#hairy finger-grass

[thebotanicalarcade]

n214_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: The British grasses and sedges.. London,Society for promoting Christian knowledge,[1858?].. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/30664194

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all. 

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day. 

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come. 

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin. 

“Watch out!” 

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face. 

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria. 

“Move!” 

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion. 

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues. 

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you. 

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing.  “Oh, good heavens, what happened?” 

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.” 

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls. 

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant. 

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back. 

THE STORY GOES like this: 

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.) 

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.) 

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world. 

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that. 

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.” 

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.” 

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.” 

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?” 

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.) 

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing. 

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!” 

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration. 

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?” 

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!” 

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.” 

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?” 

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”  

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.” 

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.” 

Lily glares at him. 

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself. 

Everything is starting to change. 

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot. 

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library. 

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger. 

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.” 

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?” 

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.” 

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?” 

“All of them.” 

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?” 

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.” 

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.” 

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!” 

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!” 

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?” 

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach. 

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?” 

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently. 

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library. 

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and  failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes. 

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”  

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence. 

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?” 

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.” 

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.” 

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup. 

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives. 

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.” 

You snort. 

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”) 

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you.  Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep. 

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people. 

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you. 

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.” 

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds. 

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut. 

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!” 

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.) 

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough. 

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings. 

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly. 

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.) 

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin. 

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw. 

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge. 

It’s Lily Evans. 

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!” 

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath. 

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified. 

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House. 

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.  

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds. 

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.” 

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.” 

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.” 

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.) 

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.” 

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—” 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and  cross.) 

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere. 

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed. 

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly. 

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright. 

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.” 

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.” 

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks.  “So. .  . uh. . . are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation. 

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.” 

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How  anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often. 

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave. 

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?) 

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!” 

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—” 

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!” 

“Pads, shut up.” 

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck. 

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business. 

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them. 

Which happens to be right beside you. 

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.” 

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.” 

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you. 

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.” 

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.” 

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook. 

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!” 

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to  ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest. 

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too. 

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather. 

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?” 

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders. 

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak. 

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side. 

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.” 

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest. 

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.” 

“Oh.” 

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away. 

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .” 

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.” 

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—” 

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line. 

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness. 

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.” 

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.) 

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his. 

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch. 

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead. 

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.” 

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.” 

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want. 

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you. 

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls. 

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about. 

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.” 

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name. 

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.” 

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears. 

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place. 

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face. 

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—” 

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.) 

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.” 

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight.  Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.” 

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower. 

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.” 

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room. 

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed. 

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes. 

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.” 

“I know.” 

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace. 

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. 

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright. 

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.” 

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.” 

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!” 

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—” 

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.” 

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.” 

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.” 

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.” 

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!” 

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.) 

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again. 

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him. 

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet. 

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss. 

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.” 

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?” 

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.” 

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.” 

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.” 

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear. 

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?” 

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?” 

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.” 

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!” 

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch. 

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone. 

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!” 

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear. 

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime. 

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side. 

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now. 

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—” 

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him. 

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck. 

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.” 

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost. 

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul. 

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice. 

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.” 

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.) 

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders. 

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.” 

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.” 

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.” 

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband. 

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.” 

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.” 

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?” 

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.” 

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss. 

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.” 

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.” 

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip. 

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!” 

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter. 

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse. 

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?” 

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?” 

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.” 

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!” 

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department. 

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.” 

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.” 

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words. 

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?” 

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

[petew21-blog]

Swapcation: After the escape Part 2

You would think that this is Matthew's body and that I stayed in him till the end of my days. Unfortunately no. Althought his body was amazing and it was also my first body I really soon (like few minutes after I shot loads of cum on the grass) found out that my family was tracking me.

"I could already hear the helicopters searching the forest. The tracker must be off and showing the a larger circle. I still don't know where it could be. Is it under his skin? I didn't find anything in his clothes. And all I have is my personal stuff... I'm such an idiot. It's my phone. Why the hell did I bring my phone?"

I threw it in the opposite direction that I was gonna run. And then I ran. But I was really exhausted after the night run from the car accident. And my head kinda hurt. Matthew must have hurt himself too. So I slowed down. I didn't hear the helicopter anymore. But there I can't stay in this forest forever and certainly not in this body.

I made a decision. The first person I meet I swap with. They'll get a beautiful manly and young body.

And I was pretty luck. I met a hiker who was on his journey for a few days.

"Heyyyy man, you're also on PCT?"

What the hell is PCT. Shit I heard that before. Oh, it's Pacific Crest Trail. Perfect. If he won't notice me switching with him, he could continue with this body all the way to Canada. Who knows when he would find out, but that wouldn't be my problem anymore. Matthew's and his body were almost the same size. I mean... he was just as hot as Matthew

"Heyyy, no. I'm actually from around. Just went to the forest."

We chatted some more and I could see him getting closer. He was definitely straight, but I could get him when we were saying goodbye. Maybe by offering him my hand. I didn't have a chance to test that yet, but my family said, that the victims of body swap always end up in a short state of confusion that gives you time to leave. Like an evolutionary advantage for a predator. Or maybe a parasite?

I wished him good luck and offered him my hand, but he refused.

"Nah man, I'm a hugger. Bring it in"

Shit shit. We went for it, my naked torso and his in just a white top touching. I then activated my power. I opened my eyes and was standing on the other side. Matthew's body looked confused, but he took his bag. And started leaving.

"Wait man, you got my bag by accident. Here" I gave him his bag. I need my stuff and he needs his to survive the PCT. He wouldn't have made it if he found out what kind of useless shit I'm bringing with me.

I walked for over a mile away from the forest path. I was now somebody new. Somebody my family didn't know. I could now leave into the city and live my life forever. For the second time I felt calm. I was before when I was full of adrenalin in Matthew's body and then got to explore his body for a bit. But back then, I didn't even had the chance to look at everything I needed.

I first inspected my new abs. "Matthew had a set just like this, but it hits different in this body. This body has amazing veins going down to my crotch." The hair trail everywhere from neck all the way down there. My skin shriveled as I went over the small hills of muscle hidden beneath my skin. "My belly button, so sexy. Maybe I should swap with some horny gay who would want my body and inspect it myself."

Then I inspected my new hairy and veiny arms. Looking at each finger one by one, touching the hair, licking it. Every finger tracing each vein down to my armpit.

The sexy hairy armpit that was protected by a gigantic biceps. A biceps that could squish heads. A biceps that I got to lick all over. Smell the armpit with the beautiful smell of a man's sweat. The pheromones were hitting me hard. Hard enough that it caused my new dick to get hard as well.

"Now or never"

I swear that I thought Matthew's dick was one of the most beautiful cocks I have seen so far, but let me tell you, that this freaky hairy monster, veins look like popping out, the beautiful purple head of my cock releasing precum, balls the size of plums. How amazing is this.

I spit in my hand and started jerking off. Fuck, I couldn't even start slowly, I had to jerk off so fast. The rush was fantastic.

I sat next to a tree. Still jerking of and with my other hand licking my finger, pushing it in my mouth. How amazing it's gonna be to blow someone with the bearded mouth.

My pecs bouncing in the rythm of the masturbation. Up and down. Sweat glisthening on the, running down the middle over my abs all the way through to my massive cock. My massive cock that my massive hand jerked furiously.

I shot my cum, but shot some of it into my hand. The rest must have flown several feet away from me.

The white cum sticking my fingers was tempting me. I put it in my mouth and licked my fingers clean. As I sat there, breathing out. I laughed, but my relaxing moment was interrupted by some hikers coming my way. I put on the clothes rapidly and headed out west.

I headed to the nearest town and downloaded Grindr. "Time to find some new boy toy to fuck." I said aloud. Yeah, if I said that now in my body no one would ever believe me. I was, and I guess I still am, a virgin. So, I think it's the great time and great body to change that.

I checked out some profiles and found one near me. We met at the park. My torso still bare from the forest adventure. It was a guy in his early 20s. Slightly twinkish, but cute.

"Girrrrlll, I thought you were catfishing me. This is amazing. How did you get this big?" he almost screamed as he went to pinch my left tit.

"Eh, you know. Healthy lifestyle and lot of gym"

"And a lot of cardio, I presume?"

"How about we find out if I had enough cardio today?"

We got in his shower. Both our dicks horny from the view. We kiss passionately. His hands were still over me and over my pecs. Touching my hairy legs and arms. "Let's dry ourselves and go to bed. I need you body so much!"

He got out from the shower and looked back at me.

"I wish I had a body like that. I would enjoy it so fucking much to be this big"

Idea popped in my head. Maybe he would be quiet about it. I could use a friend now that would help me stay in secrecy to avoid my family. Yeah, I wanted to explore my new body from some else before.

I dried myself and followed him to the bedroom. He was ready on the bed. I didn't give him much time to think about it.

He was confused at first still looking at me to find out what was happening.

This was my view. "Fucking hell, I look amazing. Look at all those hair. And those pecs are almost bigger than your head." I said as he still looked at me confused.

I got behind him. "I wanted to do this since I got in that body. So hot. And daaamn. Look at that hairy ass. That's all mine?"

"Man, you and me. We're gonna have SO much fun in the following days."

It seemed like he started to comprehend what was happening. He looked at himseld and then immediately went for a kiss. During the sex, we kept swapping there and back. The confusion on his side waas gone so we didn't have to stop to let him rest and find out what's happening again.

I woke up with the view I was familiar with. Happy to be big again. The twink lying next to me and sleeping peacfully.

"I don't think I'll be leaving any time soon." caressing my sweet pecs while saying that

Part 1:

[wordstome]

Satyr!König Headcanons

Yesterday I was talking with the lovely @kneelingshadowsalome about her satyr König au, and boy, did we cook. Good morning Finland, it's time to take some hairy goat man cock! (Most of these are adapted from our DMs! Headcanons in bold are by Salome, with minor changes)

It's just König's luck, really, for him to finally get his hands on a pretty little nymph to fuck and fill with his potent seed and she runs off on him! And now he's certain that she's hiding from him, which has him absolutely fuming. If she's going to play this little game, he'll just have to hunt her down...

Meanwhile, she’s freaking out because her monthly blood is very, very late, and she suspects that awful satyr is to blame. All her little nymph friends are sympathetic, but they did warn her!

She may be sulking about her predicament, but part of her becomes wildly jealous when she sees her friends are "torturing" the poor satyr. Never even wanted to see that big hairy pervert again, but also doesn't want others to frolick around him even if he's chained to a tree!

The little nymph does end up feeling sorry for the man, so when it's nighttime and all her friends have scurried away, she creeps up to him quiet like a mouse to free him. Of course, she ends up getting a pounding for all her troubles...what did she expect?

He's not making the same mistake letting her go again! He makes good on his promise to lick her to completion, and then she just curls up and falls asleep...silly, silly thing. Giving him the perfect opportunity to scoop her up and whisk her to his lair. Her fellow nymph sisters wail and cry and demand her return, but König's not telling where he's keeping her squirreled away.

She's stomping mad about her new situation. Not only is she separated from her sisters and unable to live free and wild in the sunshine as she used to, but she and König are always bickering and arguing, ending up more often than not with him folding her into a mating press...

She's offended when he brings her fresh meat to eat, which of course confuses him. He had only meant to show how strong and competent of a provider he is, hunting for his woman, but his difficult little nymph has the nerve to turn her nose up at it and scold him. Doesn't he know nymphs only eat berries and flowers and other gifts that the earth gives to nourish them?

Of course she tries to break out of the dark woodland prison he's keeping her in, but the first time he catches her, he only gives her a terrible smirk and shows her the exit. She's welcome to leave, but he lives in the dark, deep part of the woods that the nymphs don't dare trespass in, where hungry wolves and other awful satyrs live...

Naturally, she would never risk being caught and taken to some other horny satyr's lair. At least here he gives some care to her wellbeing and all the attention a sulky little nature spirit could want...

He is trying, she supposes...he's stopped bringing her all that awful bloody meat to eat, he makes her a soft little bed of grasses and flowers to sleep on, and treats her like a fussy little princess. But she can't start growing fond of him...!

König, meanwhile, is on cloud nine with his pretty little nymph. she stays right where he wants her, always pouting and mewling for his attention, and only fusses a little bit when he warms his cock inside her. what more could a nasty satyr like him even want?

It becomes endearing, how well he provides all she asks for. Not that she's ever going to show her feelings to him of course. Just happens to twirl the hair on his chest around her fingers before she falls asleep on his lap...

Falling for this nasty old faun isn't what she signed up for when she straddled him that day. But she also can’t complain, because he is good with that tongue of his…

So good she can't even find it in herself to be mad when he pervs on her when she's resting and trying to get some sleep:

It’s nighttime when she’s woken up with a start. Probably just König back from a hunt, hopped up on adrenaline and ready to breed her again. But to her horror, it’s some other strange faun man, leering at her with dubious intent. Turns out there are downsides to making your little pet nymph scream with pleasure every night: namely, that the wrong person might hear...

Ordinarily, she would have no trouble fleeing or fighting back, but she’s just not used to the dark wood and hard packed dirt of this part of the forest, and finds herself frozen with terror as the stranger approaches her. He’s nowhere near König’s size, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be giving her a tough time.

Then she hears a very familiar roar, but this time it’s not of frustration or pleasure as she's used to hearing it, but raw anger, and she knows her satyr is back and very much not pleased to find an intruder menacing his little nymph. Nymphs are no lightweights when it comes to offensive magic in their arsenal, of course: König's already learned that the hard way. But they call him the king for a reason...his powers are a different ballpark entirely.

The intruder barely has time to beg for his life when König is summoning forth thick, thorny vines to ensnare him, causing the other satyr to holler in pain. The nymph knows what's about to come, and stuffs moss into her ears just as the sound of pan flutes fills the air. She watches in a mix of horror and intrigue as the intruder writhes and panics, tearing himself to shreds on the thorns...

It's over quickly, and the whole ordeal sends her trembling into her soft little bed of moss and grass. There's a brief period of time where she knows König is disposing of what's left of the intruder, and then she feels his gentle touch on her back.

She sniffles as she meets his adoring, half-crazed gaze. She knows she should be petrified of him, considering she just watched him drive another man to such madness that he ended his own life in the most painful manner possible. He's rubbed off on her in a terrible way, though, because all she can think of doing is spreading her pretty legs for him...

Haha anyway hope you guys enjoyed those headcanons! Maybe König's satyr madness will seize me again sometime and I'll write more :)

PS. The Greek god Pan, who is very notably depicted as a satyr, is known for two things that he lent his name to: pan pipes and the word panic. The origin story of the pan pipes is that he was chasing a nymph, who turned herself into reeds to escape him. He then proceeded to turn those reeds into an instrument he could put his lips all over....nasty!

[chronically-ghosted]

vivarium

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 8K summary: you request a vacation for your birthday. With the rain and a few drinks, you get a lot more than you asked for.  warnings: alcohol drinking, minor age gap (less than 10 years), oral (f!receiving), fingering, smut, possessive!Ezra, dom!Ezra, one booty smack, dirty talk for real, smut, pining, a bit of angst, referenced/implied orphanhood, made a religious sex pun and i'm so proud of myself a/n: so @morallyinept requested this and it turns out when I write for a boy for the first time, it can’t be less than 7K – whoops. i've gotten ezra requests from some moots before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations! **massive thanks to @toomanytookas for editing and providing the initial validation so i don't post in a mouth-frothy haze. I've never had a beta like you before and I genuinely feel like I've turned over a new chapter in my fic writing. thank you!

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Ezra Masterlist 🤍 AO3 Link

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Your feet in the clear blue water, the humidity like a wet tongue on your skin, you scratch a nail under the tab of a mustard yellow can, crack it open, and drink. The bite of alcohol dulled by the carbonation, you take several pulls, drawing out the mid-afternoon buzz from two other cans and whetting your mouth in the heat of the jungle day. You lean back on your elbows into the sponge-soft grass, and let out a massive sigh. 

A few feet ahead of you, on a repurposed inflatable reentry tube, your long-time privateer partner chuckles, the sound deep in the back of his throat as he floats by. Thick fingers and exposed heels dragging along in the crystal water, he greets the yellow sun like an old friend – arms wide, chest out, a lazy smile on his face. A damp rag – supposedly clean – sits over what you know to be dark-earth eyes, every other inch of him relishing in the inevitable sun tan. 

“I see your aaahhh, pet, and I raise you a mhmm.” The rubber squeaks as he adjusts, tips his scarred chin up to the cloudless sky and rests his head back. “Kevva said there’d be days like this, but I think the old hag mighta left out a thing or two.” 

You grin, the wet heat of Banu 8’s lowlands drawing sweat droplets onto your hairline at the back of your neck, settling thick behind your ears where it co-mingles with the drunk haze loping around in your brain. You watch Ezra with his bare arms, hairy legs, and prominent nose turned towards the divinity he’s so fond of invoking and the thought crosses your mind – again:

Shit, he’s so fucking hot. 

Oh, bad thought.

You drop your gaze, pressing the cold aluminum lip of the can to your mouth, drinking quicker than you probably should, anything to distract you from your partner as he obliviously floats by. 

For our sake, you silently beg the hungry little creature that whines and snaps at the image of a shirtless Ezra, please fuck off. 

While Ezra whistles a vaguely familiar tune, terribly off-key, you scoop up the cool lagoon water and dribble it over your hot knees, then your thighs, dampening the rims of your make-shift shorts just enough to cool them without leaving them vulnerable to a permanent state of moisture due to the high humidity. You flick the last drops of the water onto your chest, your white cotton bra choked to your skin. A final effect, you press the cool can to the thrumming pulse on your neck, closing your eyes with a relieved grunt, taking the time to enjoy the sensation of the cold metal against the rapid beat in your throat. 

From the water, you hear an unsettled grunt and you open your eyes to find that same shirtless Ezra staring at you, the rag now curled in one hand against the rubber float. He swallows, looks at something past your ear, and again tries to adjust in the sticky rubber float without flipping himself over, his hands falling into his lap. 

“Neptune, dear, would you do us the favor of tossing over one of those cans? I’m parched. I think my lovely skin is drying out.”

Neptune. His favorite nickname for you. You never got any real explanation from him as to why you got that name, other than after you’d officially joined his crew, you told him you came from a blue planet in a far off system. But that was often the way of things: Ezra did something and you didn’t question why. From that simple truth, you learned about how to repair and rebuild the entire electrical system from a drop pod. You learned, in excruciating detail, the parts and mechanics of a thrower, so much so that you could almost identify the model number at a glance. You learned about which corporate dig sites to avoid, which made for easy marks, and which would draw the eye and ire of entities hardly worth the trouble. 

Being out on your own since you aged up out of the orphanage had not gone the way you hoped and life had not been so kind as to teach you any other way to survive. Ezra had found you in the back of a red spice market, cornered and slurping down the last few of your credits from a muck bowl that you had vastly overpaid for.

For whatever reason, he offered you a job on the spot, despite you having nothing to offer him. and no experience in anything except cleaning prophylaxiams and staying out of the way.

And yet, he has been far kinder than life, or anyone else, had ever been to you. 

As a result, loyalty was only a fraction of what you felt for him. What had begun as overwhelming adoration had grown hot to the touch, slippery between your fingers at night, and perhaps – what you feared most of all – obvious. 

Yet when Ezra looked at you with a smile on his face, it was only comradery he wished to share with you, certainly not his bed. He shared it with practically every other bi-pedal humanoid you came across, but not you. And this you had to accept. And you did. 

But being a little drunk made it that much harder to remember where to keep your hands to avoid being burned.

“Sure, Ez.” You tuck your legs out from the cool water and dig around in the canvas bag at the base of the white nut tree. Most of the ice had melted into the bright green grass around the lagoon, but a few of the cans were still cold. You’d probably tease Ezra later for skimping on the insulation bucket the provisions store the port offered, but he had been so eager to get to the camp ground after spending an “exceedingly exorbitant amount of time stacked up against human drivel on public transportation”. One lopsided grin, and you’d give him the world. 

“Ez–,”

He lifts the rag, glancing at you over his shoulder, hands cupped as the can flies through the air. The cold metal presses against the overheated skin on his chest and he hisses. Eyeing the can ruefully, he cracks it open and drinks deep. You busy yourself with sliding to the edge of the pool again to keep from watching his throat move. 

Ezra finally pulls back, smacking his lips, with a pleased groan. He wets the rag again and dramatically flops it over his eyes. Hidden from his view, you watch the roll of water down his temples, his neck, his chest. 

“Name anything better than this, Neptune, I beg you. Free from obligation or assignment on commission. Where my only moral imperative is to drink as many of these as I can and remind you how beautiful you are. Which . . .” he tilts the bottom of the can towards you, head still tilted back on the raft and dripping rag covering his vision, “fantastic, by the way.” 

Having stifled your blush while under his watchful gaze about three or four other times today, without him looking, you flush so hard and fast you go lightheaded. Beautiful, he said. You drink more carbonated alcohol to choke back your rising heart, your eyes skim over the curve of his nose, a drop of sweat as it peaks on his forehead. You can’t linger over him too long; he has a six-sense about you – unable to know what you’re thinking but that you’re overthinking all the same. 

“Was this worth the trip on public transportation, Ez?” Your ankles stir the water again. 

“I could do this all day,” he sighs contently, bringing a warm smile to your face. “And definitely all night.”

Maybe you’ll both be so sun-drunk later tonight, you’ll fall asleep together on the pallet on the floor. Of course, by nightfall, someone will have to come to their senses and you’ll be tucked back into your separate sleeping bags, but maybe, as a present you couldn’t possibly ask for, you can just nap together.

With the bottom plush of your lip stuck between your teeth, you rim the metallic edge of your can with your nail, ankles spinning slow circles in the water. 

“Thank you, Ezra,” you say quietly, “for the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

It began as a sort of joke one night on the volcanic hotspring moon of Wulkan after a twelve hour shift hunting through the black ash in search of fire pearls. The job was rather rushed, and Ezra had his reservations going into it, but fire pearls were a near certainty and you both needed a boost after a jump exchange had gone a little cockeyed. Sweat dripping from his temples, the provided water packs in the harvest suits doing just enough to keep him from passing out from heat exhaustion, he extended the skein of hydro-electric towards you across the narrow lane between your cots and asked you if you could be anywhere right now, any system, where would you be.

“Somewhere so cold I freeze my tits clean off,” you said with a sigh and wiped your own sweat-drenched forehead. You could smell yourself after two days of sweating profusely, but your stench in comparison to the rest of the crew, including Ezra, barely registered any more. You took a sip as Ezra laughed.

“A grievous crime against humanity and all its luscious gifts, but I get your meaning. Anywhere else?”

“Water.” This was said with more conviction, so much so it turned Ezra’s head towards you. “The few memories I have of my home planet and my parents, we were always near or in water. An ocean, maybe. I’m not sure. But I remember being really, really happy and I think being near water . . . it would make me happy again.”

You handed the skein back to Ezra, something unreadable in his gaze. He took it back from you, his fingers dark from the ash that clings to everything. On the other side of the tent, the rest of your crew and other teams mill about, yelling, with cutlery clattering as the camp gets ready to slow for the night, a graveyard shift picking up in just a few hours. 

Ezra’s eyes are as dark as the ash you’ve been shifting through the past two days.

“Then you shall have it, Neptune.” He said, quietly. “I’d give you the fucking galaxy if I could.” 

Those words often came to you in the crevice between sleep and wakefulness, when your mind was idle and the reins that tightly bound your affection for him loosened without a conscious grip. When you thought you weren’t being watched. 

The flat of his foot hooking behind your ankle breaks you from your reverie. Cast into shadow by the wide, rubbery palm leaves above your head, he looks at you curiously. 

“That look of deep consternation is giving me a headache. Spill.” 

With a faint smile, you gently bump his knee with your own. “Nothing, Ez. I’m just glad we get to take a break from it all. I can’t remember the last time I . . . the last time we’ve just had nothing to do.” 

He cocks his head as his gaze crawls up your ankle, your shin, to your knee. You think it might linger on your thigh before it bounces to your face. You tighten your grip on the hot, expansive feeling behind your ribs and stare back at him.

“Then that’s a black mark against me, as the leader of this clan.” His mouth curls, eyebrow arching as he talks, knowing that statement has been a point of playful contention between you two for years. “A good overseer knows when to crack the bullwhip and when to let it rest.”

“Well, a better overseer knows when to demand that her team rests, because sometimes they have no idea what’s good for them.” 

His foot rotates behind your ankle, his toes brushing against your calf, bringing your attention to your own body part in the water. Your legs are hairy, nearly as much as Ezra’s, and you haven’t shaved your pits in possibly a decade. Ezra once brought home a professional nightwalker, one from the Upper City, to the derelict flat you’d been sharing for two weeks as you offloaded your haul to the under markets. You never forgot how smooth her skin had been, shaved clean and smelling of moon lilies. That scent permeated the small space for weeks afterward. Even now, just the sight of moon lilies makes you nauseous. 

His aversion to you runs much deeper than physical aesthetics, even if you can’t help but wonder sometimes if becoming as smooth and hairless as the nightwalker might change his mind.

“Observational to a fault as always, Neptune.” The ball of his foot rests briefly between your legs before he pushes off from the spongy lip of the lagoon’s edge. He floats back into the sun, his head shaking slightly, a smile drained of amusement on his lips. He inhales as the sun crests over his forehead and he glances up at the blue sky. “I have no idea what’s good for me.”

Something about his tone, the way he turns away from you, scratches a very raw place inside of you – a place that fears and obsesses over abandonment. You wouldn’t survive it if he abandoned you, if he left you to fend for yourself one day. Logically, you know he would never do that – he has sworn up and down to your face that that notion is fundamentally ludicrous to him – but the anguish of him silently rejecting you from his bed again and again and again makes that fragile place inside you bleed red. 

You stand up, swipe another can from the bag, and move towards the waterfall. 

“I’m taking a hike.”

You feel his eyes on the backs of your thighs as you march towards the gentle incline.

“Be safe, Neptune,” he calls softly.

For a fleeting second, you wish he had made you stay.

The first fat raindrop splashes against your cheek and wakes you from a humid, irritated nap. You’re scowling by the time you open your eyes to several more wet droplets as they splatter against your neck, your forehead and you sit up, even more frustrated than when you fell asleep. The last sticky tendrils of dreams snap and pop as you pull yourself onto your feet, back hunched and arm held high against the steamy sprinkle. A crack of lightning, then a growl of thunder, and the sky splits open, drenching you in seconds. With a snarl of your own, you snatch up the empty can from the grass next to you and make for your camp down the hill. As you crest the top, you see a figure standing outside the tent, back tense and hand raised as if searching through the twilight gray downpour. 

Normally, the thought of warming up beside Ezra in your yellow tent fills you with something inexplicable, the grime and load of the day melting from your shoulders, but your buzz from earlier has thickened, made worse by the heat, the emotions in your heart all gummed up and smashed together. The sight of him cranks up your irritation high in your ears. With a huff, you concentrate on a smooth slide down the hill without breaking your ankles and not the fire rising in your gut. 

But the rain and the distance apart has only stoked his own outrage.

“Where the hell were you?” He snaps as you yank back the velcroed tent flap. He is dripping from head to toe in jungle rain as he follows closely behind you into your small space. You ring the water from your hair into a corner and scowl up at him. 

“I fell asleep. The rain woke me up. I came back as soon as I could.” 

His eyes narrow, water rolling off his bare shoulders as if he still stood out in the downpour. The droplets pat pat pat against the tarp floor as he snatches up a fiber towel and dries himself off, scowling all the while. 

“I searched for you, calling your name up and down this fuckin’ jungle and I didn’t hear a peep. What if something had gone wrong? What if you’d been hurt?”

“Then I would have fucking dealt with it, Ezra.” You stomp to your feet, neck hot from his patronizing gaze. Hands on his hips, you feel like you’re being scolded. “I can take care of myself.” 

One dark eyebrow arches mockingly, the scar on his cheek twisting in his scowl.

“And you expect me to lay about, twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for you to return or until you deem it appropriate for me to fret over your corpse?” 

That patch of blonde hair is a shade darker, drenched and pressed flat against his forehead. His bare chest is littered with scars and divots where chunks of flesh had been torn away. His skin is a reflection of the hard life he lives. You doubt you’d look any different if you’d seen yourself in a mirror. 

“We are partners, Ez,” you grind out between locked teeth. “Equals, alright? I am not your little sister for you to fuss over and you are not my keeper.” 

At that, the indignant swell of his chest deflates and the anger in his eyes flickers before fading out. 

“You are beyond capture,” he mutters, eyebrows down but gaze distant. “I’d never dream of keeping you, Neptune.” 

Again, it’s his phrasing that hurts most of all. You glance away, the backs of your eyes growing hot and tight, drying out despite the sticky moisture warming the inside of the tent. But then his hand around your elbow startles away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. 

“You are the most important thing to me in the entirety of this world and the next,” he says softly, earth eyes searching your face. “I came on too strong, I know that, but the idea that you’d ever be gone from my side for any amount of permanence . . . well, it’s been a lifetime since I’ve felt fear like that.” 

His frown goes belly-up, a hopeless smile on his face. “I wasn’t aware I even still could.” His calloused thumb brushes your skin, skin that nearly catches fire from the rough drag of scar tissue, before he lets his hand drop. Your own curls into a fist at your side, a tremor rattling the bones of your wrist in an effort to keep from reaching up and touching that moon-shaped scar you dream about at night.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ez. You taught me enough to survive in a world like this. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

That smile goes wan, sickly. “That’s the problem, dear heart, I trust you with my life.” 

He swallows, as if suddenly bashful to make direct eye contact with you. He clears his throat before rummaging around in his canvas bag for dry clothes. He yanks a black, sleeveless shirt on over his head before setting up the materials for a flameless pocket fire. 

“Since my dreams of showing you something called a barbeque have been quite literally rained out, we’ll finish off the rest of the dredge pack tonight. But come first light, I’ll fix you breakfast so succulent, the smell alone’ll make your mouth water. How does that sound, Neptune?”

He barely slows to breathe as he seamlessly switches topics from breakfast to another meal made at camp without looking up or stalling in his prep for dinner, hands almost disconnected from the humming of his mouth – one so methodical, the other like a channel rat on fire. 

“– and the thing was no one was really sure enough what a squatter egg looked like when it goes bad. But being out in a cramped hold-out for two weeks where it was so dark, your own ass and someone else’s had no demarcation, well, there wasn’t a single peep of dissimilitude . . .”

Words strung together so quick and so melodic, it was always incredibly easy to fall into a sort of easy trance around Ezra. Sounds and syllables just sounded right coming out of his mouth and after a while, that trance became a state of repose, Ezra’s own sense of calm filtered to whoever was also in the room. But not to you, not right now.

After spending immeasurable time with less than half a space between you in cramped tents and in claustrophobic dig sites, you could read the tension on the lines of his body as well as the lines on the palm of your hand. 

“Neptune? You with me?”

Ezra glances up at you, always aware of you and your movements like the twinge on a spider’s web, a signature smile that has always seemed to shine a bit brighter for you plastered over his face. The anger was the only thing holding you up and with it gone, you can feel your bruised heart twinge as it folds over itself. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m gonna switch out of these wet clothes before we eat, okay?”

He hums, nodding, eyes fixating on the steadily boiling water in front of him as you turn away to the other side of the tent, by your pallet and traveler’s pack. As further evidence that he feels nothing but companionship for you, you feel his eyes remain nowhere near you as you strip off your shorts and bra for a sun-warm suit. Then again, you’d like to think it’s kind of scandalous to be changing in front of him, but you’d both seen each other naked more times than you could count – there is no modesty in foxholes. The space between your hips and your thighs feel sticky from sweat and the slick rain, the curve of your spine warm and flushed. The zipper is loud in the silence. 

You’re braiding your damp hair away from your face when he sighs and the noise makes you look back at him.

“Answer me honestly, if you’ve ever cared for me a tick. Do you regret it?”

His eyes are sorrowful, worried, brow fixed down. Ezra is not, and never has been, a man prone to melancholy. His wrists rest loosely over his knees, gaze deep in the bubbling bone broth. The rain outside taps insistently at the tarp. 

“Regret what?” 

“Coming with me and taking on this life. It’s not an easy one,” he says quietly. “I should have offered you another choice, that day in the market. But one look at you and I . . . I was willing to trust you with my life, Neptune – far, far too soon. Even at my best, you make me irrational.”

You watch him, his broad shoulders moving, as he scoops up the hot, dark liquid into two bowls, and joins you by the entrance to the tent. You pin back the flap as he settles, the scent of humid rain immediately flooding your mouth, the pattering sound now twice as loud. Wordlessly, he hands you a spoon before digging into his own bowl. 

The heat of the soup burns away all the silly, impossible things sitting on your tongue. You sit in silence, his presence never rushing you to answer before you are ready. As you eat, you stare out at the dark lagoon, where you had both been only hours ago, the clear water murky beneath the downpour. 

“No, Ezra, I don’t regret it.” He stills, as if surprised you’re answering him now, mid-meal. He lowers the bowl to his lap, eyes trained on you. “You saved my life, more times than I can count.” 

Your words loosen the rigid lock of his shoulders. He grins. “As you’ve said, you would have been just fine without me.”

Your vision goes blurry. You pin him with such a stare, you watch the blood rush from his face.

“But it would have been only half a life.”

“Don’t kid about that, Neptune, it’s not –,”

“I’m serious.” You put your bowl down and rub your eyes with your sleeves. Of all the ways he hasd seen you bare and naked, he’s never seen you this vulnerable. “I don’t wanna do any of this without you. I want you, Ezra.”

“You have me, dear heart, you have me.”

“Not like that and you know it.” You watch as understanding rolls across his face. His lips part, eyes wider. He swallows and you stare at the ceiling, cheeks suddenly wet and hot. He said he’d never leave you, but what if this is the thing that finally does it? Could he work with you, knowing just how deeply you love him, and not feel an ounce of disgust? “You told me once sex is just a way to pass the time, but never, not once, have you ever even tried to pass the time with me.” 

He swallows, deeper this time, jaw locked, his eyes fluttering with the force of it. He brings his knees to his chest.

“Because it wouldn’t just be passing time with you.” 

In that moment, you’re grateful for the rain, for the sound of something to fill the silence. 

You stare at him, cross-legged in front of the open corner of this yellow tent, abandoned bowls growing colder, but he sits with his leg up, knee to his chest, as if to ward you off. Ward off whatever is growing in your gaze, under the flat bone over your heart in your chest. But whatever is stifling the air in your lungs, is warming his eyes past the point of comfort, barrelling towards expletives and the crass, the lewd and depraved. You cannot go back to having him look at you any other way. 

That look loosens every line in his face when you crawl into his lap, your knees around his hips. The backs of your thighs go damp, even through the suit, pressing down onto his still-damp shorts, and you think his breathing has quickened.

His massive palm hovers near your cheek, unwilling or unable to pull you forward or push you back, his oak eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort as if he had somehow dragged you across the tarp floor. 

“Neptune,” he mumbles as he focuses on the curve of your bottom lip, “this is unwise. You don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

You can feel the hard curve of his shoulders as you follow the lines of his arms and settle them on his collarbone. Nothing has happened that can’t be undone – not yet. Your perfect, vicious Ezra hasn’t pressed you flat on your back like you thought he would at the hint of sex. You could return with your dignity tomorrow morning, this moment never spoken of again, and he’d let you have that. The shake of his elbow with his palm against the tarp is the only indication that something might be unsettling to him. 

But it is your birthday after all. Maybe he’d let you have this one thing. He doesn’t know you’ll die without it.

“If you don’t want this . . . if you don’t want m-me, then say something. Push me away and I’ll never bring it up again.” You cup the sides of his neck as your hips shift forward, closer to him. The air in your lungs tightens, breath coming in shallow pants. Only then does he drop your gaze and fixate on your encroaching heat. “At least then I’ll know.” 

There. Out loud. It’s been said, heard above the deluge of rain against the tent and the jungle outside. 

His palm finally settles on your cheek. It brings a sense of wholeness to you like you’ve never known. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a breathy exhale pours out of your mouth. His thumb catches the plush curve of your bottom lip and he draws it towards your chin, his own mouth open, enraptured. 

“Sweet thing, how have you not always known?” 

His mouth is humid against yours, as if he swallowed the jungle while looking for you, his thumb releasing your lip to capture with his own. The tip of his pointer finger massages the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear, and he manipulates your head until your mouth parts like he wants.

His tongue skims your upper lip, a tentative exploration into the unknown rewarded with a low groan that is warmed by the heat coiling low in your hips. You taste his tongue, a hot glide inside your mouth, and you feel his arms slip around your lower back, his inhale of breath sharp across your face as he brings you closer. He bites your lips roughly, the spark of pain and pleasure crackling across your face as if you’d brushed a live wire. 

His fingers wrap around your wrist, prying you from the back of his neck, just for a moment, his eyes heat-soaked. You suck your teeth, mouth open and seeking, and the hand around your jaw drops to your collarbone, the breadth of his palm nearly suffocating your throat.

The briefest pressure – the slightest touch – at the pulse at the bottom of your neck and your hips rock forward into him as he flattens his other palm to your ass, clutching you to him and pinning you to the pallet.

His teeth scrape against the curve of your ear, pinching the cartilage between his incisors, while his hands frantically search up and down your waist. His weight smothers you, his stomach breathing into yours, the flat plane of his chest rubbing your nipples raw against your suit, an unfocused lurch to his hips every time you tug on his hair. With every breath, every time you try to savor his touch, the taste of his mouth is like a wave, dragging you forward, wrapping a dizzy chain around your throat and squeezing.

Ezra’s greatest weapon has always been his mouth, that silver string spinning faster the longer he captivates you, spell-bound. Now he uses to decimate you in entirely new ways. 

The suck of his lips against the moist flesh below your ear distantly distracts from the afterburn of his unkempt beard against your jaw, your cheek. His lips alternate patterns of reward with a plush kiss and punishment with a stern nip when you try and stifle a moan. The edge of his shirt is damp from resting against his shorts when you slip your fingers underneath to palm the small of his back. He stills when you run your fingers around to the front of his trunks. 

His hand curls around a clump of hair at the base of your skull, his eyes darker than volcanic ash. The steady heat of his groin against your thigh is a sensation you’ll chase for the rest of your life.

“You know what happens when you touch a man there, Neptune?” He’s breathing hard, you both are, and the way he snags your hair in his fist has your head twisted at an odd angle, but you’d be damned to a Kevva-forgotten corner of the cosmos before you drop his gaze. You nod and that moon-shaped scar on his cheek twitches. “I know I didn’t teach you that.”

“L-learned it – somewhere else – Ezra.” Your mouth isn’t working properly, your lips swollen from his kisses, the slight pain in your scalp making it difficult to focus, while your cunt tightens hungrily. “Had to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you wouldn’t give it to me.” 

He leans back, his forearm tense and corded where he has you by the hair, a seemingly disinterested scowl on his face. But by the throbbing length pressed up against you, so far from where you need him the most, he is anything but. 

“So you’re saying this is my fault?” Without breaking eye contact, his chest raised inches above yours, his fingers snag on the blue zipper by your collar and your breathing nearly stops. He hums to himself, eyes following the path of the zipper as the material separates, click by click by click. When it reaches your belly button, he stops. 

“Ezra –,” it’s a whine and you can’t even chastise yourself for it. And neither, it seems, can he. 

Head tilted as if curious about the label of a box beneath colorful wrapping, he dips his wide hand beneath the edge of your suit. The heat that radiates from his palm against the curve of your stomach has you writhing underneath him, your knees drawing up to his hips, trying to catch any relief. 

But he takes his self-satisfied time. Callouses of a hard-won life snag and drag over the soft paper-thin skin that covers your ribs as he maps you in one hand. When he cups your right breast in his palm, the noise you make is a sob of gratitude. 

“You let another man besides me do this to you?” 

The snarling pit of your own thoughts slows as some awareness realizes he’s speaking to you. 

You swallow, clutching his bicep, begging for forgiveness before even opening your mouth to answer. 

“It didn’t mean anything, Ez, it wasn’t you – it meant nothing to me–,”

“But you let someone else touch what’s mine, hm?” That lazy, slightly irritated look on his face, he rotates his hand, squeezing the cup of your tit again, before sharply pinching your nipple. 

“Ezra–,” you choke out and his thigh shifts between your legs, just close enough to feel the heat but nowhere near close enough to grind against. His thumb rotates the raised flesh slow enough to capture and catalog every sigh it draws from you, his eyes catching between his hand and your relaxed face. 

He wears the same expression he does when sitting in the backs of blackmarket tea shops and smoky alebins. When the prospect of striking gold becomes all he can think about.

“Strip.” He suddenly commands. He lifts off you just enough for you to wrench your arm through the armhole, all the while keeping a rough palm on one breast, and then the other. You watch him massage your flesh and your ribs tremble with an unsteady breath. Only when a slightly cool breeze meanders over your bare shoulders and chest do you realize that the tent flap is still open, your head inches from the edge. A perfect and unimpeded view to anyone who wants to watch him hungrily grope your tits. Embarrassment peaks sharply, despite his hand pressing you into the tarp, you wrench your neck back and look over your shoulder through the window of the open tent as if you need to confirm that you are giving the jungle a floor show.

“Ez– shit, the flap–,” 

He finds that the skin beneath your breast had grown sticky and slick from sweat, the humidity still oppressive even with a breeze. He bends his head and licks that same sweaty path and your attention snaps back to him, nails curling against his scalp, his warm breath a high-intensity balm to your roughly-played-with nipples. 

“Not a soul in sight, Neptune,” he murmurs lazily into your ribcage, his nose running up and down the valley between your tits. “And if there were, let them learn a thing or two.” 

His teeth nip the swell of your stomach as he crawls down your half-naked body. Without his heat and hands, the tenderness from his attention on your breasts ratchets up to an ache, a minor preoccupation before he hooks his fingers around the rest of the jumpsuit and tugs. 

You are naked beneath him, swollen chest rising and falling, your knuckles scraping against the pallet as you search for something to grip with all your might. You smell of lagoon water and hot jungle air, of muggy photosynthesis and algae. The smoky scent of the black ash of that distant planet never really left Ezra and the dampness of the rain seems to stir it up. He towers over you, dark and breathing heavy. Smoke and brimstone.

He gropes your ankles, then your calves, hands gliding over the thick hair there – now grown soft in length – as he slowly spreads your legs, with a light you’d never seen before in his eyes. 

“Neptune, I revolve around you.” 

A wave of anxiety lurches up your throat when he brings his mouth to your cunt, the cloying, imagined scent of moon lilies threatening to tear you out of the moment – he won’t want you wild like this – but it’s forcefully yanked back down with a single stripe of his tongue. His previously casual, authoritative persona cracks when he buries his face into your unkempt curls and lets out a deep, overly pleased moan.

Your back bends and he’s gathering up your limbs in his arms to pin them down, nearly resting his forehead on your pubic bone. A few more licks, some deeper than others into where you drip for him, and your thighs start to shake. His fingers around your thighs squeeze roughly against your flesh and pull you further apart. 

Between the flush of slick seeping from you at an embarrassing rate and the wiry hair kept natural out of a certainty no one would see it, he must be drowning or choking, his tongue flicking and sliding, nose prodding your clit just enough to spread the sparks of arousal up through your spine. Feeling as though you’re losing your grip on reality, you sink your hands into his hair, thumb rubbing back that blonde patch, and tug. The moan he shoots into your cunt as he rocks forward into your touch has you whining helplessly. The tarp squeaks where he rubs his hips into it. 

His arms curled around your thighs, your hips shake with restraint against every lap of his tongue until he flicks your clit and your hips grind up against his obliging mouth, a sunspot of pleasure flaring brightly. But all too soon, Ezra lifts up onto his elbows, his hands smoothing across your stomach and he pops his mouth up from your wet folds. With an irate gasp, the swell of bliss fading, your gaze snaps down to plead with him, but he shakes his head.

Wordlessly, he takes one hand from your thigh and wipes his mouth clean with a swipe of his fingers. Then, with his eyes wide, the skin around his mouth loose, he crooks two fingers at the top of your mound before sliding them down where his mouth was seconds ago and presses them inside of you. That simmering in your low belly roars back to life and you toss your head against the unforgiving pallet, eyes slamming shut. He growls at the obscene sucking noise your cunt makes as he plucks at you, in and out. 

“Oleaginous,” he hums, so quietly, it might have been for him. He tongues your clit lightly, pushing his fingers as deep as they can go, watching you thrash. “Mine. Understand?” You remember that tone of voice from when he had you dissecting throwers on a workbench in front of him. You nod, eyes fluttering open, balancing on the precarious edge of release. 

You want to obey his every word. 

His thumb twists up, opening your clit to him and within a whispered breath of “good girl” he sucks your bundle of nerves and launches you into orbit. 

Your entire body goes stiff from the force of it, only to crash back down into his waiting hands, your voice wavering on a high-pitched, girlish wail that shrieks above the sound of rain. Waves of bliss lap at every nerve ending and your vision goes fuzzy for a minute, the only sound you can register is the pounding of your blood in your ears.

And then you register the steady, wet plunge of his fingers still dragging in and out of your pussy.

“Was that mine?” 

Your clit tingles from overstimulation, but you’d rather die than have him stop – you want to answer, if only you could pick up the pieces of your voice. You can only nod, whining. He presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, the skin there smeared with your release.

“You did a bad thing, letting someone else touch what’s mine.” He scolds, rubs that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head, holds his finger to it until it burns. You cry, his punishment evident. “Now you have to apologize, Neptune.” 

You nod again, mouth wrenched open as he drags you back and forth across pleasure and pain. 

“Y-y-yes, Ezra,” the words are bone dry, cracked between your teeth. “I’m sorry.” 

Pure wickedness strikes those earth eyes and scorches them a singed black. 

“Unfortunately, atonement is a fickle thing,” Ezra tuts, dragging his lips across your thigh in a mockery of a kiss, “and I’m not quite ready to offer absolution. Despite your offerings,” he wipes his mouth with a stroke of his palm, “this godhead remains rigid.” 

You whimper. He grins with a mouthful of teeth.

Ezra pulls back onto his knees and shuts your thighs, his hand palming your ass as he indicates that you should turn. Your entire lower half still feels like jelly – no one has ever made you come that hard with just their mouth before – but you obey. You stagger onto your hands and knees in front of him. 

His wide palm appears beneath your chin.

“Spit.”

You do.

That spit-wet hand cups your still wet cunt, middle finger rubbing briefly against your clit, before it disappears. You feel him move closer, hear his slick hand pump himself a few times with a grunt. Hot lips drag up your spine, interspersed with the nip of teeth, and when he lays across your back, his hands overtaking yours and threading your fingers together, his bare chest presses up against the skin of your back and you shudder. 

He noses your temple, his throbbing cock coated between your folds. He bites at your jaw and follows your line of sight through the open tent flap. 

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? All that moisture, dripping and running over smooth rock and fern. All that heat coagulating in spaces it shouldn’t fit. All that . . . open field, for anyone to just wander into. Take a look around and smell the air. Could they smell you like I can, Neptune? The way you leak for this cock?”

As he hums filth in your ear, his hand settles again at the base of your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to threaten, before sliding down to your swinging breasts, rough palms catching your swollen nipples, then arching down your stomach and between your legs. 

He plays slowly with your clit; barely enough stimulation and he knows it.

“Ask for forgiveness.” He croons in your ear. The breeze returns for a moment, and between the heat of him mounting you like a feral animal and the hesitant touch of outside air against your sweaty chest, you shudder with a groan. 

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I’m so–,” his middle finger increases its pressure slightly and the words shatter in your mouth, “sor-ry.” 

“And for what?”

He continues to rub between your folds and the minute hitch in his breath is more intoxicating than anything he’s done so far. This is affecting him just as much as it does you. He kisses your jaw then tugs on the skin with his teeth. 

“For letting a-anyone but you t-touch me.”

Ezra presses his damp forehead into your shoulder, panting, your correct answers soaking the neurons in his brain. Your reward is the faster stroke of his finger. 

“And why was that a reprehensible thing to do?” His hips rut into yours, the scrape and rub of his cock between your slick lips and thighs almost enough to set you off. 

“Because it’s yours – I’m yours – f-fuck, Ezra, I’m yours, I only wanna be yours,” you sob. 

He’s suddenly gone from above you and the loud crack of his hand against your ass cheek deafens you for a minute, the sting skittering up your back and down your thigh. 

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your elbows shudder, the weight of his tone, his hand nearly forcing you onto your chest with your ass still in the air. You wanna be so good for him. 

He’s breathing hard and his skin is warm and damp where you feel his thigh press against the back of yours. There’s a measure of restraint he’s showing and it makes your heart pound in anticipation. You swing your hips back at him, as if you could catch yourself on his cock. 

“I wanna show you I’m yours,” you cry, nails curling into the pallet. “Please, Ezra, please!”

His broad hand settling on your spine draws a hiccup out of you, a sob. 

“Breathe . . . Good girls get what they need.” 

On an exhale, his blunt tip spreads you apart and he shuffles closer as he thickens inside you. His loud, unabashed moan overwhelms yours, when you think you might just be devoured by him. His hand, the one at your hip, squeezes you, silent reassurance. You can feel the knuckles on his other hand against your slick lips as he feeds himself into you.

“Neptune, talk to me. How,” your cunt tightens around his girth at the sound of his voice coaching you along and he grunts, as if suddenly dizzy, “h-how do you feel?”

“Amazing, Ez. Please keep going don’t stop I can take it–,” 

He obliges; something’s reconnected the wires in his brain enough to tell him to move. He huffs before sinking deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out and waits again, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Spent a hundred moons thinking about this.” The puff of breath against your shoulder is the only warning you have before he presses his mouth to your skin. His hand free of your clutch, his thumb softly rubs the muscle of your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, wherever he finds bare flesh. “Would wake up in the night, with you a few feet from me, looking like divinity made sin, made real, but I wasn’t worthy to touch you. You got me all tongue-tied, Neptune, all mucked up in the head. A silly boy,” he purrs.

You glance over your shoulder, unsure which Ezra is going to meet your eyes, but wanting all of them. The man you feel most safe with in this world and the next greets you and you reach back and squeeze his hand. He chuckles softly, and with it, comes a gentle roll of his hips. You gasp, airily, your gaze slipping from his face to his chest, to the steady breathing in his stomach, and then to the growth of hair that fades as it reaches up his low belly. How many times did you sit across the room from him with your fists in tight balls, watching as he regaled exploits of riches and wonder, all the while thinking about how thick his cock is outlined in his suit – you’re so blinded by breathy dreams of what the musky scent of his cock must taste like that you miss that he’s pulled out farther, halfway now, and you are completely knocked senseless when he thrusts back in, a beat faster. 

“Later, Neptune. I’ll let you suck my cock later, but right now I’ve gotta ride this pussy to oblivion.” 

Your thighs quake at his promise, cunt squeezing him, and he huffs, picking up speed.

“I felt that. You really like sucking cock that much?” 

All you can answer him with is a whine. Your knees are starting to ache from the barest cushion the tarp provides, the palms of your hands sore, but you can’t find it in you to remotely care. With every stroke, he fills you up to a breaking point before riding you back out. Moaning gratefully, you finally drop onto your elbows, your cheek scraping against the pallet with every forceful thrust behind you. He tilts your hips up higher, on one knee to fuck down into you; he’s searching with his cock for that spot that made your brain numb. 

Like a flood, you feel bliss roll down your spine, his hands on your lower back pulling you up another peak, and you gasp, at the edge of a very, very long drop, the sounds in the tent as sticky and wet as the rain outside.

But Ezra’s sounds are loudest of them all. Grunting. Hissing. Moaning like he’s fucking the best pussy of his life. You open one eye, glancing over your shoulder and the sight drops open your mouth. Hips pumping forward, skin dewy with sweat, he breathes like a freshly broken-in stallion, relieved that something finally bested him. Chest full and tight with muscle, flushed pink with roaring blood. Stomach torqued with tension. His rhythm is caught between his hands pulling you onto him and his cock thrusting into you. A frantic beat that bounces wet and hot, mouth agape and eyes rolling shut, his head drops back between his shoulders. You push back slightly and he stutters, the hand on your hip tightening. 

“Not gonna last, Neptune–” he grits, his jaw locked tight. The image of him actively staving off an orgasm for you to finish first has been imprinted on your brain for the rest of your life. 

“J-just a little harder, Ez.” 

He obeys, submitting as you had for him, sweat curling around his neck and down his chest. 

As release barrels down on you, those mahogany eyes catch and hold yours in a second that lasts through infinity. They promise you things that you didn’t know you asked for, those eyes, made vows only your soul could hear. You see, in that instant before you are swallowed whole, that he’d die at your feet, if you asked him to. He’d give up every worldly treasure he won through grit and his teeth if you needed it or wanted it. If it made you happy.

His Neptune – in the crushing grip of your gravity. Willingly caught in the trail of your comet as you fill up his night sky.    

“Yeah, that’s it, right there – Ez-ra!” 

His face blown out in near ecclesial bliss is the last thing you see before your vision goes white. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly, it's the only thing that exists for an instant. And then you shatter with a perfectly soft cry, bliss breaking across you like a heavy wave, and you succumb to exhaustion. 

Behind you, he groans, fucking you faster through it, snarling something entirely incomprehensible. 

You think you might say his name, you don’t know what your mouth is doing, but whatever you say, it breaks him and you are dragged through another low shock, the flood of cum deep into your achy cunt enough to contract your walls again, his harsh groan stuffing your ears just as full. 

The rain is barely louder than your desperate attempts to breathe. 

The tarp crackles as you slump forward onto your stomach, Ezra dropping to his side with half his body over yours. Panting raggedly, his hand curls up to the base of your neck, a reassurance of his presence and commitment when words have failed him. 

You lay like that for a long time.

And then, when feeling starts to return to your limbs, you turn your head, your nose rubbing against his. When you breathe hotly across his face, he grins a satisfied grin that splits into a chuckle. You laugh with him too, curling up into his chest, his forearm is sticky across your spine, and he kisses your forehead.

Staring up at the tarp, together you listen to the rain. 

In the long drawn out, buzzy silence, his nails scratch the base of your skull. And then, like he remembered something vital, he picks his head up and looks at you.

“Do you want this to change things for us?” 

“Yes.” You cup the muscles of his thick neck. “Yes, Ezra. I want this to change everything between us. Please.” 

He smiles, unguarded and open. 

“Wild horses never stood a chance . . . especially against these tits.” He nips at the swell of your breast and you laugh. “I had no plans of letting you go in any case . . . but we are bound from this day forward. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod. A stroke of heat passes over his eyes and  Ezra leans forward to kiss you, his hand on your cheek pulling you in close, as close as you can be, two sticky bodies, cum-dried and tingling.

“And if we’re going to spend every year of our lives together, I have a question for you.” he pushes away a stray strand of hair stuck to your face, nose tip to nose tip, “did you have a good birthday, Neptune? Are you satisfied?”

With a giggle that has his eyebrow arching playfully, you kiss his cheek.

“I already told you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

+

[brittscafe]

Hehe hello I'm new to this request thing.

Can I request a kenpachi x fem reader, scenario where Kenny is sparing with his s/o and they make a game out of sparring? How would he react to her cutting off his clothes piece by piece like a game? 👀

And kenpachi has a size kink and bitting/marking kink pretty please 🙏

omgggg hiiii!!! this literally took me forever to get out, I'm sooo sorry for getting it out so late 😭😭

Sparring with Kenpachi is a everyday thing, but there are days when it can get boring, so you decide to make a game out of it. So, here you are standing in the middle of the woods, getting ready to spar.

You wear a devious smirk across your face, holding your sword with such grace as Kenpachi has no idea what is coming.

"You want to play a game, huh?" Kenpachi asks, a smirk growing along his face. You smile innocently and nod your head.

"Yes," you reply.

"Let's play then," Kenny growls out, his deep voice ringing throughout your eardrums. Your eyes shift down to his chest poking out from his uniform, glistening sweat.

You bite down on your bottom lip as Kenpachi swiftly launches towards you, swinging his sword. You bring up your own sword, deflecting his attack.

The tip of your sword slices straight down through Kenpachi's black kosode and his eyes widen. Kenpachi lets out a low, threatening chuckle and shrugs his kosode off.

It softly falls into the soft grass below and Kenpachi's abs are now on full display. His black hakamas hang low on his waist, a little trail of hair leading down to what's hiding inside of his boxers.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip and Kenpachi huffs out heavily.

So, one by one, you cut off each piece of clothing he's wearing until he's left in his boxers. The two of you are mere inches away from each other as you ended up on top of him, panting messes and swords tossed to the side.

Kenpachi wears a devilish smirk across his face. He admires you for having the strength and guts to get on top of him.

"I see what kind of game you're playing now, y/n," Kenpachi speaks with a deep voice and you wear an innocent expression across your face.

You can feel his hard cock in his boxers pressing against your clothed cunt. You quickly remove the uniform and the wind feels good on your hot skin.

Your hands plays around the waistband of his boxers until you pull them down, his cock springing up and slapping his lower stomach.

To ride the beast below you was a task, but it's task that you're going to relish doing.

After all, his cock is going to rearrange your guts.

You wrap your fingers around his cock, stroking it a few times.

You let out a shaky breath as you start to sink down on his hard, thick length. His cock fills up your pussy to the brim and Kenpachi wears a proud grin across his face.

"Does that feel good?" Kenpachi asks, cupping your cheek and his thumb grazes over your skin.

"You have no idea," you whisper, bending over and leaning your head down into the curve of his neck. Placing soft, wet kisses along Kenpachi's throat you start to lift your hips up and down.

Kenny groans loudly, feeling your walls squeeze around his hard, thick cock. Your lips suck on his sensitive skin and he clenches his jaw, his grip on your bare body tightening.

His eyes admire the way your body bounces on top of his, the tip of his cock hitting that soft, sweet spot inside of you. The way your pussy is hugging his cock and your breasts are bouncing.

You run your warm tongue along his skin and glance at the mark left on his throat.

His hands grip onto your waist as you start to pant heavily, a burn spreading in your thighs as you continue to struggle to ride the beast below you.

Kenpachi easily lifts your hips up and down, slamming you back down on his cock. You throw your head back, letting out a loud moan as pleasure ripples through your body.

A ring of precum starts to form along the base of Kenny's hairy cock and his fingers dig into your flesh. Each time his cock slides in and out of your gushing cunt, sloppy wet sounds are created.

You lean over, pressing wet kisses along his chest and sucking on his skin. Your lips feel so good and hot sucking on his skin, making his cock twitch inside of your stuffed cunt.

Kenpachi runs his hand up to your throat, grabbing onto it and squeezing it. A whimper leaves your lips and you clamp around his length, lifting your head up and meeting his strong gaze.

He lets out a breathy groan and forces you up and back down onto his cock. Your body hunches over as sweat starts to gather on your forehead.

Kenpachi's the only thing holding your exhausted body up, a series of moans leaving your lips as his fat tip presses right where you need him the most.

The sweet, deep ache inside of you starts to build up. You press your palms onto his built, plush pecs, holding yourself up.

"You started this and now you're making me do all the work, doll. So pathetic," Kenpachi sighs out, thrusting his hips up into yours.

"I-i'm sorry," you moan out, barely able to form words and you try and keep your balance on top of him.

You become a whimpering, panting mess as Kenpachi drills his cock inside of you until you're oozing your cum all over him. He chuckles deeply and a crazed look forms inside of his eyes.

His cock twitches inside of you and he drives his hips up, groaning loudly as he releases his seed inside of you. He breathes heavily, keeping his hips pressed up against yours as his cum fills up you.

"Let's play this game next time," Kenpachi huffs out, giving your throat a light squeeze and you nod your head.

Tags: @kr0wu

[gayfanservice]

could i please get anything with submissive!gale? thank you!!!

Tried to romance him and got rejected twice lmao

WARNING: 18+, hand job/fingering, no sex, takes place in the shadow curse/act 2

*********

The grass crinkled under your shoes, soft steps taking you towards a small clearing. The sky had turned, no longer the disgusting, murky black, but filled with lights, dancing together in a serenade. It was beautiful. Blues to purples with a little bit of green consumed the air, blocking out the dark sky. You almost forgot about the curse with the beautiful display above you, how it illuminated everything, bringing the dead plants to life with every flutter of movement. Your eyes trailed down to the culprit of the beautiful display, heart fluttering as as they landed on Gale. His hands mindlessly moved, slow but fluid motions.

The light from both his wandering hands and the sky shone around him, engulfing him like a blanket made from heaven. Glowing. A stunning, glowing angel, all for you.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the fast beating of your heart, and continued forward into the clearing. Gale turned with a smile, albeit a little startled, “Oh, you came!” He had an undertone of nervousness evident in his voice. This wasn’t the first time you two snuck out in the middle of the night, but every time always gave you the same feelings: nervousness, excitement, admiration, thrill. This certainly won’t be your last time sneaking away from camp.

You sat down on the oddly colored grass, unable to tell what color it should be, and leaned your weight onto your hands, your hand dangerously close to Gale’s no-longer moving hand. You felt him shiver. Small, but noticeable. “I just love this time of night.” You both stared into the faux sky, watching as the colors continued their dance. You could feel his hand twitch next to yours, small movements of yearning, begging to be let out. That’s what he said the first time you found him here, “I just love this time of night”, and you didn’t disagree. He always put on such a magnificent show when it was it’s darkest hour.

Your hand found his, clasping it and bringing it to your lips, giving a soft kiss to his knuckles. His breath staggered, grip tightening ever-so slightly. No matter how many times you show affection, it always sets his heart ablaze. The good kind, of course.

Gods, you’re beautiful.

You moved to your knees, un-occupied hand softly cupping his face. His dorky smile spread across his face, eyes crinkling as blood rushed into his face. No matter what you say, words could never express how beautiful Gale was. They would never do justice for what you feel. Unworthy words for such a worthy man. You were down bad for this man.

You leaned in, taking his lips in your own, hand traveling across his casual attire, ruffling it up, with the other caressing his face.

So, so beautiful, my darling.

Gale broke the kiss, his smile too wide for his lips to properly kiss, “Gods, what did I do to deserve you?”

Get kidnapped, duh.

He laughed, the melody melting your heart as he bent his head, hiding his flushed face. “How could I forget?” You chuckled, cheeks hurting from smiling for so long.

You leaned into him, kissing his face wherever you could reach, slowly pushing him down until his back hit the grass, “You are doing my laundry after this, right?” He chuckled to himself as you sighed, nodding your head and rolling your eyes in a mocking manner. You dipped your head again, kissing the tattoo-scar thing on his neck, feeling him swallow, shaking in excitement. Your hands lowered under Gale’s tunic, feeling the soft, hairy flesh underneath, pushing the fabric up and over his chest and exposing his skin to the wild. Straddling him, you bent at an awkward angle, leaving kisses on his happy-trail to his nipples.

Gale took in a sharp breath, arching ever-so slightly as your tongue twirled, a hand massaging the other.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, panting, silently begging for you to touch him more. His pants were tight, uncomfortable, his dick pressing hard against the garments. You separated from his nipple, tugging at Gale’s shirt until he hastily tore it off his body. You unbuckled his belt, moving it just enough for his dick to pop out. Your hand wrapped around it, slowly, agonizingly slow, pumping his cock while his face contorted in pleasure. Gale’s breathing became heavier, eyebrows forward as tightly as they could and eyes shut tight. “Fuck, faster, please,” he whined. Sweat traveled across his skin, dampening his hair and beard.

The sky was back to it’s ugly nature, Gale no longer able to concentrate on anything but your hand on his cock.

Patience, Gale, or I’ll go back to bed and leave you to tend to yourself.

You both knew you wouldn’t, but Gale wouldn’t push his luck. Instead, he laid there, hips and muscles twitching as your hand slowly moved.

You suddenly stopped, silently snickering at Gale’s noise of complaint, a whine in his voice as he pouted at the lack of attention, and gripped his pants. The two of you awkwardly shimmied his bottom garments off, throwing them wherever behind you and grabbing a jar of grease that sat beside Gale. Where it came from you did not know, it was not there when you first came, but you were not about to stop what you were doing to ask a wizard where something came from.

Gale felt so exposed. The cool air causing him to shiver every few minutes, cooling him off from the intense heat his body felt because of you. How you poured the slippery liquid onto both of your hands, lathering up his dick and massaging his asshole. It wasn’t rough, nothing you ever did to him was. You made sure to make him feel good; to feel secure. To make sure he knew you cared. Gods, not even Mystra could compare to how gentle and loving you handled him. Never forcing him to do anything he didn’t want, not telling him to kill himself so nothing threatens you, and actively trying to deter him from killing himself for Mystra’s forgiveness.

Gale’s thought process short-circuited as he felt a wet finger enter his ass, an equally wet hand returning to his attention-seeking cock stroking faster than before. His back arched high, legs bending instinctively as he let out a moan, high and loud. He felt embarrassment rise in his chest, covering his face as you let out a snort.

Careful, if someone hears you they might wanna join. And I’m not sharing.

“Oh, shut up.” Gale groaned, silently praying to whatever god of luck that existed to not let anyone hear the noise that left him. He shuddered, your hands still moving, up and down and in and out. His arms relaxed, falling to the ground above his head. Such simple touches but such extreme pleasures.

Another finger entered, both prodding around until they find that sweet spot. You watched Gale, face scrunched and letting sinful noises leave his open mouth.

“Please, just a little- fuck!” Gale tensed, head thrown back and pushing against your fingers inside him. His legs bent, spreading as your fingers grind against his prostate, thighs shaking and breathing growing heavier. You kissed down his thigh and up his stomach, hands keeping a steady pace as you continued up his sternum. Gale’s hands gripped your shoulders, crinkling your shirt as he let out sweet moans into the night air.

You stopped, again, and straightened your back, taking in the view of Gale completely fucked; his hair was everywhere, his body was glistening with sweat, cock hard and red, muscles twitching and quivering. It was delicious. Gale whined, “Why… why did you stop?” He was breathless, heart pounding in his chest and a dull ach in his dick.

Just thinking how lucky I am to see you so fucked out, y’know?

“Oh my gods, will you please shut up?” He smiled through his fingers, covering his face once again as he groaned, hearing you quietly laugh to yourself. Gale pulled you towards him, silencing you with a kiss. You moved against each other, bathing in each other. Gale exhale against your lips, his breath shaking.

“Please, please just- just let me cum,” Gale bucked his hips into your hand, desperately trying to get himself off.

I don’t know, Gale, do you deserve to?

You snickered as he whined, hands in a complete stop as he fucked himself. “Please, please,” He continued whining, begging for relief, for anything to get him to his climax. He was such a beautiful sight.

Gale’s had enough teasing, it seems.

Your hand stroked fast, the pre-cum and grease squelching. “Fuck!” His head was thrown back, entire body shivering as ripples of pleasure tore through his body. His muscles tensed and un-tensed, hands gripping the grass below him, ripping out strands. The hot pool in his abdomen grew hotter, the pleasure ripping through him like a tidal wave.

Gale let out a groan as cum shot out of his cock, body spasming as you stroked him through his orgasm.

His breathing was heavy, sweat poured down his forehead and covered his body, making him glisten in the moonlight. You removed your hands from him, awkwardly holding them away from you as you watched Gale.

Good?

“Good,” Gale said with a satisfied smile.

*********

Do NOT follow if you use she/her pronouns

Read the rules before following

[ethniee]

It’s finally finished. Thanks to all the awesome folks who voted and to the people on Discord who supplied feedback and ideas when I hit writers block (among them @hazyange1s, @choco-froggie, and @superconductivebean). Love you guys!!

RETURNING THE FAVOR - A Garreth Weasley x MC Oneshot

Word Count: 5,200

Content Warnings: Mortal danger, arachnophobia, and stupid decisions

He was on the ground. That was about all he knew.

He was laying on the ground, snapped like a broken twig across the forest floor.

Garreth rubbed his face blearily. His brain was swimming - everything was faded and hazy. Shadows twisted and whispered above him, smelling of death and rot and terror. If it weren’t for the pain in his leg and head, he wouldn’t have been sure if it was all real.

Something wet and earthy was pressed against his cheek…. Leaves? His pants were damp from the ground, and there were clumps of soil in his hair. Rain had soaked his robes into a muddy mess and chilled him to the bone, leaving his fingers numb from cold.

How had he gotten here? Hadn’t it been only a few hours ago he and Inger had left the castle? He’d only wanted to restock his supply of leeches- Perhaps find a dead bat, or even a bit of Hippogriff hair snagged on a bush.

Really, he’d wanted to find anything that could be useful. After all, this place was full of incredible things.

He faintly remembered falling.

That was it. He’d fallen.

Merlin, he hurt.

He was in the middle of wondering if he should try and sit up when something chittered, far too close and loud to just be his own frozen limbs scratching around in the muck.

His body froze, his own breath closing off his throat. As delirious as he was, he could hear the faint slipping of leaves and crunching grass. A long, wiry hair ran along his cheek.

He clamped his teeth down on his tongue, barely suppressing a whimper of fear. If that was what he thought it was- Merlin, he prayed it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Every muscle in his body was pulled to the point where he was shaking. Slowly the hair skipped across his nose, and he clenched his fists at his side, trying to remember to breathe. Where was his wand? If he’d lost his wand he was as good as dead.

His heart pounding in his ears, Garreth ever-so-slowly opened his eyes.

Eight massive inky orbs stared back at him.

He couldn’t help it. He shrieked.

The spider chattered, snapping its pincers. One massive hairy leg hooked onto his shoulder, turning him towards the monster as he began to scramble, arms and one leg and fallen leaves flying. His fist hit the beast in the side of the head, and he managed to kick one of its many legs out from under it.

It was no use. The brute wasted no time in scrambling on top and stepping all over him, prodding with its disgusting legs, its pincers clacking and glistening in the faint moonlight as it tried to tame its squirming prey.

He was going to die. He was going to die, and all before he’d ever finished his Fizzing Whizbeer. All before her had ever ridden a unicorn, or written that apology letter to Sharp for getting centipede juice on the ceiling, or told his friend he had a crush on her, or put a bucket of lake water atop Sallow’s door.

He could have sworn he heard someone scream. Inger?

And then the spider began to spin his legs together in a mess of horrible sticky silken strands. The last thing he saw was a burst of silvery light before he blacked out.

. . . Earlier That Day . . .

“The Forbidden Forest?” Inger demanded, grinning far too widely for such a suggestion. “You’re insane!”

“SHH,” Garreth hissed, clapping a hand over her mouth. He glanced around the near-empty common room in panic before slowly removing his hand. “We can’t have the whole bloody school knowing. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

She shoved his shoulder in retaliation, opened her second chocolate frog of the evening, and bit its head off. “I know it’s supposed to be a secret,” she said, chewing, “but it’s the Forbidden Forest! Your aunt would murder us. Remember the last time we ran off? We got detention for a week.”

“Two weeks,” he corrected, accepting one of the frog’s legs as he looked at the card from the box. His aunt had not been happy with them, to say the least, and neither had his parents. He still remembered the Howler he’d received the next morning.

Who cared about the Forbidden Forest, though? It was an opportunity too big to miss, especially with a rumored lesson coming up that taught Felix Felicis. Of course he’d brewed the famous potion before (without supervision, of course), but since that time he’d thought up a million ideas for what could be done with it if he were to do so again. He could make a fortune selling spiked candy to kids before their O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S., he could get it to their Quidditch team, he could see if there was a way to alter it so it would only bring bad luck. He could, he could, he could. He’d be famous!

Of course, Inger knew about all of these crazy ideas, of which she’d shot down a fair number - the one about making Felix Felicis ink, for example.

This was why Garreth always told her his ideas. She knew which ones had the potential to work, and best of all, she could always help figure out a way to accomplish them.

Besides, she didn’t make half-bad company, either.

You know, in a great potions-brewing, adventure-seeking, fun-loving teammate sort of way. Certainly nothing that eluded to the fact he simply liked being around her and her inexhaustible energy to boot.

“Come on, Inger,” he wheedled, “It’ll be fun! It’s not like you haven’t been in there before.”

She jabbed a finger at him. “If you tell Weasley that I’ll hex your arse to Azkaban.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, smirking. “That might actually be quite preferable, compared to-”

He cackled as she shoved him again, nearly forcing him off the overstuffed red couch.

“Alright ALRIGHT I get it,” he laughed. “But just think of all the fascinating things that are in there!”

“I don’t have to think,” she said haughtily, “I know.”

“Case closed! Ladies and gentlemen, we have the Savior of Hogwarts and an expert on the Forbidden Forest with us today.” He grinned, leaning back into the cushions. “Tell me, what potions were you able to brew with the oh-so valuable ingredients you found?”

He knew that line would get her. Inger was as big a sap for potions as he was- or at least, for the fun of creating something potentially hazardous. He suspected she was in it purely for the joy of throwing things into a cauldron with varying rates of success.

She snorted. “You’re an idiot,” she told him, yet her excitement showed no sign of dimming. “What time?”

“Tonight, after curfew. Hopefully, anyway, I’d we don’t get caught. I’ve got my broom-“

“Mine got taken by Kogowa because of the last Quidditch match.”

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that.” Truth was he hadn’t really forgotten. (Inger had fully snapped after a Ravenclaw student had nearly beheaded the Gryffindor Seeker with a Bludger at close range. As a result, she’d lost her broom for a week.) Better for her to think he had forgotten, though, right?

“Regardless, that’s all the more reason for it,” he said instead. “One broom won’t be as easy to spot as two.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do, fly to my window and make me jump off?”

Actually, that was exactly what he’d been planning to do. He shrugged. “Something like that.”

It sounded ridiculous as soon as he said it. Inger, however, hardly batted an eyelash. “Brilliant! Just get super close to the window, and I’ll hop on.”

“What are you going to do if someone sees you?”

Springing up from the couch, ponytail swinging, Inger winked. “Savior of Hogwarts business.”

“And what about if they try to stop you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Garreth. I’m in a room with Nellie and Natty of all people. I’ll be fine.”

He grinned as he handed her the chocolate frog box. “Well, would you look who’s excited?” he teased. “Is it because I’ll be there?”

She scoffed. “Just make sure that big head of yours can fit through my window. And when Weasley catches us, it was only because of that next assignment and nothing else. Otherwise I would be busy being a perfect model student.”

He choked on a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a great description.”

Inger swatted and he ducked, snickering. Snatching the box back from her hand, he leapt atop the couch.

Despite being tall for a girl, Inger didn’t bother trying to jump to get it back, and wasted no time in tackling his legs instead. Garreth lost his balance immediately and fell over the arm of the couch, laughing.

Triumphant, Inger plucked the box from his hand, then extended her own to help him up.

“All hail the conquering champion,” she joked, pulling him to his feet.

“You jerk,” Garreth teased playfully.

She smirked right back at him. “Moron.” Spinning on her heel, she slung her book bag over her shoulder. “Does ten-o’clock sound good to you?”

He gave a mock salute. “Ten o’clock it is.”

. . .

It would decide to rain that night.

Inger couldn’t help feeling a little disgruntled as she unlatched the window and pushed it open into the heavy downpour. She hated being cold, and she knew (even with several layers of clothing) that there was little she could do to prevent being so.

True to his word, Garreth arrived almost exactly at 10:00. Or at least, at his own version of 10:00… a solid seven minutes past, to be exact.

Inger rolled her eyes as Garreth nudged his broom closer to the window sill. His grin was contagious, though it was helped along with rain soaking his usually curly ginger hair into an absolute mess of strands that refused to be swayed from sticking to his forehead. His robes were already sopping.

“ARE YOU READY?” Garreth yelled so as to be heard above the howling storm.

“YES!” Inger cried back. Stepping onto the windowsill, she braces herself with her hands on the slick stone walls.

Merlin, it was a long way down.

She dug the toes of her boots into a groove in the stone. “YOU’D BETTER NOT DROP ME!” she shouted at him.

Garreth kept his broom in place, bracing one leg on the wall. “I WON’T!” He held one hand out to her. “Grab my hand and my shoulder, then swing your right leg over!”

“Or just jump,” Nellie offered from behind. Natsai elbowed her in the ribs.

Inger snorted at her friends. “Make sure Mrs. Weasley doesn’t find out I’m gone, okay?”

Nellie flashed her a thumbs up.

Grabbing Garreth’s hand with her left and his shoulder with her right, Inger swung herself onto the broom, releasing herself from the window. Her satchel thudded against her hip.

Even with Garreth in front, she still loved being on a broom. There was a weightless feeling to it like nothing else.

It would have been even better had it not been dumping buckets of water from the sky. Even with the layers she was wearing, she was cold and damp within seconds. Her untamable flyaways clung in wet strands to the sides of her face and mouth. As for her ponytail, it was already a tangled mess from the wind.

“Are you holding on?” Garreth asked as he began to nudge the broom farther away from the tower and into the storm.

“Yup,” she said, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist. “GEEZ, you’re wet!”

Garreth burst out laughing, his hair spinning additional water into her face as he turned to look at her. “Say that again!”

Oh Merlin. It seemed to be a talent teenage boys had to always take things the worst way possible. Garreth was no different, especially with her. She was severely tempted to smack him in the back of the head.

Wiping a strand of hair out of her mouth, she leaned over his shoulder so she could see. “That wasn’t meant to be dirty, you dork!” she yelled at him.

“Sure it wasn’t!”

She scoffed. “Just don’t kill us!”

Garreth flashed another one of his signature grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”

Little could be said after that, as Garreth flew the broom away from the shelter of the castle and straight into the storm towards the Forbidden Forest. Inger could hardly see it at first - all it was was a streak of dark gray in the relentless rain and thunder.

The winds nearly sent the pair flying into the trees as they got closer, but to Inger’s relief, they landed relatively unscathed after only a few minutes - Waterlogged and freezing, but unscathed.

Inger nearly tripped as she stumbled off the broom into the relative shelter of the forest. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the dark shadows through the drizzling raindrops.

“This shouldn’t be too bad,” she said, checking to make sure her satchel was intact. “So long as we avoid the stinging nettle, and the Dugbogs, and the Centaurs, and the Aromantaculas.”

“The what?” Garreth asked, stepping up to her side as he rearranged his red and gold scarf. He’d leaned the broom up against a tree for safekeeping.

“‘What’ to which one?”

“The Aro… min… tecular- I don’t know. Whatever it is you said.”

She grinned. “Aromantaculas?”

“Yes. Those.”

She pulled her wand out of her satchel, lit it, and held it up so they could begin their trek into the forest. “Giant spiders.”

“You’re kidding.”

She turned to look at him, confused. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“No, not really.”

Garreth grabbed one of her shoulders, keeping her from walking any farther. His brilliant green eyes bored into hers, filled with undeniable concern. “There are giant spiders in there? How giant are we talking about?”

“Yup.” She tried to measure with her hand and ultimately settled it a little below her hip. “Uh… around here?”

He inhaled a slow, deep breath. “Godric’s gingersnaps,” he muttered.

Inger snorted a laugh. “Where’d that one come from?”

He gave her a pleased, mischievous smile. “I made it up.” He paused, worry creeping back onto his face. “Really though, are you sure we’ll be okay in there? You know, with those spiders?”

It dawned on her.

“Garreth,” she asked, folding her arms as she faced him, “are you scared of spiders?”

He looked at her as if she’d insulted him. “I’m not scared of them, I do like them!” He swallowed. “When they’re not running. Or twitching legs. Or, you know what, I just prefer them jarred so I can pull them out when the recipe calls.”

It was nearly funny, but she knew she had no room to laugh after their last adventure, when Garreth had discovered her own claustrophobia.

The memory still made her stomach feel like it was full of butterflies, something she would never in a million years tell him.

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were afraid of frogs.”

“I never said I was afraid of frogs,” he told her. “I said I dislike them. Immensely.”

“Hate them.”

“What?”

“You said you hated them.”

He shrugged. “Alright, I hate them, then.”

“But you are scared of spiders?”

“Well, have you seen one up close? They’ve got these little hairs everywhere and these little beady eyes and little stick creepy crawly legs.” He shuddered. “They’re great for potions, don’t get me wrong, but otherwise…”

She playfully elbowed her friend in the side. “I’ll tell you what. You make sure I don’t get stuck in any tight spaces, and I’ll kill the spiders. Deal?”

She wished she could have gotten a painting of the relief on Garreth’s freckled face. It was nice to have someone who trusted her so completely. Usually it was “make sure you’re careful, Inger,” or “here’s some extra training for things you already know, Inger,” or “I’ll come along to make sure you’re safe, Inger.”

With Garreth it wasn’t like that. He knew and trusted her capabilities, and if she was getting ahead of herself, he would tell her.

At the very least it was nice to repay the favor. Garreth had kept her safe and helped to keep her mind off of their circumstances when they’d been stuck in that cellar until she’d fallen asleep, and now she had the chance to help scare off whatever spiders got to him.

“I thought I was the one planning this,” Garreth teased.

She laughed, turning around to face him as she began to walk backwards. “Who said I was planning anything?”

He chuckled. “Good question.” Then, reaching out, he spun her back around so she was facing forward. “Now do me a favor and don’t trip and die.”

Despite the amount of times Inger had been in the Forbidden Forest (most often to gather rarer ingredients for her and Garreth’s experiments), it was still a little spooky when first walking in.

For one thing, it was obvious almost immediately that one wasn’t alone.

The howls and screeches of animals and magical beasts alike echoed off the trees and through the lengthening shadows. Something skittered through the undergrowth. Even the trees creaked and whispered, as if alive.

However, despite how foreboding the sounds were, Inger knew that in reality they were preferable to silence. Silence in the Forbidden Forest was rarely a good thing.

Garreth summed it up fairly well.

“Creepy,” he declared after only a few moments of walking.

Inger chuckled. “You getting cold feet, Weasley?”

He grinned. “I just might - and then you’d have to save me. What an absolute tragedy.”

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle, holding an overhanging branch away from the trail with one hand so Garreth could pass in front of her. “I’m sure that would go down super well with your aunt.”

“She wouldn’t mind. It would just get you extra points with her, after all.”

“Oh, because that went so well last time she caught us together.”

Inger wasn’t prepared for Garreth’s expression. A mischievous raised eyebrow and a smirk to match - the sort of look that made Inger’s heart stutter. However, it was his following question that caught her most off-guard.

“What, are you saying you regret it?”

She tripped over a hollow in the path and shouted in alarm as Garreth sprang forward to help, catching her arm before she face planted into the ground.

“Woah, careful there,” he joked. “Wouldn’t want you to get scraped up.” He lifted his chin proudly. “That’s two me-saving-you’s.”

Inger managed a chuckle, trying to ignore the flush creeping up her neck, and straightened the satchel strap across her shoulder. “Totally not cocky about it at all, are you?” She swallowed. “Thank you. I-what kind of question is that?”

Did she regret it? Of course she didn’t. Looking back at it, it had been one of the most terrifying experiences of her life (which was saying something, considering what she’d been through the past year). She’d felt like she couldn’t breathe, felt like the world was closing in around her and she was going to be buried alive.

That said, the materials they’d brought back had lasted months. She and Garreth had brewed potions they’d only read about in books. They’d ruined several, too, but that wasn’t the point.

Had falling asleep in a cold dirt cellar - mere feet below a couple of angry drunk poachers, no less - against one of her best mates been one of the stupider things she’d done?

Probably.

Did it still make her want to hug and shove and goad him into tackling her every chance she got just to have an excuse to feel that sense of care and warmth again?

Maybe.

Garreth’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean ‘what kind of question is that?’ I thought it was a good one.”

She snorted, praying he didn’t notice it was his simple question that had made her trip.“Well, I-…”

She paused. How did she say this without coming off weird? Best to keep it simple.

“No, I don’t regret it.”

Was that a little bit of relief she saw? Merlin, he probably thought she was just another one of those girls that fawned over him behind his back.

“Those ingredients we found were completely worth it,” she offered as something of an explanation. “Remember the mermaid blood?”

Something dropped on his face - what, she couldn’t tell, but it was covered with a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “The mermaid blood. Gave me a bloody good scare when those poachers showed up, though.”

She barked a laugh. “You were scared?”

He gave her a playful nudge in the side as they continued walking. “Hey, dying wasn’t exactly on my list of things to do that day.”

She crossed her arms, trying to look like she didn’t believe him. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty keen on it when you threw me down the ladder.”

Garreth rolled his eyes with a grin and shoved her away, nearly off the path. “You know, you could stand to say thank you.”

“I just did!”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“You most definitely didn’t.”

“Fine then.” She lifted her chin, smile still on her face. “Thank you, Garreth.”

He gave a flamboyant bow. “My pleasure.”

Inger wasn’t sure what it was. She knew he was just messing around, but seeing Garreth bow like that, dripping wet as he was, it made her stomach do stupid floppy things.

Most of the things he did made her stomach do stupid floppy things.

She held on to her bag strap- that seemed like a good place for her hands at the moment. “You dork,” she said with a chuckle.

He didn’t respond, only gave her that ridiculously charming smile.

The forest, while it had gotten progressively less wet and more damp as they’d ventured farther in due to leaf cover, it had also gotten progressively darker. The pair found a few mushrooms in the roots of a tree and a couple of feathers, but were unsuccessful in identifying them. Inger ended up sticking the ingredients in her satchel for safekeeping.

Garreth eventually pulled out his wand and lit it alongside Inger’s. However, it seemed that even Lumos Maxima wasn’t able to entirely dispel the shadows.

“So, when do we start seeing spiders?” Garreth asked after a couple of minutes of near-aimless wandering.

“Whenever they find us,” Inger whispered back, poking around a bush to see if she could find anything. “The louder we are, the more likely they are to hear us.”

“Oh how comforting,” he joked. He’d paused at the base of a particularly large tree at the edge of a steep slope, and was now staring up into the branches. “Is that a nest?”

Inger blinked from looking down the slope - she couldn’t see the bottom, the greenery was so thick.

“Where?”

He pointed.

She tipped her head. It did sort of look like a nest. It was difficult to see clearly, but it certainly had potential.

Garreth grinned. “What if there’s something in it?”

“Can you even climb up there?” She asked dubiously.

He pocketed his wand. “I’m hurt. Truly.” Taking hold of a groove in the bark and managing to get a toehold in another, he began to slowly boost himself up the trunk. “Get over here, will you? I can’t see.”

She laughed under her breath as she picked her way through the undergrowth to his side. Stretching her arm above her head, she held her wand as high as she could.

It took a few minutes of struggling and muttered curses, but Garreth finally made it to the first sturdy branch.

“Ha,” he said, grinning as he looked down at her. “See? I told you.”

“Can you see anything yet?”

He stretched his legs in front of him, as if a king surveying his new kingdom. “Really, I have some unmatched skills here, climbing a tree like this- a tree in the Forbidden Forest, no less. Leander is going to be so jealous.”

“Quit rubbing it in and get up there!”

“You know, I think I could get used to this.” He rested his chin on his fist, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re adorable, you look so small down there.”

Was that supposed to be flirty?

Who was she kidding, it was Garreth, he was always flirty.

“Weasley, so help me, if you don’t keep climbing I’m going to throw something at you.”

“Really you’re no bigger than a Mooncalf. All bark and no bite.”

Inger yanked off her boot and threw it.

She hadn’t been made a Chaser for the Quidditch team because she had poor aim. The boot hit its mark, square in his stomach.

Garreth grunted. “Hey!” he said with a laugh.

“Keep climbing,” Inger challenged, “or I’ll let the spiders eat you.”

He got to his feet immediately. “Okay, okay, I’m climbing.” He pulled himself up to the next branch. “See? Climbing.”

“Good job,” she said, trying to hide her smile. “Hurry.”

“Great, hurrying.”

The branches grew far closer together the higher Garreth climbed, and Inger found herself mildly impressed at how quickly he was able to make it up to the height of the suspected nest.

However, it quickly became apparent that the nest was a lot farther out than the two had originally thought. Even though Garreth reached out as far as he could, his fingers couldn’t get closer than a good five or six feet from it.

“Try Accio!” Inger shouted up at him.

“WHAT?”

“I SAID TRY ACCIO!”

She didn’t remember that they were technically supposed to stay quiet until after the fact.

Oh well. Nothing could be done about that now.

Up above, Garreth found his wand. Inger heard something that sounded like the charm, but little else happened. The nest had been woven into the twigs of the branch securely - there was no hope of moving it just by use of a spell.

Few other options were left but to move close enough to reach it.

“I’m going to try to get to it,” Garreth yelled down, and without further ado he began to scoot along the branch towards the nest.

Even from below, it was obvious from the beginning the branch wasn’t nearly sturdy enough for a boy like Garreth to sit at the end of. It began to tremble and bend as he moved farther from the trunk, leaves gliding down as they were shaken from the tree.

“Wait!” Inger called. “Don’t-“

Then, with a final shuddering tremor, the branch snapped, and Garreth plunged to the ground.

. . .

Someone was hitting his face.

“Garreth,” an anxious voice said. “Garreth! Damnit, Garreth, wake up!”

He took a deep breath as his brain slowly awakened. It was Inger. He could recognize her voice anywhere.

He groaned. Everything hurt- really hurt. Taking a deep breath, he forced his eyes to flutter open.

Much to his relief, the eyes looking back at him weren’t spider eyes. These were warm brown, flecked with the faintest bits of gold, and surrounded by freckles and strands of chestnut hair.

They were scared.

He blinked, struggling to raise his head as he pushed himself onto his elbows. Something silver pranced around the corners of his vision.

“Garreth!” Inger cried, and suddenly he found himself slammed back to the ground, enveloped in a fierce hug and Inger’s face pressed into the crook of his neck.

He grunted a soft laugh, bringing one hand up to hug her back as well as he could. “Hi there.”

She pulled back, grinning. “You’re alive. I thought you died, you idiot! Are you okay? You’d better be okay.”

“Uh… yeah. I think so. He blinked hazily, trying to see his body, and nearly threw up when he saw his legs still wrapped in spider silk. “I can’t move my legs.”

“Right.” She sat back on her knees and began to yank on the silk.

As she worked, Garreth took the opportunity to look around. He was pretty battered- his neck and back and left leg all hurt, as did his head. What was more, he looked about as bad as he felt. He was covered from head to toe in mud and dirt and grass.

Something wet dripped from the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips, tasting iron.

Blood.

As far as his surroundings went, he had somehow ended up a few feet into a clearing of sorts. Tree limbs and other plants made the view above completely impossible, but where he was on the ground wasn’t so bad. A path had been cleared through the muck to his left that led several feet up a steep slope, as if something had rolled down it.

To cap it off, a wisp of deepest silver smoke was wandering around him, standing guard with its head held high and ears pricked, ready to ward off any potential threats.

He didn’t have to ask to know it was Inger’s patronus. He’d been there when she’d first cast it, and now it was here again- a black mare, shimmering in the dark shadows.

“Inger,” he managed, turning his head so he could see her tearing away at the spider silk. “What happened?”

“You fell,” she said bluntly, grunting as she yanked off another strand. “I think the hill helped break your fall. You rolled right down.”

“Huh.” He shifted. “What did you do to the spider?”

“I scared it off before it killed you. They’re a bit sensitive to light.”

“So we’re safe?”

She snorted. “For a minute, at least, until it brings back its mates and realizes that a patronus can’t really hurt it.” Finishing with the silk, she dug through her satchel, pulled out a bottle of green liquid, and pulled out the cork. “Drink this.”

Garreth didn’t have to be told twice. He tipped back the Wiggenweld immediately and then let his head flop back. He could feel the effects of the potion almost instantly as it coursed through his body, healing cuts and scrapes and soothing pain and clearing the fog from his brain.

He was still terribly dirty, though.

Inger held out her hand, and Garreth allowed her to help him to his feet. After a moment of searching he found his wand. Summoning his go-to memory, he whispered the incantation.

“Expecto Patronum.”

A twist of silver light emerged from his wand and burst into a glittering shape, taking flight through the air. The Harrier swooped past them in a graceful ark before soaring above their heads, bathing the ground around them in ghostly light.

Inger gave a quiet laugh. “Dork.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “Show-off.”

A long, silent moment. There were so many things he wanted to say, and yet not quite enough courage to do so.

He swallowed.

“Thanks for saving my life.”

His friend chuckled softly, watching their patronuses glitter through the trees. “Well that was sappy. I’m just returning the favor.”

She paused.

“Now let’s get out of here before we actually die.”

[mr2swap]

Dungeons and Dragons

-Jacob! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?! - the childish and strident voice of a child made the gang of friends leave their wooden swords, their plastic shield and their "magical" scepter that was actually a broom on the floor

Among all the "kids" there was one that stood out from all the others, a 35-year-old man, shirtless, holding a large metal sword that would normally decorate the Johnsons' game room, he fell on the grass, The muscular man and Shirtless froze in terror instantly upon recognizing that shrill and annoying voice-Ups! Damn, we met-

A scrawny 8-year-old boy walked into the garden, his angry look turning to surprise as he saw the group of children staring at him in silence. -oh Fuck- those words escaped from his mouth with an adorable tone. -Hm… Hey… Dere- I mean "my" dad needs you to help him move something… from his niece.-

-Hey!… Uncle Dick, don't worry, I told my friends about the amulet, I saw you asleep on the sofa, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I took your body to play and I…- Uncle Dick He slowly approaches the children and takes the huge, hard hand of his little thief of his nephew.

-Yeah! Come on Uncle Dick! Just let me play with my friends for 15 more minutes!...- the rejuvenated Uncle Dick sighed and placed his soft hands on his head to give himself a little massage to prevent his brain from exploding from all the anger and anger. accumulated stress in this. Little time.

-Listen Jack... you took my body without my permission, you told your friends our little secret and you left me locked in your room while I slept with a note that said "I'll give you your body back at dinner time, it would be great if you did my math homework” -How the hell do you think I feel?!-

Jack winced and a couple of tears formed on his face which was covered by a freshly cut beard, he rushed to the grass and started crying as he yelled -SORRY UNCLE Dick I JUST WANTED TO PLAY DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS WITH MY FRIENDS AND KENNY NEVER LET ME BE THE KNIGHT BECAUSE I AM THE SMALLEST OF MY FRIENDS AND ALSO I…-

Now the thunderous voice of his nephew was heard throughout the neighborhood, The Man in the body of his weak nephew looked to all sides worried that one of the neighbors would look at the muscular man throwing a tantrum -Okay, okay! Only 15 more minutes! You're not in trouble! But stop crying for the love of God!-

The tears stopped, Jack using the hideously long fingers of his new hairy hand wiped the tears from him, wiped his nose and stood up. -Thanks Uncle Dick! You're the best! - The children continued their little game while their uncle Dick supervised them, from time to time he checked his text messages so he was not having such a bad time in the skinny body of his nephew Jack.

"I just hope Uncle Dick doesn't mind having to spend another day in my body. When he finds out that I gave my friend Clarence the magic amulet so he could take over his stepfather's body, he's sure to try to kill me. But what?" could I do in my puny body of only one meter? I guess I'll keep the amulet for now, I don't know what planes my brother had with this thing, but I have big planes for his body tomorrow.

We have big planes for tomorrow! We will drive, go to the bar and even buy our first cigarettes! Maybe if we have time we'll play Dungeons and Dragons, maybe we can both be knights now!”

Hey! You can support me to continue creating stories, see similar stories on my patreon, you can also join my discord if you are interested in role-playing about bodyswap, possession and transformation, m2m!

[glasswaters]

an ode to happy trails. to furred backs and sloping bellies. to beards and bushy brows and yellowed teeth. to crooked smiles and rough laughter, to white a-shirts gone translucent with sweat.

hands gone rough with callouses. faces gone wrinkled and dark with age. chest hair with white streaks through it, jewellery worn and scratched.

a love letter to hairy calves, slashed with scars. to low smoldering grills and the scent of just-burnt meat. the sun has not yet set, this summer, and the grass has yellowed. there is laughter around the table, and the paper plates are stacked, half-full and mostly torn, by the bin.

to potatoes wrapped in aluminium foil, greasy fingers, to picking at corn and bones in between beer-softened giggles and burned shoulders. thinking idly about hair and mouths.

and beautiful men.

[sillyromance]

Hellooooooo yeah

What do you think of writing some vore stuff about tfp starscream?...😇⚡️🌌

Good day, dear anonymous!

Yes, of course! I remember I was asked about it before, but, unfortunately, at that time I had mental breakdown and couldn't come up with anything. I'm very sorry about that, and if you're the same anon who sent me the first ask, I sincerely apologise for the delay... However, now I finally made it up! Hope you'll enjoy!

Homesickness

Rain. Through the monitor you looked at a wide grey valley disappearing inch by inch as “Nemesis” was flying north, farther and farther. There was something dreamy, nostalgic about that melancholic landscape; pale colors set numbing bitterness in your chest, but it didn’t mean there was no beauty in them… You could almost sense fresh, chilly air and cool heavy drops on your cheeks and neck – rain water has an amazing, unique bouquet combining wild, crazy variety of natural scents: grass, earth, field flowers, mushrooms... All living beings love summer rain – it fills them with peace and hope for the better times. And what an incredible view it is when the sun comes out and the water on tree leaves starts to sparkle like trillions of moon stones.

But it wasn’t the thought lingering in your head. Watching as a wall of piercing, needle-like streams were bombarding the ground beneath, you thought of your loved ones, people that you had to leave behind to be here. Of course, you kept in touch – you texted them every week and they did the same, even more often… But it was impossible to go back, at least any time soon. Conspiracy had to be strictly kept: your decepticon friends wouldn’t be glad to hear that even more people knew about them – it was literally luck that Megatron, their huge scary boss with more scars on his armor than hairs on your head agreed to let you join the crew and didn’t kill you as far as you showed up. After getting some experience you figured out that these big mechanical creatures were not very fond of humans. Well, most of them.

- Nasty weather, isn’t it? No matter what Megs says, I won’t go out until this nonsense stop!

You glanced back and saw a pair of familiar long wings twitching in annoyance and distaste.

- You think so, Starry? I rather find it relaxing.

- Well, you don’t need to worry about rust eating your joints if you get outside…

- Ha! You has a point…

The seeker seemed irritated, though you knew he wouldn’t be like that for long. He loved complaining – everyone has their bad habits, and grumpiness is an innocent sin. He saved your life, he gave you food and shelter – and he became your ally you could count on despite the fact that at first others wouldn’t give a tip of a finger (or a digit) for your partnership to last at least a month.

It had been two years already. And so, who wouldn’t bear some little disadvantages when there was so much to be grateful for?

Starscream stepped closer to you and, in spite of his exclamation, layed his gaze at the monitor, his manipulators clenching behind his back.

- Back at Cybotron, we didn’t have rains.

You lifted your head, now looking at his pointy face, two ruby-red optics flaming on it. They were unnaturally sad.

- Really?..

He nodded.

- And the skies had different hue, and our stars looked brighter and bigger. And the cities! Oh, you must have seen them in their golden days… I miss it. Those careless days.

The rain grew heavier; it turned into a solid white wall.

- Did you have a family?

- Hm?

- I mean… Someone who you would be close with, like… Parents? Siblings? Friends?.. Did you have such connections with someone back there?

Two pines far away looked like shaggy beasts standing in the fog – their hairy muzzles swayed back and forth as if they were arguing about something and biting each other’s long “fur”.

- Actually, we don’t have such concept as… family. But I did have friends. Some were very good ones. I still remember things we did when we were young. And there was one I would even call a brother… Though, all of them are gone by now. Killed, missing…

Something bubbled painfully in his chassis.

- Sometimes… Sometimes I think if I could choose: to become a leader of Decepticons or to make things like they were before - I would choose the latter. I’m not kidding! I… I really would. Even now, it’s so strange to get up in the mornings and realize that you are actually alone on another planet and your… home… is destroyed. Everything is dumb and alien: whatever I see or touch has nothing in common with me. At the same time, I’m afraid to remember… I’m grateful Knockout and you still pay attention to me – if you didn’t, I would most likely crush down on Earth.

He grimaced. His wings lowered. The more Starscream spoke, the less he looked like himself, but you knew – it was him. True him, hiding back in the shadows. Who can tell what he lost? Who can claim him to be heartless? If a vase is empty, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t full. If a man can’t love, it doesn’t mean it has always been so.

And if you fear to look back… It doesn’t mean that you stopped longing.

- I miss home too, Starry. My planet is in one piece, it blooms and lives – I can’t possibly compare your grief to mine. And still… I’m lonely here. I guess, you understand. Though, not that lonely. At least, I have you.

There was an unreadable expression on his faceplate for a minute or two, but then he smiled softly.

- At such moments you fleshy things hug each other, don’t you?

- Yeap! We do. But it would be quite complicated now.

- Agreed. However, not for us, don’t you think?

You lips stretched in a mischievous grin.

- Ha! You think about the same thing I do?

The seeker bent to you and turned his head on a side, examining your artificially-naughty face with only one optic – at that moment he reminded you of a big carnivorous bird.

- Well, tell me, little one… - He murmured, his endless claws suddenly appearing just beside you...

… Sitting in a comparably spacious, slimy pouch of Starscream fueltank, you listened to the quiet noises of his huge body, your heart beating slowly and thoughts lazily crawling around your tired mind. Your muscles still could recall the tenderness of your friend’s long throat and esophagus, gentle licks of the glossa trying to sneak under your shirt and reach the bare skin – and so making you squelch in surprise while your cheeks were getting much, much hotter from slight embarrassment and annoyance; by the way, you and his tongue had quite an impressive fighting session (which he almost lost) before you, content and completely exhausted, let your limp wet body helplessly slide down, in the comforting confines of the warm stomach. At that moment even you couldn’t believe you was able laugh that hard!..

Greyish cobalt walls kneaded you, squeezing your tiny frame in strong, affectionate embrace. Hints of red and blue lights ran across them like shooting stars in August. Forgetting about your miserable weight, you floated in your personal small piece of cosmos, rubbing it gently and receiving low, pleasured purr from above, vibrating in your bones.

Rain. It doesn’t rain, but pours. But it’ll be better one day, if you stay strong.

If you stay together.

[furrbbyx]

M👹NSTER March Day 18: Satyr

summary: a satyr developed a size kink after going to one of the orgies thrown in the cloud kingdom

male!satyr reader x female!dryad

nsft

cw size kink, size difference, non-human dick, blow job, cum bath

Do not reproduce, do not copy.

approx 1800 words

You couldn't believe how entranced you'd become with size differences after attending Lolette's orgy last week. The cloud kingdom had hosted so many unusual guests that you'd stumbled into a room where a cloud maiden and giant were copulating. You stood watching the giant fill the maiden and expand her belly with his cock that was as tall as her torso. You'd been playing the image over in your head almost every time you wanted to jack off. Then you'd gotten it in your head to seduce a dryad from the pine forest on the western side of the rocky, mountainous island that was your home. A buxom little dryad who cared for the dwarf pines was no taller than your forearm and endlessly fascinating as she wriggled and flit among the trees. She wore barley a thread of gossamer spider silk around her bark colored, chunky frame. Her large pendulous breasts swung freely, tipped with bright green nipples to match the pine needles. The green-white plaits she'd fashioned her hair into drew your eyes like lures as they caressed every inch of her body while she moved around.

It was easy enough to start a conversation with her. Thankful for your potent satyr charisma and devilish good looks, you easily flirted with her enough to distract her from her work for the day. You felt warm underneath the afternoon sun and in the light of her seductive smile. You teased and chased her until you both collapsed in a fit of giggles. Your laughter soon turned to words proposing a tryst, an erotic interlude for you to share with her. She agreed enthusiastically and so you found yourself shuddering in pleasure as she pressed tiny lips against yours. You leaned back and let her nibble at your mouth. Your cock was intensely hard despite the thorough milking you'd given it that morning. But you couldn't blame your eager member when each touch of the dryad's tiny hands against your chest sent shivers directly to your dripping cock slit. She fluttered up and rubbed her stiff nipples against your lips. The ticklish sensation was irresistible so you opened your mouth to tongue the sweet peaks that tasted faintly of pine resin. You licked each breast with the tip of your tongue as she fed them to you. Her moans filled the glen.

Satisfied with your kisses she and pulled away. Hovering before you she rubbed her pussy and lewdly stuffed her fingers inside her cunt. You panted very hard watching the little show she was giving. You were thinking about how different a tree sprite would feel compared to a cloud maiden, who's body was much less corporeal. Yet you were encouraged that she could take at least your fingers by the wet sloppy sounds her cunts was making. Then the sweet little nymph drifted down between your legs and wrapped her itty-bitty hands around your dick. She stood on her tippy-toes and licked the glistening tip of it as if it were the last drop of honey in a bowl. You could only watch, wide-eyed and huffing out excited breaths. Oh course she couldn't take you into her mouth but that didn't stop you from gently curving your hand around the back of her head and urging her on. Her slender tongue licked the pre-cum from your slit and then she tongued it with abandon. 

At this point your cock was completely engorged and free of its hairy sheath. Your balls were throbbing and taut. 

"Oh little dryad" you moaned "You undo me"

Unable to watch as she began to slurp her way down your bulging veiny shaft, you threw your head back. When you were composed enough to uncross your eyes you looked back at the delicious scene. With her braids around her like a curtain, the dryad knelt in the grass between your legs with her face buried into the base of your dick. Her mouth and tongue fervently worked your ball sack. Incredulous, you clasped a hand tightly around your mouth to hold back a whimper. You sat up and leaned over slightly, reaching for her with a trembling hand. You smoothed your palm over her back, danced your fingers over the dip of her back, and her prominent ass and rubbed between her open thighs. 

A muffled groan vibrated through your balls, causing your breath to hitch. You began to test her opening with your smallest finger. Her cunt welcomed you, greedily pulsating around your finger. In moments your digit was slick and moving in and out of her tight, juicy pussy. The sight of her squirming against your finger with her mouth full of your cock and balls was too much, and you knew that soon you would be completely overcome. The dryad must have felt the same for in the next instant she raised her head in a long wail and she worked herself on your finger. As she rocked back an forth on her hands and knees her cum squirted out as if from a ripe orange.

The hand around your mouth got tighter. She was exquisite. You loved watching her shake with the orgasm you had given her with nothing but a finger. Her skin was warm, shimmering in the sunlight, and her plump lips made the most tempting "O" while her brow was furrowed and face slack. You slid from her body and quickly wrapped you hand, wet with her honeyed stickiness, around your shaft and squeezed viciously. You worked the tree sprites cum into your cock mixing it with your dribbling pre-cum.

Again you pressed your hand tight to your mouth to help you swallow the keening noise rising out of your throat. You watch in horror, captivation, and glee as the first gooey rope of your spend splattered the dryad. You twitched and bucked as another, then another shimmering load hit her with an almost audible sploosh.

The sound of her giggle went straight to your balls. For a minute your eyes rolled back and you couldn't sense anything but the hot fire of the orgasm ripping your mind to shreds.

"hmmmmppph. pmmmppph. phhhhh" You whine.

"Hehe. Oh my. You've certainly made a mess of me! I think only my head is dry now"

Your balls gave one more mighty heave and a final glob of spunk shot into the air to land directly on top of her head, covering her completely.

[lexiklecksi]

Monster

Genre: horror, pov: first person, word count: 1419, trigger warnings: monster, suicidal ideation, mental illness, paranoia, car crash

Months ago, I wrote the first few sentences of this horror short story and saved it in my notes. Today, I finished writing it. I hope you like this change of genre and give it a read!

Lights are blinding me. I flinch, holding a hand out against the white light coming closer. An engine breaks through the silence of the night. I squint and suddenly there's a car moving towards me at high speed. I stumble to the side, my heart racing. How did I end up here? In the middle of a crossroad. My fingers ache, so I flex them, slowly gazing down while my sight is still flickering from the headlights. Something warm trickles down my hand, it oozes onto the grass where I'm crouching. What is this? A realization hits me: It's blood, and it's not mine. What happened? My head hurts. The texture of the grass beneath me feels soothing. I want to lie down and never get up again. My back hurts like a thousand needles are pricking it. I roll onto my side and let out a heavy sigh. The air is freezing, my breath turns cold. Everything hurts. Oh please make it stop.

A high-pitched scream pierces the air and I cover my ears, but it only makes it louder. Am I screaming? Something flickers behind my eyes, my vision blurs and then I suddenly see it. The monster. It stared at me with overbearing eyes, saliva dripping down its chin, the hairy forearms and a breath that tastes like death. I thought I escaped, isn't that why I'm on the road? How could it find me? Wherever I go, it always follows me. You can run, but you cannot hide. A deafening scream escapes my sore throat. This time, I know it's me. A cry for help, but no one will hear it. This road is deserted in the middle of the night. Achingly, I try to stand up again. My legs turned into jelly, I fall down on my knees. Everything hurts. Worst of all, my head hurts. My head always hurts, but something feels different. Thoughts are chasing each other by the tail, but I can't grab any of them. My mind remains a blank slate, preparing itself to be eaten by the monster. Despite the brain fog, a thought emerges. A command: Run! Run! Run!

On all fours, I'm crawling towards the street. Pain shoots like an arrow to my knees, but I force my legs to stand up again. The monster is lurking in the dark, chuckling at my desperate attempts to save myself. Am I even worth saving? She told me I was beyond saving. Before it all went wrong, she tried. I'm thankful she tried, even though I don't deserve such kindness. She said, I don't hate you, I just want to save you while there's still something left to save. We compared scars. She said, I'll show you mine if you show me yours first. My body is a haunted house, only a few would dare to visit it. I can cry about the sorry remains of myself another time. Now I need to focus on saving myself. Though, it would be so much easier to give in, to accept my fate of being eaten by a monster. What's there to live for anyway? Since she left, I have been lying in my bed like it's a deathbed. My feet are still running down the road. Where am I going? There is no escape from the monster. It's roaring laughter keeps haunting me, trailing behind the line of blood drops I'm leaving on the road. So much blood. Bloody hell, I am such a loser. When they finally found my mangled body on the road, there will be no way to recognize me. There is no one left to recognize me anyway. And I would spare her the look of my fucked up body. Of my remains they scraped from the road and put on a steel table under a harsh white light. I can picture it so well as if I'm already dead.

Am I dead yet? Is this nightmare ever going to end? I haven't slept in weeks. Once upon a time, the night was my friend. It welcomed me into its warm embrace after an exhausting day. I didn't feel lonely, even though I was alone. I didn't question the natural order of life back then. That was before she came into my life. She taught me that my life was lonely and she was the missing puzzle piece to my happiness. Then she left me in pieces, shattered glass on the ground, drops of blood smeared on the mirror. How can anyone be so cruel to love me? What a sick joke love is. Everyone wants to be loved, right? I'd rather have people hate me, it's less cruel for my broken heart. Tree after tree passes me as I stumble down the road, the monster slowly walking behind me. It is taking its time because it knows it will catch me. Like a cat with a mouse, it's playing with me. Giving me just enough hope to keep on going. Even though we both know how this will end. There is no chance I make it out alive. I won't see another sunrise. How sad that I didn't appreciate the last sunrise.

A distant memory of sunshine on my scarred skin. A warm embrace on a cold day. I'm shivering as it starts raining. The hairy monster shakes the rain off its fur. It smiles at me, like a friend. I know better than to trust that smile. Friends become enemies very quickly. They cared for me, a long time ago. They stopped visiting me in the hospital a few weeks after … the incident. Not only that, but they couldn't understand that I'm still sick. That there is no cure for this kind of disease. It's eating my brain inside out. It's tearing at my flesh and no matter what the doctors tried, they couldn't help. The only visitor that kept coming was the monster. Somehow it managed to get past hospital security. Somehow it was invisible to others. All that doesn't matter. It's real, it's here and it is still going to feast on me. Blinded by the lights. A honk, screeching tires, then the road falls on my face. Darkness engulfs me.

Muffled voices near my ear, a hand checking for a pulse on my slit wrist. “Oh shit, oh shit! Is he okay?” Then a deeper voice shouts: “Darling, call an ambulance! He lost a lot of blood!” Footsteps approaching. “Shit, I didn't see him! Why was he walking on the road at midnight?” Yes indeed, why? The monster! How could I forget about the monster! I open my mouth, but just a gurgling sound escapes. “He's trying to speak! Move closer!”, the deep voice commands. “The monster … look out … can't escape … it will eat us all”, I manage to mumble under my breath. “Honey, what is he talking about? There is no monster, is it? The road is empty!”, she says, confused. Idiots! We are all going to die. More food for the monster, that must make it happy. At least one of us will be happy. I will never be happy again. Sirens in the distance. “Oh, thank God, the ambulance is coming!”, he shouts out, relieved. “Please just leave me to die here”, I whisper into the darkness.

A hand holds mine. “No, stay with me, buddy. You will live. The ambulance is nearly here. Don't give up yet! You will live, I promise!”, he speaks softly yet eagerly in my ear. Tears are running down my face. “I want to die”, I whisper in the direction of the voice. “You won't die tonight”, he reassures me. Then four strong arms lift me up. “His pulse is steady, but he lost a lot of blood. Give me some bandages! And open his vein for me, I need to inject”, one says to the other. The monster smiles his devilish smile and waves me goodbye. “Please don't leave me”, I cry out. “I'm right here”, says someone. “Stay with me”, someone begs me. It sounds just like her … impossible, it can't be her! She was taken by the monster a month ago. “He's got a hospital bracelet!”, someone shouts. “Great, where are we taking him?” Someone grabs my wrist. “It says: Mental Ayslum Georgetown.” A cough of disbelief. “Didn't that close down years ago?” Hands are grabbing my body, rearranging it. “Let's just drive him to the nearest hospital then.” Lights are blinding me, then darkness engulfs me.

Tag list: Never miss a poem or a short story I write! Comment + if you want to be added or - to be removed from my tag list. @matcha-chai @dg-fragments @silversynthesis @heartofmuse @scatteredthoughts2 @rhapsodyinblue80 @alaskaisnothere @stoic-words @september-stardust @wordsforsadpeeps @writingitdown @intothevortex @aubriestar @warriorbookworm @raevenlywrites @alex-a-roman @artsymagee @giantrobocock @theheightofdepression @writing-is-a-martial-art @beautifulimposter25 @callmepippin @a-musingmichelle @kirkshiresloss @rhythmiccreatorofbeuty @eos109 @azriel-alexander-holmes @tini-rat @captain-kraken

[pebble-cat]

oncie x greedler lemon smut +16

one day as oncie woke up he saw himself in the mirror infront of his bed. he wiped his eyes and sighed. he always looked terrible in the morning. as he moved to get up out of bed, he noticed something startling…

his “reflection” didn’t move. 

as he spun around and stared at the reflection, he saw that it was him, but not him.

the other onceler got up and grabbed oncie. he was dressed in a hot green suit. he was biting his bottom lip and he was constantly throwing winks at oncie. 

“Hey, wanna have some fun?”

“I…”

“Too late.” 

he grabbed his shoulders and threw him back on the bed. the other onceler looked down at oncies pants. 

“I don’t need no consent, seems like your body already is ready. it’s rock hard!”

“i’m sorry… i cant control him..” oncie said, referring to his Joystick 🕹️ .

oncie rubbed the back of his neck, flashing a shy smirk. 

“Well… come get me bad boy”

oncie spread his legs and submitted his body to the strong hands of the other onceler.

“Ha, don’t have to tell me twice.

By the way, you can call me Greedler. “

*zip*

the noise of oncies pants getting undone is loud and very arousing for both the tall men.

Greedler rubbed the bulging Joystick 🕹️ and smirked. He felt the sweat and the pulsing Joystick 🕹️right under his fingertips.

“Seems like someone’s a little excited…”

Oncie giggled, his body tensing up as Greedler slowly started rubbing, slowly getting faster.

“Mgghrgh ~ .. please… more ~ ..”

Greedler walked two fingers up and under oncie’s panties, biting his bottom lip and feeling himself get excited too.

Oncie started to feel weak in the knees from how good such a simple touch felt.

As all of this was happening, a little orange creature was watching through the window. He was confused, but also was oddly enjoying this interesting scene. He was feeling a tingling deep between his legs, something he never experienced before. 

Pipsqueak was watching the Lorax, cocking his head, wondering what the Lorax was watching. 

Back in the small home of the Onceler, the small moans only became louder. 

Instead of just rubbing with fingertips, the whole strong, manly hand of the Greed ler was wrapped around Oncies Joystick 🕹️ pumping it. 

The room was getting steamy…

The bed sheets were getting ruffled, Oncies hands desperately looking for something so hold on to while all of this pleasure was surging through his small delicate twinky body.

“Oh yeah, you like that? Hm? Little boy? You like when i rub your Joystick 🕹️ like that?”

The Greed ler teased softly.

“Nrghh ~ .. Y-Yes, Dadd- I mean! Greed ler..”

Oncie covered his mouth in embarrassment. That just slipped out!

“Heh… you can call me that, my little cumler. “

Oncie giggled once again, curling his toes with excitement.

Back outside the window, things were getting messy.

Lorax was collapsed on the grass, roughly rubbing his orange hairy Joystick 🕹️ 

Pipsqueak was very confused! 

“Huh?” 

The little bear pondered. 

The little animal, being an influenceable little animal, decided to copy the Lorax’s movements. 

He did the same rubbing motion on his Joystick 🕹️ too.

In the house, the Greed ler had removed his own pants now. He was so hard his Joystick 🕹️ was nearly slippin out of its cubby hole.

Cum was building up between his hand and Oncie’s Joystick 🕹️ as he pumped it, creating a foamy substance that dripped down Greed let’s hand. 

Oncie stopped him suddenly, and got up on his knees and hands. He lifted a hand up to slowly rub Greed let’s covered Joystick 🕹️ 

“Your turn, big boy.” 

He teased 

He ferociously pulled down Greenler’s underwear. It had money in it. A bunch of quarters and dimes spilled on the bed and floor.

“Oh- Ahh… that.. Sorry. I use that for pleasure reasons.”

The Greedler chuckled.

“Oh..”

Oncie shrugged, smiling. 

As he dropped the underwear, he almost recoiled back with disgust. 

It smelled horrible.

“Uh.. I’m sorry but, do you, clean down there..?”

The Greed ler looked to the side uncomfortably, smiling.

“Once a month.. or two months. I’m too rich to care.” 

His Joystick 🕹️ was dripping with smegma and dried cum. 

“Whatever, it’s big so I don’t care.” 

Oncie said confidently.

 He grabbed the Greed let’s thighs and started chowing down on the long erect Joystick 🕹️ 

The dried cum was flaking off and showering the floor with cum snow. 

The Greed ler moaned the loudest ever, throwing his head back and pulling Oncies hair/head back and forth on his Joystick 🕹️ 

It felt like he was putting his Joystick 🕹️ inside of a large, warm, tight, dead whale that had been marinating on the hot beach for a month. 

“Oh my truffula trees! That feels so fricking good!” 

Oncie smiled, looking up and giving Agreed ler some slight yellow teeth. 

“Arghhhh!!! Oh my Lorax!” 

It was quick, but it was fine, because they both enjoyed it. 

Green tinted cum and Joystick 🕹️ cheese lined the small mouth of the delicate twink below Greed lets waist. He gave a big toothy smile. His teeth was green and yellow. 

“Did you like that, Daddy-ler?” 

“Frickin yes.” 

He stammered our, some cum still pulsing out and dripping on the floor and coins. 

——————-

Outside 

——————-

Outside the house, a steam fest was going on. 

Lorax was getting front shots and back shots from a barbaloot and a Swomee swan. He was also sometimes using a dead humming fish as a flashlight. 

It had died from jerking it too hard while watching the oncest. 

Lorax moaned, and looked over to his left at Pipsqueak, who was exhausted from so much fucking and sucking. He almost looked completely white from all the sticky cum!

[giraffehippy]

Josh x reader

Word count: 1500

WARNING // Unprotected sex, raw sex, oral sex, dirty talk, substances, explicit wording. 18+ advised!

Summary// You’re on a lake trip with the whole trio Sam, Daniel, Jake, and Josh. Josh has some other forms of ideas intimately with you. In between the trees and grass you lie upon, gasping for air from the pleasure you’ll be receiving.

This is just something I wrote fast, I might do chapters of. Please let me know what y’all think❤️

❀ ❀ ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ❀ ❀ ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ❀ ❀ ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ❀

Josh was very adventurous, he’d always want to do something crazy in an instant. Being outside does something to this man. With my thoughts running though my clouded mind, he grabs my hand with force. He yells out to the group, rudely might I add.

“Y/N and I are going for a private walk boys, no followers!” Josh continues with a huge smile waving them off, guiding me through the bushes into a trail.

“Why are you walking so fast Kiszka?” I giggle while being drug past the trail.

“Shhh, don’t ruin this moment. Come on Y/N this way!”

He seemed very serious about where he was leading us to. Anything is exciting when it comes to him, he makes sure I come out of my shell. Before him I never taken any risk really, I wasn’t living life like I should be. Josh makes me feel alive, makes me want to take risks, that I wouldn’t dare to ever do. It’s a scary thing you see, is it love?

Am I in love? Our love making has different out comes every time, it’s never boring with him. I told him to spice it up, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what he does to me, I told him he has complete control. That’s why I’ve been so happy, I haven’t been stressing about anything at all.

“Here, just over there.” Josh points to a little lagoon surrounded by vines and flowers. We pass the bridge to sit on the ledge.

He holds my hand to help me down, taking his shoes off.

“Get comfortable, we’re going to be naked here soon.” He starts to take his pants off following with his shirt.

“Naked? N-now?” I ask a little shy. “What if they see us?” I mumble.

“We are far from them, remember what I said?” He look at me staring at my shorts.

“I-okay!” I stand up fast taking my shoes off sliding them to the side. My hand reaches for my shirt, I slowly take it off adding to the pile Josh has started. My heart is pumping, my breathing has quickened. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

As my eyes are closed, I can feel Josh’s burning right through mine. I swallow hard to pull down my shorts but interrupted by Josh fast hands.

He rushes to force them off along with my panties, ripping them. I gasp letting this happen, leaving me in my bra. My hands find their way to unclasp it, my hands tug at Josh’s boxers ripping them down his lightly hairy legs.

I knew why he wanted to take me back here to fuck me but I was playing dumb. I knew he was about to pound me and I was so fine with that. His lips find mine while his hands grasp my thighs lifting me up. My legs are around him while he takes my breast into his mouth. He bites down softly, causing my head to fall back.

“J-Josh… I’m so fucking… h-hoorny.” I whisper in his ear, he bites down hard on his lip mouthing fuck. He puts me down so I’m straddling his hips, my fingers trail down his short torso. Our soft bare skin is touching, I start to grind my hips down so he can feel my wetness.

He starts to cup my breast groping them, tightening his grip he looks into my eyes. He massages them, guiding his delicate soft hands down my body his hand reaches to my throbbing pussy.

“You’re drenched, soaked!” He turns us over so he’s on top, he immediately attacks my neck. He sucks hard biting while trailing down. He makes his way back up kissing me hard, biting my lip. Our tongues battle for dominance, feeling the smile on his lips as I buck my hips to his groin.

“You’re gonna fuck me out in the open, for everyone to see?” I say following my hands down to his ass before slapping it hard.

“It’s all about the risk.” The pupils of his eyes were so dilated, knowing how turned on he actually was.

He continues to kiss me, we’re fully making out with salvia everywhere. He pulls my hair tugging it getting a little scream out of me. I take my hand to place it gently onto his hard cock. I began to rub slow causing him to grunt.

“Fuck, I don’t have any condoms on me at all. I switched my pants last minute.” He kisses me slowly but I don’t care.

“Just come on my titties then, pull out.” I wink playing with his cock again.

He kisses me again but with passion. With that he lines himself up with your hips, gently pushing his tip through. I wince in pain, a good pain. He notices and goes slower. My legs spread open allowing him to move closer to me. As soon as he’s fully inside me he stops. My insides adjust to his length, pulling him into a sloppy kiss.

“Fuuuck, you’re so damn tight.” My legs wrap around him pulling him in close.

“I’m ready, fuck me how you want.” My eyes are on him he starts to move slowly. In then out with a small force, until my wetness provided enough lube for him to move his hips faster.

“Joshua, fuck. Me!” His hands wrap around my throat causing him to thrust into me with all he had got.

“Ahh, fuck. That’s it! R-right there.” I scream wrapping my legs right around him tighter. His hips are pounding into mine making a loud smacking noise to echo. His cock is relentlessly pounding into your wet cunt. Josh grabs your legs to place them on his shoulder, tightening his grip on the bottom of your thighs. His thumb finds your clit, massaging lightly on circles.

“Josh.. holy fuck.” I barely say in a whisper, mouth is widening.

“You like that Y/N? My cock deep inside you.. fuck baby.. so good.” Josh continues to slide is cock into me, until I’m being flipped around with my head shoved into the grass.

He repositions himself from behind me, grabbing my arms holding them slightly. His face is inches from your ear.

“I’m gonna make you cum baby okay?” I moan in response to him.

He rams his juiced thick cock inside me, holding onto my ass with a grip. His hands roam to the lower region of my belly, holding on to get a better angle.

“Mmmm, Josh.. I’m close.” He yanks my hair while taking me with force in the woods.

“Cum for me!” He barely manages to get out without huffing his breath.

He finds my neck squeezing with light pressure, as I’m coming off of pure lust and want.

My knees start to buckle as I fall onto the ground beneath me.

“Oh, FUCK!” I shout while shaking my whole body for release.

Josh with one last push inside me started to grunt. He was close. I bounce my ass on his cock a little while longer, until he’s ready.

“I need that cum Josh, fuck me.”

“I-I.. baby it feels too good I can’t.”

He can’t what? What did he mean.

The moans escaping his sweet mouth was different. He was cumming, and inside me.

He releases with a hard thrust while he stayed paused inside me. I could feel his cock twitching from his release building up.

“Joshhhhh!” He collapsed next to me with his cheeks red.

“I’m so sorry baby, I thought I could do it. Your pussy was so warm and tight.” He begins to laugh while I laugh with him.

“Oh jeez boy! Give me your shirt, it’s leaking all out of me.” I say while leading my hand down playing with his hot fresh cum. He throws me his shirt while I get cleaned up. He stands up pulling his pants on buttoning them. He turns to me with a smirk.

“You really need to get on birth control, I can’t go back to condoms after that.” He’s hooked on having you raw now, great. It did feel much better, so deep inside me. I begin to get dressed walking closer up to him.

“Or you could just practice to pull out, Joshy.” I wink at him kissing him slow.

“I love you, let’s head back.” He grabs my hand intertwining them, while leading us back to the path back to the boys. My face turns red as I glance at Josh.

“I love you more, you drive me crazy!” I giggle.

The sun is setting and it’s time for dinner. The smell of the grill smoke and weed has caught my attention. We join Sam, Daniel, Jake for a smoke. The night consist of laughter and more love making at the end of the night. It couldn’t have been with a more better person, Josh.

[glitterslag]

Ink

Synopsis: Chrissy gets a tattoo. Set in the summer of '86, before Chrissy goes off to college and before she and Eddie have figured out what they are to each other.

Warnings: implied abuse (may be triggering for some!!!!!), sexual references

Author's Note: Something for my heatwave girlies!!!!!! Hope everyone's been staying nice and cool! This is the last pre-college blurb I'll be doing for a while! After this I wanna write a lot of established relationship!eddissy, so look out for that! I also wanna give any smut I write for them the time and attention it needs, so apologies for being a c*ck tease in this but don't worry... it's coming later!!!

You can read the rest of the stuff I've written for this universe here.

“Did they hurt?” Chrissy wonders, tracing the outlines of the tattoos on his bare arms.

It’s the middle of summer. They're laying on a stained old mattress on the grass outside of his trailer, Eddie shirtless and smoking, Chrissy sucking on an ice pole. Eddie’s dog-eared copy of The Silmarillion lays abandoned on the ground beside them. It’s too hot for him to concentrate on anything but the steady drip drip drip of blue raspberry syrup, melting off of the ice pop to form a rivulet down the middle of Chrissy’s golden chest. She’s wearing a halter top.

Eddie shivers beneath her touch. Her fingers are icy cold.

“Not really,” he contemplates, twisting his arms around to get a look at each tattoo. “The ones on my chest hurt a little, but the arms were no big deal.” 

“What do they all mean?” She asks, eyes glazed over and a little dreamy, preoccupied with freckles and hairs and muscles and sinew, and the tan line on his wrist where his watch would usually sit. 

This is only the second or third time she’s seen him shirtless. She’s still getting used to how he looks - arms surprisingly toned once the baggy band t-shirts come off. He doesn’t have a six pack or anything, but his chest and stomach are a pleasant amount of hairy.

Eddie shrugs.

“They don't mean anything.”

“Come on.” Chrissy prompts him, eager for something - anything - to give her a glimpse inside Eddie’s mind.

“They don't.” He insists.

“I like bats. I like spiders and barbed wire.” He gestures to the black widow on his chest, the barbed wire bracelet inked around the top of his bicep. 

“This one's a Metallica reference,” he concedes, pointing at the one on his forearm.

"Master of puppets," Chrissy recalls, remembering him playing it to her once, forever ago.

Eddie grins, pleased she remembers the name of his favourite song.

"Yeah."

She notices two little scars on his right arm, each one faintly visible beneath a black bat. They're circular and textured, almost like chickenpox marks. She’s never noticed them before.

"What's that from?"  Chrissy wonders, running her finger over the dents.

He looks down at his arm for a second.

"Um, those are cigarette burns.” 

He says it very matter-of-factly, and she’s confused.

"Did you drop one on yourself?"

It takes Eddie a little while to answer.

"Uh, no.” He says, finally. “Not me."

His dad.

He doesn’t have to say it for Chrissy to know that’s what he means.

She knows Eddie didn't see his parents anymore, and she’s noticed that Wayne refuses to speak about Eddie’s dad. She knows there’s bad blood there, though Eddie has never really talked about the extent of it. He's said a few things about the guy in passing, though, that have allowed her to form a mental picture.

"I'm sorry." She offers, placing two cold, sticky kisses on his freckled arm. One for each scar. 

She knows there’s nothing more to say. If Eddie wants to open up about this stuff, he will. Otherwise, she doesn’t push her luck. You have to let him come to you.

"S'okay." Eddie murmurs, proving her point as he wraps an arm round her, pulling her into his side. He taps her on the shoulder a couple times in reassurance. "Happened a long time ago."

He licks the ice pop residue off his arm and hums appreciatively, and she shoots him a small smile.

"Why do they need to have a meaning, anyway?" Eddie says suddenly, quick to change the subject. “Fuck that.”

“‘Cause they're on your body forever?”

“So?” He challenges.

She makes a face at him, but lets it drop.

“Where'd ya get 'em?” She pipes up again a few minutes later.

“There's a girl here at the trailer park who does it for me.” Eddie explains.

“A girl?!”

“Yeah, a girl.” He laughs.

Every now and again, Eddie’s noticed, cheerleader Chrissy slips out. She’s much more tolerant now, more open minded, but her mom's and Jason’s views are still in there somewhere, in the back of her mind. Like a D&D monster Eddie needs to defeat.

“Can I meet her?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten Chrissy so fixated on this all of a sudden, but curiosity gets the better of him, so he agrees.

“Sure.” 

----------

“Amy, this is Chrissy,” he says as he steps over the threshold, propelling Chrissy along with him with the hand that’s on her back. 

"She's my…" he trails off, and it’s awkward for a second. He blinks at Chrissy, who just stares back, unsure.

"She's a friend." Eddie says finally, quickly switching his expression out for a kind smile. He pats her on the shoulder as he gently pushes her inside.

"Hey," Chrissy says weakly, shooting a smile at the taller girl, who’s standing behind the door.

She looks very different to any of Chrissy's friends.

Her hair is dyed a deep red and teased out at all sides. Her thin eyebrows are drawn on to match, and her eyeliner is heavy and black. Studded bracelets and chains are stacked all the way up to her elbows. Her shirt is ripped, her skirt short, and on her long legs are fishnet stockings. Chrissy swallows.

"Hey." Amy says, eyeing Chrissy up and down with the ghost of a smirk.

"Didn't think you were into the cheerleader types, Munson." She quips, a grin curling its way across her painted lips.

“Hey watch it, Amy,” Eddie warns. “Chrissy's cool."

Eddie’s tone isn’t mean. The cheerleader comment stings, but as Chrissy observes the two of them interacting, she realises that Amy’s wasn’t, either. She’s surprised at the sight of Chrissy, maybe, and yeah she’s a little blunt, but there isn’t any malice there. It stings all the same. Chrissy is a cheerleader type, but she doesn't like it when people point out how different her and Eddie are from each other.

“So, what brings you two by?” Amy inquires.

"Eddie told me you do tattoos." 

Chrissy squeaks it more than says it, and Amy laughs, loud and bright.

"Why, you want one?"

"Oh, no," she says quickly, shaking her head. "I don't want one or anything. But can I see your drawings?" 

Amy smiles at her, and she has to admit it feels kind. 

“Sure.”

----------

"Let's see," Amy clicks her tongue, flipping through her big, leather-bound book until she lands on the page she's looking for. "I got roses... hearts... dolphins?" 

She slides the book across the table. 

Chrissy’s bare thighs are sticking to the chair beneath her. Eddie’s disappeared somewhere through the back, taking a look at the busted AC unit per Amy’s request. If it’s hot outside, it’s sweltering in Amy’s trailer.

“Probably just needs a new filter…” he’d been muttering to himself as he wandered off, messing around with a screwdriver. Leaving the two of them alone.

Chrissy isn't dumb. She knows Amy’s showing her the "girly" designs, probably because she's made an assumption that that's what Chrissy would like. And it’s true, for the most part. She does like flowers and hearts and dolphins. But she wants to know what else is out there, too. She finds herself wanting to know what a girl like Amy would get.

“Which ones do you have?” She asks shyly.

Amy bends over on her chair, pulling down her tight, black denim skirt to reveal her lower back. Chrissy’s eyes widen. There's a scorpion drawn there, poised to strike, sitting on one side of her tail bone. She also shows Chrissy a butterfly on the back of her neck, an anchor on her upper arm and a skull on the inside of her ankle. 

“Wow,” Chrissy whispers.

They’re definitely not her style, but she doesn’t hate how they look on Amy.

"So," Amy starts as she rearranges her skirt, tucking her tattoos away again. “What’s the deal with you and Eddie?” 

She’s trying to sound casual, but Chrissy can tell there's something else there, underneath. 

"Have you and him ever... Y’know?"

Chrissy's cheeks burn.

"No." She answers honestly.

 Chrissy doesn’t even know whether they’re officially dating. 

It feels like more than just hanging out. Friends don’t make out with each other or sleep in each other’s beds, after all, and they probably don’t stay up on the phone for hours every night, either. And friends definitely don’t switch to walkie-talkies stolen from Henderson after Wayne or Laura kick them off the phone at midnight, and fall asleep to the sounds of each others’ voices. 

But of course, Chrissy and Eddie have never had that conversation. The thought of them actually having sex is enough to send Chrissy into a tailspin.

A look comes over Amy’s face then - and Chrissy knows in that moment that Amy and Eddie, on the other hand, have slept together. She’s overcome with a hot pang of jealousy and it's like nothing she's ever felt before, or thought she could feel - not with Eddie. It's new. It's bad. 

Chrissy knows she shouldn’t hate that Eddie has a world that she isn’t part of. That he has things in his life besides school. She knows she shouldn’t hate that for all these months, his head hasn’t been solely occupied with basketball and cheer, with homecoming and prom and spirit week and her. 

Sometimes, though, she kind of does. Even though school is over, and Chrissy’s long since lost her grip on the top rung of the Hawkins High social ladder, she can’t say it doesn’t bother her to realise that there was a time when she wasn’t the only girl on Eddie’s mind. 

Amy’s a lot more like Eddie than she is. She's got dyed hair and eyeliner and tattoos. She's tall and she wears clothes that show off her chest and stomach. She's metal.

Most of all, Chrissy thinks, they've known each other for a long time. Amy’s an old friend, Eddie had said earlier, when he’d been leading her down the road to Amy’s trailer. They’ve got a past together. One that Chrissy wasn’t there for. She finds herself wondering whether Amy knows about the scars.

Amy must notice Chrissy's face falling, because she reaches out across the table and touches her hand. She clears her throat.

"I was sixteen when I got my first tattoo," she begins, putting her big combat boots up on the kitchen table. There’s a wistful look in her eye as she strokes at the skin on her ankle, fingers ghosting over the small black skull.

"I remember how good it felt. After." She adds. "Hurt like a bitch while I was getting it done."

Chrissy laughs politely. 

"I just remember having this feeling of like... Shit. This is MY body. Y'know? Like. I'm the one in control. I decide what I do with my body. Not mom. Not dad. Not school."

 She waves her hands around half heartedly, eyes rolling toward the nicotine stained ceiling.

"Me." She says finally, looking up at Chrissy, who’s leaning forward intently.

"Feels pretty good." 

Chrissy’s a little stunned. She’s never thought about tattoos - or any act of so-called ‘rebellion’, really - in that way before. As a way to take back autonomy. A way to take control. It’s a pretty compelling thought.

"You should think about it." Amy says, a tiny smile creeping its way across her face as she realises she’s planted a seed.

And Chrissy does. 

She goes home that night and she thinks over and over about what Amy said. About it being her body. Not Laura’s. Not Phillip’s. Not… Jason’s, she thinks with a shudder. She’d never been his, she reminds herself. Not even when they were together.

Chrissy thinks Eddie might be the first person who’s ever treated her like her own body belongs to her. And it’s not just because he hasn’t been pestering her to take things further than just touching over the clothes - it’s everything. Eddie’s never once told her what she should and shouldn’t eat. Never tried to tell her what she can’t wear. Can’t drink. Can’t smoke. Never told her who she can and can’t be friends with. And she knows he never would.

A few weeks later she makes an appointment with the parlor in town. Rather ridiculously, she calls from a payphone a few blocks from her house, terrified that Laura could somehow be tracing her calls.

She does think about going back to Amy, but in the end, she decides that it’s better if she doesn’t tell anyone what she’s doing. Chrissy wants this to be something that’s all her own.

She's shaking when she goes inside. The waiting room is mostly filled with older biker guys, and their jaws drop when she walks in dressed in pink shorts and clean white sneakers.

"You got ID?" The guy behind the counter grunts.

She pulls out her learner's permit for him to inspect. He whistles through his teeth. 

"Eighteen."

She chooses a little star design from the wall full of drawings. Nothing big or flashy, but she thinks it’s beautiful. It'll go on her hip, small enough for it to always be covered up, even if she’s wearing a swimsuit. Chrissy might be independent, but she’s not quite in college yet. If her mom sees it this summer she’s dead.

"You getting this for your boyfriend or something?" The tattoo artist’s asking twenty minutes later, loud over the buzz of the machine. She’s laying on the plastic-covered couch, hands balled into fists and her eyes squeezed tight shut. Amy hadn’t been wrong. Hurts like hell. 

"No." She manages through gritted teeth. "I'm getting it for me."

----------

She doesn’t tell Eddie anything about the tattoo. Not outright, anyway. He finds it himself a week or so later when they're kissing on his bed, his hands sliding up her back and her t-shirt bunching up to reveal a sliver of skin. It’s peeking out from the waistband of her jeans.

He feels a little like he’s discovered the Holy Grail.

"Is that-" he starts, a flush creeping up the back of his neck as he tugs at her jeans slightly, rubbing at the design on her hip. "Chris, is that real?"

"Yeah," she whispers, lips grazing his shoulder. 

It’s felt like a game, waiting for Eddie to find it. She’s been a little nervous to see how he’ll react, but it’s not long before she realises that there was no need to be. 

"Fuuuck.." Eddie breathes, big hands rubbing up and down her exposed sides as he gazes at the tattoo in what she thinks is awe.

"When did you get that?!"

She shrugs, acting nonchalant, but there’s a smile growing at the corner of her mouth. She stays hidden in his shoulder, body buzzing underneath him.

"About a week ago."

"What?!"

Chrissy just nods, a smug grin now easing its way onto her face. 

“That’s so fucking hot, Chris.”

She feels hot. Physically. 

She knows how Eddie looks at her, how he’s been looking at her for a long time, but he’s never been this frank about his desire before. She doesn’t mind it. It heats her up inside and thrums through her like an electric current.

“What made you wanna do that?” 

Eddie’s thinking back to their conversation the other week. Wondering if maybe he was the one who lit the match.

As if reading his mind, Chrissy smiles and says, “actually, it was Amy.”

Eddie can’t stop looking at it, touching it, grinning to himself as he props himself up over her, a curtain of long hair tickling her face. He’s hard, too, she realises, pressing against her stomach through his sweatpants. 

“You can’t tell anyone, by the way,” Chrissy murmurs, and he gives an exasperated laugh. She feels it across her face, warm and breathy.

As if they weren’t way past that now, Eddie thinks. He’s kept every secret she’s ever told him, but she still feels the need to stipulate it every damn time.

“I dunno Chris,” he starts, fingers creeping up her exposed stomach. “I mean, what if i accidentally let it slip during one of my weekly gossiping sessions with your mom-” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“You know what I mean.”

She catches Eddie’s hand and he grins wickedly at her, leaning down until his lips are inches from hers. Chrissy shifts under him so that her legs rest on either side of his hips, pushing his hair back out of his face as she often does when he’s on top of her. He takes the hand he’s now holding and pins it above her head, lacing his fingers through hers. 

Being this close to Eddie used to make her so nervous, but not anymore. He dips his head into her neck, placing a soft, barely-there kiss just below her ear. She thinks she could probably lay here and do this forever.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Eddie whispers in her ear, sending a string of goosebumps threading down her spine. She can hear the mischief in his voice. “Your secret’s safe with me.”