#it was like curling around a giant heating pad

[sunnyyyteaaa]

🌻 Late nights

something I used to do when I was younger 💤

[lily-lovelyy]

"Two at Once?"

(Konig x Reader x Ghost) 18+

Summary; Konig, Ghost and Readers relationship

Warnings; smut, smut themes, somnophilia, dacryphilia, age gap, fem!reader, violent themes, mature language.

You definitely had scary dog privileges, dating two men who wore masks and were well over 6'0 had that effect.

People found it odd to say, most men at the base wondered how all three of you slept in the same bed. Amongst other things. Speaking of other things, taking two men at once definitely proved a challenge.

Simon was the one to fuck you with your head down and ass in the hair, his hand on your head, pushing it into the mattress as he grabbed your hips and bullied his cock into you, while Konig was on the sweeter side, your gentle giant. He would slowly let you take his cock into your mouth at your own pace, soothing you and telling you to take is as slow as you need, looking down at your tear stained face with admiration.

'...s' too much, Si!" You cried as his fingers worked inside your pussy, you were sure your silk sheets were ruined now, as well as the skirt Simon had previously tore off of you. You looked over to Konig, your eyes pleading with him, but your gentle giant was smirking, not feeling so gentle tonight, considering the circumstances.

Your night had started innocently enough, Ghost and Konig were supposed to meet you at a bar in town with the rest of the team, and you were stalled at the bar, already ordering their drinks for them, knowing they would be there any moment. And unexpectedly, you heard a man clear his voice. He was cute, smaller than both Ghost and Konig but looked like he worked out pretty regularly. You smiled, introducing yourself.

You didn't even realize he was flirting with you until he stepped closer, rubbing the back of your thigh and smirking at you. Before you had a chance to react, Simon was behind you, grabbing the poor guys hand and shoving it off of you, sending him a few paces back.

"Hands. Off." Simon growled, and if looks could kill, the poor man would be dead on the bar floor. Konig snakes his arm around your waist, looking down at you disapprovingly. You looked up at him, feigning Innocence. "I didn't know he would do that..." You whispered, but to no avail as Simon grabbed your arm, dragging you to the parking lot, Konig close behind you before putting you in the car and speeding a little more than necessary on your way back to base.

As you got inside, Simon had thrown you onto the bed, sighing and undoing his tie. "Du weißt, was passiert, wenn du dich wie ein böses Mädchen benimmst, nicht wahr, Maus?" Konig spoke, sending chills down your spine at his native tongue. You didn't know what he said, but it sure made heat flash down to your pussy that was already dripping enough as it was. You whined, before Simon walked over, flipping you onto your stomach and raising your ass into the air, pushing your head down onto the mattress as you hear your skirt rip, making you gasp and groan in protest.

_____

(translation)

"You know what happens when you act like a bad girl, don't you, mouse?"

_____

"y'know you like it when I'm rough with ya." Simon simply said, gathering your wetness with his finger and slowly slipping the pad of his digit inside, making you squeal. He worked his fingers inside of you, making that beautiful curl motion with his fingers that you loved. He eventually hit your sweet spot, making your legs immediately shake. He laughed deeply at your legs shaking, holding them tightly before slapping your inner thigh.

You groaned, already sickeningly close to your orgasm. "Si," you whined, rocking against his fingers with fervor. "Si i'm so close!" You gasped, trying to lift yourself up, but Konigs large hand gently shoving you back down into the mattress. This slightly surprised you, normally Konig was the gentle giant, but you'd never seen him jealous before.

You whined gently, feeling yourself flutter around Simon's fingers, arching your back as you gasped, cumming harshly. Simon worked his fingers into you even more if possible as you rode his fingers through your high.

Even after you came, Simon didn't stop his relent on your pussy, making you whine in protest. "Don't worry we're gonna make ya cum so many times you won't ever even think of going to that bar again, love." Simon said behind you, slowly adding his tongue to the mix, lapping at your pussy, his tongue spelling out his name on your heat.

It felt like hours had gone by, Simon pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, and you were beyond tears now, openly sobbing at the overstimulation. You'd tried pushing his head away, making him swat your hands away and you whined, wiggling your hips even more into his mouth, despite being so sensitive. The way Konig was just sitting there, staring at you made you whine and try to move your head away, but he grabbed the back of your head and forced you to make eye contact with him as Simon continued his assault on your pussy.

"Ko..." You whined, trying to desperately beg him to get Simon to be more gentle, but he simply laughed and shook his head, making tears roll down your cheeks even more now. Finally, Simon removed his fingers and tongue, saying something to Konig that you were too fucked out to hear. You waited for the belt buckle of Ghosts pants, but heard nothing.

You looked behind you, your eyes widening at the sight of Konig, gently unzipping his pants as he massaged the flesh of your ass. Normally Konig either took your mouth or your ass, never your pussy. He was worried he'd hurt you, but this time he knew it wouldn't. You whined in protest, trying to wiggle away but he grabbed the flesh of your hips, keeping you in place. He looked at you, waiting to see if you'd use your safe word, but you didn't. You couldn't see through the mask, but he was smiling at you as he ran the tip of his cock through your folds, making you cry out at the heat and utter girth of his head.

"Ich werde dich ficken wie die kleine Hure, die du bist, Hase" he muttered, slipping in just an inch of his warm cock, making you babble out some incoherent sentence as you flattened your head against the mattress, gripping the sheets. Simon sat beside your face, his first openly pumping his cock as she massaged your cheek. "She likes that, keep teasin' her." Simon said, glancing to Konig, making him hum in response.

_____

(translation)

"I'll fuck you like the little whore you are, bunny."

_____

Konig slowly drew the inch out, and slowly pushed back in, making it no father than two inches before repeating the action, making you take another inch each thrust. "Konig!" You whined, arching your back almost painfully. He chuckled, only leaving a hard slap on your ass.

Simon laughed, gently cupping your jaw before lifting you up slightly, and putting the tip of his cock against your mouth. "Open." He said, spreading his pre-cum on your lips. You open your mouth, and Simon slowly stuffs your mouth with his cock, groaning as your lips fell around him, already suckling like it was a popsicle.

Your brain was so fuzzy, filled with nothing but them, and you barely even remembered your own name, much less of the guy at the bar earlier. As Simon's hips stuttered, Konig's kept the same pace, making you gag a moan around Simon's cock, effectively making him cum, painting the walls of your throat white with his cum. You pulled back, showing Simon how his cum coated your tongue and mouth, making him nod approvingly before you swallowed, humming at the salty taste.

You did slightly miss the taste of Konig's cum, because of how often he homemade Austrian meals, and it made his cum taste amazing, how it does you'll never know. Konig groaned, making you whine in response as Simon moved down, gently caressing your hips before moving away, opening a small box you kept under your bed, opening it and grabbing a small vibrator, turning it on and gently pressing it to your puffy clit, making you whine and gasp, shoving your face into the pillows as even more pornographic noises spilled out of your mouth.

You felt another orgasm approaching, and by now you'd lost count at how many you'd had before. You gasped loudly, as Konig's hips finally stuttered, alerting you that he was close. You whined out his name, muttering it over and over in that sweet tone you knew he loved. As you got closer, Konig gripped at your thighs, snapping his hips into yours, groaning as he came inside of you, and the sensation of his cum made you cum around him, clenching harshly.

You both rode out your highs together, Konig sweetly caressing your hips as he pulled out of you, watching his cum drip out of your cunt before taking his fingers and pushing it back in, making you sigh. You began to lower your hips, before Simon flipped you over on your back, slapping your thighs open. You gasped, looking at him with slight confusion and arousal. He smiled, taking the vibrator to your clit again.

"we're not done yet sweetheart."

[velvetsainz]

summary: [ cl16 x fem!reader ] charles is away in baku and you remind him of what he's missing. part two.

word count: 1.3k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), pwp, use of explicit language, phone sex, masturbation, google-translated french (lmao), a dash of fluff, i like em dashes too much

a/n: baby's first smutlet! i've been writing for like twelve years but i've never posted to tumblr, so here's to first times! there'll def be at least a part ii to this, but i'm also hoping to write for other drivers soon(ish). also giant mega thank you to @multiseb21 + @lecrep for your support—y'all have been so incredibly sweet & i am so thankful for you!! anyways, i hope y'all like this! enjoy, loves! xx

“Chérie,” his voice crooned over the line, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Don’t tease, mon ange—it’s already hard enough being away from you for so long.”

“Weren’t you the one who said he’d be fine just a month ago?,” you retorted, voice low.  The cards were in your hands now, and Charles was desperate.  He was a nomad lost in the desert and you were his oasis on the horizon, just the sound of your voice enough to slake his thirst.

“Yes, but then you sent me that picture and—” You hear him curse again under his breath, his fist acting as a poor substitute for the velvet heat of your walls. He swore he wasn’t going to let you leave that bed once he got his hands on you again.

Charles wasn’t entirely wrong: you were the biggest fucking tease known to mankind.  Earlier that evening you sent him a semi-absentminded photo of you fresh from the shower, steam still obscuring the best parts of the photo with a fresh white towel around your hips and one gathering your hair on top of your head.  He’d always had something about you fresh from the shower—every time he’d nearly pounce as soon as you’d pad back into the bedroom from the steamy confines of the bathroom, hair wrapped on top of your head just as it was now.  (Part of you thought it was something primal in him: you’d washed away his scent on your skin and he needed to make his territory known again, that horn dog.)  Still, he was ever the gentleman and would make the endeavor more than worth your while.

“Yeah, that was pretty bad of me, wasn’t it?,” you ceded with a knowing smirk on your lips as you sat back from your desk, closing your laptop slowly.  You’d wanted to get a little more work done after your shower, but the Monégasque wasn’t keen to let sleeping dogs lie and needed to hear your voice for himself.

“So bad, chérie,” he agreed with tone of exasperation, a heavy sigh passing through the phone, “And you’re not even here to help a–”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help in other ways,” you were quick to remind him, the words coming from your mouth quicker than your shame would force you to bottle them up.  Heat was creeping to your cheeks, and you could feel the familiar coil of desire tightening deep in the pit of your belly.

“Are you—?”

“That’s why you called, isn’t it, baby?,” you asked only to get a stifled groan from the other side. “You wanted me to tell you how I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you continued, “how I miss your hands on my hips, your cock so deep—”

“Fucking hell,” Charles practically whines as you push yourself away from the desk now, allowing yourself to relax into the seat of the chair and your hips to ease apart despite every part of you wanting to grind them together to relieve the dull ache that rested between them.

“What would you do if I was there now, Cha?,” you asked softly, hand splayed out over the plush of your thigh, eyes glazing over as you pictured him there with you.  You wanted his hands everywhere; you couldn’t decide where you truly needed him most. Fingers curling against that hidden spot in your tight cunt, threaded through your hair and pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder, gripping your thighs so tight they’d leave bruises that he’d fuss over later—it all sounded like heaven compared to the lonely hell of your shared Monte Carlo flat.

“I want to taste you, mon cœur,” he replied shakily as his breath came faster, the sound of him fisting his cock becoming more and more prominent as time passed; he wasn’t going to last long like this, but you both already knew that—it wasn’t the point of this exercise.  “I’d have you coming on my tongue, let you taste yourself when I kiss you—putain,” the driver cursed once more as his brow furrowed.  He was leaking precum over his ironclad grip and all he wanted was to slide his fingers past your plump lips to feel the wet heat of your tongue take care of the mess.

You let out a tremulous breath over the line, one you hadn’t known you’d been holding onto so tightly until your head started swimming with need.  Your hand had drifted from its origin, rubbing lazy circles over the cotton of the panties you’d slipped into after the inciting picture.  On your top half was a worn, faded shirt of Charles that you’d taken a liking to as a nightshirt—especially when you were missing him as you were so desperately now.

“Need you in me,” you begged, the emptiness you felt so acutely coming to the forefront of your senses, “You always do such a good job filling me—my fingers don’t do you justice.”

You hear a groan on the other side of the line, the man now sitting on the edge of the bed as he tries to keep himself in check.  He wasn’t ready for this to be over so soon; you had him feeling like a teenager again, ready to spill at a moment’s notice. Granted, this wasn't anything new: there's something so intoxicating about you that destroyed whatever semblance of restraint, of control he had over his lust.

“Want you in my mouth, give me something better to do than tease you like this,” to which you received a choked merde, the man hanging on your every word as the hand between your legs abandoned its objective—you could take care of that later.  You were too caught in every little sound that passed his plush lips, listening for every little cue his body so willingly gave you.

“Want your hands in my hair, guiding me up and down your cock,” you keened for him on a whine, his breathing heavy and labored.  He was running at full speed to the cliff's edge, and you were there watching, waiting in the grass. “Want your cum on my tongue, baby,” you whined.

“Promise not to waste any, minette?,” he grunted, gritting his teeth as you hummed your assurances.  “Such a good girl f’me, yes–”

With a strained hiss and a groan he came sloppily over his hand, thankful enough that he wasn’t home in Monaco so he didn’t have to worry about cleaning up the mess he’d made. “Fuck,” he croaked, breathing heavy as he came down from the blinding high your words had catapulted him through.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t been taking care of business when duty called, but something about your voice, the thought of you there…it clutched everything into a higher gear.

“Better?,” you asked, sly smile audible to the Ferrari driver; he didn’t need to see you to know the shit-eating, satisfied smile that took over your lips.

With a tired laugh he nodded, slumping back onto the cool rumpled sheets of the hotel bed as he stared absently at the dark ceiling.  It was three in the morning in Baku, and he couldn’t sleep—the thoughts your cheeky picture had invited wouldn’t let him.

“Get some rest, tiger,” you teased him, knowing he’d have to be awake in a few short hours. You debated sending him another picture in the morning as motivation, tiding him over until you’d join him later that weekend.

“Que ferais-je sans toi, mon amour?,” he asked, sleep heavy in his voice as he rolled the right way onto the bed and running a hand through his hair.  He’d deal with the mess he’d made in the morning along with the flowers he’d send you—he really didn’t know what he’d do without you.

“I guess we’ll never know, hm?,” you replied gently, smile melting into something softer as you fiddled with the gleaming ring on your left hand.

[5sospenguinqueen]

CURSES & CONFESSIONS - GARRETH WEASLEY

Summary: The four times people told you Garreth was in love with you, and the one time Garreth did. Slytherin F!MC. Seventh Year.

Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy

Warnings: Fluff, unrequited love, shitty writing.

Word Count: 4957

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#1. Imelda Reyes

Rolling her shoulders back, MC exhaled deeply, hoping to ease some of the tension in her form. The incessant nattering of her roommate was doing little to help her efforts. Side by side, the teammates trod across the dew-dusted field, unbothered by the growing moisture on their shin pads. Morning mist clung to strands of their hair; both of them sporting green ribbons securely tying back their long locks. The Quidditch field loomed in front of them. The cheers of their fellow students beckoning them forward. Having spent the entirety of Sixth Year begging, Imelda finally convinced her competitive friend to join the Quidditch Team as their final Chaser. 

Imelda noticed the steps of her friend falter as they drew nearer. “The first game is always nerve-wracking but once you mount your broom, all worries about impending injuries vanish.” 

“Very reassuring, Reyes. Why not just tell her to take a Bludger to the head?” Sebastian Sallow commented, long legs easily catching up to them. “It’s a good thing it’s not your job to give motivational speeches to the team- Oh, wait… Maybe that’s why we lost the House Cup last year?” 

Slinging his arm across his friend’s shoulders, he grinned down at her ashy face. “Merlin, you almost look nervous,” the Beater jeered playfully, poking her in the cheek.

MC frowned, a crease forming across her brow. Goblins? No problem. Giant trolls? Easy. Embarrassing herself in front of the majority of the school? Mortifying. 

“Shut it, Sallow. We’re not going to lose this year. We have the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ on our side.” Imelda’s tone was teasing, watching her friend chafe against the title she had earned in their Fifth Year. And hated ever since. 

Eyes landing on the Quidditch tent, Imelda honed in on a smattering of red lingering outside the entrance to the changing rooms. His dark eyes were trained on the muscular arm that Sebastian had draped around MC, ready to storm over and rip it off. 

Loudly, Imelda declared, “Besides, we’re playing against Gryffindor today. We already have the upper hand against them.”

“Is that so? Do feel free to share with the group.” Leander’s haughty tone broke through the cacophony of excited spectators.

The trio turned to find him looking down at them, arms crossed against his chest. Garreth flanked his left side, expression at odds with the relaxed posture of his body. Gravitating towards the mop of red curls, MC discreetly shuffled towards him, close enough to see the condensation forming on his robes. The cool air clashing with the natural heat of his body.

Similarly to the Slytherin Beater, Weasley had undergone an enticing transformation over the summer. Even whilst slouched against the wooden beam behind him, he towered over her. The second-hand uniform that used to hang loosely on his frame, now strained against the broadness of his shoulder, pulling taut at the muscles of his biceps. When she lifted her gaze to his, he offered a genuine smile, green eyes twinkling. Her brow smoothed, eyes lightening as she smiled back at him. 

“You may be an awful strategist, Prewett, but I know better than to give the enemy important intelligence. Why would I share my secret weapon with you?” 

“I hope you’re not referring to the little witch cowering behind Sallow. If so, you’ve lost already. After all, magic is banned from Quidditch and without her extra magic, she’s not very skilled.” 

Garreth clenched his fist, knowing his friend was only trying to intimidate the group of Snakes. Punching his teammate before the Game began wasn’t the best way to win the Quidditch Cup. 

“She is going to kick your arse for talking about her like she’s not here.” MC glared up at Leander. “I didn’t realise you were so eager to relive the humiliation I dealt you at Crossed Wands, which I did without extra magic.” 

Garreth sniggered, covering it with a cough before his Captain could scold him. Opening his mouth to retort, Madam Kogawa interrupted, yelling out that there was two minutes left until the start of the Game. Prewett dashed inside the tent, remembering he still needed to strap on his knee pads. Sebastian followed closely behind, muttering about how badly he needed to piss before climbing onto his broom. 

Shifting awkwardly on his feet, Garreth hated how his large frame made his discomfort more apparent. Both women turned to look at him as he moved, unable to move subtly anymore. Having noted the trepidation on his Potions partner’s face, he wanted to offer words of encouragement. Except her Captain was looking at him as though she were plotting all the ways to throw him from his broom. The trees swayed as the wind picked up. Not the best weather for a first match. 

“Don’t get blown away out there.” Garreth internally cursed himself.

Why did his mouth insist on saying the stupidest things his brain conjured up? Instead of telling her how he wished she had a good match. How some part of him wanted her to win so that he could revel in her joy. 

An alluring spark flickered in her eyes as the competitive side of her was ignited. “Have a good game, asshole.”

“You too, Princess,” he called out after her retreating figure. The scent of her shampoo filled his nose as she brushed past him. He watched her go with a dopey grin on his face, unable to wipe it off before Imelda walked past him. She didn’t look at the redhead but he watched the Slytherin Captain shake her head in disgust, knowing it was aimed his way. 

“Forget everything I said about keeping an eye on the Quaffle.”

“Excuse me?” MC questioned, turning to face her friend as they entered the Slytherin section of the changing rooms. “Doesn’t the defeat the purpose of my position?” 

“Your new job is to tail Weasley.” Imelda had a wicked smirk on her face. One that usually accompanied words of insanity. “Weasley has been infatuated with you since you stole the Fwooper feather for him. And, as much as the babbling buffoon bothers me, once he’s in the air, he’s exceptionally talented. I need you to put a stop to that. Whenever you’re around, you’re the sole focus of his attention. I’m not even sure he’s aware of it.”

The flaps to the tent rolled back, allowing in bright bursts of sunlight. Emerald and maroon robes filed out onto the grassy pitch. 

“You’re so full of shit.” MC muttered, pushing aside the way Imelda’s words made her feel.

The only response she received was a knowing smile before Imelda slowly sailed out of the tent, and into the roaring crowd. When the whistle blew, MC was further convinced of her friend’s dishonesty. Dashing after the Quaffle, she was elated when her hands were the first to wrap around the ball. Darting across the sky, she was unable to dodge the mass of red barrelling towards her left side. The two collided. She released the Quaffle, dropping it into Natsai’s awaiting hands below. Tightly grasping the handle of her broom, it took all her strength to avoid tumbling off it.

Oblivious to the Quaffle sailing past his head, Garreth’s attention remained on MC until he was confident she wasn’t plummeting to the ground. Furious eyes snapped up in his direction but he simply winked at her, flying back into the fray. He attributed the red tinge of his cheeks to the biting wind. Not the fact that his skin heated from where it had made contact with the beautiful Snake. 

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#2. Natsai Onai

Sunshine illuminated the two Seventh Years lounging in the Transfiguration Courtyard. Bags and outer robes discarded by the bench, the pair of them curled up on the neatly-trimmed grass. Taking a much-needed break from studying, the pair of them soaked up the warm rays. Even though it was only two months into the school year, NEWTS were bogging them down. So, instead of discussing the terrifyingly long Potions essay they’d been set, the pair were gossiping about their fellow classmates.

Entering the Courtyard, Garreth was alerted to his friend’s presence when her familiar giggle reached his ears. His head whipped round, searching for her.

“Is it true that Sebastian has a basilisk inked onto his back?” Natsai asked, when MC’s laughter upon hearing about Leander’s disastrous date subsided. Her hands weaved a small pile of flowers together. 

MC lifted her head up from the cushion she had transfigured her cloak into, squinting at her friend. “Pardon?” 

“Some of the Ravenclaw girls were discussing it in the Library. I may have overhead, and decided you would be the best person to ask.” 

“And you thought to ask me, and not Ominis? Why do you think I am the most knowledgeable about Sebastian without a shirt?”

A dark shadow fell over her, stealing away the warmth that had likely burnt the skin of her nose. 

“Who’s seen Sebastian without his shirt on?” Garreth dumped his bag beside MC’s before collapsing onto the grass beside her. His hand picked up a strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers absentmindedly. “Can you believe the length of Sharp’s essay?” 

MC smiled up at him, amused by his actions. 

“I was just asking whether MC could confirm the rumours regarding Sebastian’s tattoo,” smiled Natsai, watching her housemate’s reaction closely. 

“The one on his back?” Garreth’s jaw ticked, fingers dropping the hair. “Why have you seen him shirtless?!”

Without letting MC reiterate that she hadn’t seen Sebastian without a shirt, Garreth spoke again. His teeth clenched tightly together as though the words pained him. “Although, I suppose the pair of you as a couple makes perfect sense. You would compliment each other nicely.” 

MC pulled herself into a sitting position, eyebrows knitting together. “What is that supposed-?”

“Oh, Garreth! We need another player for Gobstones.” Poppy shouted across the Courtyard, waving eagerly at him. 

Wanting to escape the bubbling feeling in his chest, Garreth excused himself, clambering to his feet before his mouth blurted out anything else he might regret. Watching the redhead make his way towards Poppy, MC felt a nauseous feeling arise in the pit of her stomach. 

“What was all of that about? Sebastian and I? Together? Merlin, it would be like dating a brother. A really annoying brother.” MC rambled. “And, could he have escaped us any faster? You would think he hadn’t seen Poppy in months instead of a couple of hours.” 

Guilt coursed through her at the ugly thoughts she was possessing, not enjoying how the idea of her friends together was making her feel. Poppy was a delightful witch, and if Garreth were to date anyone, MC couldn't think of someone who could be nicer. 

Natty snickered at the words tumbling from her friend’s mouth, watching her suck in a deep breath. “They were playing Chess in the Library earlier, but you had your head buried in your Herbology book.”

“Oh…” A dejected look overtook her face, watching the dark-haired witch laugh loudly at something Garreth said. “I wasn’t aware he felt that way about her. Although, I suppose it’s impossible not to like Poppy. She’s the sweetest. Now that I think about it, he is always patient with her, and they do spend a fair bit of time together. I think everyone should love Poppy. Oh, no… I’ve been trying to convince Ominis to tell her how he feels about her, but clearly that would be counterproductive if she and Garreth are courting. I wouldn’t want to interfere with that. Not when he looks so happy and-”

“My friend,” interrupted Natty. “Breathe.” 

Natsai looked at the witch across from her, wondering how somebody who had duelled Rookwood and survived, could be so oblivious to someone she looked at every day. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“What is going on with you and Garreth?”

“Nothing. We’re just friends.”

The fact that she didn’t ask for a further explanation told Natsai everything she needed to know. She shook her head in disbelief. “I have watched that boy almost snap his neck because he heard you laugh and wanted to see what was causing it. Even worse, I watched him smear mashed potato over his face because you walked into the Great Hall, and he was too busy watching you instead of where his fork was going.”

“I remember that,” mumbled MC to herself, before turning back to her friend. “It is sweet of you to try and boost my ego but Garreth and I don’t feel that way about each other. Poppy was next to me that day in the Great Hall. He was clearly looking at her.”

Natty enjoyed the discomfort on her friend’s face. MC clearly didn’t understand why the idea of Garreth and Poppy was so unsettling to her but Natsai certainly did. She just hoped the pair of them would figure it out soon. She had done her best to prompt her friend but it was not her place to declare the redhead’s love. That was something he needed to do himself. Ignoring the knowing smile on Natsai’s face, MC’s eyes zeroed in on the flowers in her hand. Changing the topic of conversation, she commented on the beauty of the flower crown. The Lion leaned over, placing it atop the Snake’s head. 

“I feel like a faerie princess.”

“I believe you are as frightful as one sometimes.”

“Oi! I haven’t duelled anyone in two whole days.”

“A new record.” Natty deadpanned. 

MC laughed, loud and clear. Fumbling his gobstones, Garreth’s head snapped up. His lips quirked into a smile at the joy on her face and the flowers in her hair. He paid no attention to the foul-smelling liquid spraying his robes. 

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#3. Sebastian Sallow

Legs aching, MC wished she was curled up on the couch in the Undercroft, reading to Ominis. That was how she was supposed to be spending her frosty Sunday. Instead, she was trudging along the icy pathway to Hogsmeade, eager to get to J. Pippin’s Potions. She’d overheard Garreth complaining that he was out of Bicorn horn and his latest experiment required some. Unfortunately, he had managed to land himself in detention for the first weekend of December. Professor Sharp hadn’t been overly impressed to find his hair transfigured into snakes, having been on the receiving end of the redhead’s latest concoction. The redhead had spent all of dinner last night complaining about his plans for the day had been ruined. 

Wanting to surprise him, MC decided to brave the harsh December weather to go for him. Because that was what good friends did. Nose pink and goosebumps dotting her arms, she snuggled further into her scarf and cursed when she slipped on black ice. 

Large hands wrapped around her arm, pulling her upright. “Remind me how you managed to save Hogwarts when you can barely stand on your own two feet?” 

“Are you stalking me, Sallow?”

“Absolutely. I bet you’re glad for it now.” Sebastian grinned, falling into step beside her. 

“Only because you saved me from cold and bruised buttcheeks. I shall sorely miss the peace and quiet though.” 

Sebastian pressed a hand to his chest in faux offence. “You mortally wound me. Even more so upon discovering you failed to invite me on your little outing. I thought we agreed you would stop fighting Ashwinders and Poachers alone,” he scolded. His expression turned questioning when she continued past the Forbidden Forest, instead of venturing into it as he had expected. 

“Fret not. I’m simply running errands today.”

“Even better. Any adventure with you is thrilling but the best ones involve Butterbeer and free samples from Honeydukes. Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“I need to stop by Pippin’s,” mumbled MC. 

Whilst she enjoyed Sebastian’s company, and was pleased that he preferred outings to Hogsmeade than skulking around Catacombs these days, she’d slipped away quietly that morning in the hopes of being alone. Only because she hadn’t wanted to explain what she was doing. 

“I thought you stocked up on potion supplies last week? Don’t tell me you’re out already.” Sebastian chuckled, eyes honing in on the blush staining her cheeks.

Damn him and his perception, she cursed. 

Clearing her throat, her spine straightened. “I’m not actually going for myself. Garreth mentioned he was low on some supplies.” 

“Where is your boyfriend? Why isn’t he accompanying you?”

Pace picking up as they neared the Wizarding village, she prayed that the sight of Honeydukes would be enough of a distraction to keep Sebastian from prying too deeply into the meaning behind MC’s deed. She, herself, wasn’t willing to look past the fact that she wanted to help out her friend. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she protested

To her dismay, Sebastian persisted, following her down the cobbled streets. “Have you told him that?” A gleeful grin lit up his face. 

“What are you blabbering on about?” 

“I happen to have it on good authority that he spent the entirety of Potions convincing Andrew Larson not to ask you to Hogsmeade today. That’s why he messed up his potion. For once, he wasn’t brewing his own recipe.” 

MC stopped in the middle of the path. Sebastian smacked into her back with a soft ‘oomph’, unable to slow down in time. “That’s why he’s in detention? Why would he do that? I’m not complaining because at least I didn’t have to find a polite way to deter Andrew but…”

“Why would you decline Andrew’s offer? Perhaps your answer is the same reason why Garreth convinced him not to ask in the first place.” 

“Or maybe you’re listening to gossip again, and they got it wrong. Who is this so-called good authority?”

Sebastian’s smirk deepened. “Ominis.”

“Oh.”

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#4. Ominis Gaunt 

Splattered with mud, strands of hair slipped from her low bun, sticking to the sheen of sweat coating her face. Her entire body groaned in protest as she and Poppy sullenly made their way up the stairs before the Great Hall. Neither were feeling particularly victorious despite having saved all animals caged up in the Poacher camp. When Poppy had suggested Flooing to Irondale to dismantle a Poacher camp, the two witches had thought they would return before dinner, pleased with themselves and the good they had done. Instead, dinner was in full-swing and all the witches wanted was to reach the Hospital Wing without detection.

The three Wiggenwelds they had taken with them were long gone, and yet numerous injuries remained. Poppy had taken a nasty hex to the chest, and MC hadn’t hesitated to shove all three of the healing potions into her mouth. Unfortunately, that meant there had been none left over for when she was thrown from a platform, body slamming into the hard ground. Despite her twisted ankle and Poppy’s bleeding forehead, they had managed to get back to the Floo flame but were deposited all the way down at the Boathouse. 

“Is that blood?” A horrified voice exclaimed.

Footsteps hurried over to them. Warm hands reached for her cheek, pulling her face into the light so that green eyes could inspect the cut marring her face. Beside her, Ominis was reaching for Poppy, wand waving to assess the damage. 

“Don’t worry. It’s not ours. Well.. not most of it.” 

“Is that supposed to reassure me?!” Garreth shrieked, looping his arm around MC’s wait to help take some of the weight off her swollen ankle.

The two men accompanied their wounded witches to the Hospital Wing. Easing MC onto the stiff white sheets of an unoccupied bed, Garreth dashed into Nurse Blainey’s office, dismayed to find it empty. Tugging at his curls in frustration, he paced back and forth, fretting about his friends. 

“Gar, it’s dinnertime.” MC reminded him, voice soft and comforting. “She’s likely in the Great Hall. We can wait, we’ll be fine.” 

“No, you can’t,” he said firmly. “You’re injured.” Pain shone in his bright green eyes. 

Demanding that Ominis keep a close eye on them, (to which the Gaunt boy promised he’d do his best, prompting MC to giggle), Garreth announced he would go hunt down their healer. Before MC could ask him to stay with her, he was dashing out of the infirmary, robes flapping behind him. She didn’t care about the pain. She had just wanted him to stay. 

“I do believe he genuinely forgot how to breathe when he caught sight of you hobbling into the castle. I almost thought I was going to have to carry all three of you into here.” Ominis spoke up, hand twitching as he fought against the urge to reach for his favourite Hufflepuff. 

“He did go rather pale when he looked at us,” snickered Poppy.

MC shifted, easing her body into a more comfortable position. “Yes, well, you seem to have that effect on him.” She winced, attributing it to the heat lancing down her spine. Nothing to do with the words she spoke crushing something deep in her chest. 

“I don’t think it’s Poppy that makes him forget oxygen is vital to living. Regardless of how adorable she is.” Ominis drawled, taking joy in the pink flush blossoming across Poppy’s cheeks. 

“I told you she was oblivious.” squeaked the Hufflepuff. 

MC scowled, discontented with the running narrative that she was unobservant. Her perception had saved Poppy’s life earlier, and her body was bruised enough to prove it. It was as if her friends had teamed up to insult her consistently this year. 

Fed up with everyone tip-toeing around the fact, Ominis decided he was no longer waiting for her to figure it out. “Please tell me that you are aware Garreth is in love with you, and has been for the past year.” 

“If not more.” Poppy chimed in, supporting Ominis’ decision. The rest of the gang decided to let Garreth tell her himself but Poppy knew he would never do it. 

“No, he’s not.” 

Ominis snorted. “He’s so infatuated with you. Even a blind man could see it.” 

“You are blind.” 

“Exactly. And I can see it.”

“You can’t see anything,” shot back MC.

She shot her tongue out at him immaturely and whilst he couldn't see it, he had the sense to lean over and punch her in the shoulder. He shrunk back in terror when MC winced and a furious voice reverberated off the flagstones; amplified for his sensitive hearing. 

“Why the fuck would you do that. She’s already injured, Ominis. I asked you to look after her whilst I was gone.” Garreth thundered, storming in.

Poor Nurse Blainey was rushing to catch up with him. A slice of carrot cake was cupped in her hand, having been grabbed just as dessert was served. 

“Mr Weasley, you made it sound as if the poor thing was on death’s door.” Blainey scolded, saving the blind wizard from Garreth’s wrath.

The healer took MC’s ankle in hand, examining the swollen ligament and apologising as the Hero of Hogwarts gasped in pain. Poppy wrapped a hand around Garreth’s wrist to prevent him from trying to push the healer away.

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#5. Garreth Weasley

Mended and amused by the tension in the room, Poppy thanked Nurse Blainey for healing her before taking her leave from the Hospital Wing. MC had insisted that Poppy be seen to first, despite the Hufflepuff being mainly mended by the earlier Wiggenwelds. MC watched her and Ominis leave, hand in hand. A pitiful sigh escaped MC’s mouth as she watched them. That’s what she wanted. Someone who loved her enough to hold her hand in public, propriety be damned. The only issue was that she would only be satisfied if it was with the man beside her. The man who was also watching the new couple go, an unreadable expression on his face. Most likely agonised over watching the woman he liked walk away with another man. Ominis had finally worked up the courage to ask Poppy to accompany him to The Three Broomsticks. 

“Best drink it all in one go, dear.” Nurse Blainey advised. She had mixed numerous healing positions into one foul-smelling tonic, handing it over in a wooden goblet. “You’ll have to stay here for the night whilst your fracture mends but Mr Weasley is welcome to stay with you until curfew. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hoping I can catch the end of the Feast. I’ve been looking forward to the choir all week.” 

Thanking the healer, MC immediately mentally cursed her when she swallowed the contents of her cup. The vile taste of the potion had her gagging, coughing loudly. Instantly, Garreth was there, a glass of orange juice in hand to chase the taste away. He had listened to MC recount the events of her fight - and the extent of her injuries - to Nurse Blainey in complete silence. Even now, he said nothing as the door shut behind the healer. The loud click echoed in her ears, reminding her that the pair of them were entirely alone. 

“You don’t have to stay with me. I’m sure you have better things to be doing.”

Garreth nodded but made no effort to move. An uncomfortable silence settled over them for the first time since their friendship developed. Their time together was usually filled with babbling antics and loud laughter. Now, the pair struggled to string a sentence together. MC’s hands moved towards each other, Garreth’s eyes tracked her movements. Fingers cracking her knuckles, she was desperate for something to focus on. Something aside from the hollow look in Garreth’s eyes. His hand shot out to still hers, and stayed there. His fingers enveloped hers, curling around her. As if he were grounding himself, reminding him that she was still here. Her heart stuttered in her chest. The tissues in her ankle slowly started realigning, pulling a pained gasp from her mouth. The sound dragged an anguished noise from Garreth’s chest. 

“Garreth, are you okay?” She whispered, concerned by his unnerving silence.  

A bitter laugh escaped his mouth. “Me? You’re the one who had to drag herself back to the castle, injured.” 

“I’m fine.” She grabbed his other hand when he turned his head away in disbelief. Garreth’s eyes instantly shot to hers. “Look, I’m alive. Unharmed.”

“But you weren’t!” He snapped. “You went out, alone. In the dark with only Poppy as your backup, and the pair of you came very close to not coming back.”

Her eyes stung at the harsh tone directed towards her. She chalked it up to being overtired and emotionally drained. Not because she felt as if she were being reprimanded. 

Garreth charged forward, oblivious to the look on her face. “I spent all evening looking for you, worried out of my mind because nobody knew where the pair of you were.”

“I told Sebastian-”

“Who was hidden away all day in some secret underground only you and Ominis know about!” 

Infuriated that tears were still pooling in her eyes, MC snapped back. “I don’t have to tell you where I am every minute of every day. You’re not my keeper! If you’re concerned that I’m dragging Poppy into danger then you should take that up with her! Besides, she’s the one who suggested we go. She made it quite clear it didn’t matter if I came or not so I went for her safety.”

“I don’t care about Poppy!” Garreth exploded, not meaning it in the way it sounded aloud. “Why must you bring her up in every conversation we have? Godric, you make it so hard to care about you sometimes.” 

MC sniffed before icily responding. “Then don’t bother. Walk away, Garreth, I’m not your problem.”

Garreth stood, and she thought he was going to listen to her, and leave. She didn’t truly want that but if she were such a burden- The pot at the end of her bed sailed across the room, smacking into the floor with a loud thud. When he turned to face her, there was no anger on his face. Only anguish. He wasn’t mad at her. He was furious with himself, for not being honest. For not being able to say the words desperately hanging to the tip of his tongue. If he had told her the truth last year, perhaps he would’ve been with her at the Poacher camp. Maybe he could have saved her from the bruises welting her back. 

“You don’t understand. I want you to be my problem. I want to worry about you, and I want to drag you to the Hospital Wing when you’re injured. Although I would really prefer you remain unharmed. But because I want to hold you in my arms afterwards, knowing you’re safe. I want to comfort you when defeating Poachers doesn’t go the way you expected. I want to take you to Hogsmeade, and hold your hands around the shops. I want to see you laugh, and know why you did so. And, I want to kiss you before a Quidditch match and when you win, even if that means I’ve lost. You are the cause of all my distractions, and the only regret I have is that you fail to understand how deeply I care for you.” 

“But, you and Poppy and seem so close?”

Was that really all she could say, MC chided herself. 

“Because she’s been trying to convince me to tell you how I feel.”

“Oh.”

“I love you. I am so deeply in love with you that every potion I’ve invented for the past year smells like you.”

And, as his thumb brushed her cheek and he leaned in closer, MC truly believed Garreth Weasley loved her. 

[grandlinedreams]

hiii i hope you’re having a great day!!

may i request ace or sanji taking care of the reader who is on their period? (i got mine yesterday and it’s hell lol) but if you don’t want to that’s completely ok!!!

take care & stay safe and hydrated!! love your work ♥︎♥︎♥︎

Hiya papaya, I know I'm a little late to this but absolutely I can do that for you! I hope that I can do this justice bc ough that time of the month absolutely sucks i feel ya but also!! I hope that you're staying safe and hydrated too!!

[heads up!: afab/fem aligned reader, period talk, Ace being an absolute green flag and a sweetheart]

You feel like you're dying.

Perhaps dramatic to some, but the ache of your lower stomach is unbearable as you curl in on yourself, fists pressed against your abdomen to try and make it stop.

You should have known this was coming. It's reliable, shows up like clockwork ㅡ but you'd been busy the last couple of days and dismissed the early cramping as regular body aches.

And now you can't bring yourself to leave the bed. Your absence is, of course, noticed ㅡ and the knock on the door is as familiar as the voice that speaks after. "Babe? Are you okay?"

"No," you answer as the door opens. Ace surveys the lump of blankets and frowns as he approaches, sitting on the edge and reaching to place a hand on where he thinks your shoulder is.

"What's wrong? Are you sick? I can go get Marcoㅡ"

"I'm not sick," you mumble, and Ace has to lean towards you to hear the next words that you say. "I'm on my period and I'm cramping really bad."

Oh. Ace takes a minute to process your words, the tight curl of your body under the blankets ㅡ and then sighs.

"Well that won't do," he says, and you think he's going to leave when the mattress shifts, only to blink as you're gently nudged further so that Ace can settle behind you. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

You nod mutely and Ace moves enough to slip his arm underneath your cocoon of blankets, arm wrapping around you to press his palm against your stomach.

Ace knows he needs to be careful about using his ability like this and he tucks his face against your shoulder as he focuses on warming his hand just enough that you visibly relax against him.

"Oh my god," you say, and he grins.

"That better?" You nod, and he kisses your shoulder. "Try to sleep. If you still feel really bad after a nap we can see what Marco can do."

"Don't need Marco." Your tone is soft as exhaustion begins to sweep over you. "All I need is you, you giant heating pad."

Ace beams, hugging you tighter. "You have me."

[itsoutrageouss]

Hey if you still takes request, and if it's not too much trouble for you to write, can you do one where the reader (gender neutral) is the older sibling of Dustin and they just hit one year anniversary of ED (abnormal anorexia) free but no one seems to remember except Eddi who prepared a nuce dinner for them to celebrate ?

My family just ignored me all day and I just want someone to be proud of me...

a/n: we’re all proud of you here sweetheart <3 also hi I’m still alive i think so.

warning: mentions of ED, Wayne and Eddie being the best thing ever

word count: 1k ish

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

Don’t cry yet - e. m.

—☕️

It’s not like you expected a parade in your honor or anything, but a little

Hey, congratulations!

Or

I’m so proud of you,

would’ve been nice. Instead you find Dustin already halfway out the door when you and your fuzzy socks pad into the kitchen.

“Hey! Morning! Uh- goodbye!” He says distractedly before slinging a backpack over his shoulder and slamming the door, much to your mothers dismay.

He was probably just busy, you figured. He’d remember sooner or later.

“Have any plans today, sweetie?” Your mom asked from the couch where she was automatically knitting away on whatever project. Her smile was genuine and innocent. They’d forgotten. Maybe you were foolish to think it was even a big deal.

Still you hummed as you made a bowl of cereal- content that you could do this now with no feelings of shame or fear. Still it didn’t feel like much of an achievement when no one was there to support your growth.

The day went by silently for you, and when none of your friends came by, when no one called, you curled back up in bed, furiously wiping away the few tears you’d let spill.

—☕️

Meanwhile eddie was scrambling around the tiny kitchen of the trailer with Wayne.

“I’ve never seen you this worked up over dinner before, kid” Wayne mused as he watched his nephew chaotically trying to stop the pasta from boiling over and not letting the chopped onions burn to coal.

“Well it’s a big deal today. They deserve this,” he replied, eyes never leaving the pots and pans in front of him, his tongue sticking out in concentration.

“Here, like this,” Wayne said, placing his beer on whatever space was free on the counter before taking the wooden spoon from eddies hands to help him along. He showed him how to go about it before going back to observing with an amused smile.

Eddies face was burning from the heat, curls sticking to his temple and neck. Wayne tsk’ed at him: “all this hair, son. You can’t see shit,” he snickered before retrieving a hair tie from somewhere between the couch cushions. Eddie bent down slightly in the knees so Wayne could reach all his hair, tying it back in a low bun for him.

“Thanks man,” he laughed, eyes beaming at the thought of seeing your face again. Your smile when he’d proudly present his dinner to you, when he’d watch you eat, more carefree than ever.

—☕️

You jumped, nearly falling out of bed at the sound of the phone ringing. You scrambled to get to it. It didn’t even matter if it was for you, any kind of interaction was greatly appreciated.

“Hello?” You asked, voice hoarse from not being used all day.

“Hey you,” Eddies familiar voice hits your ears and it gives you instant comfort. There’s a tiny speck of hope flickering in the wholeness of your heart, nervously licking against the walls whenever he spoke to you.

“How’s your day been?” He asks, but almost hurriedly like he has more to say. You had temporarily forgotten about the neglect you’d felt all day, so you give him a blunt ‘fine’ without more explanation. He hums distractedly and you feel your heart sink, believing he’s forgotten too.

“So listen I uh.. I got a surprise for you, kind of- well it’s dinner. I made dinner. I know it’s like only four but I started wayyy too early and now it’s just waiting so I thought why the fuck not just get you over here, right now.”

He always rambled when he was nervous. You hadn’t even noticed the giant grin that spread on your face, heating your cheeks.

“For me?” You whispered after a beat of silence. You were biting the tip of your finger in an attempt not to cry or laugh- you didn’t even know how to react.

“For you.” He said softly.

—☕️

When you arrived at the trailer, Wayne was on his way to work his night shift. “There you are! You have no idea how much that boy tried not to mess up the food- tell him you like it no matter what will ya? He really cares for you.” He said casually with a hinting smile. The sentient made your chest tighten in the best way possible. To think he spent all day working so hard doing something he hates just for you and your accomplishment. He made you feel so seen.

“I promise, Mr. Munson. Thank you.” You replied.

Eddie rushed out the door when he heard your voice, nearly stumbling over his own feet. His hair was in a loose bun, curly strands framing his face and plastering to his neck.

Before you could greet him he lifted you up into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you” he grumbled into the crevice of your neck before setting you down and pulling you into the trailer by your hand. His words hugged your entire soul, and you couldn’t even thank him before tears welled in your eyes;

The small dining tables had an old cloth covering it, with two mismatched plates of your favorite pasta dish and canned bear in plastic wine cups.

“Voila” he laughs sheepishly, nervous that you’d find his gesture silly or stupid. It wasn’t very formal, the food maybe wasn’t the best but he really tried, and given your response earlier it seemed no one had celebrated you today which made his heart clench.

“The uhh, onions kind of burned. I know you don’t like wine so I hope this beer will do, and-“

You walked over to where he was standing and hugged him so tightly, trying to convey every single ounce of gratitude into it. He stood silent first, stiff, but quickly melted into your touch, his palm gently on your head where you hid in his chest.

“I love it, Eddie. I love it.” You said with a groggy voice, tears soaking into the material of his shirt. He squeezed you tighter, planting a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Now don’t cry before you’ve tasted it allright.” He muttered, and you couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you.

The food was bordering on really good, and the beer was definitely better than wine. You spent the rest of the evening talking, eating and drinking, with Eddie telling you how proud he was over and over again.

I don’t know how to end this fic I just love him too much. They lived happily ever after guys.

[iamthecomet]

Hoe do the other ghouls react when zephyr has a day were the pain is bad

They rally around them as best they can. Zephyr has a hard time asking for help. They're very used to being in pain, as awful as that sounds, and no amount of help from the others is going to actually fix it. Of course a massage, or some of Mountain's gross tea will help, but they'll still have bad days no matter what.

So most of the time they just try to push through it. To curl up under the hot spray of a shower, or in a bath, or in their bed and wait until it gets a little better. Aether always weasels his way in--especially if Dew is already there curled around Zeph like a giant heating pad. If Zephyr will let him, he uses quintessence on them. Saps away some of the pain, unclenches spasming muscles, freeing frozen joints. But Zephyr feels the quintessence later like a hang over, dizzy, sick, headachey. So they only take Aether up on that if it's really bad. Same with Mountain's tea. It's gross. But it helps. Zephyr thinks all it really does is put them to sleep--but that's better than being awake through the pain. They'll drink it with relish if they're trying to sleep and can't. But otherwise, it goes cold on the table next to them. Mostly, their pack holds them. Cuddles them. Pulls on elements to make sure Zephyr is comfortable. Dew massages them, works hot hands into tense muscles. Rain presses cool hands to their face, cools them down when Dew's heat gets to be too much. Zephyr gets held, comforted. Ghouls purring around them like cats trying to heal one of their own. Hands holding them close, keeping them still, rubbing at sore spots they weren't even aware of until someone else found them. Zephyr's pack takes very very good care of them when days are bad--and Zephyr always does the same for them when they need it. Every one of them have days where they don't want to get out of bed. And when they do, Zephyr's there.

[tracingpatternswrites]

Trick or treat! 👻🎃

(did i already send you one of these?? I can’t remember!)

Hello, my darling! Haha, no, you've only sent on of these. You know everything about all of my WIPs and ideas so I wanted to do something different, and it just so happened that I had a little burst of inspiration.

Here, have a little missing scene from Wilder than Mountain Thyme, some Jegulus set after the Halloween party when everyone has gone home.

If you haven't read WTMT, I'm sorry, this probably won't make much sense but it's my baby so please, go read it. In short, Regulus and James are dating and have recently moved in together, Leo is Reg's child.

”It was a good party,” James said through a yawn as he got into bed. ”Perhaps it should be a tradition from now on.” ”It was,” Regulus agreed, shifting closer to James and running a hand softly down his chest. ”Only perhaps without the giant slug next time.” James stifled a laugh, rolling over onto his side so he could look at his boyfriend. He still couldn’t believe they’d made it this far, that Regulus and Leo had agreed to move up to Scotland for him, and he felt a happy little stutter in his chest. He grinned widely. “Yeah, we should probably start taking some precautions when it comes to his accidental magic.” Regulus hummed in agreement as his dark grey eyes flicked down James’ body, “I’m just happy Lily’s friend was here so I finally found out what that stupid lion story was about.” James snorted softly, feeling a little sizzle of heat down his spine as Regulus’ fingers began to wander almost absently across his skin.  “He’s a funny one, isn’t he? Can’t quite figure him out.” “I think he might just be Scottish,” Regulus supplied unhelpfully, slipping a hand underneath the hem of James’ underwear. James felt himself starting to fatten by the sheer proximity of Regulus’ clever hands to his groin and he shifted a little, making more room. He thought about what Regulus had said, making a noncommittal noise. “You should hear Sirius talk about him,” James mumbled, his voice a little breathless. “Half the time I dunno if he wants to fight him or fuck him.” Regulus didn’t respond to that, shifting his body down and James spread his legs in anticipation, continuing almost absently as he was more focused on what Regulus was doing than what he was saying.  “I think he needs to get laid. Sirius, that is, I think it’d do him well.” Regulus huffed our a breath and when James looked down at him he could see his boyfriend’s eyes glinting back at him in the darkness, a little pull around his mouth as he curled his fingers around James’ cock, making him hiss out a moan. “Please don’t talk about my brother while I’m about to give you head,” he said primly and James bit his bottom lip, making a zipping motion over his mouth. Regulus shifted lower, lower, and James could feel the ghost of his breath against his erection, so close, when– “Daddy?” Regulus pulled away as if he’d burnt himself, hurriedly putting some distance between them as he sat himself up and James barely managed to resist a disappointed groin. He hastily tugged the duvet over himself, looking towards the door where Leo stood, clutching his stuffed lion against his chest.  “Yes, love?” Reg said, patting the bed next to him as he looked at his son. “Did you wake up?” Leo nodded quietly as he padded over the floor and towards the bed. He looked so very much like Regulus, James thought, the shock black hair and pale skin and serious expression. “Bad dream?” Regulus asked as he lifted the five-year-old up into the bed and Leo nodded mutely. “Want me to go back with you?” Leo shook his head and James exchanged a look with Regulus over the boy’s black mop of hair.  “Wanna sleep in here tonight?” James asked, and he could see the grateful flicker across Regulus’ face.  “Between you,” Leo said decisively, sliding himself in between the two of them and James shifted a little to the side to make room. “Of course,” he said, easily, ruffling the boy's hair. Leo settled between them with a little sigh, curling himself into Regulus who wrapped an arm protectively around him. “Thank you,” Regulus mouthed silently from the other side of the bed, but James merely smiled. He wouldn’t change it for the world. 

[fruitcoops]

4/13 for a sequel of sorts to backslide? been lovin coops extra recently. p.s. this is the cutest of prompt lists :))

#4: A kiss on the temple

#13: Kissing scars either shortly or long after they’ve healed

Backslide; tw for past injury

Sirius was kissing him. Just kissing. Just gentle. Just focused. Remus watched him work in silence, letting Sirius guide his limbs like a doll. It was kind of nice, not needing to do any work. All he had to do was lay there and be loved.

That in itself was a refreshing change. He was tired of reassuring people over and over again, yes I'm okay don't worry it's fine just a partial one no you don't have to bring food yes I promise, especially his friends. It was embarrassing to know it had been that bad from their point of view. Their intentions were good, but Remus couldn't handle another minute of being treated like glass.

Sirius kissed the sensitive dip of his elbow and laid his head on the bed next to it with a long exhale, watching Remus watch him while the world went by outside.

"I'm okay," Remus said quietly. He reached up to push Sirius' hair out of his eyes and got a nuzzle on the hand for his troubles. He couldn't help but smile. "I'm okay."

Silver eyes tracked over his torso and settled on his other arm, still strapped to his body for another two days. At least the sling was comfortable. Sirius shifted and tucked his feet under the blankets they had kicked away. "I'm trying to believe you."

"I really am, baby."

"It's not that I don't trust you."

"Sirius," he whispered.

"It's not," Sirius repeated. "You would tell me if you were hurting. It's impossible to see this and not want to fix it, though."

We're both afflicted with chronic 'I can fix him', Remus thought as he let Sirius' hair flow over his fingertips. Look where it's got us. He let his hand fall and tugged on Sirius' sleeve. His visible care to avoid Remus' bad side when he scooted closer to lay on him made love beat like moth's wings in his chest; Remus buried his face in the soft cotton of his shirt and inhaled deeply, soap and laundry and Sirius, not a tinge of antiseptic. The cracking, aching thing next to his heart heaved a sigh of relief.

"It's just time and ibuprofen at this point. Kisses and cuddles are a bonus."

"I'll pass the message along to the guys."

He could feel Sirius' wry grin when he groaned. "Oh, god, no, I've been coddled within an inch of my life already."

"It makes them happy to baby you."

"I wish I knew why so I could never do it again."

"It's because you're so cute." Sirius went to give his cheek a playful pinch and Remus batted him away, laughing. A smacking kiss landed on his temple instead; Sirius pressed their faces tight together. Remus felt him relax, weighing him down like a giant heat pad, one thigh slung over his own and a hand tracing patterns on his belly. Sirius nudged at him once more before returning to his work, dropping kisses wherever he could reach.

He paused at the edge of the sling. Remus kissed the shell of his ear. "You can."

He did.

It was funny, being kissed there. Remus couldn't help the squirmy feeling it gave him, somehow more intimate than being kissed anywhere else. It would never be erotic--and judging from Sirius' reaction, he felt the same--but it gave him the same overwarm fast-pulsed charge that a suggestive hand on the knee might. It was being seen and known in the most blatant way.

Not today, though. No, not today.

"It's not fair," Sirius murmured. Remus shook his head and wove his fingers in dark curls. "I want--I want to take it all away."

"I would let you."

Sirius lifted his head an inch and let his lips linger on the shiny scar marking the pin's entry point all those years ago. Remus was sick of it and grateful. The pin had done its job. His shoulder was stronger, was set in place. The jerk-around hurt, but it was so much more bearable now. His skin cooled when Sirius turned away to put his head on Remus' bare chest. "I'll be here."

"I know."

[thegoldenshi-shi]

So, I have been busy making poor monetary choices again, in which I now own two different types of tablets specifically for art (ONE WAS VERY MUCH ON SALE, THE OTHER HAD A 50 BUCK COUPON, BOTH GOOD REVIEWS), and the first tablet I bought, that's honestly just a way of adding a touchscreen to a computer to me, cause like. It's a sensor pad? Well, it's proving that I can't mentally make myself apply a lot of pressure to technology, which my younger self with a ruined dsi touch screen would gape at. I have also gotten all my shelving units up! Not sure if they're staying where they are, or if I'm gonna move them around again, but I do know two that are staying where they are, mainly cause I am /not/ lifting that shelf all the way back up to chest level to take it back down again. Nuh uh, no ma'am, it will not be done. It's also gotten all my collectibles on it already, which has proven that I need to devote more of my budget to the Twins than Screamer. My frenemesis would be delighted to see my failure to my simpees.

Work has been better! Still hot, but we've slowed /way/ down, which means my supervisor has been letting me goof off on my phone or writing, cause we physically can't work too hard in the heat, but we also have no orders anyway, so... And because we've been able to get paid Not Working, I have gotten back into a werewolf story I started writing months ago! I'm setting it up one shot style rn, and posting the chapters as my brain accepts my pleading for their creation, but I also intend to make it a full and proper story once I've worked all the one shots out. I will openly admit to it being complete self service, cause I want a best friend who's 8 feet tall, fluffy, and has a crappy sense of humor. And is a cuddle monster, though that one is mainly cause I love glomming full force onto my people and displaying my awkward affection. I'm like a peacock, but instead of flaring tail feathers, I hug people in front of other people, whilst not actually really knowing socially accepted norms for hugging friends, tbh.

I also went through and completely reorganized my phones gallery, and got a very stupid laugh outta it. I have 461 transformers related pictures, and almost 400 writing prompts. Just. Saved on my phone. If I ever lose this sim card my writing career that i don't actually have will be over. On another other note semi related, I have been asked to design a friends tattoo! I don't know if I mentioned that in my last ask. He asked me to draw him a dragon to get tattooed, which, to be fair, dragons are among one of the very scant things I can draw well reliably, but also, dragon proportions curled into a ball sleeping are kicking my ass, and I am debating getting out my giant sketchpad to be able to completely control every tiny eetsy beetsy detail, cause my close friend wants me to do this thing that will permanently be on his body, and I really desperately don't wanna mess it up... Cause like. No one has ever asked me to ///draw/// for them before. I've gotten asked to paint, or do some small stuff with watercolors, but never /drawing/. And he knows I love dragons, it's part of why he asked. I just. It's a thing that happened that made me really happy, like hide in my pillow crying happy tears happy.

And then, on the fifth, I found an exactly 8 year old video of my childhood dog that we had to put down... it was from the summer before he was put down, which happened during the school year. He had been all that I'd had growing up, so, it hit kinda hard seeing something of him that moved. Even after 8 years, I still cry every time I think about him. He was the best dog any little kid could've ever been raised with, and probably helped boost my immune system against my allergies to boot, hehe. I cried for like, two hours, cause it was a video taken 7/5/2015. And, I thought I had lost all my images of him. It was a happy thing, just. A very sad type of happy. I wish I could tell him that I did love him, even if I didn't wanna lay on the ground and cuddle like he preferred. He was a dog that was born old, haha, never wanted to play or bark, he just wanted to lay on you and be loved. I was always running around on imaginary adventures though, but I did love him. If I was upset, he was my safe place. I promise this is a happy thing, it's just that I'm gonna be legally allowed to drink soon, and sometimes I forget that it's been so long since I got to see him. Especially cause sometimes, I still have dreams about playing with him in our backyard, right next to a giant pine tree covered in cicada sheds, laughing as he dug a little groove to lay in under the old rusted out trampoline. He was the most patient, tolerant dog, and it's because of him and the cat he raised with me that I'm not afraid of so much anymore. Ma and dad weren't there when we had him, but... I'll admit to giving them up forever if it meant I got to have him back

~Smooch

Hello there Smooch~

Sleeping babee dragon sounds so cute! I've never designed a tattoo, so I can only imagine the pressure (and of course the touching part of him asking you to draw his tattoo design).

Interestingly enough I too spent a loooong period of time where drawing was a dragon-only zone. I think it was back in like middle school? If you're struggling with a traditional four-legged two winged dragon, have you considered another type? There's Asian Lung dragons, Wyverns, Wyrms, or even a Quetzalcoatl style dragon that can all be very cool and might be easier for you to draw as a sleepy loaf. If your friend doesn't have a strong preference of course.

How exciting, on sale art supplies. It's kinda hard to decide sometimes between art supplies and if you're new to it, it's not a BAD idea to try multiple different types and/or brand names until you find what you like. I own two different art devices, one Wacom Intuos bought in High School and a Huion art monitor bought like four years ago. I was a traditional artist at the time I bought the Intuos tablet, so I quickly found that I prefer drawing on an actual screen I can look at instead of drawing on a tablet, BUT I had to try the tablet first to know that. What that all amounts up to is I hope you like one if not both of them ^J^ It's good to hear that your job is calming down. I'm sure that you're enjoying having the down time to work on your creative pursuits. At the risk of sounding too much like a hippie art teacher, I say it's very important to have some sort of creative outlet in your life. So it's wonderful to hear that you're getting to write on your werewolf story. I send you my best wishes that your muse stays nice and cooperative for the whole process hehe.

And lastly: The bittersweet memory of a good pet that has passed is something that I feel blessed to have as well. I hope that you can continue to enjoy your memories of a good animal without being bogged down in the sadness of their passing.

It's good to hear from you again Smooch, glad to hear you are doing well~

[aenariasbookshelf]

you say you want (me) (part eight of ?)

title: you say you want (me) (part eight of ?)

author: Aenaria

rating: G

Weekly prompt: Happy Birthday Steve week at @darcylewisbingohq

Characters: Darcy Lewis, Steve Rogers

tags/warnings: Darcy/Steve, soulmate AU                                                                                                 

Summary: In a world where having a soulmate mark is the norm for most people, Darcy Lewis is one of the rare few unmarked people. Of course, this doesn’t stop her from finding the right partner. 

Previous parts can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/aenariasbookshelf/719853958960742400

A/n: I had a revelation about where I pulled the title of this fic from today as I was writing this, thanks to something my best friend sent me. All coincidentally, mind you - she has no idea of this story as far as I know (she's not in the fandom). It's a good and amazing revelation, one that will make this fic even better. I can’t wait to get to working that into this story. *bounces in happiness*

*

Exposure therapy. Or that’s what it’s allegedly called. To put himself in situations where he’s uncomfortable to try and figure out how to cope with them instead of being wholly disabled.

Whatever. He’s not even sure if that’s the right term for what’s going through his head.

No matter what, Steve still doesn’t like the sound of fireworks and is working to actively avoid them, even if they’re a major part of the combined birthday/4th of July party happening at the Compound right then.

Besides, it’s his birthday, and if he wants to spend the last half of his party relaxing on a giant float that’s been engineered to handle his weight in the Compound’s indoor pool avoiding raucous partygoers, so be it. It’s calm, and the gentle rocking of the water makes him drowsy, head tilting back against the inflatable pillow.

Another sound begins to rise above the movement of the water, bare feet padding along the bright white tiles surrounding the pool. And it’s a cadence Steve recognizes all too well, as a gentle smile spread across his face.

“You know, of all the places for you to hide and avoid your birthday party, on a pool floatie is the last place I would have thought of,” Darcy calls out. Steve hears a soft splash, her feet beginning to descend the stairs into the water.

“It’s soundproof,” Steve calls back, waving a hand at the skylights above that provide an expansive view of the night sky. “You can see the fireworks from here, but you can’t hear a single pop.”

“Ahh, suddenly it all makes sense.” The splashes grow closer, and Darcy paddles around the side of the float, coming into view. She’s got on a simple black tank bathing suit, hair a combination of slicked down and puffy frizz from the water that’s been splashed into it, and she looks absolutely delightful to Steve. “Hi,” she says as she props her arms and her chin on the side of the float.

“Hi.”

“Feeling better out here?”

“Much. It’s peaceful.”

“That’s an understatement. Thor, Clint, and Bucky are attempting feats of strength outside. Sam’s got the camera.”

“Can’t wait to see that tomorrow morning,” Steve grins. “Wanna come up here?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

It’s not exactly graceful, more like a mild comedy routine, but between the two of them they manage to get Darcy onto the float and she curls up against Steve, all slick, damp skin that warms up against his. “How are you so warm?” she mutters, draping her bare legs over his to soak up as much heat as she can.

He drops an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in even closer. “It’s the serum. The higher metabolism makes me run hotter.”

Darcy glances up at him, lips pursed into the slightest frown. “…that’s a decidedly unromantic answer.”

Steve just laughs. “How about…cursed by one of the fairy folk to always have fire in my blood? That sounds like something my ma would have said.”

She nods firmly, giving a smacking kiss to the pectoral nearest her. “I like it.”

Above them, the sky turns green and blue and gold from a silent firework going off beyond the skylights, turning the dim lighting in the pool room into a shower of multicolored stars that float around them. It’s something that’s near magical, and with what Steve’s world has become, he’s a little more inclined to believe in magic these days than he ever was.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” Darcy whispers against his skin, “I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Steve replies, as more fireworks light up the sky.

[daftbitch]

Hi it’s Nekomamushi anon. I’m thinking about the big guy again (Will Smith tada pose)

Nekomamushi lies on his back, head propped up against the wall, slit-pupiled eyes on you. He’s purring, as usual, while you fuck yourself on his length, your arms resting on his belly, clinging to the fur for leverage. His giant, fluffy tail is folded over his body, the tip curled around your leg, soft on your skin.

It’s so good. He’s so big and reaches so deep and it’s so fucking good.

“You’re insatiable today,” Nekomamushi growls. He had already brought you to climax twice against his tongue, and yet you still asked for his dick. “I didn’t know lesser minks experienced heat. Or is it just you?” “Oh, god,” you moan, more focused on angling your hips to grind him against your g-spot than much else. “Fuck. I don’t knowww.” He runs a hand up your side. His thumb trails down your breast, the sharp nail just barely scraping the skin to make you whimper, then the pad of his thumb rubs over your nipple. Your eyes flutter shut as you clench firmly around him, head falling back.

“Ah, don’t worry… just focus on how good it feels, hm?” He touches the tip of his claw directly on your nub, smirking when it makes you buck your hips, then goes back to gentle rubbing.

You peek one eye open at him. “What do you–” you pause, eyes rolling back a moment as you get a particularly good thrust in– “–fuck. What do you want me to say? That I can’t go back–ahh–to people my size now that I’ve had this?” 

“Trust me, kitten. Yougara do not need to say it.” Nekomamushi’s smirk spreads into a full cheshire grin, each sharp, white tooth longer than your finger. His hand runs back down your body, huge in comparison to you, entirely covering your hip. He easily reaches your clit with his thumb, pressure gentle but firm when he strokes in small, sure circles. He groans when you cry out his name and double your pace. “Gonna cum on my cock, little kitten?” “Yes!” you whine. “Yes, yes, I’m getting there… Oh, ‘Koma…” His pleased growl rumbles through your body. “Good kitten… Just look at you, split in two and loving it…” He reaches up to trace the bulging outline of his cock in your belly before returning to tease your clit. “How’s this?”

“Little more pressure,” you pant, breath catching when he gets it just right. “Oh, fuck! Yes, like that! Don’t stop, please don’t stop!” "Don't worry, don't worry... I won't stop until you cum."

You ride him harder and faster, sweat dripping, legs almost numb, thick bolts of pleasure snapping through your core like lightning, a glimpse of an intense peak. Nekomamushi keeps his pace steady on your clit, rhythmic, perfect, each brush physically pushing you closer to the end.

You cum hard, gasping, pressing your head into his belly as your hips stutter, stretched-thin walls pulsing around his girth. It comes in powerful waves, leaving your cunt wracked with aftershocks and your legs twitching uselessly. And it doesn’t ease up right away, seeming to stretch on and on, pulse after pulse. You’re not sure how many seconds–minutes?–it’s been, but your clit hasn’t stopped throbbing when Nekomamushi wraps his hand around your waist.

“If that won’t be enough to settle you down,” he purrs, lifting you almost-but-not-quite all the way off his cock, “then this will.”

He brings you back down, spearing you on his length. Your gasp turns into moans when he starts using you like you’re a living toy, grip on you secure as he jerks your body up and down on him, like you’re nothing more than a warm sleeve for his cock.

Where your pace was limited by your strength, Nekomamushi has no such issues. He handles you like you weigh nothing, tongue lolling out as he gives it to you faster and rougher than how you were taking him before, the feral manhandling dragging you right back to the edge.

“Such a tight little thing,” his breath comes in ragged pants and growls, “all for me to fill up and breed, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” you cry as your peak washes over you a second time, right as Nekomamushi pulls you all the way down, almost flush against his hips, letting out a deep, primal snarl as he releases inside you.

Each wave of his orgasm comes with another hot pulse of cum and him thrusting up into you again, his grip around you tightening. You think maybe minks work differently than humans, because there’s always so much. It’s always a mess. A very satisfying mess.

You’re boneless against him, totally spent and exhausted. He doesn’t move for a while, either, not even to pull out, idly rubbing your back and hips as you both bask in the afterglow.

Nekomamushi smut anon I have a waited for you every day to return, gazing out my window, longing for your presence once again. You have truly succeeded in making me explode with horny (only a feat that Doe has been able to do) I commend you greatly. I have now read this so many times that every time I close my eyes, I see the words imprinted on the inside of my eyelids. You are truly giving me a gift and I could never thank you from the depths of my soul. I love this so much thank you so fucking much I’m going to go read this another 50 million times and cry of happiness bless you 🙏🙏🙏 I hope you always have more money than you thought you had in your bank account. I hope every traffic light is always green on the way to your destinations. I hope whatever outfit you find it is in your size and in your price range especially if it’s the last one. I love you so much Nekomamushi smut anon 💖💖💖



[wolfpants]

For the microfoc - what conversation/ plot point has nagged on you almost enough to make a sequel? Write it out for us!

Hello! Thank you for this! And a note to everyone who has left me an ask about my follower milestone prompt thingy - I am working my way through them slowly! I'm having a bit of a writing hangover at the moment and struggling to string coherent sentences together, but I promise I'll get to everyone eventually within the next... oh, 6 months or so!

So, my answer to this is going to be cheating a bit. I had started a Drarry sequel to The Hollow before I began writing Under Giant Mountains and ended up lifting a lot of inspiration from this for UGM - the setting, mostly.

Anyway, I wanted to share with you the first couple of parts, so you can get an idea of where I was going with this. Will I ever finish it? I don't know. I hope so, one day. But it might change shape a bit.

(extra special thank you to @getawayfox @ghaniblue and @academicdisasterfic for the cheer reading on this one! I promise I will try and add more to the doc one day <3)

Orestes (The Hollow sequel) ~ first 4.5k words or so (NSFW):

Heat radiates from the burning pile in licks and waves. It tickles at the surface of Draco’s skin.

The sight of the fire burns through Draco’s vision: stark and orange against the blackened backdrop of the near empty shore behind it. Smoke curls upward, inky and thick. The moon is a dull crescent.

No wonder Lupin had been able to stay up the whole night.

Draco blinks against the imprint of the flames on the back of his eyelids. He still sees them as he turns away, trudging over the pebbles and the mud; a bright smudge that disappears slowly with every new step he makes in haste before the acrid smell of smoke seeps too deeply into the fabric of his clothes.

He grabs his rucksack from the forest floor and shoulders it, adjusting the edge of his beanie hat. He walks.

The woman at the campsite doesn’t question him when he asks to book a cottage for the night—”maybe for the next week,” he adds hastily—but she does warn him that only the basic cabins are left. 

“One toilet,” she says in clipped Norwegian, and he nods, slipping his Muggle bank card back into his wallet. Two years ago, Harry had shown him how to apply for it, chuckling over the rim of his mug as Draco puzzled over the whole process, picking through the endless forms from Gringotts and the Bank of England.

Why not a key? he’d asked, picking up Harry’s card and turning it around in his fingers, touching the silver embossed lettering with the pad of his thumb: Mr H. J. Potter.

How do you even get into your vault?

It’s not a vault, Harry had said. They’d been in a Muggle cafe in Belgravia, Harry’s hair still a little damp from the shower he’d taken after their training session. Draco remembers the way it had curled at the nape of his neck, water bleeding down onto the collar of his clean grey v-neck, the stark lines of his clavicle shining with it. It’s just—I don’t know how to explain it. Everything’s digital. It’s not a pile of gold, it’s just—numbers to your name. I dunno. It’s easier, Draco—you’ll be able to do more with this. When you’re out and about.

That doesn’t sound very secure, Draco had said haughtily, picking up his fork and sliding into the slice of carrot cake between them, the cake Harry insisted they got to share. Draco didn’t like sharing food, had never liked sharing food, but after the first few weeks of their training partnership, when Harry suggested they grab coffee and cake as a Friday reward, a—look, we made it through another week—kind of a deal, he always wanted to share.

So, Draco shared.

“One single bed,” the woman says, sliding a small brass key across the desk and a single roll of cheap-looking toilet paper. “No electricity. Showers are in the shared cabin half a mile down the hill. Towels and sheets are in the closet next to the door on your way out.”

Draco holds back a sigh and thanks her in Norwegian.

The cabin is small and basic; the raw wood walls are weatherproof and dry, at least, but the cot looks too short for him and the windows are dusty and there’s a tiny gap between the glass and the frame. After locking the door behind himself, Draco casts a series of dim Lumos orbs, waiting until they float up to the ceiling before setting up a few basic wards around the corners of the cottage and each entryway. He pulls off his hat, shakes out his hair, and leaves everything but his towel, his toiletry bag, his toothbrush, and a fresh t-shirt from his bag as he heads back outside. 

Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been wandering around London in uniform, wading through sweltering summer heat.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd been mouthing at overhot skin, near blind with mindless desire that had been enough, then, but was never going to be enough, in the long run.

Rogaland’s coast is considerably cooler than London. Draco plods down the hill toward the small stack of facilities illuminated by fly-infested outdoor lamps, showering quickly but efficiently, cleaning his teeth and staring at his reflection in the streaky, misty mirror above the sink. The last time he’d looked at himself had been at Grimmauld Place, in the large bathroom adjacent from Lupin’s bedroom. It was in a sorry state just like the rest of the house, but all Draco could focus on was his bloodshot eyes and splotchy cheeks, the blooming red marks on his neck and bare chest. He’d touched them gingerly with the pads of his fingertips. They’d been so consciously far away from the old, raised scars across his sternum and belly. The scars that Harry would—

Draco quickly gathers his damp towel from the hook and his bag from the bench, carrying everything back up to the cabin and using a charm to dry his hair once back inside. The Lumos bulbs are still floating around on the ceiling like gobstones, rolling into each other and lazily knocking back against the walls. He peels off his jeans and folds them onto the empty chair in the corner of the room, and when he lies down on the cot on his back, his feet dangling, he twists around to pull out the folded piece of parchment he left for himself in the side pocket of his rucksack.

Stavanger, Norway.

Riga, Latvia.

Split, Croatia.

New Orleans, USA.

New York, USA.

Tokyo, Japan.

Draco rubs his eye with the back of his wrist, staring at his own looped handwriting, the taste of toothpaste sharp against the back of his teeth.

Do you ever feel like you just want to—

Harry had cut himself off, picking out a sugar packet from the little bowl between them, fingers dancing around the corners, tearing at it without opening it. 

Another Friday afternoon at the cafe. After dozens and dozens of them, they hadn’t broken tradition. 

Want to what? Draco had asked. He’d already kept Harry from leaving after one coffee by ordering them both another. 

Harry had smiled at him then. That little half-tug of his lips, a boyish thing that made the skin on the back of Draco’s neck grow warm. Let’s do this in the pub next time?

Draco had nodded. Had let his question hang silently in the air between them. Had grasped for something else to talk about, so that they could stay a while longer.

When they did go to the pub, that next time, Harry answered his question. Riga, he’d shouted over the noise of the jukebox and the crowd around them. Nearby, Weasley was trying to show Theo how to play darts, and he kept missing each throw but Weasley had been patient and kind; had been patient and kind with Theo since Eighth Year. Had been patient and kind with all of them.

Privately, it took Draco almost the entire school year to accept it, even as he grew closer to Harry and grew further apart from the friends who never made it back to Hogwarts.

It’d been a far more likely friendship than anyone had been willing to admit, until they saw it for themselves. Until they realised how much sense Draco and Harry made.

Draco often wonders what it would have been like for them if they’d allowed themselves to become friends from the very beginning. How different they could have been; as boys, and as men.

What?

Riga!

Draco had been propping up the bar with Harry at the time, his fingers wrapped loosely around the stem of his wine glass. He’d been all too aware of their proximity, of the heat radiating from Harry and the sparkle in his eyes. The mischievous, upward tuck of his smile. That morning, Harry had gotten a bollocking from Robards for showing up late to their paperwork training. He’d hardly flinched during the verbal splinching, and had smiled that smile at Draco when Robards’s back was turned, and Draco, terrified of his already precarious position in the force, had glared at him and turned back to his notes, the back of his neck burning.

It’s in Latvia, Harry had said, grabbing the bartender’s attention, hailing him down with a wave and raising two fingers in the air before pointing to his and Draco’s near empty drinks. I’ve been reading about it. It’s supposed to be beautiful. Like a fairytale city. Full of wild magic, too.

Okay, Draco had replied, confused but leaning into it anyway. Leaning into Harry. 

When Harry had dropped his hand, the tips of his fingers brushed against Draco’s bare forearm and stayed there; his index finger raised, just brushing the jut of Draco’s bony wrist in slow, deliberate circles. After a while, seconds or minutes—Draco couldn’t have possibly known at the time, he’d been too busy counting his own heartbeats—Harry had said, it’s on my list, and grinned, turning to pay, peeling away from Draco and leaving him alone with his drink, cajoled into the next round of darts.

Draco folds up the parchment and sets it back down on top of his bag next to the bed. He shuffles onto his side, folding his arms across his stomach, bringing his knees up until his feet no longer hang off the edge of the cot. 

“Nox,” he whispers, plunging the cabin into darkness.

Two weeks after the pub, and almost two years into their training, they’d been lying on the floor of the duelling room together, breathless and sweaty, Draco’s wand arm zipping with the release of magic, the smoke-like scent of their mingled counterspells thick in the air. Harry always excelled in the duelling room; seemed the happiest when he had something to do with his hands and his magic rather than shuffling through bureaucratic but necessary formalities. 

All of the other trainees had gone home for the evening, but Harry had dragged Draco in for another round. Draco couldn’t think of anything he’d wanted less than to sit in his empty flat in Battersea where he had nothing to do but eat bad takeaway and wait for news of absent friends and further absent family. Couldn’t think of anything he’d wanted to do more than duel with Harry, than feel the crackle and buzz of his magic, the thrill of his chase.

I’d do Europe first. Harry had turned his head on the mat to look at Draco. His hair—this was when it started getting longer, the curls dropping at the nape of his neck, around his temples and forehead, inky and thick and so gorgeous that Draco found it painful to look at him, sometimes—was dripping. He lifted his head and pulled his wet curls back from his forehead with a swipe of his hand before settling down again, the jagged lines of his scar stark against skin shiny with sweat.

You’d do what now? Draco had asked him through short breaths, dabbing at his sweaty upper lip with the edge of his wrist.

Europe. I’d travel Europe. Harry’s eyes had roved slowly over Draco’s face, a gaze that had felt as intimate as a touch. All of his gazes had started to feel like that, by then. Before everywhere else.

Draco had sat up on one elbow. He remembers the sharpness of his voice; the softness of Harry’s eyes. You’re going travelling? 

Hypothetically. I’d like to. Harry broke his gaze then, and it skittered off across the room; the mats, the benches, the crackling, corporeal hum of protective magic woven deeply into the walls. But, you know. I have this.

A strange feeling had slowly wrapped its fingers around Draco’s throat then, had clenched itself slowly, like Devil’s Snare, around his guts and between his ribs. He stayed very still.

I think I’d start off with Norway. Stavanger? Have you heard of it?

My family’s got Norwegian blood. Yes, Draco had said, resisting the urge to clamp a hand down on Harry’s shoulder, to beg him to just hold on a minute, to remind him that, yes, he has this. 

And then I’d move onto the Baltics. Go further down south after that for some warmer weather. Maybe I could get a Muggle car, I’d have to learn how to drive first—

Panicking, panicking, Merlin, no—

You’ve thought of this a lot?

Harry chose that moment to sit up on one elbow too, eyeing Draco oddly. Theoretically, sure. It’s just—daydreams. You don’t like to daydream? 

Draco remembers that his eyes had been questioning. On further reflection, maybe even a little hopeful. If Draco is being kind to himself. 

Perhaps Harry had been looking for a way out with him, rather than a way out, for himself.

No, Draco had said sharply, that tugging feeling in his guts spreading out through his entire body, his face growing very hot. I do not.

Before Harry could tease him for the, admittedly, melodramatic response, Draco had shoved Harry back onto the mat and rolled on top of him. 

In Harry’s shock he was pliant, and he didn’t resist when Draco found his wrists and pinned them to the floor above his head. His glasses were smudged because the idiot was constantly touching them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, fiddling with the frames when he didn’t have anything else to do with his hands. He never thought to use an anti-smudge charm. It drove Draco mad. 

Harry’s eyes were wide, but only for a moment, only until those soot-black lashes behind his dirty lenses dropped and he bucked up once, a rough moan escaping his throat like it had been kept there, in secret, for days. For years.

Draco knew it was mad, doing this. Doing this here, but it wasn’t as if they hadn’t been dancing around it all year. And with Harry’s talk of—

Don’t you dare think about leaving me here, Potter, he’d whispered fiercely, uttering Harry’s surname like he hadn’t stopped calling him that since their last year of school. You brought me here, don’t leave me on my own, you prick.

Draco had kissed him, then. Perhaps because he didn’t want to hear Harry’s unconvincing reassurance and had wanted to feel, instead, the convincing press of his body; the heat of his tongue and his wrists in his hands; ribs to ribs, hips to hips. 

The certainty that Harry had, at least, wanted this. 

In the cabin, Draco closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they adjust minutely to the darkness; he can see the glint of the dusty window, the reflection of the moonlight against the dull shapes in the room; the edge of his cot, the lump of his bag on the floor. When he breathes in deep through his nose, he can smell the woods outside: damp bark, earth, lake water. He rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into the flat pillow that, thankfully, smells clean, and he pulls his knees up onto the thin mattress, enough to create space between his hips and his crumpled sheets. With trembling fingers, he picks at the waistband of his underwear, enough to slip a hand inside and grasp at the fattening length of his cock. 

He remembers that first time so clearly, a memory burned into the back of his mind, permanent and stark. In multicolour and stereo, Weasley’s father had said in relation to the Muggle contraption in their living room that played moving images, one of the handful of times Draco had spent Christmas at the Burrow. It’s how he pictures that memory now: colourful, loud. 

Harry had been so loud.

Both of them had been so loud.

It’d been a quick, messy thing; they hadn’t reinforced the locking charms on the duelling room door, hadn’t needed to, because the whole thing had been over in less than ten minutes, the two of them so pent up with want resting dormant for—years?

A long time.

Draco remembers how Harry had rolled urgently onto his stomach beneath him and let Draco strip him quickly from the waist down. He remembers rucking up Harry’s shirt and kissing fervently over his bared back, slick with sweat; remembers Harry arching back on his knees, greedy for Draco’s mouth when Draco pried his firm cheeks apart with his palms and ate him open with sloppy licks and sucks and kisses that had Harry sliding down on obscenely splayed thighs, rutting against the mat, pleading hoarsely against his own fist until Draco extended up on his knees and shuffled his training leggings down low enough to free his cock, which he held in trembling fingers as he smeared it down Harry’s crack, slick with conjured lube.

That initial push had been—euphoric. The twinned sounds they both made had been identical moans of exultation. Of relief. Draco can remember the intense rush of satisfaction that rippled through his core, and the way that Harry had moaned again—sharp, practically a shout—when Draco pressed a hand down onto his lower back, pulling out halfway to push back in, deep and hard.

He draped himself over Harry’s back again when their thrusts became harder, desperate, their cries ricocheting across the walls and tall ceiling. He’d bit Harry’s shoulder over the bunched up material of his t-shirt, his orgasm exploding through him with quick and painful force.

Draco’s breath is a damp gust against his face as he huffs through his nose and into the pillow. He presses a hand to the mattress, just holding himself up as he strokes his cock faster, firmer, muttering a well-practised lubrication charm that makes it feel like he’s—

Almost—

Harry had groaned—a low, satisfied sort of sound—and reached behind him to grasp Draco’s hair as he pumped his hips back and forth between Draco’s cock and the training mat. Draco had hissed against the sting of it, fingers tightening against Harry’s waist, against his thigh, and when Harry came, he spilled all over the plasticky material beneath them with Draco’s name on his lips.

That time after the comedown—that liminal space between fucking and its consequences—had been the most terrifying moment of Draco’s life to date. 

Fuck what happened to him as a teenager. Fuck the war. No—having Harry Potter underneath him, panting and spent, crystallising from fantasy to reality—Draco had hated it. For a split second in time, he’d hated himself for giving into something he’d wanted for years, all for the sake of desperately trying to stop Harry from disappearing.

Until Harry had shifted back around, and pulled him down for a sweat-salted kiss.

That night, Draco didn’t go back to Battersea. He’d gone to Islington instead, into that terrible house with its peeling wallpaper and creaky floors. He’d let Harry sneak them past Lupin snoozing with a book in the study, and when Harry got Draco into his bedroom, he’d thrown up heavy silencing charms and had let Draco fuck him again, hard and slow, in his bed. 

“Fuck,” Draco gasps. He looks down at the mess he’s made on the sheets, webbed obscenely between his fingers, and he utters a half-arsed cleansing charm, rolling onto his back with a breathless groan.

Outside, the trees shudder with a gentle breeze, and he closes his eyes as exhaustion settles down over his body like a warm blanket.

At dawn, he heads back to the shore. 

He crouches down on the pebbles and sifts his fingers through the scorched earth, picking up a ruined brass button, inspecting it in the light of day. He flicks it back into the ground and picks up his badge instead, smearing his thumb over the raised lettering. DMLE. 

Draco hisses when the jagged end of the pin pricks his fingertip, and when he stands slowly he inspects it, pressing his thumb just underneath the soft pad of flesh until the small bead of blood there pools larger and drips down the edge of his fingernail. He tosses the badge into the water where it lands with a splash that sounds loud against the hushed morning soundtrack of waking birds and rustling branches. He sticks his finger in his mouth, tasting copper, and walks back through the forest.

On his way back to his cabin, he passes a couple of hikers heating breakfast on Muggle camping stoves outside of their own dwelling; two men, one with a salt and pepper ponytail and the other with a bandana wrapped around his sandy blond hair. They greet him with customary hei heis and sleepy, squinted smiles, the morning sun turning their aged skin golden. Draco juts his chin in a replied hello, suppressing the little well of hope in his chest that whispers, anxiously, is it you? Could it be you? Are you here?

“My friend,” salt and pepper ponytail says from his crouched position by the stove, clouded by steam from the water they’re boiling. “Have you eaten? Join us for breakfast?”

Normally, Draco—being extremely British—would say no and leave it at that, but all he has in his rucksack are a couple of cereal bars and a bag of dried fruit, for emergencies. He’d planned to head into the city to buy some supplies after a sweep of the land, but the spread the two men have laid out on their table—breads, crackers, cured meats, fruits and jams, cheese, plus the eggs they’re boiling and a pot of rich-smelling coffee—looks tempting. His stomach gives an unfortunate, irritated growl.

They introduce themselves—salt and pepper ponytail is Tor, sandy is Helge—plus their dog Pia, who Draco only notices after sitting down. They’re a couple, from Oslo, and the cabin—the hytte—has been in Tor’s family for generations. When they tell Draco that they have most of their summers to themselves—no work, no responsibilities beyond their dog—Draco wonders if it’s a lifestyle that they take for granted. He’s not sure he ever could.

After some egg, toast, and a strong cup of black coffee, Draco says his thanks and leaves the two men to their day of leisure, and he heads out through the forest directly north of the campsite. 

Very early into their partnership, Harry and Draco had learned how to find each other through the standard two-way tracker charms that they all had to master as part of their training. The spellwork, in theory, is not complicated, but each tracker is unique not only to the particular individual, but the partnership as a whole. Like a Vow, they build it together, and they bond it together, and no two-way Auror tracker charm is the same. 

Which means that partners should be able to find each other when they’re lost, or when their partner is in danger. In theory.

And it’s not like Draco hasn’t tried it yet. He’s tried it. Countless times. At the Ministry, in his home, in Devon, in Wiltshire, in Scotland, in and around the spots in London that Harry knows, including that hellhole of a Black house. But to no avail.

There are three possible outcomes as to why a two-way tracker won’t work. The first, and most critical, is that one of the partners is dead.

Draco knows that Harry is not dead.

The second is that the partners are too far apart. Like a Muggle telephone signal, the magic relies on a good connection to function correctly. Finding someone on the other side of the world is near impossible. Especially if that person doesn’t want to be found.

And therein lies the third possibility. That Harry has, purposefully, severed it.

Draco crouches down under a low-hanging branch as he comes closer to another crest of water that cuts into the land. The fjord is narrow and long, and the mountains on the other side of the water are dotted with small clumps of houses and rich, waterfront neighbourhoods. He’s getting closer to the city, and he touches his wand, holstered to his side beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Harry’s shirt.

When Lupin had been sleeping—and the man could, really, sleep like the dead—Draco had slipped out of his room and padded down the narrow hallway until he made it into Harry’s bedroom. 

Draco hadn’t been sure why he’d been expecting to see it more empty than it was, but looking at it made it seem like Harry had left that morning instead of almost a full year ago. It made it seem like Harry could slip in right behind him, sleepy-headed and soft-smiled, a hand passing over the small of Draco’s back, a whispered kiss against Draco’s throat and the murmur of, come back to bed. 

Towards the end, things had been like that. 

There had been a mug on the bedside table. A book, butterflied open, beside it. A pair of Harry’s ratty Muggle trainers haphazardly kicked across the rug. The last drawer in Harry’s chest had been open, t-shirts and jeans spilling out of it onto the floor.

Naked, his skin still stinging with Lupin’s kisses and infuriatingly affectionate touches, Draco had crouched down to pick through Harry’s discarded clothing, doing shameful things like bringing them to his face and smelling them deeply, his heart clenching, the faintest scent of Harry still lingering: cedar and warm air after a heavy summer rain. 

He found a rucksack in the big walnut wardrobe and, after changing into a pair of Harry’s jeans that he had to charm a few inches longer, a t-shirt that fit snugly across his shoulders and a flannel that did the same, he stuffed the bag full of more of Harry’s things and padded downstairs to collect his discarded uniform where it was scattered across the floorboards. 

Then, he left.

Draco brings his sleeve to his face and sniffs at it. Harry’s scent is gone completely, and when Draco touches his wand again and mutters the tracking charm that his tongue is really very tired of, now, nothing happens.

It’s a bit of a longshot, Draco knows, to expect Harry to stay in the first place he might have landed in.

But it’s so beautiful here. It’s all towering mountains and smoke-over-water. Wooden homes and boats and long stretches of cold beaches and acres and acres of wide open spaces, perfect for flight.

It’s so Harry.

Draco heads away from the shore and cuts through the Muggle neighbourhoods until he finds the small Wizarding village just south of Stavanger, where he stares at every face he passes, where he looks for glamour tricks and finds none, where he looks for him, over and over, and comes up short.

He Owls Lupin from what can only be described as a tiny hut that serves as a Post Office that, for some bizarre reason, also sells little sentient models of trolls and three-headed goats beside its standard display of parchment, string, disposable quills, and owl feed.

He keeps his note short and to the point—

Lupin,

Sorry that I left before you woke. A few things occurred to me, and I realised I had to leave in rather a hurry.

If anyone from the force comes looking for me, you can tell them that I don’t want their badge.

I’m going to find him.

D.M.

A screeching owl comes swooping over Draco’s head less than thirty minutes later, after he’s left the hut with fresh parchment, quills, and feed, and he’s halfway along the quiet, suburban trail to the city when it stops him with Lupin’s returning message.

Draco,

Where are you? Not you too

Be careful.

Remus.

He crumples up the note and stuffs it into his pocket.

[what-if-nct]

Okay so the question is who in NCT is going to be the best with period care?? and why?

Also who wont be cos we need to know.

Okay, I love this and kinda need it cause she's on her way in a matter of days.

The best

Taeyong would buy you the exact period product you asked for, plus more than you even need, he'd buy candy, a heating pad, ice cream and a little stuffed animal. He'd be so attentive when you're curled on the bed in pain and he just wants to make sure you're as comfortable as possible.

Doyoung and Kun Will already know exactly what brand, size, absorbency you need without you even asking, they'd keep a stash of all of your favorite things for you by the side of your bed. They'd know random tricks to help with cramps and even how to deal with heavy bleeding and they'd have a new towel on your side of the bed every night. They might know more about your period than you do.

Jaemin, actually a lot like Taeyong but oh he'd dote on you and baby you like normal but even more so while you're on your period. Under the sink he'll have every period product you could possibly need, he'd even lay the heating pad on your stomach for you while you lay in his lap. He'll make sure you're drinking lots of water and eating enough. and he'll make you warm tea every night

Renjun Similar to Doyoung and Kun but more laid back about it. You don't even need to tell him what you need he already bought everything a week before because he remembered your schedule, he'd keep Midol, aspirin, heating pads for you and everyday he comes home he has you're favorite treat and drink. And occasionally will ask if you're okay or if you need anything.

Not extraordinary but normal.

Johnny, Taeil, Ten, Yuta, Xiaojun, Haechan, Jeno, Like they'll get you exactly what you ask for, get you little treats and rub your back and cuddle you when you need it but it's pretty much normal.

At least they have the spirit.

Chenle, he would buy you like ten different period products, tampons, pads, pantyliners, even a diva cup and a box of icy hot patches. he just got everything. Also got a pregnancy test for some reason, it was in the same aisle he's trying.

Winwin, Honestly so confused about what to exactly buy you. He just keeps it safe and buys giant overnight pads even if you asked for tampons. He read the toxic shock warning on the back of the box and got scared.

Jungwoo, Honestly kind of useless and confused no idea what's going on. Buys everything he sees plus every single snack he knows you like. Accidently buys at least two pregnancy tests and an ovulation test. He doesn't know what to do. But he's trying his best.

The worst.

Jaehyun, 100% the type to ask "What pussy size are you?" and he brings you incontinence briefs. and is confused why you're upset and says 'Don't they do the same thing'

Mark, Honestly he forgot what you even asked for and was too afraid to ask for help so he picked up one small pack of pantyliners.

Yangyang, Also will ask "what pussy size are you' but doesn't even buy the pads because self checkout wasn't open and he was too scared to go to a cashier and has to be dragged back in the store by Kun and Ten. when he says "what will they think?' and Ten will say 'That you have a girlfriend dumbass' only reason he buys the right thing is because of Kun.

Hendery, He'll forget the moment he walks into the store, buys things no one even needs, then stops off to get a smoothie. But when he remembers he gets the first thing he sees and throws it at you when he gets home and asks if you want some of his smoothie.

Jisung, He was just hovering in the aisle looking around him. He remembered what type of period product you needed but didn't remember anything else. He's apprehensive because he doesn't want anyone to think he's a weirdo or pervert. He's just so nervous and he leaves the aisle without anything and asks Jaemin to buy it for you but Jisung bought you a candy bar and drink he just didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea.

[crystalrequiem]

FFXIVWrite 2022 - Prompt 3 - Temper

This is written about my eventual jaded Studium dropout Viera Elysium Hawthorne, who at this point in his life had a different name. Please excuse my attempt at trying to adapt what lore we have about Viera to the Skatay. Headcannons ahead. ___________________________________________ What bellows fire forges people with such jagged edges? The smith ought to be canned.

Elysium has a different name in this memory. It doesn’t fit. Never could have. It sits sharp and heavy in his ears and on his shoulders every time he hears it called. An abandoned shell he was never meant to grow into. And yet.

It might be nice to hear someone cry out for him now. 

Searing heat. The push and pull of aether that sends his stomach roiling. White light divides the air with a booming blast and all he can do is crouch behind his chosen boulder and pray. Opposite his curled back, blocked only by the thin veneer of rock, feline eyes and snarling teeth await his next mistake.  

The young veena tries to make himself smaller, curling into a tighter ball as the mountain coeurl roars. Its whip-like tentacles flicker through the air in mirror to its angered tail, a towering master of the mountain—all muscle, thick fur, and teeth. Certainly more than a match for an apprentice viera on one of his first unassisted hunts. 

Damnit, damnit, damnit! Snowmelt starts to seep into the spaces between oiled furs, terrible cold against his skin. He knows he wouldn’t be able to stay here, even without the giant cat attempting to rain the mountain down on his head. He has to get away. If he stays it will kill him. It will pad around this rock and tear him to shreds. The lance in his hand might give him reach, but with those whiskers the coeurl far outpaces him, and anyway, all it needs to do is overwhelm his weak constitution for aether with a few too many of those blasts. 

He curses himself for ending up in this position at all, and his supposed teacher for sending him on this stupid test, but the curses are useless. He wandered here haplessly on his own two feet, forgetting the signs of a cat’s hunting grounds. Now he has to think of a way to wander back out. (He used to think teachers were supposed to keep an eye on their students. Why isn’t anyone coming to help him now? Surely he’s gone beyond the parameters of the test…? Even if he’s failed, he’d rather fail than die.)

No more time for thinking. The coeurl leaps without warning and rounds his cover, a whipcord whisker lashing at his curled limbs. If it touches him, paralysis will set in just before it tears out his throat. The veena throws himself sideways and ignores the immediate protests of his muscles from hip to shoulder. Snow sprays beneath him and the cold hits him deep as it sinks into the fabric of his tunic. Solid rock meets his back, a sizeable drop down into the pine forests on his left. He could wait it out from the treetops there if he could just… get away. 

The diamond dust clears and the predator forms out of the mist before him, bent low and ready to leap. He turns his spear in his gloved hand, heart in his throat and knows he’s out of time. None of the gods he prayed to want to answer. Or maybe they answered the coeurl instead. 

Trigger unseen, the cat lunges forward, and the veena sees his only chance. He throws himself to the open air and drops. 

He can barely comprehend what happens next. Above, he hears the echoed thud of the coeurl’s body against stone, but the sensation of freefall distracts him too much to allow him any satisfaction. He can scarcely hear over the blood pounding in his ears. Air rushes past, slow at first, then faster as his body gains speed. He only gets one chance at this–Elysium holds his shoulders tense and jabs the side of the mountain with the lance at an angle. If he can just catch a fissure. If he can just–

The lance blade scrabbles over rough rock and ice, blade quickly blunting. He doesn’t have the arm strength to keep it angled below himself—it yanks upward,dings off a poorly angled ledge and sends him flying away and into the treetops. The fear of death barely has time to dawn on him before he’s crashing shoulder first into a fir trunk. Pain flashes bright and hot enough through his mind to blind him. Branches bruise him as his body falls–until his mindless grip on the spear haft finally saves him. The spear lodges in the gap between branches, leaving him dangling the final 40 feet before the ground, body screaming with the abuse. 

Well. He got away from the coeurl. For now. 

He laughs but the sound has no joy. It echoes bitter in the quiet. Somewhere below him, a stag bolts. Maybe the same one he’d chased right up into the coeurl’s territory. He hopes it finds the damn cat too. His overtired-arms shake, sweat sliding down his brow. Every inch of him feels bruised and the way the world shifts suggests he might be aether drunk. Or maybe concussed. He has to… he has to keep moving. Has to pull himself up onto the lance—shimmy into the branches. The ground won’t remain safe. The coeurl could track him here. If he can just ignore the protests of his body long enough to pull, he can wait for help.

Centimeter by painful centimeter he forces overtired muscles to function. He hoists his chin above the bar, slings one arm over, then the other. The lance wobbles ominously in its temporary stand, but he can’t afford to worry over it. Finally his whole center of mass is on the narrow beam, legs straddling the pole–and he starts shimmying to the other side. Shaking, he makes the final move from beam to branch. And—

And…?

He loses track. He blinks and suddenly the angle of the light is far steeper than he remembers. The lance lingers, somehow kept in place despite the cold wind that must be slowly killing him. He doesn’t feel the cold when it blows hardest… he knows that for a bad sign. Bark is rough against his face, some kind of sap sticks to the furs that keep his ears from freezing when he dares to push away. 

How long has he sat here, slowly freezing to death, alone in the trees? If the Coeurl ever followed it must be long gone by now. Did his teacher come to find him? Is he even looking? 

He winds down to a final realization—one he should have faced all along. No one will save him. Not gods, not people. Certainly not the damn cat. He is going to die here clinging to a tree unless he starts moving. Might still die even then. 

Every motion is a chore and his limbs are too stiff when he tries to ease his death grip on the fir tree. A part of him, and not a small one, wonders whether he shouldn’t just lay down and stop. He does consider it. But there is something stronger than belief or community or trust broken roaring in his veins now—the fuel of spite. 

Any person in his situation might be expected to die. Like a young hunter is expected to pass his first test. Like a young veena is expected to want to leave with his mentor. Like he’s expected to live for the mountain and through it—like he’s supposed to see some sort of oneness with the mountain cats and the cold snow. Well screw all of them then. 

Anger and vindication power his climb down from the treetops—a heady combination. He lets it take him over. Down the climb begins, barely a slip between the high branches and the ground, but he doesn’t stop to celebrate. Out he walks, ignoring his useless trail of past footprints and focusing hard on the shadows and light and the mountaintop in his peripheral. He knows the way when he stops to think. He only has to walk it. 

Each step gets heavier and heavier, but if he grits his teeth and thinks of depriving the wildlife here of their meal he gets his energy back. He even manages a clumsy jog in the final stretch back to their camp, even if he passes out into the waiting arms of his brother afterward.  And when he wakes, he finally has the words for what crawls like bile in his stomach, souring the day to day. He looks into Freyr’s worried face across a banked fire in their temporary shelter and no longer shrinks away from the sacrilege.  “I want to leave.”

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 499, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death

WORDS: 1109

I fell asleep easy and hard that night, waking when I had to use the toilet at around two in the morning. I found the kids conked out on thin mattress pads on the floor, the little space heating emitting a soft ray of warmth into the already heated hospital room. Isabelle was curled into a fetal position, her textured hair in a simple braid as she snored softly. Elizabeth and Elle and Katie and Jing were both flanking either sides of the giant bed on the floor, both girls and their lookalike dollies providing the family with a much safety feeling. Little girl and Baby Tommy were both sprawled out under a green knitted blankie, both babies breathing easy as they dreamed sweet baby dreams.

When I came back into the room, I found that Peter had gotten up out of my uncomfortable hospital issued bed as was gazing out from the window.

“Hey there sweetheart,” he greeted me in a gentle rumble. “Looks like the road will be cleaned up in a few hours. Do you want me to pester the nurse staff today and see about getting you discharged?”

“Yes please,” I groaned, joining him by the window, wrapping my arms around him and resting the side of my face into the back of Baby Violet Marie’s legs. “My love, I feel depressed for whatever reason.”

“Do you think that it could be PPD?” she asked me, clearly trying to understand where my sad was coming from.

“I don’t think so, I’ve had this awful feeling that something bad is going to happen soon enough,” I confessed, suddenly feeling silly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked me, turning to face me. I saw that once more, Baby Violet Marie had entangled her fingers into his hair, making a small smile creep up onto my face. It seemed to me that all babies enjoyed the soft texture of our hair under their itty bitty fingers.

“What is there to talk about?” I asked, closing my eyes and smiling as our daughter’s foot continued twitching every so often. “It’s probably just my anxiety acting up again.”

“Sweetheart.”

I knew that tone of voice- he was using his let me care for my woman as how I see fit voice.

“I look at Baby Violet Marie and I can’t help but love her,” I confessed, watching as her little foot stopped twitching. “I see her future and it’s so beautiful, but I can’t help myself but think- what if she gets into a car accident? What if she gets food poisoning? What if she is mowed over by an angry cow? What if she gets kidnapped by a Mexican drug lord? What if, what if, what if…”

“Can you look at me, please sweetheart?” I met his eyes and smiled at how close we both were to one another. “If Baby Violet Marie ever gets into a car accident, our medical insurance will cover her expenses. If she gets mowed over by an angry cow, then I will chase the cow away while you check up on her. If she gets kidnapped by a Mexican drug lord, the law will bring her back home again and arrest the dumb fuck who took our daughter.”

I hummed anxiously as my protective husband reassured me, feeling better as he took to a knee, tugging me to perch on his leg.

“I love you, Peter Thomas Ratajczyk,” I whispered, turning to look out the window at the lazily falling snowflakes. “You are a sweet, kind, loving, compassionate man, and I am blessed to call you my husband.”

“I love you, Mary Claire Ratajczyk,” he murmured softly before pressing a whiskery kiss to my temple. “You are talented actress and singer, and an amazing mother to my kids, and a superb cook in the kitchen, and you keep the house in neat order. I am truly blessed to call you my wife.”

I smiled, tucking myself in deeper to his bare chest, already beginning to be lulled off to sleep by his radiating manly warmth and familiar musky scents of pine trees, campfire smoke and something that screamed PETER THOMAS RATAJCZYK IS A FUCKING MANLY MAN.

“Peter, do you think that we can go home later today?” I asked with a lazy smile on my face. “I really want to snuggle with Mittens and Primrose right now.”

“I don’t see why not,” he answered me in an amused tone. “I know you hate the food here.”

“Hospital food,” I bemoaned dramatically. “Ick. Thank god Evans and Jackie have been coming in with their home cooking to take the place of this joint’s disgusting slop. Speaking of which, how would you feel about me making my infamous KFC knockoff chicken and seasoned fries for dinner tonight?”

“Yummy,” he moaned, peppering my mouth with quick, rapid fire sweet kisses. “Your mommy knows how to make some delicious magic in the kitchen, Baby Violet Marie. Do you think you’ll take more after your mommy, with her witchy ways in the kitchen and sweet siren’s song or will you take more after your butt ugly father, with his massive height and terrifying fangs?”

“My love, your fangs are cosmetic and not genetic!” I reminded him with a scowl, getting a chortle out from him in response.

We both looked down at our daughter with smiles on out faces that morphed into horror at Baby Violet Marie’s empty and unblinking blue eyes.

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

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PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a