#butterscotch babbles

[salad-juice-enjoyer]

Any other non-USAmericans who discovered the existance of butterscotch through undertale?

[insomniumstella]

spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts. 

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven. 

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around. 

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil. 

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh. 

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.” 

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.” 

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago. 

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole. 

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose. 

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?” 

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her. 

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days. 

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi. 

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.” 

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?” 

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front. 

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.” 

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze. 

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee. 

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.” 

“How undercooked?” 

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.” 

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact. 

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.” 

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.” 

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile. 

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?” 

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them." 

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.” 

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer. 

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.” 

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters: 

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on. 

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”. 

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides. 

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you. 

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side. 

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.” 

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises. 

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.” 

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding. 

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?” 

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness. 

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.” 

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time. 

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves. 

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” 

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?” 

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.” 

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again. 

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”  

“People do say opposites attract.” 

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.” 

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him. 

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones. 

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.” 

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.” 

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early." 

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.” 

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.” 

[munacy]

Weak

@wolfstarmicrofic

word count: 363

CW: recreational drug use

****

"This bud is weak," Sirius accuses.

"It most certainly is not," Remus says primly, but breaks with a stoned little giggle. "I would know, after all."

Sirius scowls. "I don't feel a thing, and I've taken, like, four hits!"

"You're just not used to hitting blunts, that's all," he reasons. "You're spoilt. Posh twat."

"Well, then, let's go grab Averill," Sirius retorts, standing up and ignoring the jibe. He's referring to the unisex name of their giant bong, transfigured to look like an innocent ficus.

"No, no," Remus protests, hastily pulling Sirius back down by his wrist. Their sides are flush with one another and impossibly warm despite the chill in the air. "Are you mad? We can't lug a giant potted plant all the way back to the Astronomy Tower, how would that look?"

Sirius harrumphs unhappily.

"Here...let me try something," Remus murmurs, a hesitant look in his butterscotch eyes.

Without looking away from Sirius, he brings the blunt to his parted lips and inhales deeply, then lifts his hand, long fingers resting on the side of Sirius' neck, thumb on his jaw.

Sirius freezes. His chest burns fiercely and his heartbeat screams in his ears. Remus moves in slowly, uncertainly, and still, Sirius manages to feel shock when their mouths meet, gasping slightly. Remus exhales into his open mouth, and the fingertips on Sirius' face dig in, and Sirius tastes smoke, lightning, honey, and his head spins even though he's not high yet, he swears.

Remus pulls away and Sirius stares at him with wide eyes as he breathes out a shaking, smoky exhale.

"Right, erm, I just thought that would help, possibly, er, get you higher, if, ah, I, y'know, like, baby-birded it to you."

Remus looks like a beet.

"Moony."

"Yes, Padfoot?" he sighs.

"...I'm not quite high yet." He's lying; he's on Neptune. He can almost hear the stunned disbelief in Remus' silence.

"Is that so?" Remus replies coyly after the pause.

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe we should try it again," Sirius babbles nervously.

Remus smirks.

This time, Sirius sees stars, and he's not sure whether to attribute it to his increasing insobriety or Remus' introduction of tongue.

[silverstar20]

Random headcanons for the Chaos council all together and theory at the end! ✨

-Don’t most likely plays front pov shooter games like cod, etc, definitely knows how to code and most likely finished college when he was 8. Being an evil genius and all.

-Babbles most likely was found in another world(theory at bottom explains this) by Mr. Dr. Eggman, and was taken in as a child to him, Babbles being abandoned by his own parents, and becoming a genius by being educated by the chaos council themselves.

-Dr Deep most likely does yoga classes in his section of New Yoke City. (Once when training with his katana’s he poked himself in the eye when trying to do one of his dramatic poses)

-Mr Dr most likely is the oldest brother figure of the group as we have seen in the series how he takes responsibility for almost everything, and is usually seen as the leader of them, no matter how the others see it.

-Dr Done-it. Yep, the old grandpa definitely has all those butterscotch candies hidden in his pockets, aswell as those old people candies, handing his candies to random kids before blowing up their homes.

THEORY TIIIIME✨

The reason why there are five Eggman in new yoke. And none others in the other shatterspaces, is because they’re all from different spaces and all came together in one single shatterspace, and combined their knowledge and technology, to take over the shatterspace that is New Yoke City.

Dr Dont: New yoke city

Dr deep: Nowhere

Dr Done it: Boscage Maze

Dr Babble: Grim(because it hasn’t even begun yet. Which means his character didn’t even begin, and began in a whole other world, New Yoke City.)

And finally

Mr Dr Eggman: Greenhill

A/N: Thank you so much for reaaading this is my first post! I also think the shadow in the sky from the last episode and series finale, was the chaos council(I love them..so much..)

[cyberneticlagomorph]

"C'mon! It's not much further." Eddie's grip on your paw is vice-like, and given your low level you weigh so little that she can drag you over hill and dale as much as she likes and there's very little you can actually do about that. 

She's been all smiles and excitement since she logged in this afternoon.

It sets your teeth on edge, and puts your Paranoia in the driver's seat. 

The sun in the sky is a single immense butterscotch candy wrapped in clear cellophane. 

You hate it here already. 

It's the first time you've seen the sun since you got here and it's beating down on you like it has a personal vendetta against your tiny body. 

The air is cloyingly thick with the smells of burnt sugar and melting plastic. 

Sugar structures lean dangerously in the heat, an orchard of sugar plum trees lays on the ground bent over double where their trunks could no longer take the strain of their bows.

Buildings are scarred with bite marks and thick, squirming patches of Mold that undulate towards you if you get too close. 

This isn't the Candyland you're used to, but it's close enough that seeing it in such disrepair hurts you so much that you feel physically ill just being here. 

The village in front of you is smothered with more carpets of seething Mold, full of judging eyes that squelch with every blink. 

Shapes pull themselves from the shadows, half melted and half eaten candyfolk.

They groan like zombies, mouths full of sharp yellow teeth, oozing dark liquid from every orifice. 

The Mold clings to them like a parasite. 

A gummy bear, missing her bottom half and dragging several feet of gummy intestine behind her, crawls up to the both of you and reaches out her single sticky paw.

"Please… stop them!" She gurgles through a mouthful of liquid sugar and oncoming rot. An envelope appears in her palm, black paper with a bright pink wax seal emblazoned with the royal seal of Candyland. 

The ACTUAL royal seal, not something made up.

You've seen it too many times to not recognize it at a glance. 

"That's your first quest! You have to take it in order to start." Eddie is too happy, too excited for what's happening around her.

To her this is a game.

To you, this is like seeing your best friend's house after a fire. 

You take the envelope and a string wraps itself around your wrist, a single bead popping into existence. 

It's pink like the seal, and shaped like a little skull. 

"That's your quest tracker, if you ever forget what you're doing just touch the appropriate bead." She takes your paw, gesturing demonstratively. You notice that she's got a quest bracelet too, choked with beads of all shape and color. "If you ever wanna drop a quest just pull the bead off, just be careful cuz you'll have to start it all over again if you do."

You aren't paying attention. 

You're staring at the Moldy, slowly shambling towards you now that you've taken the quest.

You feel sick and dizzy. 

The heat is overwhelming. 

The humidity is settling into your fur, making you feel heavy. 

This Candyland feels feverish. 

Like it's fighting an infection. 

Eddie is still babbling about game mechanics when a chocolate bunny the size of a linebacker takes a swing at you.

There's no time to dodge.

You put up your arms to deflect the worst of the blow, but still get punted several feet into the nearest wall.

Your mouth fills with the butterscotch flavor of pain as all the breath is forced from your lungs.

The Mold around you seethes forward, growing teeth and trying to bite. 

You brace yourself and prepare to move, interrupted by the roar of twin chainsaws.

Eddie's pinking shears carve through the writhing mass inches away from your ears and leaves them ringing. 

She grabs you by the neck and hauls you to your feet.

She's talking again but you can't hear her over the ringing. 

The chocolate bunny is back for more, hissing like a viper as it rears up and prepares to bring both fists down on your head like a hammer. 

Eddie brings her shears up a second before he does, deflecting the blow in a shower of sparks. 

She's still talking.

Asking if you're OK and if anything needs to be repeated.

You punch her in the face hard enough for your entire arm to ache and scamper off towards the Moldy.

You don't have time for this.

ANY of this. 

Sure Eddie means well. 

She brought you here to practice and train, to put on a few levels before you try to tackle the main campaign again. 

But this is the worst place she could have brought you. 

Another gummy bear lunges for you, mouth wreathed in black foam and flecks of Mold. You unsheathe your claws and prepare to strike but Eddie's Shears slice the thing in half before you can do anything else. 

The corpse dissolves at your feet, leaving behind Rot Samples and pieces of Carnifall candy. 

You just. 

Stand there.

Staring at the loot until Eddie grabs you again and pulls you away from the quest area. 

The bead on your tracker pulls itself towards the quest area, begging you to go back.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" Eddie yells. She's got you by the lapels now.

You're dissociating too hard to really care.

"What the fuck is wrong with YOU?" You repeat in Eddie's voice, before dropping back into your own,"You said you wanted me to practice but every time I try to do something you butt in and I can't do shit."

"I'm trying to help you! The mobs here are way stronger than you, you could die!"

"Then why the fuck did you bring me here in the first place? I don't have time to play around, people are fucking dying Eddie. I'M fucking dying out there!" Tears precipitate at the corner of your eyes. You feel like a child for crying out of frustration. 

Eddie flinches back.

You'd wring her neck if you could, tear out her stuffing and nest in the empty cavity. 

"My my my!" Says a voice from somewhere behind you. 

Voice?

Voices.

A choir of the same voice, doubled and tripled, bit crushed and auto tuned into something so disorienting it flips back around to comprehensible halfway through. 

Behind you, the world is broken. 

Torn.

Jittering.

In the mess, stands a figure. 

Pitch black with neon accents. 

Color runs from her eyes, her mouth, her nose like blood. 

Her paws are soaked in rainbow splatters, and it reminds you of a massacre. 

Her body keeps changing, flickering as if the game is struggling to render her at all, and keeps trying to stick her into different placeholders to no avail.

You can see her real shape though. 

Humanoid and smiling with a mouth of perfect white teeth like a military cemetery. 

White hair, white lashes, black eyes. 

Her laughter is a hangover headache. 

"...You're a Trickster." The words leave your mouth unbidden.

The creature in front of you smiles wider, wider, wider still until the corners of her mouth touch her eyes. 

'Ah-ah-ah!" She wags an incredibly long finger at you as if you've done something naughty, "There's an… uninitiated present."

The Trickster tilts her head towards Eddie, who is staring open mouthed in confusion. 

"How are you here, you shouldn't BE here…" your legs burn, they want you to run. 

The Trickster shrugs and lounges on thin air as if it were the most luxurious couch in the world. 

"Why is anyone here? Why is anyone anywhere for that matter? But more importantly," you never see her move, one second she's reclining and the next her face is the only thing you can see. The sweet smell of her breath is choking. "Why are you here Jack?"

You can't move. 

Eddie lunges with her shears but the Trickster freezes her in midair with a snap of the fingers. 

The Trickster circles you like a vulture, eyes digging into every part of you like fingers into an open wound. 

All you can hear is the server struggling to keep up with this foreign entity, or find a way to purge it. It sounds like screaming, like a billion ones and zeroes crying out in unfathomable agony. 

Lips press against the shell of your ear, fingers brush against the seam of your neck, "You shouldn't be here either, but here we both are sweetbun." 

Her fingers sink through your avatar, and caress the silver watch that serves as your heart. It ticks erratically as you begin to panic. 

"They'll never let you leave here… you won't want to leave when they're done with you." A single, solitary voice rests itself in your skull like a kiss. "They call me Toothache, so I guess you can too."

You swallow thickly, tongue turned to sponge in your mouth. "Who is 'they'?" 

"You'll find out soon enough sweetbun, you'll find out soon enough." Toothache folds in on herself and you can feel her slip inside of your stitching until she's curled up against your watch like a tumor.

The game shudders violently and you're kicked back to the starting village, Eddie is holding your paw and explaining the quest tracker again like nothing happened. 

The chocolate bunny takes that first swing, but this time you dodge. 

[jnicolewrites]

find the word tag

Thank you so much @dgwriteblr​ for tagging me! My words were water, clock, light and oil and I decided to use my story Folding the Sky for this.

Water

He heard the calm rush of the brook, the soothing babble of water tumbling over stones, before he saw her. Zuri was bent over the creek, dark curls falling around her brown shoulders, her butterscotch dress blanketing the riverbed around her as if she were kneeling in a pool of gold.

Clock

Sorin glanced at the clock on the wall, let out a sigh of dismay, and poked Liesel on the top of her head. “Liesel.”

Her only response was a loud snore. Sorin groaned.

Light

It reminded her for a fierce and uncomfortable moment of her mother’s closet: the color-arranged gowns lining the walls like an earthbound rainbow, the glass chandelier tossing white-gold light on her collections of satin shawls and polished leather shoes. 

Oil

She dreamt of her father, of the machine oil worked into the creases of his hands, and she dreamt of her mother—her gentle, diligent fingers tying silken ribbons into Zuri’s hair. 

tagging @pixelw0rds and @teardropsandtherain if you want to! your words are: know, key, kind, and keep (in whatever form).

[haredreamslullaby]

persona! 🐏

i just wanted to finally draw myself a persona! 🐏💕

sorry about the bad camera qualt qwq my camera succs

[firesnap]

c!Wilbur is the type that likes those super old people candies. You know those weird strawberry candies with the gel centers you only see at like funeral homes and the house of your great-aunt who covers everything in plastic? I bet he loves those things. I bet he keeps pockets full of them and eats them whenever he's trying to not smoke.

I bet he had a bowl of butterscotch discs and cinnamon hard candies in his office in L'Manberg and was constantly surprised no one ever seemed to take them.

I bet Tommy even now brings him black licorice because Wilbur's the only fucker he knows that will eat it.

[vvindication]

found this blessed video of my cat hanging around in my files and needed to share it

[newty]

reading richard hall like

[disquietedpalefish]

We started watching Downton Abbey the other day and all three of us are fully addicted to it and binging till we can’t stay awake any longer each night, it’s so good.

[peony-pearl]

Awwww yeah

[fruitcoops]

YES TO THE SNIPPETS YES PLEASE

Thanks to everyone who asked for this! You're amazing! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

You can find the inspiration/ sequel here! Thanks to AJ and Lev for their hcs about the smutty situations, and to the discord for the last snippet!

Combined with a prompt for some relaxed Coops smut

I

Remus fell on the bed and immediately yelped as if he’d been hit. “What?” Sirius asked, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Just bruised,” he said with a grimace, rubbing one thigh.

Sirius frowned and knelt at the edge of the bed. “Why are you bruised?”

“I got checked yesterday, remember?” He winced as Sirius gently prodded the base of the bruise and pulled his shorts off; he made a soft, sad noise, pressing a kiss to the blue-black skin. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Still. I don’t like it.” Sirius’ lower lip stuck out slightly in a pout, and he guided his face back down for a kiss.

“Everything else is a-okay,” he murmured, trailing a path of light bites down the column of his neck as he laid back. “C’mere, I’ll prove it.”

II

The world was starting to go black at the edges, popping with fireworks as Remus scrambled for purchase on the strong forearms by his ribs. Sirius’ hold on him was firm, and had been for the past—oh, god, how long had he been like this? Ten minutes? An hour? Eternity? Another shudder rocked through him and he moaned around the fabric clenched tight between his teeth.

“Good boy,” Sirius panted as he hiked Remus’ shaking leg up around his hip. “There you go, you’re doing so well.”

An unsteady whine broke through as well; the mattress creaked beneath him, and through his delirious happiness he wondered if this would be the day they finally broke it. Sirius was so painfully close to where Remus needed him most, just a little bit more—

“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered, wrapping his palms around Remus’ hips and hauling him into the right spot. His thighs clenched around Sirius’ waist as he babbled his approval, no longer registering the damp in his mouth or anything that came out of it. “Come on, just a little—oh my fucking god.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. Remus slammed his hand down on the bed with an embarrassing noise of half-confusion, half-protest. Sirius’ voice had gone up about eight octaves; his gaze was no longer dark with lust, but instead laser-focused on something to Remus’ left. “The fuck are you doing?” he managed to snap when his jaw finally released, though his tongue was mostly blocked by fabric.

“Don’t. Move.”

Fear crept in alongside his frustration as Sirius pulled his arms to his chest and scooted toward the other edge. Something is very wrong. The thought sent a wash of cold through him and he carefully sat up, pulling the gag from his mouth. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Why is it getting closer?” Sirius all but whimpered. Remus steeled his nerves and slowly turned to follow his sightline.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he complained. There was no relief, just building crankiness. “Really?”

“Kill it. Please.” Remus ground his teeth and dug a tissue out of the nightstand, then squished the microscopic spider and immediately chucked the tissue at Sirius. “Remus, oh my god!”

“Please tell me there was something more than that,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean?”

Keep your tone even and calm, no matter how much you want to scream. “Sirius. If you stopped fucking the soul out of my body for a spider the size of a dust mote, you can say goodbye to pre-game blowjobs.”

A moment of silence fell between them. “For how long?”

Remus glared at him and hoped his pink cheeks and shaking legs wouldn’t diminish the threat. “For as long as I see fit.”

“…I love you?”

“Have fun throwing that tissue away. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go shower by myself.”

“Non, mon loup, wait—"

III

The edge was so close he could taste it. Remus arched his back with a low sound as Sirius’ tongue did something truly fantastic—he might not give blowjobs often, but goddamn was he good at it. “Yeah,” he sighed, combing his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “Yeah, that.”

Sirius’ hum sent shocks all the way up his thighs; it took every iota of self-control not to clamp his thighs around his ears. Remus pushed the side of his face into the pillow, riding the waves of a lazy morning and a warm mouth, when suddenly it disappeared entirely.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Did you let the dog out?”

Remus blinked at him for a long moment, then leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes. “Baby, that’s the third time in an hour you’ve asked.”

“Sorry. Is that a yes?”

“Are you kidding right now?”

“It’s a genuine—”

“Nope,” he groaned, sitting up. “Not doing this today.”

Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “But you were almost there!”

“You don’t say!” he gasped sarcastically as he hoisted himself to his feet and shook off the last bits of thrilled dizziness. “I’ll be in the shower.”

“Wait, no, I can do it!” Sirius’ arms wrapped around his waist and soft lips pressed against his mid-back. “I’m sorry, I was overthinking. Please don’t leave me here.”

“It’s like ten feet, love.”

“And you could stay here instead and get a really nice apology blowjob.” Teeth scraped his wingbone; Remus closed his eyes at the pleasant fizz down his spine as Sirius worked a small lovebite into his skin. “Please?”

“Do you promise not to ask about the dog again? Because she’s fine, and very happy with her new chew toy.”

“Cross my heart.” Sirius turned him around and kissed his nose, tugging him back down.

IV

Sirius was a mess, and Remus was beyond smug about it. A helpless moan was music to his ears as he pulled on Sirius’ mussed hair and attached his mouth to the smooth skin that was exposed. “Please,” he whined, shifting his hips harder onto Remus’ fingers. “Please, please, mon coeur, please.”

“How much time do you have left?” Remus asked, channeling as much patience as he could muster. Sometimes, he wondered who the edging was supposed to punish.

Sirius’ whimper was the only answer he needed. “Fuck, fuck—two. Two minutes.”

“Good job.” He pushed his fingers up and Sirius shivered, knees jerking.

“Je veux—” His plea was suddenly and horribly cut off by what could only be described as a screech.

Remus pulled back in an instant, keeping one hand on Sirius’ hip. “Did I hurt you?”

“Jesus Christ, was that a rat?” he sputtered.

Ice water drenched Remus’ insides. “A what.”

Sirius scrambled to sit up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes as he stared at the corner of their bedroom, squinting slightly in the darkness. “I thought…”

“Baby.” Remus could feel the tremor in his voice. “Is there a rat in our room right now?”

They waited in silence for a few more pounding heartbeats before Sirius sighed in relief. “Nope, sorry, that was my shoe. The lace looked like a tail. Woah, are you okay? You look pale.”

“Uh-uh,” Remus managed, sitting back with a slow exhale. His heart receded from his ears to his throat. “Quick question.”

“Go for it.”

“Do you need glasses?”

“No, I have 20/20 vision.” He had the nerve to look confused. “Why?”

Remus stared at him, then shook his head. “No reason.”

V

Remus could feel Sirius’ heart hammering under his palm, growing steadily slower with each deep breath. He stroked his hair out of his eyes, feeling joy bubble up when a foggy silver gaze met his own. “Hey, you,” he said quietly as he rubbed slow circles on Sirius’ chest. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Sirius’ smile was lopsided and sappy and oh-so-perfect; he bent down for a soft kiss and felt him melt under his mouth. When Remus pulled away, Sirius let out a sigh and snuggled up against his side. “Tu es si beau,” he mumbled, still a little clumsy with his words. “Si beau. Et mignon. Je ne sais pas.”

“D’accord,” Remus said, kissing his forehead, then each of his cheeks.

Sirius suddenly lit up and he touched Remus’ knee. “Pretty! C’est le mot. Je n’aime pas l’anglais.”

“I’m pretty?”

“Mhmm. Like—mmm, starts with a b. Du beurre, but candy.”

Remus bit his kiss-swollen lip in thought. “Butterscotch?”

“Oui.” Sirius nodded decisively and closed his eyes, apparently uncaring of Remus’ vibrant blush or galloping pulse. “Butterscotch. Je t’aime.”

“I love you, too, you muppet.”

VI

As much as Remus loved being railed within an inch of his life, there was something to be said for slow, easy afternoons when the sun was high and they had absolutely nothing to do. Sirius’ hands ran from his hips to his ribs in smooth lines; Remus basked in the feeling and tilted his head when Sirius rocked upward to meet his rhythm.

“This is perfect,” he said, stretching one arm up to brace against the headboard. It was far easier to support himself—and last longer—since he had started working out like the rest of the team. White sparked at the corner of his vision. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“There?” Sirius rolled his hips again and Remus felt his dick throb. “Alright, I’ve got you.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere today.”

“Non, not even—hang on.” Sirius paused and frowned slightly. “Are your arms bigger than mine?”

“What?” Remus laughed.

“Gimme.” Sirius pulled his arm down and he nearly fell over with it, but caught himself at the last second. “Flex.”

“Why?”

“Because your arms are bigger than mine! That’s so not fair.”

Remus snorted, but obliged. Sirius scrutinized him for a solid ten seconds. “I can assure you that your arms are bigger, baby.”

“Hmm.” Sirius nodded and settled onto his back again. “Yeah, I think so. That was close.”

“Would it be such a bad thing if my arms were bigger than yours?” he asked as he began to move again, feeling Sirius’ harden in him. “I thought you liked that I’m stronger now.”

“I do like it, but you already have better back muscles. I can’t let you win that easy.”

VII

Does it count as enemies-to-lovers sex if you’re already engaged? Remus thought as he grabbed a handful of Sirius’ ass and squeezed, pulling a moan from his perfect lips. Because this feels firmly in the enemies territory.

“Are you going to stop saying it?” he asked, struck breathless as Sirius dropped to his elbows and put his face in the pillows.

“Alright, alright, fine,” he groaned, jolting as Remus pressed a hand against his lower belly.

“Where am I from?”

“Wis—Wisconsin.”

“And not…?”

“Fuck me—Minnesota.”

“Thank you.” He slowed his pace by a degree and littered the backs of Sirius’ shoulders and neck with kisses, allowing him to set the rhythm for a moment. “Your accent sounds so pretty right now.”

“So does yours.”

Remus paused in surprise. “It does?”

He sensed his mistake an instant before he saw the grin curling at Sirius’ mouth. “Oh, you betcha.”

And we’re back to enemies. “Where am I from?”

Sirius fell silent as he picked up speed and gripped his hips.

“Where, Sirius?”

“Wisconsin, fucking hell!” He flipped his hair over his shoulder for a second to glare, though the effect was ruined by the clear arousal on his face. “For someone who’s so—merde—laid-back, you’re awfully riled up about this.”

“Look, not all of us can sound like we’re dirty-talking while reciting a grocery list. I can’t let you roast me for that without repercussions.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ voice wobbled. “Oh, oh, oh—”

“Apologize for making fun of me, and I’ll touch you.”

“I’m s—oh.” Sirius’ fingers clenched in the sheets. “Oh, jeez!”

Remus’ mouth fell open. He sat back on his heels in utter shock as his addled brain tried to catch up to the rest of his body. Sirius’ shoulders weren’t shaking from how close he was to tipping over the edge, but from laughter. “Did you just…?”

Sirius flopped onto his back with a smug little smile on his face, still clearly mussed from a roll in the sack but far too aware for it to have been a slip of the tongue. “Oops.”

“You…”

“Oh, no, not the puppy eyes,” he laughed, dragging Remus down to lay on his chest. “I really do think your accent is cute.”

“You’re such an asshole!”

“It was kind of funny, though,” he snickered.

Remus socked him lightly on the arm. “We’ll see if you ever get in my pants again.”

“I will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you love me.” He planted a kiss to his lips, nibbling at the bottom one until the frown disappeared. “Even when I make fun of you.”

“You’re mean,” Remus informed him as he kissed the muscle of his shoulder. “And cruel, and completely unappreciative of the Midwest. You don’t even love me.”

“I’m only in it for the accent,” Sirius agreed.

It was another twenty minutes until they finally got off. Remus spent the vast, vast majority of that time drowning in kisses from his deeply apologetic fiancé, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[spiltscribbles]

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

.-

Send Me A Prompt  |   A Reblog Is Like A Huge  

.-

If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.” 

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.

[lovenona]

hi it's me and it's sunday where soft toji picks little megumi up from the playshop late afternoon and walks him to his favorite ice cream parlor. he listens as his son babbles about his friends—the itadori twins' endless argument—and when megumi suddenly asks for you, toji smiles.

crying. soft dad toji with little megumi, who just started preschool. little megumi in light-up sketchers who looks identical to his father, whose favorite ice cream flavor constantly shifts between butterscotch and cotton candy (toji thinks it’s disgusting, but he lets megumi choose whatever he wants.) on warm afternoons, they sit together on a bench outside the parlor while megumi skillfully gets ice cream all over his cheeks because he’s too busy gossiping about how the itadori twins were put in time-out for fighting over a toy truck. toji absentmindedly wipes his son’s cheeks with a napkin while he speaks, nodding along to the dramatic story. 

(granted, toji doesn’t understand why megumi would willingly befriend a pair of tornados, much less how those tornados belong to the calm and collected itadori jin. but he avidly listens to megumi’s tales without fail.) 

toji always tells megumi not to mention these little ice cream trips to you. “make sure you don’t tell them,” toji warns megumi gently as he cleans melted ice cream off his sticky little hands. “you’re not supposed to have any ice cream before dinner, so this is our little secret, okay?”

megumi always nods solemnly in agreement, and toji thinks it’s the sweetest thing in the world. until, of course, he and megumi arrive home, only for megumi to run directly into your welcoming arms for a hug and tell you all about the amazing cotton candy ice cream he had today. 

[haredreamslullaby]

i wrote a story called “what a strange flower” a long fuckin time ago.

it’s unfinished and i don’t intend on continuing with it buuuuttt i was wondering if any of you guys were interested in seeing it before i delete the file?