#it was for the prompt so ill tag it as micro lol

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Hallo! I have a smol request (pun intended lol)

Think you can tag the vore prompts/asks so people who want to find them can find them easily?

yup! just went through and tagged what i could

everything that includes like tf stuff, micro stuff, vore, etc are tagged as:

food tf, inanimate tf, micro/macro, g/t, and vore

ill try to remember tagging future asks accordingly!

[vina-writes]

The Pink Paradox

Written for the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt: Metamorphosis!

Rating: T

Length: 1.6k

Summary: Draco Malfoy has pink hair.

Notes: Thank you so much @fw00shy​​ for betaing!! Also just hire me for all your graphic design needs because hot damn I am proud of myself

(i)

Draco Malfoy has pink hair.

That’s not entirely correct when one gets down to the facts. Draco Malfoy has blond hair— a light, airy blond, the color of sunlight on snow. Harry Potter knows this because he’s spent many an adolescent winter watching Malfoy walk the grounds of a frozen Hogwarts and noticing it. The fact that he’s observed Malfoy that carefully is neither here nor there, although Ron would say it’s there (there being the Janus Thickey Ward). Harry’s Malfoy-stalking tendencies occupy their own corner of his mind however, and certainly don’t apply to the here and now.

Because here and now Malfoy has pink hair, and that’s not something unique to Harry’s observations. There’s not a witch or wizard alive who wouldn’t notice that head of bubblegum bobbing between the Auror cubicles.

It’s far too early for a Monday morning (nearing noon), and while their coworkers have been diligently ridding the Wizarding World of crime, Harry and Ron are tossing Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into each other's mouths and gossiping over Lavender Brown’s pregnancy cravings. They were, that is, until Harry caught sight of Malfoy's pink hair.

“Kneazle got your tongue?” Ron asks after Harry fails to finish his sentence for the fifth time. Ron can make fun of him if he wants— his chair is facing away from Malfoy and that rosy fringe. The fact that Harry has never passed up a chance to watch Draco in all their years of training and employment (with or without pink hair) is irrelevant. The pink is distracting, and it’s more so on Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Harry repeats to himself quietly, just to feel the familiar shape in his mouth. It’s lacking the venom and suspicion it should have on principle.

Ron turns unpleasantly green at that. “Malfoy’s got your tongue?” he asks.

“What?” Harry finally looks away from Malfoy. “No. Ew. Of course not.” He says it far too blandly, like a child denying their love of sweets, and Ron gives him a Look. Harry tries (unsuccessfully) to change the subject. “What’s he doing with the— why did he— what’s… erm.”

Ron regards him like he’s lost his mind. He seems to think Harry is confused about Malfoy’s business in the DMLE, when he’s usually with Hermione down in Mysteries. While that is out of the ordinary, it’s not nearly as pressing of an issue as Malfoy's pink hair.

“He’s consulting,” Ron explains slowly, “for the Finley case?” Then, when Harry only stares back blankly— “Harry. Can you even read?”

“Occasionally.”

“Tacky romance novels don't count.”

“Oh. Then, no, not really.”

“It was in our missive just last week. They’ve pulled in the Unspeakables. I was hoping they’d send ‘Mione, since she and the Ferret work together, but no such luck.”

“Oh.” Harry turns back to watch Malfoy shake Robards’ hand. Robards' grip is strong, and his thick fingers nearly engulf Malfoy’s delicate wrist. Harry doesn’t like that.

“Are you worried he’s going to cause trouble?” Ron asks. His voice sounds different, and when Harry glances at him again he’s got both feet slung over the armrest of his chair. Robards will skin him alive if he sees.

“No!” Harry says too quickly. He coughs. “Just wondering about the— er, how long has he had…?”

Ron doesn’t seem inclined to help him out.

“For fuck’s sake, Ron, when did he go and do—” Harry waves his hands frantically “—that?”

“Do you mean the hair, mate?”

“Yes, the bloody hair!” Harry’s had his fair share of existential crises in his life. He’s well acquainted with the feeling, and this one is going near the top of the list.

Ron, the bastard, shrugs. Shrugs! Like a pink-haired Malfoy is not only a normal occurrence, but is even expected.

“I didn’t notice it at first, to be honest,” he says, and Harry throws him a look of such vicious resentment that the potted Dragon Snap in the corner stops smoking and curls its leaves over its head. Ron just gives him a shit-eating grin in return.

Discouraged by his apparently un-threatening aura, Harry glances away in time to see Malfoy get a hearty pat on the shoulder (he doesn’t like that, either) and turn towards— towards them.

“Er, Ron?” Harry asks. “Who was assigned to the Finley case?” He knows the answer before he gets it, but still can’t look away from the cutting figure Malfoy makes as he saunters towards them in swirling black robes.

“That would be us,” Ron says cheerfully. “Buckle up and tuck in, mate. Your hard-on is showing.”

Harry is not hard, not even a little, but his panicked struggle to tug the mercilessly short Auror robes over his lap leaves him wrinkled and guilty-looking when Malfoy reaches them.

“Gentlemen,” Malfoy says cooly, and Harry thinks his cheeks must be the color of Malfoy’s hair.

“Harry’s hot for your hair,” Ron says. Harry chokes. “He’s also not read the case file, so I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t come looking for me, I’ll be taking an extended lunch. Looking forward to working with you.”

He throws them both a saucy wink and leaves with all the smugness of a man who’s done his yearly good deed. Harry’s going to murder him before the day is done.

Silence descends over their cubicle. Malfoy eyes Ron’s chair, but wisely chooses to remain standing. Harry notices belatedly that his robes are trimmed in silver, the same shade at his eyes.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledges with a polite nod. The stillness around them is most certainly plummeting towards awkward.

“I heard you like my—”

“Have you read the—”

They both speak at the same time. Malfoy blinks, startled. When he doesn’t finish his sentence, Harry tries again.

“Have you not been debriefed on—”

“I noticed you changed your—”

They wisely decide to shut up. There’s a used staple on the corner of Harry’s desk, and he reaches over to fiddle with it just for something to do.

“Staples,” Malfoy says out of the blue. He looks like he regrets his volume, and it occurs to Harry that he probably feels just as uncomfortable. This is the first time they’ve spoken beyond polite greetings in four years, and neither is sure what to expect. It makes Harry feel better, somehow, to know that he’s not the only one feeling utterly wrongfooted.

“Yes,” Harry says. “Staples?”

Malfoy swallows. His neck is a long expanse of smooth skin, and Harry vaguely wonders what it tastes like. “We might make use of them on the case. Staples, I mean. Have you any more?”

Harry frowns, his discomfort dissipating. “Yeah, in the supply closet. But we just use Sticking Charms— don’t you?”

“Yes,” Malfoy says quickly. “We do. But we could try staples from the supply closet.”

It’s Harry’s turn to deploy the Look. Malfoy frowns at him like he doesn't get it, but Harry’s not really in the mood for deduction.

“So,” Harry says instead, “Auror work. Are you looking forward to it?”

There’s a shift in Malfoy’s stance, and his grey eyes skim over the lines of Harry’s body. “Parts of it,” he says. His tone is a little off. Husky.

“Sore throat?” Harry asks in what he hopes is a sympathetic manner.

“Sometimes,” Malfoy says cryptically. Harry’s not having the greatest time puzzling out his strange behavior and responses— they leave him floundering for something else to say.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in that fancy file or do I have to read it?” Harry finally asks, jerking his chin towards the papers tucked under Malfoy’s arm. He sincerely hopes Malfoy will volunteer to summarize for him. It’s because Harry’s glasses are giving him a headache and not at all because he likes the sound of Malfoy’s voice.

Malfoy’s cheeks flush a little. Harry wonders if he’s coming down with something, even as he struggles not to think of the color as attractive. “Protocol dictates that you read case information yourself,” Malfoy says, “but I suppose I wouldn’t mind speeding things along so we can get started. Maybe… over coffee? Or lunch?”

Harry tries not to let his dismay show on his face. “We have to work through lunch?” he asks. It sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

“Oh my fucking Merlin, he’s asking you out!” Cho shouts over the cubicle wall. Harry and Malfoy both jump.

“No, he’s not!” Harry shouts back, cheeks flaming.

“Yes, I am,” Malfoy says. Harry drops the used staple.

“You are?”

“Am I?”

“I don’t bloody know!”

“Well,” Malfoy starts, but seems to realize he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. “Well— you like my hair.”

“And that’s enough reason to ask me out for coffee?”

Harry really has no idea why he’s arguing. This is Malfoy— pink-haired, blushing Malfoy— handing himself over on a silver-trimmed platter, and he mentally slaps himself for putting up any sort of resistance.

“I like your hair,” Malfoy admits. He seems to regret saying it, and tries to make up for his embarrassment by adopting a suave position leaning against Harry’s desk. He misses and stumbles slightly before righting himself.  

“Don’t worry, Malfoy,” Cho calls again. “He’s been wetting himself over you for years, he’s bound to say yes.”

“Well, he’s not saying it,” Malfoy mutters.

“Yes I am.”

“You— you are?”

“Am I?”

Malfoy stops and stares at him. Opens his mouth, frowns a little. There’s a wonderful feeling in Harry’s chest.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Harry says over a smile. “Let’s go.”

Malfoy orders a strawberry milkshake at lunch. Harry doesn’t get dessert, but he still feels very… pink.

Read on Ao3

[5raysofsunshine]

I don't care if you're sick - Emily Prentiss x Penelope Garcia fluff

Description: Emily leaves work early because she isn't feeling well, and Penelope tries to take care of her much to Emily's protest.

Rating: G (I don't think there's any cursing or anything it's just cute and simple)

Word count: 1,526k

This is my fourth fic for @sweetprentiss’s Emily Prentiss Birthday Bingo challenge! The prompt is "i don't care of you're sick" (lol can you tell i'm lazy with titles).

I'm trying to finish all my wips right now so if you'd like to be tagged in upcoming posts or beta read for me let me know! I appreciate all the support I can get!

Enjoy! Feel free to like and reblog and comment because I love attention!

---

Penelope’s phone rings, she twirls her sparkly fluff-topped pen in her left hand before pressing it against the speaker button to answer the call. “The oracle is in, how may I assist thee?”

“Garcia...” Despite the voice sounding lower than usual, Penelope recognizes that it’s her coworker and girlfriend, Emily.

“Oh! Hi, my love!” The blonde woman answers as bubbly as ever. She’s always excited to hear Emily’s voice, even when they’re discussing gross, horrific, and depressing case details.

“Hey, I’m-uh...” Emily sniffles and clears her throat, “I’m heading home early.”

Penelope’s brows furrow and her mouth pouts at the sound of her beloved’s tired tone. “Em, honey, are you okay?”

Emily sighs, “I think I’m coming down with something. I woke up this morning not feeling great and it keeps getting worse by the hour.”

“Oh no! You poor thing! Here, I’ll get ready to leave so I can drive you home.”

“No Pen, you don’t have to-” Emily begins to object, but she gets interrupted.

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, I do not want you taking the train back to DC when you are feeling sick! Now where are you?” Penelope asks, standing from her chair to collect her belongings in preparation to leave the bat cave.

Emily exhales a puff of air, “I just got to the elevator.”

“Okay! Head down to the parking garage and wait for me, I’ll be down there soon!”

“But Pen, I-”

“No buts! I'll see you in a couple minutes!”

Penelope hangs up the call and rushes out into the hall, strutting towards the bullpen. Her thick platform heels clunk against the floor with every hurried step.

She spots her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner, descending the stairs from his office with his briefcase in hand. She waves her arm to capture Aaron's attention. “Sir! Sir, wait!”

Aaron halts, his brows scrunched together, “What is it, Garcia?”

Penelope slows to stand in front of her boss, holding her finger up to express for Aaron to wait for her to catch her breath from being winded, “Did Emily tell you she was leaving early?”

He nods, “Yes she did, she said she was feeling ill. I told her to go home and rest.”

The technical analyst takes a deep breath, “Okay well, can I drive her home? I just wanna make sure she gets home safe.”

The corner of Aaron’s mouth curls, a micro expression that is not made often. “Yes, that’s fine Garcia. Public transportation would not be wise for her if she’s feeling the way she does. You are dismissed for the day but I’ll call you if I need you to come back in.”

Penelope grins, nodding her head quickly, “Yes Sir, thank you Sir!”

The technical analyst rushes to find Emily in the parking garage, squatting and leaning against the wall next to the elevator. Her nose is red from rubbing it with the sleeve of her jacket and her complexion is pale and pastier than usual. The sight of her girlfriend looking so unwell makes Penelope’s heart ache.

“Oh my beautiful girl, you look awful!” Penelope exclaims as she peers down at the agent.

Emily scoffs, “Thanks babe, I feel awful.”

“Let’s get you into the car, okay? Come here.”

Penelope holds her hands out to pull Emily up to her feet. She wraps her arm around Emily’s waist and guides her over to the blonde’s orange cadillac.

The drive to DC is quiet other than the sound of the wind whipping past the vehicle as it cruises up the interstate. Penelope tried to engage in conversation with her passenger, but soon realized that Emily was not in a talking mood. Once they arrive at Emily’s building and the engine shuts off, Penelope notices that Emily has fallen asleep, her head tilted back against the headrest, mouth parted as she softly snores.

Penelope carefully exits the car, walking around to the passenger side. She places her hand on Emily’s shoulder and softly rubs it. “Wake up my sweet, we’re here.” Emily stirs, gazing up at Penelope with tired eyes.

The car door opens and Emily steps out, holding her hand to her head. “Ugh, my head is pounding,” she groans as she sniffles and clears her throat.

“Well let’s get you inside, my love, and we’ll get some medicine in your system.” Penelope says as she starts walking beside Emily as they approach the building.

Emily stops, leaving Penelope confused as to why the sudden halt, “You don’t have to walk me up, babe. I can take it from here.”

Penelope shakes her head, grabbing Emily’s hand as they begin to make their way towards Emily’s door. “Ohhh no! Nurse Penelope is on duty now, and I’m gonna make sure you’re bundled up and I’ll make you some tea and we’ll-”

“Penny, you’re very sweet, but I’ll be fine.”

Penelope frowns, cupping Emily’s face, “Emily, this is something that I do! This is what good girlfriends do!” Emily proceeds to unlock her door and Penelope follows her in, “Let me take care of you, Em. I wanna stay with you and nurse you back to health!”

Emily tosses her keys on the counter in her kitchen, “But I’m sick, Pen,” she says as she sniffles, “and I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Well I don’t care if you’re sick, I still want to be close to you.” Penelope states as she wraps her arms around Emily from behind and hugs her tight. Emily chuckles before choking on air and coughing. Penelope releases the brunette from her hold and rubs her back, trying to soothe her coughing fit. “Besides, if I get sick then at least we’ll be sick together.”

Emily clears her throat, shrugging her coat off as she walks over towards the sofa in her living room. “But then who will take care of both of us?”

Penelope ponders the question before exclaiming, “Derek!”

Emily scoffs, “Really? You know he won’t come near us right? He’s so paranoid about getting sick.”

“Well he’ll come near me no matter what because I’m his babygirl!”

“And what does that make me?” Emily asks as her eyes roll.

Penelope puts her bag down next to Emily’s coffee table, “Well today you’re MY babygirl. Now sit!”

“Pen I really-”

“Sientete!”

Emily knows she can’t argue with Penelope, no matter how much she tries to convince her girlfriend not to take care of her the agent truly appreciates how much Penelope cares for her. She drops onto the couch, slipping her boots off as Penelope grabs a blanket and spreads it over her.

“Can I make you some tea?” Penelope asks, pressing the back of her hand to Emily’s forehead to check and see if the agent has a fever. Emily’s skin is clammy and really warm, which is not a good sign.

Emily nods her head. The blonde smiles, removing her hand to instead cup Emily’s cheek as she leans down to press a kiss to Emily’s forehead. Emily closes her eyes and hums, leaning into Penelope’s touch.

Penelope reluctantly pulls away, “Alright sweetheart, let me get that started for you, okay?”

Emily nods, pulling the blanket up to her chin as she curls up on the sofa. She shivers, feeling cold yet burning hot at the same time. Emily was frustrated, she hated feeling physically unwell. It made her feel helpless. When Emily was a child, her mother would act so inconvenienced by her daughter’s sickness, often making Emily feel like she had to take care of herself and power through her illness. This has much to do with why she fights Penelope when the blonde so adamantly tries to take care of her and show how much she loves and cares for her. Emily just isn’t used to it, she’s never had a friend and partner quite like Penelope. She admires the woman so much for her unwavering kindness and positivity, and her motivation to help those in need. Even when the person in need is the agent herself.

A few minutes later, Penelope returns from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. One is Emily’s, a dark blue Yale mug with a small chip on the lip, the other mug is obviously Penelope’s since Emily is not the type to own a coffee mug with a large unicorn on the side of the cup.

Penelope hands Emily her mug of tea, “Do you want to cuddle?” she asks as she sits beside the brunette. Emily inhales the steam from her tea before carefully taking a sip of the hot liquid. She looks over at Penelope and nods, reaching forward to place her mug on the coffee table next before scooting closer to her girlfriend who opens her arm up for Emily to snuggle into her side.

“Thank you, Pen.” Emily mumbles after Penelope turns on the TV to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a show that both women have been watching together since they first became friends.

“For what, my love?” Penelope asks, pressing a kiss to Emily’s hair.

Emily sniffles and sighs, “For being here.”

Penelope smiles, “Of course Emmy, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”