Tag: IM SCREAMING

goldentruth813:

@aibidil said “

Will pay ten million galleons for Draco showing up to a ministry function in troye sivan’s outfit from last night

“ and who am I to deny her?

Harry’s glass of champagne was halfway to his mouth, the beginnings of a laugh dying on his lips as Draco Malfoy walked into the ballroom. He was late—something Harry had learned over the last few years Malfoy usually abhorred—and Harry wondered if he’d done it on purpose. If he’d time his arrival specifically to draw attention to himself.

Hermione was still talking and Harry was vaguely aware of her speaking but everything dulled away into a vague buzzing sound in the background, his mouth falling open as he took in Malfoy’s attire for the evening.

Malfoy was wearing, fuck—Harry wasn’t even sure what to call what he was wearing. He supposed it was a suit. Sort of. Except the entire thing was red. Fucking Gryffindor red.

Malfoy’s trousers were red, his suit jacket was red. Fuck even his shirt was red. His shirt. Was that even a shirt? Did it count as a shirt if it was see through? Harry’d never seen a shirt you could fucking see through—Malfoy’s flat stomach and pert nipples on display beneath the sheer material—it was practically obscene. The only thing that wasn’t red were his expensive looking black leather shoes which instead of looking out of place with an entirely red ensemble managed to look effortlessly stylish in a way only Malfoy could manage.

As if the bold outfit weren’t shocking enough Malfoy’s hair—usually slicked back and completely immaculate without one strand of hair out of place when Harry passed him by in the lift every morning at the Ministry—was falling around his face in loose, soft looking waves.

“Harry. Harry, are you listening to me I—oh.” Hermione stopped speaking, lifting her own glass of champagne to her mouth. Harry would’ve sworn she mumbled fucking figures before taking a drink but he was too distracted by watching the way Malfoy’s stomach muscles quivered beneath the sheer fabric of his shirt as he laughed at something the Minister was saying.

Harry looked around to see if anyone else was as taken aback by Malfoy’s outfit choice for the Ministry’s midsummer Ball. He could see several sets of eyes following Malfoy’s graceful movements across the room but no one looked the way Harry felt—close to losing control.

Harry spent the next hour blindly agreeing with everything everyone said with him which earned him particularly strange looks from Robards and Ron but Harry couldn’t even be arsed to care. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to fraternize and hobnob with Ministry officials when Draco fucking Malfoy was walking around the room looking like that.

Harry did his best to avoid Malfoy—darting away whenever the other man came within ten feet of him—not trusting himself to be close enough to Malfoy to touch. Because fuck he wanted to touch. And that was really not an appropriate thought to be having in front of all his friends and colleagues. Harry wanted to glide his fingers down the fabric of Malfoy’s shirt and watch the shimmering material ripple beneath his ministrations, wanted to make Malfoy’s body rithe. Fuck he needed to get control.

Ignoring Ron’s shouts as Harry walked away mid-conversation, Harry shook his head and made his way out the double doors and down the corridor, grateful there was no one else around as he wandered away with absolutely no idea where he was heading.

“Potter!” Malfoy called.

Harry turned just in time to see Malfoy following him and while his brain was screaming run, his feet betrayed him, planting themselves in the middle of the corridor as watched Malfoy approach.

Harry swallowed, willing his heart rate to decrease. “Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s lip quirked up in the corner—an all too familiar smirk—as he walked directly into Harry’s personal space, body just inches from him. “You’ve been watching me all night,” Malfoy whispered, leaning forward so that the tips of his hair brushed across Harry’s cheek.

“Yes,” Harry answered, not seeing the point in lying.

Malfoy’s smile was practically victorious. “Want to do more than look?”

Harry faltered for only a second. 

“This looks good on you but—,” Harry grinned, giving in to temptation and reaching out to run his hand down Malfoy’s chest, delighting in the way the silky material felt beneath his fingertips. Even more rewarding was the warmth of Malfoy’s skin beneath it, shuddering at his touch.

“But what?” Malfoy asked, voice laced with arousal.

This time it was Harry’s turn to smirk. “But it’d look better on my bedroom floor.”

mighty-alphalpha:

Hale Pack AU – strip club

The Hales run Beacon Hills’ one and only strip club, and it’s a huge success. Among the many gorgeous and talented dancers, Erica and Jackson steal the show, all to the soundtrack of DJ Cora’s expertly composed playlists. Boyd, the soft-spoken but assertive bouncer, keeps patrons on their best behavior, while they enjoy the town’s yummiest drinks and an eyeful of bartender Isaac’s dazzling blue eyes – or, if the bar is too full, they can always order at the table and receive their glass and a strangely arousing glare directly from Derek, the waiter.

(thank you @clarz!)

Flash Fic #49: Focus

eeyore9990:

It’s not hard. It’s not fast or loud or in the middle of an argument. The pack isn’t surrounding them.

It’s still and quiet, soft like only those hours after midnight can be.

The only illumination in the room comes from Stiles’ laptop screen and whatever filters in from outside the wall of windows – which isn’t much because it’s the new moon and cloudy besides.

But Derek is looking at him, his eyes bluer than normal because of quality of electronic light. His face is cast half in shadow and the bit that can be easily seen is itself covered by the hair that grows a little more unkempt every day.

Maybe this is how it has to be. Maybe Stiles needs to have every distraction removed, stripped away, to allow him to truly focus on this moment. And even then, there are a million and one details for his brain to process.

The way his lips stick together, slowly unpeeling top from bottom as he parts them with a sigh. How Derek’s lashes flutter the tiniest bit when his eyes drop to Stiles’ mouth. The flare of nostrils as Derek scents the air.

The way Stiles’ chest grows heavy because the moment has become weighted, breathless. He’s afraid to exhale, some part of his mind caught on the three energy drinks he’d had earlier in the evening.

But he sways forward regardless, the space between them disappearing. Just before they make contact, Stiles feels the rush of Derek’s breath over his mouth, which is the only reason he can think of to explain why his own breath stutters out of slowly burning lungs.

Their lips meet, soft and quiet. They press together, pull apart. Derek’s beard tickles along Stiles’ skin and Stiles’ lashes brush Derek’s cheek. They bump back together, longer this time. Slower. Stiles feels the muscles at the corners of his mouth tightening as his lips purse, suckling just faintly on Derek’s fuller bottom lip.

He pulls back again, needs to get his bearings, needs to breathe. But as he retreats, Derek presses forward, his hand rising from the table to wrap, warm and sure – but not tight, not confining – around the back of Stiles’ neck, holding him in place.

Derek’s eyes open slowly, looking into Stiles’ from so close everything is fuzzy, unclear. But when he sighs again, the breath rushing over Stiles’ mouth tastes like relief, like trust.

This time, Stiles wets his lips with his tongue first so they aren’t tacky, the moisture allowing them to slide more easily over Derek’s. It’s still slow, still soft.

It’s still warm and still and quiet. It’s still past midnight.

But it’s right. It’s perfect.

Stiles curls his hand gently in the material of Derek’s shirt, down by his waist, and sinks into the moment. Lets his mind float from one perfect detail to the next as their kisses grow longer, fuller.

the-mess-sterek-left-behind:

yourlovelyalpha:

Sterek Request 5/ ∞  

Dom!Stiles & Sub!Derek praise with a little after care

Dom!Stiles giving his beautiful and worn out Sub!Derek the proper aftercare and praise he so rightfully deserves. Because as a Dom, it is Stiles’ duty to make sure his Sub is happy and safe and experiences the best after care ever! So after a rigorous scene, he’ll take Derek on to the enormous california sized bed he specifically surrounded with plush comforters and pillows. 

And Derek can’t help but blush as he comes down from his Sub-space at all the memories of the scene.

Remembering how Stiles told him how gorgeous he looked, how beautiful his voice sang when Stiles entered his tight warmth, how supple and soft his skin is as Stiles placed little marks on it.The rhythmic slap of their skin and the soft smell of sweat and clean sheets around them.

How Derek’s kisses make Stiles’ own heart flutter all the way to nirvana every time – as Stiles tells him anyways and Derek is not about to argue against that. 

Derek may be getting aroused by this, but it’s the slow simmering arousal that makes the butterflies in his stomach dance with joy and never want to stop. 

Euphoric, even during after care as he nestles himself in Stiles’ arms and drifts off to sleep with Stiles holding him close and tracing his long nimble fingers across Derek’s marked skin. 

After all..

Derek deserves the absolute best treatment any sub can possibly experience ❤

Says so Stiles….

*clutches heart* look at this omg
@hoechlbutt @shealwaysreads @pale-silver-comb @sterektrashbag

♥ wonderwall

paintedrecs:

For the Sterek Valentines meme

“Stop him!” Stiles hissed, grabbing at the empty air his best friend had just vacated. He was half standing, half sprawling over Derek’s stupid, firm, immovable bulk. Ordinarily, he would’ve lingered to fully appreciate the experience of having so much of that warm body pressed against his, but his attention was – to the dismay of some far off corner of his brain that was always dedicated to Derek – too focused on the fact that his way out of the booth was obstructed. Sadly, friendship sometimes took precedence over the pangs of his loveless life, and this was – “an emergency,” he panted, elbowing Derek in the ribs as he tried to scramble over him.

Derek’s only response was to carefully shift his beer away from Stiles’s flailing limbs. He didn’t even grunt in discomfort, the bastard, and Stiles made sure to elbow him once more for good measure. At least that finally made him grasp Stiles by the arm, effectively freezing him in place, and raise an eyebrow in question.

From his other side, Boyd contributed in a slow, sedate, unhurried, goddamn infuriating tone, “Define emergency.”

“When someone yells fire in a crowded room, you don’t stop to ask them what kind,” he retorted, then shot a quick glance at Derek’s face. “Sorry,” he added, and Derek shrugged but let go of his arm, his fingers clenching in a quick spasm that he tried to hide by wrapping both hands back around the sweating beer bottle.

He would deal with that later, Stiles decided. Or – more likely, considering their track record – they’d both pretend it had never happened and that Derek didn’t still get weirdly sensitive about things Stiles sometimes said in the heat of the moment. Shit. He needed to focus.

“This is not a drill!” he said, barely keeping his voice at an acceptable volume for the crowded bar. “It’s Code Alpha…Tango…Delta…fuck, forget codes, he’s going to ruin everything, why aren’t you listening to me?”

“He’s just going to sing karaoke,” Erica said. “His voice can’t possibly be that bad. Or if it is, that’s part of the fun.”

Stiles exhaled sharply through his nose. “He’s really fucking drunk, which means he’s going to sing Wonderwall.” He looked pointedly around the table, but other than a slight furrow on Isaac’s forehead, everyone’s faces remained blank. “To Allison?“

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