. They should have all learned by now not to get in an argument with Allura at the dinner table. Thankfully Coran had walked in and put a stop to everything before tensions could get higher. Despite the joy and frivolity often associated with food fights, none of that was present in this argument. 

Keith closes his eyes. 

“I miss Shiro.”

Lance’s hands still. His brows crinkle just above the bridge of his nose. 

“I know.” He sighs. His fingers brush and untangle a knot in Keith’s hair. “I know.”

He loads up his palm with shampoo and works Keith’s hair into a lather. Keith sighs at the pressure against his scalp, at the way Lance’s hands seem to massage his worries away. 

“We’ll find him. I promise.” Lance inhales deeply. The bathroom smells strongly of his coconut and jasmine shampoo. “And… I don’t know if this means anything to you… but I think you’re doing pretty well.” A sneaky sideways grin. “All things considered.”

Keith slowly opens his eyes. He looks up at the boy grinning down at him earnestly. There’s some green goo drying in his short hair and against his jaw, but that only serves to make him look more endearing.

“That… That does mean something…” Keith mumbles quietly. “…to me.”

Lance’s smile brightens. Warm water rushes over Keith’s scalp as Lance begins to rinse away the shampoo. 

“Good.” He chuckles. “Nice to know my opinion means something.”

“Well when you have good ones, yeah.” Keith smirks and closes his eyes again. He can hear Lance exhale a laugh, and he lightly nudges his knee in protest.

Keith’s jaw slackens and a light moan escapes his throat when Lance starts to condition his hair. Thumbs rub at his temples and nails lightly scratch against his scalp. It’s fortunate that Keith has his eyes closed so he can’t see the blush that spreads on Lance’s cheeks. 

“En…Enjoying yourself?” Lance stammers.

“Why are you so good at this?” 

Lance laughs. He takes extra care to run his nails against Keith’s scalp again, and watches him melt in his chair. 

“I have a lot of siblings… nieces and nephews. I don’t want to ruin our bonding moment here, but kids get really dirty. I’ve had to clean up my share of vomit dried in a little girl’s hair.” He smirks. Keith keeps his eyes closed, but his mouth pulls into a wide smile. 

“You think this is a bonding moment?” He asks. 

Lance playfully tugs at his hair. “I suppose. Is it a good one?”

“It’s a pretty solid 8 out of 10.”

“Off, bit low for my tastes. Would it be better if I cradled you while I did this?”

Keith laughs loudly. The sound warms Lance’s chest and his hands still as he completely forgets what task he’s supposed to be performing. Keith’s laughter quietens down and he looks up at Lance with fondness. He reaches up and gently clasps Lance’s wrist as it brushes against his neck. 

“Lance…” His voice is soft and low. Lance’s eyes widen. 

Keith swallows. 

“Losing Shiro again has been… incredibly difficult.” He chews his bottom lip. “But you being here… You’ve helped…” Keith struggles with the words. Butterflies bat aggressively against his stomach. His hand holding Lance’s trembles. 

“I couldn’t do this without you.”

Lance feels his pulse in his throat. His knees feel weak and he has to be careful to not completely collapse on top of Keith. An odd little snort escapes him. He takes a small lump of suds out of the sink and places it on Keith’s nose.

“You’re just saying that because I’m the only one who can get all this gunk out of your hair.”

“I’m serious!”

“I know, I know…” Lance grins. He licks his bottom lip. “Thank you.”

Keith hums. He sinks back into Lance’s hands. 

“You know when you finish… I could always wash your hair if you wanted.” He cautiously offers. 

“Awww,” Lance coos. “That’s really sweet.” He waits a beat. 


“But you’re fucking crazy if you think I’ll let you near my hair.”

Cuddling A Nightmare

Fic Request: 

“I am so supper sorry I know u have a ton of requests and u did something kinda like this in bitter p.02 but can u pls do one were anti wakes the reader up from a nightmare and just snuggles and cuddles cause I have been having nighmares that won’t leave me alone? thank you o very much!”

*Screams* ANOTHER ANTI FIC! Woohoo! 
Hope you guys enjoy! 

Originally posted by doctor2110

His hand made you jerk into reality. You gasped, tearing away from Anti as you clawed at the phantoms that followed you from your nightmare. 
“Whoa,” Anti said, “Easy, it’s just me.” 
You shivered, suddenly cold. You felt the goose-bumps on your skin as you rubbed your arms, trying to get some warmth into them. 
“S-Sorry,”  You muttered, gazing around the room. “Bad..Bad dream.” 
“I could tell,” Anti said, irritation biting at his words. “I could hear you down the hall.” 
You winced, “Sorry. They’re getting worse.” 
Anti hummed, watching you with a slight glow in his eyes. The light from his gaze illuminated the room, scattering the shadows that started to mock the edges of your imagination. You sighed, finally calming. 
“Thanks for waking me, Anti,” You said with a small smile. “This is the third time you’ve done this.” 
“Don’t mention it,” Anti said, “But with this third restless night, I’m staying in here.” 
“Huh?” You replied. “You..You don’t have to.” 
“I know,” Anti said, gathering the messy blankets and throwing them over you. “But I can’t be bothered walking back to my room, now.” 
“Fine, but if you’re sleeping in here, we’re cuddling!” You snapped jokingly. 
“Deal,” Anti replied. His answer took you off guard, but you settled back into the blanket and snuggled against his side. 
Anti slept on his back, cradling you against him with one arm and the other resting over his chest. 
He was so much warmer than you were. He made a noise when you nestled against him. 
“Jeez, you’re freezing!” He exclaimed. 
“No turning back now!” You told him, hugging his side. “You’re committed to this.”
Anti grumbled and laid his head on your pillows.
With your head resting on his shoulder, you could faintly hear his irregular heart-beat. His breaths were slow and deep, a slight whistle slipping from his nose when he exhaled. 
He was already asleep. 
You closed your eyes, trying to sooth yourself into a slumber. But you found that sleep wasn’t ready to have you yet. 
You tossed gently, rolling so your back was against Anti’s side. You tried to find a comfortable spot, but no matter how you positioned your legs, they felt wrong. 

You sighed softly, trying not to wake the sleeping entity beside you. 
After another careful roll, you settled in the same position a few turns ago. With your back squashed against  Anti and your head on his forearm. 
It would have to do.
You felt Anti move behind you, he rolled against you, his right arm draping over your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. 
His face buried itself into your hair, his whiskery chin tickling your neck as he nuzzled you. 
“If you don’t stop moving, I’m gonna wrap you up in this blanket and make you into a burrito.” Anti mumbled drowsily into your hair.
You smiled a little and stirred in his arms, enough to make yourself comfortable again. He made a quiet growling sound and tightened his embrace around your middle. 
“I’m comfortable now,” You notified him. You were answered with a sleepy hum and a little less restraint on your stomach.
You closed your eyes, concentrating on the warm breath that washed over your cheeks. You found yourself slowly drifting off, but deep sleep played at the edges of your consciousness.
Mocking you. 
A pleasant sensation opened your eyes again, to find Anti’s hand caressing your upturned palm. He drew circles on the smooth skin, running his fingertips long the lengths of your fingers and then grazing his thumb over your wrist. 
You closed your eyes again as he continued the pattern. 
He started drawing designs on your arm, the tips of his fingers fluttering over the skin. His legs tangled with yours, somehow drawing you closer as you started to fall back into the nightmare. 
“I’m here,” He whispered into your ear. “Those creatures in your mind are no match for me. Sleep now, and I’ll keep them away.” 
He watched your face relax, slacken with sleep as the shadows in your head dispersed into empty sleep. 
He settled back into the pillow, maintaining the same movements with his fingers until he too fell into sleep.