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barcaatthemoon · 6 months

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first || barcelona x teen!reader ||

you score your first club goal.

months of hard work had finally seemed to pay off. you were grateful for the opportunity to just wear the barcelona colors officially, but it was nice to not just come to practice. it was a huge deal for you to finally be on the sub list. you had been waiting all season for this moment, and while it wasn't a start, it was definitely a big step for you.

"are you cold?" alexia asked as she placed a hand on your knee. you had been bouncing your knee from the moment that you sat down on the bench. nearly 60 minutes into the game, and it hadn't stopped. a few of the other girls thought it was sort of funny, especially since you had been a bundle of nerves on the bus.

"no, just restless. do you think that jona will really sub me in?" you asked hopefully. alexia nodded, knowing that they'd need you soon. there wasn't a lot of time left in the game, but quite a few of the girls were looking a little sluggish. there had been quite a few games in fairly rapid succession to each other.

"here, why don't you warm up a bit, okay?" alexia suggested. you got up from your seat immediately. alexia watched as you stretched and moved around to get the blood flowing throughout your body. jona pulled both you and alexia off of the bench to replace lucy and keira.

playing in the backline was still very new for you. whenever you had been signed, the team put you in the midfield. it was where you had always been, but over the course of the season, you had proven your defensive prowess.

in all honesty, you were sure that they deemed you too clumsy to be an attacking player. your size made you formidible, and if they could keep your movement limited, nobody would know how easy it was to get you to trip over your own two feet. that was the game plan, and you could only hope that by the time that the next season rolled around, you moved a bit more fluidly with your extra lank.

"ready for your first corner?" ona asked as she put her hand on your back. you smiled down at the older player and nodded. corners were always your favorite part of practice. it was one of the rare times that they let you play things forward.

"watch out, it's going straight for you," alexia warned you. she disguised it as a quick hug, something that nobody thought anything of. everybody had seen her being affectionate with you on social media, often treating you as if you were her baby sister. in a lot of ways, you felt like the team's baby sister, each one of those girls protecting you like you were one of their own.

the ball was crossed over beautifully directly towards you. jumping up, you were able to get a head on it well before anybody else. you couldn't see it going into the net since you had closed your eyes when you came up, but you could hear the crowd going absolutely wild. you just barely managed to land steadily on your feet, only to be knocked over by your teammates seconds later.

barcelona was up, over two goals ahead of your opponents when your header made it three. still, this was your very first goal in your very first game. to score on your debut was a dream come true, one that you thought wouldn't happen when jona told you where you'd be playing for the season. however, as you felt several bodies crash excitedly into yours, you realized exactly what happened.

there wasn't enough time for the other team to score, much less even things out. the final whistle blew, and you found yourself gravitating over towards the bench. all of the adrenaline was catching up to you, and a part of you felt tired. you had barely played at all, but the excitement from your goal mixed with your anxiety to threaten to knock you on your ass for the day.

"hey, don't fall asleep on me superstar. we're having a whole party in your honor for that one," patri said. she grabbed onto your chin and peppered your cheek in kisses. jana mirrored her, both women laughing as you tried to shove them away. it seemed like everybody took after the two of them and crowded around you.

"nice header baby bird," pina complimented you. you shook your head at the nickname. you didn't know what to do with all the attention as it started to get a bit overwhelming.

"walk with me," frido said as she reached her hand towards you. a couple of the girls tried to follow, but they shrunk back at the glare they got from the older player. "that was a good goal you had out there, and i saw that tackle. you're playing a lot better than you were at first."

"thank you, the extra practice has been paying off," you told her. frido was glad to hear it. she knew how hard it was for you to be so far away from home while playing in spain. spain was a lot different from norway, but you had ingrid to look out for you. and if ingrid was indisposed for any reason, frido was there by your side.

today, ingrid was with mapi for an appointment. it was supposed to be mapi's last one before she could test for her clearance. you had wanted to go with them, but it was because of ingrid's absence that jona had called you in as a sub in the first place. they had promised to call you after the game, but you weren't sure how long after it would be. mapi wasn't sure how long her appointment would take, and ingrid had planned on taking mapi out on a date after.

"i know that you wanted them here," frido said. you shrugged it off, knowing that sometimes it was better to be mature about not getting what you wanted. you were more than a little hurt that both mapi and ingrid, who had become like your mothers, were missing this game, but you understood. they couldn't be there for everything, and one day, you knew that they wouldn't be there at all for you.

"it would have been nice for them to see me score that goal, but i have all of you here too. you're just as much my family, and part of my journey as they are." you felt frido pull you into a hug, holding you tightly in her arms. she led you to the locker room, allowing for you to get your shower in before everybody else came in. it was nice to get hot water for once, the other players claiming seniority whenever it came to showering most of the time.

their celebrations for you continued onto the bus, even as you sat with alexia, who was taking you in for the night. she let you fall asleep on her shoulder, shushing your teammates whenever they'd get too rowdy. sandra carried you off of the bus and to alexia's car when you got back to barcelona, allowing for you to sleep all the way to alexia's house. you were groggy as you followed her inside, but quickly woke right back up at the sight of alexia's sister sitting on the couch with olga, the two of them quick to congratulate you.

"i am going to go get us a snack. mapi wanted me to let you know that she saw your tackle earlier, and she was very impressed," alexia said. she pressed a kiss to your forehead as she passed where you settled back on her couch.

"i am sure that she is. mapi taught me how to do that after all," you laughed. alexia rolled her eyes, having had to read through several texts of mapi being insufferable about having "taught you the most important skills" since you had joined the team. alexia thought that it was bullshit, that you had learned much more than just what mapi had taught you, but she kept quiet and allowed for her friend to have her moment.

#teen reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni imagine #barcelona x reader #barcelona imagine #platonic fic

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thisapplepielife · 3 months

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Written for a @astrangersummer.

Save it For a Rainy Day

Week #9 Prompt: Where It All Started | Word Count: 1950 | Rating: T | POV: Wayne | Characters: Wayne, Eddie, Steve | Pairings: Wayne & Eddie, Steddie | CW: Eddie's Rough Start in Life, Parental Neglect, Language, S4 Canon | Tags: Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Taking in Eddie, Eddie and Steve Meet as Kids, Haircuts and Swimming Playdates, Fix-It, Happy Ending

He's so little.

That's the only thought Wayne has, over and over again. He's so goddamn little. With lank, limp hair, all snarled and knotted, matted. Unkempt. Dirty. Dark circles under his sullen eyes. He's small, but at the same time he looks every bit of a hardened fifty-five, at all of seven-years-old.

He didn't look like that the last time Wayne had seen him.

And Wayne is sick that he's deteriorated to this point, in just two years time. At five, he had been a happy, wild boy. All snips, snails and puppy dog tails.

With a loud mouth and big, round cheeks.

Al swore he was fine, that they both were, on the rare occasions when he'd call after losing Betts and Wayne had believed him. Until the social worker was on his front steps, Eddie standing there, head bowed, so utterly serious.

"Do you want me to find someone to try and comb it out, or would you like to shave it and start over?" Wayne asks, and Eddie just shrugs. Still not talking, still buried deep within his shell.

Wayne's not going to decide for him. Thinks it should be his decision, but knows it can't stay like this either, even if he doesn't have it in him to start dragging a comb through it. He knows that'll hurt, and he can't do it to Eddie. Won't.

"When you decide, you let me know," Wayne says, hoping he'll decide sooner rather than later.

It takes three days, but Eddie finally comes up behind Wayne on the couch, and taps him on the shoulder, and makes the motion for shaving his head.

"Okay, I'll get you an appointment," Wayne tells him, because he wants to do this right, and not leave Eddie with the memory of Wayne shaving his head in the kitchen of the trailer. Maybe that's cowardly, but he'd rather push that off on a professional.

Eddie is sitting on the little wooden board the hairdresser placed over the arms of her chair to make him taller, the hydraulic lift hadn't even been enough to get him where she needed him, and he somehow still looks little.

She gently, oh so gently, takes the clippers to Eddie's hair, shaving off strips, as she talks him through each pass. Eddie seems fine with it, there are no tears, but no smiles either.

This was the right call. A beauty shop, not a barber. Wayne's own barber does just fine on his own hair, but wouldn't have been so delicate with Eddie, and right now, Wayne's pretty sure his boy needs a soft touch.

There's another boy in the chair next to Eddie, probably the same age, but he's so much larger, and more animated. Studying every move of her hand as she barely trims anything off his thick head of hair. He doesn't need the booster board, even if Wayne suspects he's younger than Eddie.

"Nanny Louisa, can I get my haircut like that?"

She laughs, "Steve. Your mother would have both of our hides. We all have very strict orders for your haircut and you know it."

"Aw, man, it looks so cool," Steve whines, and if Wayne isn't mistaken, that's Richard Harrington's boy. And if that's true, there's no way he's leaving here with his head shaved, that's for damn sure.

And then, as if it were a miracle, Eddie smiles. It's small, faint, barely there. But it's a goddamn smile, aimed at the other little boy that is watching as Eddie's hair falls down all around his chair and onto the floor.

The Harrington boy doesn't win, and only gets a trim, but Eddie has straightened up on the board. Not nearly as withdrawn as he was when they entered the shop.

Maybe shedding all that damaged hair feels like a new start. Wayne sure hopes so, because they're gonna need all the help they can get.

When he's all brushed off, and the plastic cape removed, the hairdressers each hand Eddie and the Harrington boy a coupon for a free ice cream cone at the shop down on the corner. It's a perk for being good in the chair, and they both earned it today.

Eddie clutches his coupon in his little hands.

"Do you want to save that, or get it now?" Wayne asks, and Eddie looks torn. That isn't the look Wayne wants on his face, so he quickly amends his question, "Or both? You can save your coupon for a rainy day, and we can still get ice cream now," Wayne offers.

"Really?" Eddie says, looking so hopeful, and it's the most beautiful word Wayne's ever heard in his whole life.

"Really," he reassures, "you save it until you want to use it. And I'll buy, today."

"Can we go get ice cream, too, Nanny Louisa?" the Harrington boy asks, and she looks reluctant, but finally nods. She couldn't let him get his head shaved, but ice cream, that's probably a much more doable request.

Wayne sits at the table with Louisa and makes the world's most uncomfortable small talk, as the boys sit at another table together, and jabber back and forth. Well, Steve is doing most of the talking, but Eddie, his sweet Eddie, has said more in the past thirty minutes than he has in the past week, and Wayne doesn't care who has gotten those words out of him, he'll be grateful.

When the cones are gone, both boys appear at the side of the table, "Eddie's coming over tomorrow to swim," Steve announces.

"Oh, is he?" his nanny asks, teasing Steve, and Wayne smiles.

"He is. His uncle will bring him," Steve says with a confidence that things will always go his way in life, and Wayne hopes that rubs off on Eddie, just a little bit.

"I will?" Wayne teases, and Eddie meets his eyes, and Wayne nods. "If it's okay with Miss Louisa, I think that could be arranged."

"I don't know how to swim," Eddie admits on the way home, and Wayne laughs.

"Maybe you shouldn't have made a swimming playdate then, kid," Wayne teases, and Eddie laughs, a small quiet laugh. But it was a laugh. Wayne heard it.

"Yeah," Eddie says, and then he's quiet for a stretch, "could you teach me?"

Wayne isn't so sure that's his area of expertise, but he supposes he could try, "Yeah, I can try."

Knowing Eddie would be far too embarrassed to go to the public pool, Wayne takes Eddie out to the swimming side of Lover's Lake.

Wayne, not sure the last time he's even been in shorts, wades out in the water in his cut-off jeans, surely blinding the boaters a mile out with his white legs, as Eddie walks in beside him.

And Wayne teaches him, always staying within an arm's reach. And Eddie swims. It might not be the fancy strokes that the Harrington boy can surely swim, in his private pool with his private swimming lessons.

But Eddie's doing it, and Wayne feels like maybe, just maybe, he's finally done something right for the kid today.

Eddie's laughing, and splashing, a quick study, and Wayne lets him paddle around for as long as he wants, until the sun threatens to sink beyond the horizon.

Once back on shore, Wayne wraps him up in a towel, just one from the house, and gets him back into the truck.

"I'm starving," Eddie says.

"The downside to going swimming, I'm afraid," Wayne answers, but swings by Benny's Burgers on the way home, getting them both a burger, fries and a milkshake. Ice cream twice in one day is fine, Wayne's pretty sure, since Wayne's celebrating the first good day they've had since Eddie got here.

Anything the kid wants, forever, Wayne will do his best to make happen.

In the morning, Wayne brings Eddie by Melvald's General Store, to let Eddie pick out a beach towel from the rack. Eddie combs through them, so serious as he checks out the options: Star Wars and Barbie and Huckleberry Hound.

"Garfield!" Eddie finally declares, and Wayne supposes that's the one.

"Garfield, great choice," Wayne says, taking the towel to the counter so they can pay for it. So Eddie won't be embarrassed bringing a fraying old towel from home. So he'll have something new, and fun, that he picked out all for himself.

Wayne probably should have washed it first, but he's not that organized, and Eddie'll live. Wayne pulls off the tag and hands it over, and Eddie hugs it to his chest.

Pulling into the circle drive at the Harrington's is weird, to say the least. He's never set foot on the property, and never imagined he ever would. But, Eddie's brought a lot of changes, and if Eddie likes this other little boy, and he's kind, Wayne will be polite and make his boy happy in any way he knows how.

That evening, when he picks Eddie up, he's tired, and a little sunburnt, but rattling off information about his new friend and all their grand plans for the summer vacation.

And as time always goes, that summer flew by too fast, and before Wayne knew it, years had passed. The boys drifted apart as fast as they became friends. As kids do. By high school, Wayne hasn't heard the name Steve Harrington from Eddie's mouth in years.

But that summer, that first summer, Wayne will forever be grateful for him. For Steve Harrington, Garfield beach towels, and more ice cream cones than he could ever begin to count. To swimming, and fishing, and playing in the backyard.

To the little kid that made his boy smile again.

And when Steve Harrington, now grown into a man, shows up on Wayne's doorstep, Eddie's denim vest clutched in his hands, filthy and blood-stained, Wayne lets him inside without a word.

Wayne takes one look at him, and tells him to wait there.

He has to dig, but he finally finds Eddie's piggy bank in a cardboard box that he'd packed from the remnants of the trailer, and pulls out the bottom plug. Change falls out, clattering onto the desk.

But inside, there's a slip of paper. Folded to fit, and dirty from spending so much time hanging out amongst the coins.

Wayne clutches it in his hand, and when he presses it into Steve's palm, trading him for the vest, Steve looks down at it, his eyes wet and red-rimmed.

Wayne starts, "I don't know if you remember-"

"Of course I remember," Steve cuts him off.

"Well, I thought today might be that rainy day."

Steve laughs, and sniffles a little, both at the same time.

"This ice cream shop has been closed for years," Steve says, but he's finally smiling, just a little.

Eddie's not here to do it himself, not here to coax out that smile, so Wayne's repaid the debt for Eddie himself.

"Yeah, well…" Wayne trails off.

"But it is, you know," Steve says, "that rainy day. So, thank you."

And months later, Eddie shows up on Wayne's doorstep again. Dirty, his hair matted, and eyes downcast. Thin, worn to the bone, and as silent and stoic as he had been at seven. Wayne asks no questions. The answers don't matter right now. Instead, he pulls on him, hugging him tight, welcoming him home.

They've done this before, and they can do it again. And Wayne's grateful to have the opportunity. He was so sure he'd never see him again.

Then, after Wayne's gotten Eddie settled, and Eddie is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing out his own hair, Wayne excuses himself, heading for the kitchen to call Steve Harrington.

Wayne tells him to bring ice cream.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

#a stranger summer #week nine #prompt: where it all started #stranger things #wayne munson #wayne munson fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #thisapplepielife: a stranger summer #thisapplepielife: short fic

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bodhrancomedy · 2 months

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The Bard Who Returned to Fairyland in Search of a Name by Bodhrán M.

It was the ferryman who met the bard first, a beardless lad in a ragged cloak, broadbrimmed hat, and carrying nothing save an iron knife and one small pack across his shoulders. He watched with mild interest as the bard picked his way down the grassy knoll and onto the black-wood of the small dock, coming to a halt directly before the little boat.

Neither of them moved for a long while. Somewhere in the distance, an eagle screamed.

Finally, the bard spoke.

“I wish to cross the river,” he said.

The ferryman leant on his oar and regarded him with rheumy eyes, pushing a lank hunk of wire-grey hair from his face. “Is that so?” he replied. “Do you have payment, my boy?”

“Yes, I do.” The bard withdrew a coin purse from beneath the green cloak.

“Coin won’t do, boy. Not what I dabble in.”

“I know,” the bard said quietly. He had an odd voice, the ferryman noted, with no hint of fear or trepidation or awe. “I bring seashells from the coasts of Ireland,” he continued, “filled with the songs of the selkies. I bring spices from the borders of India and China with many healing powers beyond that which we can understand, and a trollish crystal gifted by the giantess-queen of Iceland. I deal as little in money as you do.”

The ferryman was impressed, even if he didn’t show it. He dug a filthy black pipe from a salt-encrusted pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He waited, but the bard made no move to light it for him. Finally, he took a tinderbox from another pouch (this one being an oilskin gifted many years ago by a Swedish princess) and struck a spark.

“So,” the ferryman said, his words curled about the billowing black smoke, “you know what is across this river?”

“I know.”

“And yet you wish to cross it.”

The bard shrugged, almost as if to say that the statement was obvious enough that it did not need to be said. “Have I brought enough to pay for passage?” he asked.

“Of course,” the ferryman said as he stepped aside to allow the man to board.

But the bard did not. Instead, he gripped the brim of his hat and pulled it further down over his eyes. His voice was as steady as before, but lower and intertwined with steel. “Both ways?”

The ferryman’s eyes narrowed.

The bard stood there, waiting for an answer, one small hand on his knife.

Hemming and hawing, the ferryman felt a sting of disappointment and suspicion in his gut. He had ferried more hopefuls across this river than he had ferried back and there was almost nothing which he liked more than the faces of those who had returned to his boat having not taken the first precaution. They had thought ahead enough – many of these wanderers and seekers of mysteries and gold – to have gotten his word not to throw them into the cold water or have their treasures taken before they reached human land again, but they had not thought about payment for the return journey.

But seashells and spices were twice the payment for a crossing – and he had never owned a troll-crystal before. He’d heard that they could outshine the sunrises even in the frozen northern plains, that they were rainbow stars from deep within the ground. It would be something to treasure in the dark.

It was through gritted teeth, therefore, which he gave his answer. “Yes,” the ferryman said.

The hat bobbed as the bard nodded. “And I will reach each shore in the same condition as I board your boat, sir? Each way.”

“Yes,” the ferryman agreed sullenly. Then he thought and tried to not brighten in anticipation.

The bard either did not notice or did not care, but he stepped aboard with the ease of one used to the pitch and swell of river boats. He sat in the prow, half-turned so he could look across the water and still see the ferryman.

Clever, that.

Carefully, the ferryman untied the mooring rope and then pushed off the knoll with his oar. He began to pull through the water with broad, powerful strokes and so it was a matter of minutes before they reached halfway.

It was then that the ferryman felt safe in speaking again. Too soon and sometimes the young fools would see the error of their ways and pitch themselves into the water. Once you reached halfway, you were falling into enchantments rather simple cold. It did make him laugh, sometimes, to see them flail and splash their way back to safety. He liked to wave at the ones who lived, standing sopping wet and humiliated on the dock, and sing mocking laments at those who did not.

But he did not think that this young man would do so. Still, he waited.

“You off to fairyland, boy?” he asked cheerfully, “Here to see for yourselves the wonders your bardic forefathers taught you? To see if they’re as real as they say?”

The bard tilted his head and the ferryman saw a flash of white teeth from beneath the hat brim, bared in a savage grin.

“No, sir,” the bard said, “I am not merely going to fairyland, sir ferryman. I am going back.”

“Well, that’s a thing!” the ferryman exclaimed. He rubbed his chin with his free hand and added, “Not many people wish to test their luck twice.”

The bard shrugged again.

“And why have you returned?”

The hat tilted back and suddenly the ferryman saw the bard’s face clearly for the first time. It was even younger-looking than he’d expected, suntanned and heavily freckled, but harsh and set in furious determination. “That is my business and my business alone, sir ferryman,” the bard replied in cold tones. “For I know what you are as we have met before, and you told me in the mistaken belief that we would never cross paths again. And I know that changelings would do what they can to gain favour in the eyes of fairyland’s mistress. I would not give up my slightest advantage to satisfy your curiosity.”

Knocked back a little by the intensity of this speech and suddenly slightly afraid of why he would not remember this young man, the ferryman opened and shut his mouth a few times and said nothing in reply. He rowed on in silence, feeling sweat prickling on his brow. Either this passenger was a grand sorcerer of some great power, or he was an overconfident boy with a head full of stories. But he could not place a finger on either option without some unease. Neither felt right.

“It was curiosity, nothing more,” the ferryman mumbled. “I meant no harm in asking.”

“But you did mean harm in knowing,” the bard replied lightly. “And you could make harm in telling. I am no child, sir ferryman, and I understand how this all works.”

#the bard who returned to fairyland in search of a name #writing #writeblr #long post #fairytales #fairy tale

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katyawriteswhump · 2 months

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mommy's girl

For @stevieweek day 4 (sorry I’m late!) Special Outfit and extra prompts, Scoops/uniform, lingerie & @steddiemicrofic July prompt, ‘one’. Rating: M WC 1,111 words. CW: None.

Tags: trans-fem Stevie Harrington, steddie, no upside down au, angst and feels, platonic stobin, steve has an awesome mom and not-so-awesome dad (also, faintly based on some RL experiences belonging to my other half... used with permission and love ;)) All my ST fic on AO3

Summary: Stevie makes a new beginning, and it’s all super-overwhelming…

…

Stevie was fumbling in her purse for her car-keys. Her mom hurried from the porch with yesterday’s mascara bleeding from her eyes and her hair tumbling from its pins:

“Stevie! You forgot your name-badge.”

“Gotta love company policy,” griped Stevie. At least the dumb thing now said ‘Stevie.’ Her mom pinned it on her Scoops uniform above her padded bra—part of a slinky set Eddie gifted her last time he came home from tour. Eddie was next due back today, which was something to look forward to after the previous night’s trauma.

“You gonna be okay, mom?” asked Stevie. “If you need me, I’ll call in sick.”

“No. This is day one of the rest of our lives. Your father’s finally gone for good. I need to start untangling our affairs.”

“And I finally get to go to work in a miniskirt.” Stevie glanced at her thigh-kissing skirt. She loved it, but… Shit, too much was happening.

His mom had booted her father out for a billion reasons. However, his constant gaslighting of Stevie being Stevie—and her dating ‘that lowlife Munson punk’—had sparked last night’s apocalyptic standoff. “Look, I’m sorry it was me that—”

“Don’t you dare apologise.” Her mom placed her hands on Stevie’s shoulders. “I’m so proud of you, darling. You got a job you enjoy, a boyfriend who adores you, and you always look a billion dollars.”

“In this shitty uniform?”

“Even in that.”

“Still not wearing the lousy hat.”

Breaking the news about her father to Robin meant Scoops opened half an hour late. Then, when Stevie leaned down to pull up the shutter, Robin yelled: “Screw you, Shit-bird, that skirt looks too good, and your ass looks too pretty, and I despise you.”

“You wear a skirt then. You could start a douchey scoreboard for who gets more creepy stares.”

“You know I hate skirts.”

“Quit whining then.”

Bantering with Robin couldn’t distract Stevie from her tiredness and nerves. When her mind started screaming, she focussed on the cling of her skirt, the glide of the silk panties beneath. Eddie would be here soon. Eddie would go crazy for her…

Robin took the phone message. Eddie’s flight was cancelled. He wouldn’t be home till tomorrow.

Dammit, Stevie needed him now.

She was wiping down a table, when she heard a snicker. A devastating mean-girl stare slammed into her.

Right at crotch level.

Stevie glanced down.

Oh. Shit.

Robin found her at the back of the store, slumped forward on the table, face pillowed in her arms. “Stevie? You okay?”

“No.” Stevie jumped up and pointed to the middle-front of her skirt. At the bulge. “Look.”

“Huh?”

“You see? It’s Mr… Miss Pokey.”

Robin shrugged. “Only if you squint.”

Stevie swiped her lank-feeling hair from her face. Her hands trembled. “I’ve not even gotten an erection or anything. Everyone’s staring.”

“They’re not.”

“They are! I loved these panties, but the silk triangle at the front bunches everything forward and…” Suddenly, it was all super-overwhelming. What the heck was she… HE… doing? He’d wrecked his parents’ marriage. Eddie was probably lying about the flight to avoid him. “Jesus, I look horrible. I’ll put the shorts back on.”

“Don’t you dare.” Robin shoved a banana across the table. “Eat that. You’re cranky when you’re hungry.”

“It doesn’t solve—”

“No, it doesn’t. I have an idea what will.”

…

“It’s too weird not having to shit myself about your Pa taking pot-shots at me,” said Eddie, when Stevie led him into her bedroom. It was stacked with boxes—her mom had already got the decorators in. “Got you a lil’ something, Babe.”

Eddie presented a crepe-paper parcel. Stevie smiled tightly and sat on the bed to unwrap. It was gonna be more underwear, but her confidence was so shattered that…

She held up the swathe of peachy cotton and white lace. “You got me granny pants?”

Eddie beamed and Stevie couldn’t help giggling.

“Jesus, did Robin call you? Or my mom?”

She stripped off and pulled them on, loving how Eddie lapped her up with his thirsty gaze. Stevie couldn’t keep her own eyes from the mirror. The panties pressed her in slightly in the front, perfect for a mini-skirt or figure-hugging dress. Eddie swept her hair from where it dusted her shoulders and hooked her matching bra. He trailed kisses down the sweep of her neck, each sending a delicious shimmer down her spine, then twirled her around.

“I love them, Eddie.”

“Me too, honey. You look amazing. I could’ve got ones that pad at the hips but with your teeny waist…” He traced it lightly. She shivered with pleasure. “Nah, don’t need it.”

“Can’t believe I’m feeling hot in big panties.” She leaned back into his embrace, dizzied by the weird relief of the moment. It was no way as epic as her father having finally gone, but…

“Shall I order a dozen, Stevie?”

“Hell, yeah.”

They both tumbled sideways onto her bed. “Cool, Babe. Let’s get you outta them.”

They took it slow, kissing till he was wearing her lipstick. Then he set her squirming, her fists clenching his hair, as he nibbled around the cute lace at the trim of her panties, before slipping his fingertips teasingly beneath. Slowly, he peeled her free. Stevie hadn’t waxed today, but that was fine, because hairy was what she was sometimes, and Eddie, as he whispered again and again, worshipped her every way she was.

They made love, fixing deep in each other’s eyes. Stevie’s panties looped her thigh like a slinky garter.

…

It was a week later when Stevie, for the first time since her father left, found her mom crying. She was hanging out the washing on the line.

“Mom, what is it?” She hurried over, and yes, her mom’s eyes were teary. And she was laughing. “Mom?”

Her mom reached up and brushed knuckles down Stevie’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I’m happy.” She nodded at Stevie’s new panties. “They remind me of my gym kit. You know, the good old cheerleading days. Never marry a Jock, darling.”

“Wasn’t on planning on it.”

“Eddie really is the one, isn’t he?”

Stevie’s heart panged with happiness and sadness at once. “Still time for you to find your one and only, mom.”

They pegged the rest of the washing up together: “Gotta ask, mom—did you want a daughter?”

“I only ever wanted you, Stevie,” she said, then, slightly crossly: “But if your long-haired lover’s late for family dinner again, I’ll kick his ass back on tour.”

“Mom!” Stevie pitched a sock, which her mom neatly caught. “Don’t be mean.”

They were both laughing. Life felt pretty good.

#stevieweek2024 #steddiemicroficjuly #steddie microfic #transfeminine steve harrington #transfem steve harrington #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddiemicrofic #steddie ficlet #steddie smut #steddie fluff #steddie microfic july #trans steve harrington

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waxingrunes · 8 months

Note

Im surprised about your hc that sirius tops when you repeatedly said you just dont see it that way and can see remus being more sub but never bottoming. What changed your mind?

I shouldn’t come to tumblr after crossfading. Should be banned from hereby entering the internet because I’m going to regret everything tomorrow that comes out my mouth tonight but alright bottoms up. And by bottom, I mean our resident raging expert, Sirius Black.

Sirius Black is the Main Bottom in my holy canon of canons and he is quite happy to get stretched out on his baby’s 🐓. If that 🐓 is being given to him while Remus is on a rampage and trying to rearrange his kidneys then ayo, loves it. If that 🐓 is being given to him because Sirius has decided he wanta to objectify Remus and use him as his personal sex toy then yeah, loves that too. I was being moderately balanced in that post maybe because 95% of the time I hc that beautiful person to be a huge 🐓 slit. But not just any 🐓 slit. Remus’ only because he is softly spoken and shy, and quiet, and a little jumpy in the wrong crowds but be is big. Boy, is Remus Lupin big and a gentle giant and Sirius can wrap himself up in his gentle giant. Whether he is a lanky gentle giant or a little thicker lank like MY, Remus, he envelopes those lengthy limbs around him and, in him.

I’ll be real, if Sirius wants to top then he will. Sirius gets his moods on him. I see Sirius as an arrogant person, a confident one, who knows what he likes and that’s bouncing on his soft man’s 🐓 if my political standing on the subject wasn’t already clear. But, he knows how to fuck when he wants to and he will show his big soft lank exactly that when he gets those moods. Do they happen often? Nah. Does Remus love it? Yeah. Does Sirius dom through it? Please that pretty girl couldn’t dom himself through a mirror, but he can definitely hit the spot and Remus would PRAISE them through it. Grit his teeth and yank him down so he can whisper those sweet honey dripped words Sirius needs to hear.

‘My good boy, my perfect boy, look at you. That 🐓 isn’t so useless after all’.

And it would rile him, giving Remus exactly what he wants because Sirius wants to please him. He wants to make him bust messily and hear that laugh he does every time when he does becayse it’s always so unexpected when the o hits from the bottom. And Remus laughs because it’s good, and different, and it’s Sirius giving it to him and fuck it’s hot. And Sirius is so good for lasting that long because his stamina is so low when he’s that deep.

Remus leans dominant INSIDE the bedroom, he knows Sirius needs to let go of the control he wields outside of it and Remus, quiet and unassuming Remus, naturally slips into that position for him to pass it up. Sirius’ posh 🐈‍⬛ gets slammed any way he wants it.

I don’t want to look back up to see how long I’ve veen rambling here. Don’t look at me like that.

#ask #i think i answered the question #ns

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five-and-dimes · 2 months

Text

Sunbeam

Part 2 of 4

Using the Dreaming Bingo prompt: Healing Touch

Rating: M

Ship: Dreamling

Warnings: Past abuse (not explicit, just implied past warprize things)

Additional Tags: Cat!Dream, Cow!Hob, King/warprize, hurt/comfort

Summary: King of the cow Kingdom, Hob is given a cat person as a warprize, and he'd give him the very sun if he could. But perhaps some sunbeams will be good enough.

Read on AO3

~~~

Dream needs more than just Hob’s milk.

The morning after Dream was given to him, he had called the palace physician to his room. She had brought several books with her, each bookmarked with any information on the health and anatomy of cat people that she could find, even if it wasn’t much. Doctor Constantine was never less than completely thorough in her job. It was how she had come to work in the palace in the first place.

It had taken her thirty seconds to kick the king out of his own chambers.

“I know you mean well,” she had huffed, her nose flaring in irritation that Hob could tell wasn’t really directed at him, “but this will be easier on him if he doesn’t feel outnumbered and cornered.”

Even after Hob left though, she hadn’t stayed in the room long. She had been jotting notes into the margins of one of her books as she spoke to Hob, explaining her concerns and how she wanted to address them in the coming days and weeks.

Now, even two weeks later, it hurt to see the way Dream’s body was suffering. While the malnutrition was their biggest concern, it was more than that. His fur was lank and dull, his skin sallow, occasional patches of skin red and irritated. Ideally, Hob wants to give him a bath, wants to let him soak in warm milk mixed with oils and medication to soothe his pains. But the very mention of a bath had brought Dream the closest to tears Hob had seen since his arrival, his body shaking and his voice cracking as he barely managed to choke out a shaking “Yes, master.”

So. No bath then.

Still, Hob wants to help however he can, and when he looks out the window and sees the palace gardens bathed in sunlight, he gets an idea.

It is early afternoon, and Dream has already been fed and woken from a fitful nap. He is now sitting, as he always is when Hob is in the room with him, at the foot of the bed, prim and proper. He thinks he’s seen soldiers standing at attention look more relaxed than Dream does right now, especially when Hob stands from his desk where he’d been reviewing his schedule. And luckily, there was nothing else on the docket today. So he casually walks around the room, collecting a small basket and filling it with a few select items.

When he turns back to Dream, he just barely catches the moment that his eyes dart down to his own lap, as though he would be punished for simply looking at Hob. As always, Hob consciously pushes down his heartbreak, focusing on offering a gentle smile to try to ease Dream’s fears.

“It is a lovely day out,” he explains casually, “Would you care to join me outside in the gardens?”

Dream blinks, looking confused and caught off guard, but ultimately nods and stands, “Yes, m-… Yes. Sire .”

Hob smiled, and slowly reached a hand out to stroke Dream’s hair once, “Good boy,” he cooed. Hob had asked him not to refer to him as “master” and Dream clearly struggled with it. He was afraid of getting in trouble when he called Hob master out of habit, because to him it was disobeying an order. But he was afraid to not call Hob master as well, because to him it felt disrespectful. No matter what though, no matter what title slips out, Hob simply pets him, either while correcting him gently, or praising him for his bravery.

Slowly, he was flinching less at Hob’s hand.

He was getting a little stronger, too. As Hob leads him out of his chambers for first time since his arrival, Dream follows behind him on his own two paws, their journey marked by the heavy click of Hob’s hooves and the soft tapping of Dream’s claws. Certainly there is still a long road ahead for Dream to fully regain his strength, but for now Hob is proud that he is able to manage even the short to walk to the gardens.

Outside, the air is warm and bright, only the slightest of breezes to ruffle their fur. Hob gives a friendly nod to the various guards as they pass them, searching for the perfect spot to spoil Dream with sunshine.

Eventually, Hob finds a spot that he finds suitable, some fragrant bushes nearby but no trees to cast a shadow on them. He places the basket on the ground and removes a soft blanket to spread over the grass. He keeps his motions casual, even as he shrugs his shirt off in case Dream gets hungry later, and seats himself comfortably on the ground. When he looks at Dream, he finds him standing stiffly, ears flat against his head and staring at where his tail has wrapped around his ankles.

Smiling, Hob pats his lap invitingly, “Could you come here please, Love?”` He is aware that Dream takes his every word as an order to be followed, but he hopes that maybe if he keeps asking, one day Dream might feel comfortable enough to answer honestly.

For now, Dream answers expectantly, “Yes, sire,” and scrambles to do as he’s told. At first he moves to kneel between Hob’s thighs, but Hob halts him. He takes Dream’s hand gently, guiding him until he has Dream cradled in his lap, tucking his face against his shoulder and into the sun.

He feels Dream shiver in his arms, and he pets down his back softly, “There we are,” he nearly whispers, “It’s such a lovely day. Thank you for joining me. It’s nice to enjoy the sunshine with some company, y’know?”

“...Yes, my lord,” the words are choked out, and he feels Dream relax, just a little against his body, the too-sharp bones sinking against Hob’s flesh.

Hob allows them to fall into comfortable silence, waiting patiently for the rest of the tension to slowly bleed from the cat in his arms. Eventually, Hob shifts slightly, reaching into the basket to retrieve a small jar.

“Dream,” he asks softly, mourning the way he immediately tenses, “I have a salve that I think might help your skin and fur. Would it be alright if I put some on you?”

He feels Dream inhale shakily before nodding against his shoulder, “Whatever you wish, my lord.”

Sighing, Hob knows he will not get a better answer than that right now. He adjusts them just enough to gently push the robe down Dream’s shoulders, shushing him gently when he feels Dream’s breath catch in his chest. He lets the fabric pool in Dream’s lap, not taking it off completely, and then gathers Dream closer, shielding him with his body. He dips his fingers into the jar, coating his hand in the medicated oil, and then begins petting Dream.

He starts with the long stripe of fur running down his back, the black strands dull and dry from neglect. He strokes over where he can feel the prominent knobs of his spine, tangling his fingers down to the roots to rub the oil into where the skin is flaky and irritated. Hob keeps his movements slow and methodical, carefully working the medicine into each strand of fur, whispering soothing endearments and praise each time he feels Dream tremble and shake under his hands

Dream tenses when he moves on to the bare skin of his shoulders, whimpering when he feels Hob spreading the oil over the scars that litter his back.

“There, there,” Hob whispers, “Are you sore? The oil will help, but I can stop if it’s hurting, sweet one.”

He feels Dream shake his head, “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “I did not mean to disobey.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Love,” Hob reassures, moving his hand away from the scars. He will try there again later, for now taking more oil and working his fingers into the fur at the base of Dream’s neck, “Just relax, enjoy the sunshine. You’re safe, sweetheart.”

Dream doesn’t believe that yet, Hob knows. But he will reassure him however many times he needs until he does. It takes time, Hob occasionally shifting to ensure Dream is always facing the sun as it moves across the sky, the jar of oil slowly emptying as he pets wherever he can reach, wherever Dream is not too afraid to be touched, until his fur is shiny and soft from the medication. He keeps petting him afterwords, reveling in the way Dream has melted against him, the way his skin has warmed beneath the sun, the way his ears are no longer pinned back in fear, but drooping in relaxation. Dream has his chin hooked on Hob’s shoulder, face tilted towards the light, when Hob feels it.

A soft, stuttering purr. It is barely audible, but Hob can feel it where Dream is pressed against his breast.

Hob feels himself tearing up. He had read about the way cats purr, the sound of contentment and relaxation. He looks down, and feels his heart swell. Dream has his eyes closed, his face tearstained but soft, the light making him look like he is glowing, and Hob decides that he will do anything and everything in his power to make Dream look like that every single day.

Carefully, he leans down to nuzzle at the crown of Dream’s head, so much softer and warmer than it was this morning. Dream doesn’t move, but the purring gets just a little louder.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #my art #catboys #cat!Dream #cow!hob #hybrids

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arliedraws · 2 months

Note

Do you think that if Sirius had revealed himself to Harry when they first met, he would have attacked Sirius? After all, he had already seen him on the Muggle news. Or how do you think Sirius would act? I've been pondering this question for a while now.

PS: Thank you for all your work. <3

Ha! Funny, you should ask! This was the first fic I wanted to write in 2020 after I took a long HP fandom break. I was just starting to dip my toes into writing again, and I didn't know where I wanted the fic to go. I had about a gazillion different ideas and probably wrote about 50k words on several version of the same story.

But here's the first 8-9 pages that answers your question about how I think it would've gone!

There was something there.

If only it would move, he could tell what it was—but it stood there, motionless, gaping at him with pale, glowing eyes.

Harry swallowed hard. What was it doing? Had it been watching him since he left the Dursleys?

“Go away!” he said.

The thing stared back at him.

The longer Harry looked at it, the more it appeared to him to be a dog—but it was enormous; it was as black as the shadows that stretched from its long, shaggy legs.

The seconds lengthened; time was running out. Ministry of Magic wizards would be swooping in at any moment to arrest and expel him for underaged magic. This animal was holding Harry hostage, keeping him rooted while he should have been running for his life. Harry adjusted the grip on his wand.

“Go away!” Harry tried again. He looked down the street; it was clear, but for how long? “Go!”

The dog did not move.

“If—if you don’t go—” Then what?

For a horrible moment, Harry thought he was hallucinating.

The dog had vanished.

In its place, a figure stood blinking in the blinding light, the beam from Harry’s wand flooding a ghastly pale face. Shadows bit into the hollows of the specter’s cheeks, bones pressed against the skin of its chest, and lank, black hair hung to its elbows.

He was hideously familiar.

“You!” said Harry.

The stranger held up his hands, squinting against the brightness. “Turn out the light!” he rasped.

“Don’t move,” Harry said, gripping his wand tighter. Where had the stranger come from? Harry had seen him a number of times now on the news—he was an escaped convict. Extremely dangerous, they’d said. A muggle.

“Someone will see!” said the convict urgently.

But Harry didn’t dare turn off the light. Even a Muggle could kill a wizard if he were desperate enough.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” said the stranger, slowly. “No weapon, see? You don’t need to lower your wand, just turn out the light, Harry.”

The sound of his own name made Harry jerk back in alarm.

“You know who I am?”

The convict nodded.

“You’re—you’re a wizard?”

“Yes.”

“Then—what are you doing here? You—you’re not from the Ministry, are you?”

The convict barked a laugh. “No.” But his amusement was short-lived, and he frowned suddenly. “Are you expecting someone from the Ministry?”

“I—no—”

“What’s wrong, Harry?” said the convict, lowering his hands. “Has something happened?”

“No—”

“Have you done something?” he pressed. “Are you in trouble?”

Harry’s hand shook. The light wobbled. He was in deep trouble, more trouble than he’d ever faced in his life. At any moment, the Ministry would be swarming Number 4 to discover the ballooned Aunt Marge; they would begin scouring the neighborhood for him, and once they found him, they would snap his wand and banish him from the only place he’d ever felt accepted…the only place he’d ever had friends…

“Get back,” Harry said firmly.

“Listen to me, Harry, if you don’t want them to find you, you’ve got to turn out the light.”

He was right. The Ministry could detect underaged magic, and holding the light on his wand would attract them as soon as they arrived in Little Whinging. Harry smothered the light with a muttered, “Nox!”

The sudden darkness fell upon him. He squinted, trying to keep the convict in his sight, but his eyes were too slow to adjust. He felt a whoosh of wind as he attempted to aim his wand at the stranger; then the stranger moved quickly. A sharp, skeletal grip snatched his wand arm, squeezing tightly.

“Don’t hex me,” said the convict.

“Let go of—” Harry hadn’t finished before the hand released him, but Harry had already jerked back in horror.

Up close, beneath the glow of the streetlamp, the convict was even more horrifying. Pale eyes gleamed out of dark sockets, scrutinizing Harry carefully. Matted locks of black hair draped limply down his shoulders. His robes hung from his bones, tattered and filthy. For a moment, Harry feared that the convict was really a vampire.

“Are you in trouble?” the convict croaked.

“N-no.”

“What’s wrong? I can help…if you need it…”

“Help? You look like you can hardly help yourself,” retorted Harry, leaning away.

A flash of annoyance crossed the convict’s face. “Listen, Harry,” he started. “If you need help, I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is—whatever you’ve done, we’ll figure it out.”

Harry pressed the tip of the wand to the bony chest. “Why would you help me?”

The convict’s eyes flickered to the wand tip. He answered cautiously. “Your parents asked me to look after you if anything happened to them.”

“What?” said Harry. “My parents? You knew them?”

“Knew them?” said the convict, looking surprised. “Of course I knew them. Your father was—” he swallowed hard and looked away for a moment. “He was like a brother to me. I told him I’d make sure you were cared for if he died—obviously I’ve done a rotten job so far, but I’m here now, Harry. Let me help you.”

Harry looked down the deserted street. Time was running out. Where would he go? There was London where his gold sat underground at Gringotts bank, but how could he get there with his trunk on his broomstick? He thought quickly, trying to remember all of the ways that magical people could travel. If only he knew how to Apparate, to disappear and reappear in another place, but Apparating was something only mature witches and wizards could do.

“I—I don’t need your help,” said Harry.

The convict said nothing.

“I don’t!” Harry insisted. Not from you.

“All right,” said the convict after a heavy pause. “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”

“Stay back,” Harry warned.

“I won’t come any closer.” When Harry hesitated, the convict raised his brows. “Go on, then. If you’re on the run, you haven’t got time to waste. You’d better get out of here.”

“I don’t need your help,” Harry said again. Leave! he thought desperately. If the convict wasn’t going to harm him or drink his blood, then why did he remain there watching? Harry couldn’t turn his back to him, so gingerly, he shuffled backwards until his legs hit his school trunk.

Still keeping his wand trained on the convict, Harry moved around the trunk so he could open it and have a look. The lid swung open, revealing all of the belongings he had collected since he’d begun his schooling at Hogwarts. He shoved aside robes and books until he found his broomstick.

“Where to, then?” said the convict, eyeing the Nimbus 2000 with interest.

Harry didn’t answer. He was trying to imagine how he would fix the trunk to his broom. Maybe he could charm it to be featherlight. Although he couldn’t recall the charm, he could look it up in one of his spell books. A little more magic wouldn’t get him into worse trouble, would it? If he were already expelled after all…

He propped the broomstick against his trunk, still careful to keep his wand steady on the convict who was frowning deeply. Harry ignored the concerned look and rummaged for the last bit of the puzzle.

“Your father’s cloak won’t work on a broom if someone looks up,” said the convict.

Harry’s head snapped up. “What?”

“The cloak,” he said. “Works best on solid ground. Better to cast a disillusionment charm.”

The silvery, silky cloak slipped from Harry’s fingers back into the dark trunk. Mournfully, he looked at his broom. It was a stupid plan. If the convict was right, he’d be spotted long before he got to London either by a Muggle or someone from the Ministry. Once more, he gazed down the street.

“They’ll snap my wand,” Harry said numbly.

“Then let’s go,” said the convict.

Harry looked at him.

“Whatever you’ve done, it’s all right, Harry. We’ll figure it out. I won’t let them take your wand from you. Can you trust me?”

There was no other choice. He could surrender to the Ministry, let them snap his wand, severing all ties to the magical world, or he could place his trust in a stranger who looked as if he’d crawled out of a grave. Feeling resigned and hopeless, Harry returned the Nimbus 2000 to his trunk and let the lid snap shut with a finality that churned his stomach.

When he faced the convict again, straightening his spine, Harry knew that he was taking a great risk—a foolish, dangerous risk. Was it worth his life to keep his wand? Was it worth it to live on the run?

The convict opened his skeletal hand.

“Let me use your wand,” said the convict. “I’ll give it back.”

“No,” snapped Harry.

The convict smiled tightly. “I can’t do anything to help without magic. If you can’t trust me, I can’t help you.”

“Where’s your wand?”

“I don’t have one. I’ll explain everything properly once we’re away,” said the convict, waving his hand impatiently. “But I think time is running out.”

Harry heard it too. Someone was calling for him—a voice he didn’t recognize. At first, it sounded like nonsense, but as the voice drew closer, it was very clearly his name. The Ministry wizards had gone to the Dursleys and now they realized he was missing. Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry shoved his wand at the convict.

“Get us out of here!”

Immediately, the convict took hold of the wand and pointed it at Harry’s trunk. It vanished.

“I can’t Apparate the two of us and the trunk. I’ve sent it ahead of us,” said the convict at Harry’s confused look. “Take hold of my arm.”

The voices were getting closer—there were more of them now. The convict held out his arm, and Harry knew it was his last chance to turn back. He could live without his trunk; he could live without his wand. But what would life be like now that he knew he could never return to the world where he belonged?

Harry gripped the convict’s arm with both hands.

“Whatever you do, Harry, don’t let go.”

The bony arm in his grip faded away as every part of his insides seemed to press inward, drawing his eyes deep into his sockets and his tongue and teeth down into his throat. The world was black and squeezing his chest, wrenching the air from his lungs—

He gasped a mouthful of air before he pitched forward, his face plummeting into wet grass. It took a moment to realize that he was alive and heaving panicked breaths, no longer hurtling through space. His stomach clenched as two hands took him by the shoulders and peeled him off the earth.

“Wait!” Harry sputtered, shoving help away. “I think—I think I’m gonna be—”

The convict held his shoulder as Harry vomited.

When he’d finished, his eyes were streaming as he squinted at the hills surrounding them. A bright moon illuminated a largely barren countryside, peppered with pockets of trees, veins of old walls, and lonely houses in the distance. A few feet away sat Harry’s trunk, and beyond that, an old country house with a crumbling roof tiles and half of its dozen windows shattered. The hedges were overgrown, and vines had claimed most of the exterior brick. It might have been an elegant place once, but it looked as if it’d been years since someone had inhabited it.

Harry felt woozy, almost dreamlike as he began to understand what happened. He shrugged off the hand on his shoulder, suddenly feeling ill again. What had he done? The safety of Privet Drive was far gone. He’d exchanged the knowability of Little Whinging and the Ministry for the word of a stranger who had escaped from Azkaban, a criminal who now had Harry’s wand.

“Are you all right?” the convict asked. “First time Apparating…wasn’t it? It’s rough at first…Takes getting used to. Are you going to be sick again?”

Harry shook his head, pointedly looking at the unkempt grass to avoid the convict’s eyes. A voice in his head shouted at him to run to his trunk and grab his broom.

“You’re not missing any body parts, are you?”

Harry’s gaze snapped up. “What? Why?”

The convict eyed him carefully as if expecting to find a leg or ear missing. Harry noticed that the skeletal hand reached out to touch him but withdrew as if he’d thought better of it.

“Sometimes a person can leave part of themselves behind when they Apparate, but I don’t think I’ve splinched either one of us… Have you got all of your toes?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Harry, wiggling them in his trainers.

The last person who had taken Harry’s wand from him was the sixteen-year-old memory of Lord Voldemort; the unpleasant memory made the sight of the convict holding the holly wand unpalatable.

“Why did you bring me here?” Harry said slowly.

“It’s remote, and it’s difficult to detect magic here with the number of enchantments.” At Harry’s unsatisfied look, the convict went on. “It seemed prudent to leave Little Whinging before the Aurors were upon us. You did say you were in trouble…”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “But…what were you doing in Little Whinging in the first place? You—you weren’t watching me, were you?” Then Harry saw the awkward look pass over the man’s face.

“No, but I—er—thought I’d check in on you.”

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Sirius. Or Padfoot if you’d like. But I told you; your father was—”

Harry shook his head. “Who are you really? I saw you on the Muggle news. They said you’d escaped from prison—that you were dangerous—”

Instead of appearing outraged at the accusation, the convict’s twisted in horrified confusion as if he couldn’t believe what Harry had said.

“Wait a minute,” sputtered the convict, staring at him, his brow rumpled. “You willingly gave your wand to someone you know is an escaped convict? You knew that I was a dangerous criminal and you trusted me?”

“But you’re the one who said—”

“Do you understand how easily I could kill you now?” In the moonlight, Harry could see the blood leaving the pale face. “What if I’d been a Death Eater? What if—what if one of Voldemort’s old followers had wanted to lure you out of town? You don’t know how many of them are still out there, Harry. What were you thinking?”

He already felt stupid—he didn’t need this Sirius person telling him that he’d acted like an idiot, not when it was Sirius who convinced him to do the stupid thing.

Sirius grunted. “Well, it’s done now, and you won’t do it again. Now then,” he went on. “Tell me what happened. Why are you in trouble?”

The lurching feeling in his stomach returned. Harry recalled the image of Aunt Marge ballooning—the buttons popping off her cardigan and her eyes bulging—and grimaced. For an instant he had felt a sickening joy, a small revenge for the horrible things she’d said about his parents, but it quickly turned to horror. He’d broken the law and used magic outside of school. He was probably expelled from Hogwarts, and he was most likely going to be arrested.

“What is it, Harry?” Sirius pressed. “I promised I would help you, no matter what it is.”

“I…” Harry swallowed. “I blew up my aunt.”

Sirius stared.

“You blew up your aunt… Is she…?”

“No!” said Harry. “She’s not dead! I don’t think so, at least.” Sirius’s face was unreadable, so Harry explained. “She was talking about my parents, saying loads of stuff that wasn’t true, and I got angry, and she started to…expand…”

Sirius seemed to be waiting for the end of the story.

Harry went on, growing impatient. “Last summer, a house-elf did magic in front of some Muggles at the Dursleys’, and I got a letter that said I’d be expelled if something like that happened again.”

He was an outcast…a criminal… His two years at Hogwarts had been the last bit of happiness Harry would ever enjoy, and in a moment, it was all gone.

Then Sirius’s face contorted—it was something like a cross between a grimace and a smile. On a face so gaunt, the look was terrifying.

“Oh, Harry,” he said with a sigh. He seemed to be suppressing a bit of exasperation as though he found what Harry said to be very funny but also very stupid. “You’re not going to be expelled for a bit of accidental magic.”

“But the letter—it said any more magic in front of Muggles—”

“Underaged wizards do accidental magic all the time,” Sirius said. “If the Ministry wanted to expel all of them, you wouldn’t have any classmates left at Hogwarts.” The smile faded a bit into weariness. “I thought you were in trouble, Harry… I wouldn’t have taken you if I’d known you’d just had a bit of a tantrum.”

“It wasn’t a tantrum!”

“Whatever it was,” said Sirius, “I promise you won’t be expelled for it.” He rubbed his face, his expression full of weary regret, and he sighed deeply before he spoke again in his ragged voice. “I shouldn’t have shown myself…and I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He looked around, shaking his head. “Listen, we’ve got to get you back to Surrey before anyone thinks I’ve kidnapped you.”

Harry took a step back. “I’m not going back there.”

“Well, you’ve got to. This was…a mistake.”

“No,” said Harry firmly. “They’ll snap my wand. I’m not going.”

“Don’t be difficult about this,” Sirius said. “I agreed to help you, didn’t I? If I thought you were in real trouble, I swear, I would keep you with me. Trust me, Harry, it’ll be worse for both of us if you don’t return soon. Go on and get your trunk.”

Harry moved to his feet, imagining the scene at Privet Drive. Would Marge still be floating around the dining room? Would Ministry employees be there to snap his wand? No matter what Sirius thought, the letter had been very clear about what would happen if more magic were detected at his relatives’ house.

“I’m not going back there,” said Harry, crossing his arms.

“Harry, do you know what everyone will think if you’re missing? If I don’t return you, they’ll think I killed you.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sirius curtly. He flicked the wand, and the trunk that stood a few feet away drove towards them as if pulled by an invisible rope. “Better that you know nothing about me, really. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough once you return.” Sirius paused as if he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own words, but after a moment of thought, he nodded. “Yes… I’ll tell you the truth about myself and your parents and how they died, but we haven’t got time now. The Ministry must believe you’ve been in Little Whinging all evening.”

“How they died?” said Harry, dubiously. “Voldemort killed my parents. Everyone knows that.”

“Yes, but they might have lived if it hadn’t been for—” Then Sirius shook his head. “No, there’s no time for this! Take my arm.”

Harry backed away. A pained expression twisted Sirius’s mouth.

“Please, Harry,” he said. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I promise you won’t be expelled. Hopefully, I’ll be able to explain all of this soon.”

“You’re the one who brought me here,” Harry said. “Why?”

“Because I thought you were in trouble,” said Sirius. “It was stupid, of course. I would have done anything for your father—I’d do anything for you, but now—”

“Then listen to me!” Harry insisted, his shoes scuffling backwards to creative even more space between them. “They’re going to expel me from Hogwarts! I can’t let that happen—”

“Dumbledore would never allow it, Harry,” said Sirius. “You’ve got to believe me. You’re the reason Voldemort is gone. People would—they wouldn’t stand for it if you were expelled. Don’t you see? The Ministry is already suffering the humiliation of my escape from Azkaban. If you were expelled because of petty accidental magic, the entire magical community would call for Fudge’s resignation. I know what they call you—The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Ministry won’t—can’t— expel you, do you understand? You’re too important.”

It was funny to Harry, considering he’d just run away from a place where he was deliberately told that he was nothing special—where he was a burden and a stain on Number 4. Uncle Vernon wouldn’t even sign his permission form to visit Hogsmeade, a favor that wouldn’t have caused the Dursleys any suffering but would allow Harry just a little bit of enjoyment at school. If Harry were expelled, he would have to live with his aunt and uncle for the entirety of the year until he came of age. Living on the run was better than that.

“Look,” said Harry, trying to keep his voice level. “The Ministry said that if they detected any more magic from Privet Drive, they’d expelme.The letter was really clear on that. I don’t care who you are—I don’t care if they think you’ve murdered me. If—if they think that, maybe I shouldn’t be around you anyway. But I am not going back to Little Whinging, and you—”

Harry stopped, realizing he’d nearly blurted “and you can’t make me”—it wasone of Dudley’s favorites. Harry clenched his fists and said resolutely, “I’m not going back.”

A muscle twitched in Sirius’s jaw. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t forget who’s got the wand here,” said Sirius.

#it's extremely raw and unedited #but i really wanted to write this fic for SO LONG #and then i forgot about it tbh #my fics #unpublished fics #harry potter #sirius black #good godfather sirius black

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ken-dom · 1 year

Text

Your Voice

Henry Letham x reader

Summary: Henry doesn’t know what’s happening to him, but at least you’re here. If only he could place you.

Author’s notes: Here’s the Henry comfort I promised! It’s a little bit strange (if you’ve seen the film you’ll get the vibe, if you haven’t, this might not make much sense) and a little bit angsty. If you want more Henry, I’m open to suggestions!

Warnings/content: gn!reader, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, blood, hospital, kissing, Henry lives AU

Henry winced when you stepped out of the crowd and reached up to wipe the blood from his cheek.

Everyone else was still motionless, staring at him on the sidewalk, making empty, detached comments he couldn’t understand.

As you swept his hair out of his face, he thought he recognised you from somewhere, but he couldn’t place where.

His eyes burned into yours. At your touch, his blood stained hand dropped to his side and his knees felt like they would give out.

‘Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.’

Your voice sounded almost angelic to him and he thought that perhaps he recognised you from a painting he’d studied once. Or maybe one of his own paintings.

He followed you without question, straight to your house and into the bathroom, perching on the side of the bath tub as though he’d been here a hundred times before. You carefully dabbed the blood away with a damp cloth.

There was no wound.

‘Good as new,’ you smiled down at him.

‘Why me?’ he breathed, indignantly shy under your gaze.

‘Don’t remember me, do you?’ you said gently.

‘I think I do but… I can’t remember why.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Do you need a rest? You seem tired.’

‘I’m so tired,’ he groaned quietly, rubbing his hands over his face and wishing he had a cigarette.

You peeled a trembling hand away to pull him up and over to your bed.

‘Here. Rest as long as you need. I’ll be right through there.’ You gestured vaguely to your living room.

Henry swallowed thickly, brows knitting as he thought it through. He took a deep breath.

‘Thank you,’ he nodded with an almost smile, eyes finding yours from behind the strands of lank hair hanging over his sad eyes.

The air seemed to thicken then, as if time and space were shifting around you, and the atmosphere pushed you forward into him.

It felt so natural, your lips on his, and he kissed you back without hesitation.

He tasted like coffee and cigarettes and smelled faintly of oil paint and turpentine. A repulsive combination on anyone else, but for him it worked. It would almost be sexy if the circumstances were a little different.

He was a needy kisser, seeming to draw your tongue into his mouth without you noticing while his fingertips teased at gripping you, but he wasn’t sure if you’d want that much intensity yet — or why you wanted him at all — so they simply ghosted up your arms instead.

But you pushed your fingers up into his soft, greasy hair and it finally gave him the confidence to grab you, pulling your body flush to his skinny frame and squeezing as though he were holding on for dear life, you being his only lifeline.

You, your lips, your touch. Your voice.

Where was that voice from?

You pulled back, smiling coyly while he dropped down onto the bed.

‘Hey,’ he called as you turned to leave the room, ‘stay with me?’

Pausing at the bedroom door, you turned back slowly, nodding with a soft smile.

He laid down and you climbed onto the bed to join him, making yourself comfortable as he laid stiff and flat on his back beside you.

You pulled him closer until his head was resting on your chest to stroke his hair.

‘Forgive me,’ he sighed, sad and confused and a little hopeful.

When he woke, the room was bright white. There were voices he didn’t recognise and electronic sounds that scared him a little.

His head was on a pillow. He wasn’t laid in your arms now.

He blinked slowly until something, anything came into focus.

And eventually it did. The shape of a person sitting on a chair beside the bed — a different bed to the one he’d fallen asleep in. And they were holding his hand.

‘He’s awake! He’s opened his eyes!’

And before the room filled with people, he realised it was you. It was your voice.

#henry letham #henry letham x reader #stay (2005)#ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling #henry letham x you #henry letham fic #henry letham x y/n #ryan gosling x you #ryan gosling fic #henry letham comfort #ken-dom writes

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luveline · 9 months

Note

hi lovely!! you mentioned bombshell!reader holding spencer's hand the whole time after the whole tobias incident and i wanted to request a more in-depth continuation of that, if it's alright? maybe with reader helping spence with his addiction afterwards too bc i just hate how the team didn't support him properly during that time 😭

There's something cold touching his hand. Actually, there's lots of things happening to his hand.

Spencer fights to open heavy lashes, closes them again when the white hospital wall bathed in early morning sun burns his retinas. Alert, he realises that the hand in his is sweetly soft, with gentle fingertips holding his marriage finger up higher than the rest. You're playing with his hands while he sleeps.

Spencer opens his eyes again. There's no machine taking his observations, no beeping or whistling or medical ringing to be heard, just the soft huff and puff of your breathing and the sound of your heel tapping the floor.

There had been more noise last time he woke, but the same amount of you.

“Spencer?”

He looks up from your hands holding his to your face. It's not fair, he thinks, how pretty you are, how pretty you continue to be, with your hair, your smile, your ever-smirking lips. You're doing it now, the sight of your painted smile squeezing his heart into a frenzied beating. If they were still taking his observations, he'd die from embarrassment.

“Hey,” you say, still smiling, hands more insistent on his.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I'm doing, handsome?” you ask.

“Did you go home?”

“Of course I did.” You don't sound truthful. “Want a drink?”

You pull a bottle of water from your handbag and pass it to him. He has to take his hand from yours to open it, and he wishes he'd said no. Spencer would happily go thirsty to prolong your touch and the security it brings with it. He's antsy as he swallows, a foreign-body feeling pervasive as he caps the drink, puts the bottle aside, and rubs the crust from his eyes. Lank hair falls into his face.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

“When can I leave?”

“Tonight… They want to make sure you're, you know… properly weaned.” Your voice comes out quieter than he's ever heard it before.

It's as forward as anyone's bothered being about the drugs. The drug, singular.

Dilaudid is eight times stronger than morphine. Spencer was injected multiple times. His body won't be totally addicted, but he craves the numbness of it already. Whatever he's on isn't cutting through the pain in his legs and feet, nor the memories of being tied up, and all alone.

“I think I'm gonna be sick,” he says.

You grab for a blanket off of the edge of the bed to cover his lap as he hangs his head, sure he's going to throw up, but he doesn't so much as heave. The nausea remains anyhow, and worsens as you sit beside his legs. Your hand once again takes his, fingers slotting together as though they were made for this one purpose, your voice a clean, cleaving thing, “Hey, it's alright. It's fine, Spence, you're okay. This is expected.” He curls in on himself. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, tugging his hand closer to you in tandem. “You're gonna feel awful for a few days, but I'm right here.”

“Why are you here?” he asks, confused.

“Spence.”

He looks up from under his lashes.

Your semi-permanent smile seems to have gotten lost somewhere. “Spencer,” you say, attempting to say something without really saying it, eyes glued to his, “where else would I be?”

He rubs the place between his brows with the heel of his palm. You keep his hand and wrap him in a careful hug. Either you don't notice how desperately he needs a hot shower or you don't care, gracing his cheek with a friendly (and unmissably loving) kiss. It's hard not to cry after that.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you say. You weren't even on the case, but you'd showed up just as soon as you knew he'd been taken, and you haven't left his side since they found him in the cemetery. You don't have a thing in the world to be sorry for. “I'm so sorry. It'll be okay now.” Your voice ripples with surety.

“Thanks for staying,” he says.

“You did all the hard work by yourself.” You squeeze his fingers. “I can do the rest, babe.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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miyuhpapayuh · 1 year

Text

twenty

“Oh my god, I know it's been a week but where the hell have you been??” Nique asks Zora, right before jumping damn near on top of her outside of her apartment.

“Nique!” She laughs, catching her before they both hit the ground, all the while Leon's coming up with her suitcase, staring between the two like they were crazy.

“What—”

“Lank!” Nique squeals, smacking him up for all the days she wasn't able to. Just like a sister. He chuckles and swats at her, ultimately pulling her into a bear hug.

“Missed you short stuff!”

“Yeah, y'all just left us behind out here!” She laughs, following them into the apartment.

“It was only a week! You didn't miss us that much!” Zora laughs, leaning on her kitchen counter, while Leon plops down on the sofa.

“I did, too! Darnell missed Leon so damn much, he's been tearing my ear up about all the shit they used to get into in college— getting on my nerves, man!” She laughs, making them join in.

“Ah, he done told you about some wild ass shit ain't he?”

“Has he! What's up with y'all and streaking?!”

“I'm not even surprised,” Zora laughs, moving to take her suitcase into her room.

“Man, we was proud of them track bodies, girl! They was gon see us!” He animatedly yells.

“Oh my god,” Nique laughs, rolling her eyes. “How can I save Zora from the madness??”

“It's already too late!” She yells from her bedroom, making them snicker up a storm.

“Stop laughing Nique! It's too late for you, too!”

“Nah for real, y'all treatin’ each other nice?” Leon asks, first time he's asked about their relationship.

“Yeah, he's really a sweetheart. Might like his ass too much,” she laughs, “but that's my baby.”

“Aw, that's cute! I'm happy for y'all.”

“Thanks!”

“Nique, I need assistance right quick!” Zora hollers again, making Nique disappear down the hallway.

“Yes?”

“Are we having a sleepover tonight?”

“Uh, duh! I need to be caught up, cause Neoma told me some things about some things, and I gotta hear it from you to piece it all together.”

“Oh lord. This finna be a mess.”

“My favorite!”

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“Okay, spill!”

“So, before we went on this nice lil vacation, we ran into a little more bullshit. I'm assuming you heard about Craig and Eryn?”

“Have I? Eryn is ready to sink her teeth into that boy! I'm ready to do it for her, cause he knows he's wrong.”

“I agree! He definitely shoulda let them work that out, cause Eryn isn't a child anymore. I think that might've influenced his decision cause they've known her for so long— no excuse. She's grown now.”

“Yeah?? And I don't know how well the conversation between them went, but she still seems kinda sad about it all.”

“Really? I haven't talked to her since we left. But that's another thing! After Leon finds out about everything from Craig, he starts telling me about it, and I already kinda knew about it cause she sat down and told me, like a day or so before.”

“Oh no,” Nique says, shaking her head. “She got you all caught up in it, huh?”

“Yeah, but I'm not mad at her. She just needed advice. Leon did kinda blow up on me, though.”

“Huh??” Nique asks, damn near breaking her neck to look over at her.

“Yeah, he was feelin’ it that day, I don't know.” She shrugs.

“Zora, what do you mean he blew up on you? He yelled at you?”

“No, no. He cut me off while I was trying to talk to him about everything. He asked me if she ran it by me and I told him the truth cause I didn't wanna be in the middle, and he like hopped off the couch and I'm still telling him that I didn't wanna be in the middle cause now he's upset and he's saying that he ain't mad at me, but he also just pacing back and forth and I was kinda nervous, I ain't gon lie. And I'm just tryna reason with him and his fuse is really short, so he cut me off and shut the conversation down.” She sighs, eating another handful of popcorn.

“And then what happened??”

“Oh, he was definitely asking for forgiveness before leaving the crib, but I wasn't up for talking anymore. You don't cut me off and expect a conversation after that. Kissed his ass goodbye and he came to my job the next day with flowers and another apology. I think he almost cried tryna talk to me. Hell, I know I cried enough.” She laughs, while Nique is still staring at her.

“Do I need to kill him?”

“No,” she laughs again, reaching out to grab the hand that's closest to her. “He apologized. Several times. Took me home and made it up to me real nice. He's a good man, just has a temper problem.”

“Hm. I'll keep my guns near, just in case.”

“Lord. He knows not to test it. Trust.”

“Why? You tie him up when y'all got out to that cabin?”

“You're so nasty, no. I definitely taught him what patience is, cause he was killing my nerves.”

“How I'm nasty? I'm talking about straight torture shit! Shoulda muzzled his ass.” She huffs, but Zora shakes her head.

“You know I use my powers for good and not evil… anymore. He understood I wasn't playing. I promise you, he don't want whatever ill fate awaits him if he even thinks about it.”

“Okay, I'll let it go. This time.”

“Good, I'd hate for shorty and lank to call it quits!” She frowns, making Nique smile and shake her head.

“He better be glad I like him a lil bit, cause I'll still kill him. It just won't be as harsh as normal.” She shrugs.

“Girl, anyway. Back to Eryn. I hope she's okay. Maybe I'll call her in a few days.”

“Yeah, poor baby. I had to get your sister together a lil bit, too.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. Done found a lil rockheaded boy to ride and now she lost her mind. Cause why was she bucking up at me cause I told her that she was wrong for giving him the okay to say shit to Leon?! Like I ain't wrong for saying that! Am I?”

“No. Absolutely not, she shouldn't have said anything to him but, “mind your business”, but you know how she is. Lovita is the same way. That older sister complex be havin’ them telling other people's kids what to do. Like how you giving him the go ahead??”

“That's what I tried to get her to make sense to me! Eryn wasn't mad at her, but I told her that she should be. Cause it's too many hands in this situation and she just an extra one that don't belong. Be a girlfriend, nothing more.”

“This really made you mad, huh?”

“Yes. Eryn is twenty five years old. She don't need nobody hovering over her back, snitching on her or whatever other stupid overstepping bullshit has been going on. We had a long heart to heart, cause I just feel like she's just been ridiculed by so many, she just needs some love.”

Zora nods, sighing deeply. “Yeah, I know that feeling. I feel for her, I do. But she did speak up for herself. Leon said she was not happy with him yelling at her, ‘cause she is fragile right now, and that's not the way you get your point across anyway.”

“Good for her! Lank and his friends need to get it together. Neoma needs to get it together before I knock her out.”

“Y'all still beefin’??”

“Nah, I'm just saying. I mean, she was mad as hell when I left but so the fuck what? I shoulda sat in her face while she was mad, but I had a nail appointment.” She raps, while Zora shakes her head, staring at her imaginary audience. “But she got over herself after a day or so. The three of us had lunch and shit like usual, she was fine.”

“Y'all are gonna give me gray hair.”

“Please, if all you have to do is hear about it, I think you'll be okay. Besides, you've been living your carefree life since that boy came into it, so I don't wanna hear it.”

Zora can't help but smile, knowing it was the truth. Besides the minor bump in the road, the last almost year of her life has been absolutely wonderful.

“It's about time, I say.”

“Here, here!” Nique faux toasts with a handful of popcorn.

“Stupid,” Zora laughs.

“And, you know this!”

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“Wow, I forgot how good you looked in your uniform.” Zora says, shamelessly gawking at Leon as he walks around his room to tidy up, before heading off to work.

He chuckles, feeling his face grow hot. “Alright now.”

“For real. I need to come watch you work out now, cause the way them arms are filling out that sweater..” she trails off, shaking her head.

He stops in front of her, beginning to put on a show and flex for her. She giggles, eating it up.

“You like that, huh?”

“Oh, please. Don't start!” She warns, laughing it off as best as she can.

“Don't be shy, baby!” He laughs, bringing his arms down anyway.

“Stop, before I keep you here.” She half jokes, and he can see the seriousness in her deep brown eyes.

“Hm.. I might just have to be a lil late today.” He replied, leaning in to kiss her, unbuttoning her nightshirt.

“Yeah?”

“Just a lil,” he repeats, laughing at himself.

She squeals in excitement, rushing to unbutton his jeans and yank them down with his briefs, moaning at the sight of his dick already hard and ready to go.

“See? This happens every day.” He stresses, stepping closer between her legs to rub against her, his hands at either side of her head.

Reaching between them, she wraps her hand around him, guiding him inside of her, looking up to see his mouth open, eyes stuck on her in pure lust.

“So fucking wet,” he mumbles, languidly stroking just to hear the way her slick smacked through the air. His head dipped down to give wet kisses to her breasts.

“That happens every day, too,” she softly laughs.

His thrusts turn curt, poking right at her gut, making her claw at his arms and chest through the thick material, her wild moans bouncing off the walls of his room.

“Unh! Fuck me, just like that!”

“Mhm, it feels good don't it?”

“Yes! Please don't stop! Please!”

“Shit… I ain't stoppin’ baby… make you cum right on this dick.”

Her fingers ball up the material of his shirt, quickly losing her sanity as he drives right into her spot, bringing them both closer to their peaks.

“You like that, huh?”

“Yes,” she whines, “fuckin’ hitting that spot, babyy!”

“Right here?”

“Yes, I'm so c-close!” She whines, pulling his face closer to hers as he cages her in, his scent evading her senses and vice versa.

“Cum with me,” he moans against her lips, gripping her hips tighter as she squeezes around him, giving him no choice but to give in to the sweet feeling.

“That was amazing,” she breathily laughs, smothering his lips with her own, much to his liking as he groans all into their liplock.

“I wanna be so much later now,” he chuckles, hissing as he slides out of her, still covered in her essence. Their breathing still ragged.

Zora licks her lips and gets on her knees on the bed, bending down to lick him clean. If he didn't have hearts for eyes already, they were definitely there now.

After sending him to work on a high he'd be on for a while, she went back to sleep for a few hours, woke back up and decided to channel her inner Leon and chef it up in his kitchen.

Her omelet was a success.

After a nice long hot shower and hygiene routine, she decided to get her mani/pedi redone. The color is orange.

Zora soon headed through the lounge with Leon's lunch in hand like always, loving the look on his face as he digs through the bag to see what she'd brought.

Today was a Cuban sandwich with fries, and he was more than delighted. “I've been craving one of these!”

“Yeah? I had one on my lunch break the other day, and it was so good! Had to get you one.”

“Thank you, baby.” He says with a kiss to her lips, as she sits down beside him.

“Welcome. How's your day been?”

“Great, actually. We got through most of our pallets already, so I might just get outta here early today.”

“Oh, I always love the sound of getting off work early! I hope you do make it home before six, today.”

"This morning gave me a lil extra motivation.” He nudges her with a smirk on his face, as she hides her own.

“Shut up,” she laughs as he wraps an arm around, pulling her closer to him. “But also, you're welcome.”

“Thank you sweet stuff. How's your day off been?” He asks, humming as he bites into his sandwich.

“Well, this morning was great,” she winks, making him chuckle. “But, I took a nap, got up and ate breakfast, then I went and got my toes done— they're orange like my nails, but my feet got cold so I had to put my socks back on. I'll show you later.” She smiles. “I've been laying around, other than that. It's too cold outside to be out there for too long.”

“What did you make?”

“An omelet. It was so good!” She smiles, making him mirror her in no time.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I gotta make you one. Use my secret ingredient.”

“Word? Let me find out you were a chef this whole time, Z.”

She laughs. “Oh come on, I'd never steal your lane. It's like a family secret but I add a lil sumn to mine. You'll love it, I promise.”

“I can't wait,” he fondly shakes his head, kissing her lips.

“Can't wait to see these cute ass toes either. Love ‘em.”

“You got a foot fetish?” She squints, to which he laughs.

“Zora, I've got a you fetish.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs to cover up the way she's just melted inside.

“Act like you ain't know,” he shakes his head, taking another couple bites of his sandwich.

“I don't wanna go back out in the cold. It's so bitter out there.” She says, looking out the big window in front of them.

“You ain't lying, babe. It's cold as fuck in the room we work in too. Metal insulation should've been installed a long time ago.”

“You need me to say something?” She asks, raising her brow.

“No, mama, I got it.” He snickers, kissing her forehead.

“It better be in there by my next visit.” She firms, before leaning on him.

“They like yo pretty ass, ima tell ‘em so they can speed the process up.” He laughs.

“Whatever works, right?” She responds with a laugh of her own.

“Mmhm…whatchu feelin’ on me for, Jean?” He asks with a grin, already knowing what she was up to, rubbing on his knee, her hand casually sliding up.

“Ya know, just the sight of a hardworking man gets me going.”

“Yeah? Where's this hand of yours going?”

The way she licks her bottom lip, biting down on it before it escapes has him ready for whatever.

“I'll be waiting in the bathroom.” She says with a smile, before getting up from the table, leaving him dumbstruck.

She giggles before slipping into the employee bathroom, not having to wait long as he finally makes his way inside, locking the door behind himself.

“Hey.” She says, smirking as he walks them backwards into the counter, her body becoming flush with his, much to her liking.

“What's gotten into you, lately?” He playfully asks, rubbing her hips.

“I don't know, you said to ask for it any time I want it, but I think it's more fun this way.”

He chuckles, before spinning her backwards, her ass now pressed up against his crotch. She smirks at him through the mirror.

“How much time do we have?”

“Mm,” he shrugs. “A good ten minutes.”

“More than enough time.”

Her sweats and panties are pulled down, and he can't help but run his fingers through her slick folds, feeling how unbelievably wet she is.

“Fuck,” he mumbles before squatting down, stuffing his face in between her cheeks, burying his tongue in her.

Her hands find the countertop as she bites back her moans, rolling her hips against his face. He wildly licks her slit, before suckling her clit into his mouth.

“Please… that feels so good!” She quietly whines, reaching back to rub her fingers through his curls.

Her legs begin to shake as he wags his tongue against her, her grip on his hair tightening. Her soft panting is making him strain against his jeans.

“I'm g-gonna cum!” She whimpers, arching and gripping the back of his neck as she does just that, wetting up his nose and mouth with her juices.

He happily licked it up, standing up to yank his own bottoms down, groaning all in her ear as he stuffs himself inside of her, bottoming out. Her lips are pursed together tightly, thankfully muffling her gasp.

“Good ass pussy,” he lewdly moans.

Her eyes stay glued on their reflection, her mouth now agape as he taps that spot over and over again. The way she's squeezing around him feels heavenly.

“Fffuck,” she quietly moans, “hittin’ that fucking spot so good!”

“Yeah? This spot right here?” He taunts, smirking at the way her eyes rolled back, her lips sputtering out a yes.

One hand comes up to grip her neck, “say it again” spilling out of his mouth with a grunt.

“Yeah!— fuck, I'm c-cummin’!” She moans a bit louder than she meant to, quickly biting into her lip to muffle herself as her orgasm rushes through her. His strokes never cease.

“Mmhm, gimme that pussy,” he grunts, nearing his own peak as he gyrates into her, kissing the back of her neck.

“H-holy shit, babe,” she grits, biting down on her lip.

“So fucking close,” he grunts into her ear, digging a bit deeper inside.

She damn near draws blood from her lip by the time he's releasing inside of her, fingers bearing down on her hips, leaving bruises for her to admire later.

“You… are fucking incredible.” He rasps, as they laugh and catch their breaths.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Eryn’s busy shuffling through the small crowd of people at the mall, when she bumps into a familiar face. Just the person she was hunting for, too.

“And, so we meet again.” Craig says, trying to hide the fact that he might have been laying low, afraid to face her.

She scoffs. “At least we see each other this time.”

��Baby E—”

“Nope.” She cuts him off. “That's the issue, right there. I'm not a baby, Craig. You can't keep doing this shit like I'm that same little girl you knew way back when!”

“Okay, okay, I hear you,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “I was in your business and I'm sorry.”

Eryn rolls her eyes before stepping around him, having no time for his tired apology. But he wasn't gonna stop, now that he'd started.

“Eryn, come on.” He says, walking after her.

“Nah, I'm cool. I don't have time for this.”

“For real? I'm tryna apologize to you—”

“Are you?” She stops and turns in his direction.

“Quit cuttin’ me off.”

“Stop saying stupid shit and maybe I'll refrain.” She spat, crossing her arms over her chest, making her many bracelets clink together.

He stares at her, holding his tongue because she was rightfully upset and now was not the time for banter.

“Look, I'm really sorry. I instantly regretted it after I said it. I even told him to relax on you cause maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. I know I shouldn't have done it, regardless. It's not my business.”

“No. It's not your business.” She frowns. “Had that man yelling at me like he'd lost his mind. I should kick your ass.”

“I know, I ain't mean to unleash all of that.”

She sucks her teeth. “Yeah, whatever. You wanted him to yell at me like he always does. That shit funny to you or something?”

“No!”

“Hm. Well, are we done here?” She asks.

“Uh yeah.. I guess? I don't think ima say anything to make you not mad at me.”

“No, you're not. Thanks for the apology, though. Just stay out of my business. I'm not your little sister.” She reminds him, before walking away.

“Damn.” Craig sadly mumbles before walking away with a hung head.

Her phone rings and she answers it with a bright smile. “Hey B, wassup?”

“I know you just left, but damn I miss you girl.”

“Is that right? Maybe I'll swing back that way.”

“Yeah, why don't you do that. I got sumn for you when you get here.”

“If it's dick, you can keep it Brandon.” She laughs, and so does he.

“Come on, it's not like that. I actually got you something.”

“Mmhm, I'm on my way.”

Right after her heart to heart with Leon, she had a separate one with Brandon, in which she admitted her feelings and told him that they would unfortunately have to go their separate ways, to which he did not agree.

He had also developed a crush on her, in the time they had reconnected, and he wasn't gonna deny it just because his ex-best friend happened to be her brother.

He assured her that they would just have to talk it out. Said he was going to reach out to him personally, which she agreed and suggested that he should've done that in the first place, to which he agreed and apologized.

She was ready to face the music a second time, when the time came of course. But for right now, she was going to enjoy herself.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

“I haven't been home before six in so long,” Leon groans into the pillow, while Zora is perched on his lower back as she rubs her hands up and down his sore muscles.

“Getting off early is the best feeling, ain't it!” She laughs, moving up to his shoulder, rubbing his tense spots.

“Why are you so tense, baby?”

“I think I pulled something earlier,” he shrugs, instantly regretting it. Zora shakes her head like he can see her.

“Okay, relax..” she moves off of him, “sit up so I can get that knot out.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Moving behind his seated body, the natural heat between her thighs is warming his bare back. Her fingers relocate the knot in his left shoulder, working to relieve pressure.

His head lolls forward, his hands rubbing the sides of her thighs as she works her magic.

“Damn, that feels good.” He mumbles, eyes closed.

She smiles, dipping down to kiss the back of his neck. He was in pure bliss as her other hand reached for his other shoulder, kneading his skin like precious dough.

“What's the real reason why you're tense, Avery.” Zora asks again.

He sighs. “I don't know, I just feel like something’s going on.”

Her brows furrow. “With what or who?”

“Eryn.”

“Oh.”

“I know she's not a baby and she makes her own decisions. I just feel like… I don't know, I just don't like it.” He sighs again.

“Listen, baby. I know she's your sister and this isn't the ideal situation for either of you I'm sure, but she's gonna have to learn some things on her own. You can only guide her so much. You're only gonna give yourself a headache, worrying about that. I'm sure that if anything is going on, she'll tell you about it, just like she was about to the last time. Let her.”

“I hear you.”

“I'm serious, Avery.”

“I'll let her come to me. I hear you.” He repeats, turning his head to look back at her.

“Don't make me fight you.” She half jokes, mushing his head back in the other direction.

“Fight me naked?”

“That's our type of fight ain't it?” She snickers.

“Huh, you right.” He nods.

“Duh!” She replies without missing a beat, making him suck his teeth and laugh.

“Alright, you're kink free up here now. Please be more careful at work!” She scolds, still rubbing his left shoulder.

“I will, I promise. Now come lay with me.” He says, moving onto his back, and pulling her right down on top of him.

The covers fall over them as they snuggle up and rub their feet together. The heat was blasting through the vents, warming their cold bones right up.

“You think I need a space heater?” He asks, flipping through the channels.

“You be that cold at night?” She asks, drawing imaginary patterns on his right arm, already dozing off.

“Sometimes, yeah. I sleep with socks on like an old man, babe.” He stresses, making her tiredly laugh at him.

“Yeah, I'll get you one, then.”

“Oh, you don't have to do that.” He assures her.

“I want to. Don't fight me on it.” She playfully smacks his cheek, before sliding up to stuff her face into his neck, sighing contentedly.

“You comfy?” He asks, arms draped around her waist, rubbing circles into her hips as he begins to doze off, himself.

“So comfy.” She responds, before going super quiet, and ultimately falling asleep to his scent and the lull of his heartbeat.

Sometime later, after coming back from the bathroom, Leon slides back under the covers and kisses Zora’s forehead, softly laughing at her still being asleep.

Mindlessly scrolling through his phone, his eyes dart up to read the incoming message from Instagram. It was Brandon and he was ready to talk.

Tapping the message before it disappears, he taps across the screen and sends a message back, letting him know he was on his way.

“Z, baby,” he leans over to press kisses to her face, watching her stir slightly and reach out for him with her eyes still closed.

“I gotta head out real quick, baby.”

“Hm,” she stretches, rubbing her face, “where you goin’?”

“Gonna go chat with Brandon.” He simply says, making her eyes finally pop open.

“Before you start scolding me,” he continues, “I'm not gonna beat him up or yell or any of that. I'm going to hear him out, for real.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, before nodding and rubbing her eyes again. She was adorable when she'd just woken up from a nap.

“Okay, be careful. Where are you meeting him?” She asks.

“His crib.” He answers, still hovered over her.

“Okay. Call me when you get there.”

“Yes ma'am. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

It's finna get juicy!

@ghostfacekill-monger @thegifstories @blackerthings @harmshake @brentfaiyazwhore @honestpreference @sheabuttahwrites @essaysbyciara @starcrossedxwriter @blowmymbackout @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @abeautifulmindexposed @henneseyhoe

#mochaff #miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #black romance #yahya abdul mateen ii #smut #zora x leon #yahya abdul mateen ii fanfiction

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justpoliteconversations · 7 months

Text

Unsung Hero [TP!Link + Veterinarian!Reader]

The care and management of domestic animals is not new to Hyrule, but your kind of practice is.

The indulgence is growing out of control. The other piece for the results of this Poll.

Masterlist

Companion piece:

Fall Birds [BOTW!Link + Reader]

TW: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Seven little fluff balls wait contently within their holding pens, five young females, one adult and a male not even old enough to have a tween's characteristic lank. Three have taken a liking to the soft rags and old shirts you've crafted into makeshift beds, two still picking cautiously at their food bowls, one is grooming with quiet concentration. The kitten is up against the bars, meowing loudly for your attention.

These cats have been well taken care of. They are not afraid of people, many of them want to be picked up. None of them have any issues accepting the food you've given them, they all having been pawing at their enclosures expectantly the moment you'd passed through the doors with food in your hands.

This is a good village. You can tell, for there is no greater indication of a community's character then how they treat thier animals. Creatures whom often rely upon their human caretakers to provide basic needs. Truly, the most vulnerable in any civilized society, safeguarded not by the reigns of biology or sacred law, but by will of the people who keep them.

You smile as you approach, and no less then three of the younger females join the male up against the bars. You are forced to dodge little paws as you crack the doors open just enough to reach in and switch out thier water bowls. Though you give into temptation once or twice and capture their little paws between your fingers, squeezing softly against their smooth beans.

It is harder than you'd like to admit to pull away from them, especially when they are just as eager for attention as you are to give it. But you have work to do, and unfortunately, they only partially involve playing with little beans.

So you eventually leave the room, old water bowls in hand and steadfastly ignoring the pitiful little meows chasing after you. Sometimes you have to play the villain, but that's just an unavoidable consequence of the profession you lead.

And so, unfortunately, is this.

"May I help you." You ask pleasantly enough, irked that this unknown man (hyrulian?) had entered the back of your workplace uninvited, but not really surprised either.

Hyrule and the lands surrounding it is, strange, as far as privacy and security is concerned. No door is truly locked unless it's physically barred, by the locals reckoning. No shop guards their precious stock with carefully maintained distance, no home sacred to the eyes or ears of their community.

Even thievery is taken in stride, rarely punished but for the occasional snide remark or displeased glower. Occasionally, the victimized shop owner may strike at the thief, maybe lecture them, and by the eyes of social justice this seems to make right the wrong.

So, no. You are not surprised. Nor are you surprised by the untrusting tension corded through this man's body.

This is to be expected, or more precisely, this should be expected. And rather than make you feel unnerved or frightened, you are gladdened by this man's formidable presence.

You are happy, because someone cares enough about these animals to ask you what you're doing with them. Cares enough to notice their absence. Cares enough to confront potential abusers with righteous fury, because you can see that in his eyes. That unrelenting need to protect burning in this man's gaze, waiting for a reason to unfurl like Hellfire.

"Why are you taking the cats." He says simply, so honest and to the point. Your heart is gladdened further, because finally, someone who's not going to meekly dance around the issue to avoid offense.

Let them be damned offended. Priority is the wellbeing of the animals. It always has been, and if you're going to dig into other people's business, you best be prepared to get in their face too.

You smile at him, and he seems taken aback by it. "I'm a veterinarian from overseas, specializing in spading and neutering small mammals."

He blinks, long lashes framing wide blue eyes now brimming with cautious curiosity. "A veterinarian?"

You grin, taking the opportunity. You always take the opportunity to educate people. It's just as, if not even more important, than what you actually do.

And so, you talk. You speak of eventual overpopulation, of a single female cat's extensive breeding potential. Of bird populations decimated, of entire litters lost to the dangers of the wilds and the inevitability of disease and death. Of the benefits of fixing felines young, of the health hazards avoided and the behavior issues soothed.

All the while, his eyes get wider and rounder and softer. His world opens up, the light of newfound knowledge enters his inquisitive gaze. At some point he sat, ushering you to sit too. He leans forward as you talk, riveted, asking questions when you begin to slow. Spurring you onwards one breath at a time.

Minutes turn to hours, hours become a promise extracted from the man himself. A promise that you would continue to explain to him the purpose and riggers of your little known profession.

You'd agreed readily. Heart fluttering with the quiet hope of like-minded companionship.

He returns the next day. And the next.

All seven of the cats are fixed by that time, safe and recovering in their pens. And the man, Link, is there for two of their operations. Witness to your practice.

He is enthralled by the precision of your blades, the skill of your hands. Not once does he shy away from the unsavory sight such a profession entails, asking questions only after you've placed the last stitches into shave-short fur. His eyes burning with the need to know and to learn.

You give him everything you have. Every scrap of knowledge and wisdom accumulated after years of education and trials. You share it freely, anything within your power to give is his should he ask.

And he- replies in kind.

Time, effort, rupees. You'd tried to deny, but he could not be moved. The fire in his spirit burning too hot, too intense for you to have any hope of outlasting it's blaze.

He brings in more stray cats, dogs, squirrels (?) than you have holding pens, children trailing behind him with proud expressions of excitement and pride. You give them candy for their efforts, they give you hugs and little scraps of cloth for more beds.

He hands you rupees, brows fixed in stubborn defiance, unwilling to back down from his contributions. There's more than you've ever seen in one place, more than a year's worth. It's too much, but the gleam in his eyes tells of a man who will burden you with untold excess should you refuse his first offer.

The threat is nearly tangible in it's closeness. Take the damned rupees, or prepare to drown in them.

Collars appear like magic overnight upon a precious few cats and dogs, bands of every color staking a bold claim. You leave those ones be, waiting for the loving hands of owners to bring them to you.

Your clinic grows, your place within the community settles. Your new friend becomes your best friend and your most trusted confidant.

Link buys a goat ranch (the one he's been working on for years now), beaming with pride as he tells you how he finally convinced Old man Fado to pass over ownership to him. You congratulate him of course, overcome with pride for his persistence and success.

Your not surprised though. While many might have questioned his hesitance to settle, those who knew him well saw this coming years ago. It was only ever a matter of when the man would pluck up the resolve to fully commit.

The long wait had not been wasted though. A stack of worn books, old and new, sitting prominently at your bedside spoke quietly of that.

"Hey, Link. Now that you're a respectable ranch owner, want to go into business together?" You smile, eyes crinkled at the corners as he caught your gaze in (unnecessarily) hopeful disbelief. "I've been doing a bit of light reading on the biology of ordon goats, after all."

You held out your hand to him, and he gripped it back fiercely, a suspicious shimmer at his lower lashes as a bright smile stole across his lips.

"Might as well not let the knowledge go to waste. Right?"

---

Back to the safety of the shadows.

#twilight princess link #twilight princess x reader #give this man a friend

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