#gentle gentle

[rockingrobin69]

Held Dear

Draco kept taking the wrong turns: the place was a maze, and he was only half-looking, skidding past corners on his socks and trying to swallow the smile, to temper this riot in his chest. Went for a cup of tea, got lost, found himself—nowhere, over-warm and nearly skipping. His hand couldn’t stop running down his neck, under the hem of his jumper, tracing the marks Potter’s mouth left that he could still feel. The slight irritation from his stubble—luckily there was a mirror in the corridor, and Draco stopped in front of it on a gasp.

His hair was a mess (Potter’s hands ruffling through it, his reverent fingers ever-gentle, ever-sweet); his cheeks were flushed (Potter’s kisses), and his lips red and bitten (him or Potter, who’s to say). Not visible: his heart going thump-thump-thump, and this thing buzzing on his lips, coming from deep inside, something awful like affection or delight. Something—bright.

“Draco?” he heard from a distance. “Where did you go, silly creature?”

Flushed from head to toe: “I’m just down here.”

He could feel Potter’s laughter more than hear it, ticklish on his pinked skin—then, leaning on a doorframe and destructively handsome, his Potter in all his naked glory, hairy chest and thick thighs and dark bitemarks that made Draco hungry all over again. Insatiable, he was, whenever Potter was around: running through him, thick like warmed honey and just as sweet, desire raw and tight.

“There you are,” Potter said, fond eyebrows and half a smile. “Did you get lost?”

“Of course not,” prancing, heart dancing in his chest. “Don’t you look just lovely.”

Potter gave an appreciative hum, came a step closer. “You’re overdressed. It’s not cold, is it?”

It was, Draco thought, before Potter appeared. Now he couldn’t even remember what cold meant. An opposite, probably, of this, finally close enough to touch, his hand mindlessly caressing Potter’s sides, one thumb catching his chin.

“I’m cold,” Draco said anyway. “Warm me up.”

Potter was only too happy to oblige, clear from his smile (going wider still), from the look in his eyes (a devastating thing, sending shivers down Draco’s spine), from the noise he made, half a growl and half a plea. His arms wrapping around Draco, and his mouth tilting closer for a kiss. His taste (divine), his hair (so soft under Draco’s fingers), his, ah, body, pinned against Draco’s and writhing, moving, endlessly and frantically.

“You’re perfect,” Draco thought he said, out loud maybe, and tried to swallow the words back from his lips. “Potter—”

Sucking little bites onto his neck, hands roaming, searching under his jumper, till his clever fingers found a nipple. “Ah,” as Draco's whole mind melted, “Potter, ah,” as he tweaked it once, twice. Grinning against Draco’s face, the most ridiculous angel to ever exist.

“Come on,” Potter whispered, kissing all the way down his jaw to the shell of his ear. “Let’s go back to my room. I’ve—fuck—Draco, I want you so badly.”

You have me, Draco wanted to say, almost did, heart fluttering madly at the thought. Closed his eyes, leaned his head back, tried to contain all this—impossible, fizzy joy.

“Take me, then,” he managed, only a half-truth and everything he cared for. Potter’s smile was delirious as he picked him up, bodily in his arms: and Draco’s squeal, and his laughter, all muffled in the crook of his neck, holding on tight.

The house was a maze, and they weren’t looking, and it didn’t matter. Around corners and down long corridors, their lightheaded laughter, a sock, then another, left strewn like breadcrumbs, Draco’s jumper and his boxer shorts, beacons for the morning. For now, this—Potter and that little noise he made, the one that tore right through him, Potter and his hands, and his eyes, and his mouth, and his thighs. And his smile, still somehow going wider, wild and sweet and perfect.

When Potter said, “Come,” Draco nearly burst. Kissing him and kissing him, hungrily, frantically, mewling little yes, yeses in a throaty voice. In a too-big house and still without his tea, this bright thing inside him, loud and frantic like happiness.

(Flufftober day 6. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[willabee]

[littlestpersimmon]

whale fall

[lastoneout]

Ya know when people told me "when you're finally safe enough that you can leave survival mode and start to let go of and process your c-ptsd/trauma things are probably going to get really, really bad before they slowly start to get better" I thought that was reasonable. I did not understand that by "things are going to get bad" they meant "you're going to find yourself in the worst mental state of your entire life, but dw, that means it's working" and tbh I simply wish someone had been more clear.

Edit: If everyone could please take a minute and think about what it must feel like to be struggling and then have multiple strangers say to your face that they find the prospect of going through what you're going through so horrifying that they'd rather kill themselves and then stop leaving comments like that I would greatly appreciate it.

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[orchidbreezefc]

i made a variant of [link: two cakes] to illustrate a related principle

[fluffy--cookie]

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}

[pleaseijustneedahug]

i've had this fantasy of like, cockwarming except there's a vibrator involved, so i'm not actually riding his cock, but i'm on it and he keeps making me cum over and over and over, just using the squeezing of my cunt to get himself off until he's too desperate to cum and he just shoves me down onto my back and pushes me into the meanest mating press and fucks me until i pass out (assuming i haven't already from the countless clitoral orgasms)

[unovni]

forgot to do strength training or cardio or stretching today!!! i did yearn though, and a bask

[stayuntilthefoglifts]

No one will ever fully be able to understand the internal battles you had to endure just to heal, just to grow, just to make it here today. Be proud of the way you fought to save yourself. Be proud of the way you survived.

Bianca Sparacino

[iyamifucker]

“I can fix him” I couldn’t fix him and I don’t want to. I think he grew prone to biting and scratching in order to get by in a harsh world, and to me his resilience is part of what makes him so beautifully himself. I could be kind to him, though. I could show him gentleness. I could, slowly but surely, in the same way one earns the trust of a skittish stray cat, convince him that my touch will never come accompanied by pain. That, around me, he can allow himself to be soft. To relax. I could be the one he associates with warmth and safety, the one he longs to be held by after a hard day. I could be his home.

[paracosmoon]

[shamelesslyimpurrfect]

(X)

[martyrbat]

i dont know who needs to hear this but you do not need to go on a diet. you do not need to lose weight as a new year revolution. you do not need to feel shame for gaining any weight over the holidays and for enjoying yourself and the food. you do not need to tolerate diet talk after setting a boundary and if someone cant respect that then theyre being the asshole. you already have a summer body. you already are hot. theres no moral failure or shame in being fat

[lonepower]

yes i Am paying real money to make you all look at our new dog. we've had her for 3 hours and if anything happened to her I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself. her name is Tater Tot