#flat rate moving company

[stairhoppermoversmerrimack]

(via GIPHY)

[glitterslag]

bureaucracy...

[vrmovingca]

We Organize Your Move Quickly Comfortably

We’re VR Moving. A local, family-owned and operated professional moving service in Mississauga. We offer a range of specialty moving and delivery services for a residential, apartment, commercial, and office spaces, storage units, load and unloads of retail purchased items (furniture, appliances, etc.) and junk removal of household items.

[pathologicalreid]

don't get dark | s.r.

in which you disclose an attack to Spencer, and he assures you he's not going anywhere

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: making out, sexual assault, police, mandated reporting, rohypnol, hospitals, rape kit, legalese, panic attack, spencer's pov word count: 1.93k a/n: i hope you don't mind i combined two requests here! do not let the beginning fool you this is angst! please read with care!!

Pulling you closer to him, Spencer’s breathing hitched as you moved your legs around him, straddling his waist as you lazily rested on him, your lips remaining on his even as you moved. When you finally went up for air, he took the opportunity to litter small kisses on your cheek and jawline until you went back for more.

Gently settling his hands on your hips, he hummed into you as your tongue slipped into his mouth, you reached up and wove one hand into his hair, the other lying flat over his collarbone.

Carefully, his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your sweatshirt, the warmth of your skin radiating beneath the cotton as he wished it were possible to physically fuse himself to another person. To you.

He inched his hands further up, slowly dragging his fingertips over your waist when goosebumps spread all over your skin and you sat up. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked at you, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, but he could hear you. He heard your breathing quicken and instinctively turned to flick on his bedside lamp.

You sat beside him, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes while you tried to catch your breath. Hesitantly, he reached out and set a hand on your bare knee, “Honey,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure if you could hear him.

In response, you shook your head—just once—“I’m sorry,” you rasped, your voice crisp from hyperventilating. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, “I just need a second.”

With only your breathing to keep him company, Spencer watched as you miserably tried to keep yourself together by clutching at your sweatshirt, wrapping it around yourself, applying pressure to what seemed like an open wound.

Timidly, he sat next to you on the bed, placing one arm around your shoulders – mindful not to touch any of your bare skin—and he reached for your hand, taking it in his and bringing it up to his chest, placing your hand over his heart. He bit his tongue to stop himself from explaining what he was doing, afraid his words might scare you off.

There are some studies that show things like physical contact can cause a somatic reaction in heart rates, so by holding your hand to my heart, I’m hoping I can help your pulse level out. Your heart is beating so fast. I’ve never seen you like this.

Your palm was clammy, he felt the heat gathering over his heart, and he couldn’t get himself to move, taking slow, deep breaths while hoping you would follow in kind. He wondered if your fingers were tingling from hyperventilating. If he could get you to lift your head, you might have an easier time calming down.

He couldn’t pretend like he didn’t recognize the signs. It was as if there were an alarm going off in his brain, the part of him that never fully left work at work looked at you and he just knew. The hardest part was forcing himself not to draw his own conclusions, to not call at the profiler in him that seemed like second nature at this point. Were there other signs? Things from the past that he hadn’t connected. Could he have prevented this deterioration?

Lifting your head up, you took a deep, shaking breath and your entire body trembled as you pulled your hand back to your side. “I’m sorry,” You echoed again, apologizing unnecessarily to cover up your false sense of guilt.

“Can I get anything for you?” He spoke gently, keeping his voice even so he didn’t startle you.

You sniffled, tears streamed down your face as your jaw slackened and you shook your head, but he got up and went to the living room anyway, retrieving the glass of water that had been abandoned on the coffee table when the two of you moved to the bedroom.

As he watched you struggle with something vicious in your own mind, he wanted nothing more than to put his arms around you. Better yet, he wanted to wrap you in bubble wrap – anything to protect you.

With the glass of water in hand, you folded your legs beneath yourself, trying to make yourself seem smaller. “I have a scar,” you mumbled, holding your free hand to your side, the same place his hand had been not so long ago.

“You don’t have to,” he insisted, you didn’t owe him an explanation. You didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

You waved him off, “Did you know that rape victims are more likely to comply if their attacker has a knife as opposed to a gun? You would know that I guess. That’s like your whole thing at work.” You flinched like something was hurting you, “I didn’t know that until I was attacked. With a knife.”

And just like that, the other ball had dropped.

“I have a scar,” You repeated, eyes wide, pupils dilated, the fear of a memory emanating off of you. “It felt like one of those things, you always hear about it happening to somebody else and you never think it could happen to you.”

Until it does, Spencer thought. He had heard it so many times. He had even felt that way himself. He wanted to tell you that you could stop, but his lips parted, and his mouth felt so dry, and he realized he had no idea where to start. “You’re safe here with me,” he tried, his voice soft. All he wanted to do was help.

At that, you looked over at him, and you shifted again, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your cheek on your knee, “You see it now,” you murmured, “I can see it, in your face. You’re connecting dots.”

You were right, he was thinking about every sign he might have brushed off. This was it. This was why you never went out when you were invited. You’d go to every dinner party at Rossi’s and lunch with JJ, but you never accepted offers to go to a bar, always claiming something had come up. “You don’t need to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” he reminded you.

Waving him off, you closed your eyes again, “I know, but I figure if there was ever anyone for me to talk to about this, it’d be you. Therapy only gets you so far, having someone who fully understands why you’re the way you are it’s… incomparable.”

Spencer had wanted to understand you, to know you as well as he knew himself, if not better, but he hadn’t realized the price it would come at.

“I remember the first time I was taught about rape. Sitting in high school health class and being taught how to avoid it, I thought I did everything right. It’s true, you know. Rohypnol has no taste, no smell, and no color,” you lamented, rubbing your palms nervously over your legs.

Pinching his brow, Spencer searched for something adequate to say, “Did you report it?” His first question.

Shaking your head solemnly, you looked at him, “I had… I went to the hospital and- Oh my god,” you said, suddenly panicked over a revelation. “Do you have to report this to someone? Are you mandated to report this because of your job?”

“No,” Spencer answered quickly. “I’m not telling anyone. None of this information will leave this room,” he assured you. He’d die before betraying that trust.

Your breathing had sped up again, and Spencer tried to get you to drink more water. He kept his distance from you, the two of you seated on opposite sides of the bed. “I was more scared about what people would think than getting myself justice, and I just… I met with an officer. He told me I could wait. I just… don’t really talk to my college friends anymore.”

So, you hadn’t told your friends about what had happened. There had to have been only a handful of people you trusted with this—it simultaneously crushed and comforted him. “If you ever decide that you want to, I’ll support you, but if that time never comes, then I’ll support you in that too.” There would be plenty of time for you to make up your mind, you had years until the statute of limitations was up.

Then, your face crumpled, almost as if his words had flipped some kind of switch and you were letting something go. Some venom that had swirled in your body was finally being released, “I thought— I thought—,” you babbled, letting tension release as Spencer reached out for you.

You limply followed along as he guided you up the bed, “I’ve got you,” he whispered, letting you rest your head on his chest, smoothing your hair back as he continued shushing you.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore,” you cried.

It was a miracle to him that someone like you even existed, someone who managed to brighten his world despite all of the darkness that existed, “Never.” He’d take this to his grave, one next to you, if you will it.

You sighed, your entire body deflating on top of his, “I don’t wear anything that shows my side because the questions are too much,” you told him, tapping your index finger on his chest. “I can’t be around drunk people, and I know you don’t really drink,” you murmured thoughtfully. “Maybe it doesn’t matter,” you maundered.

“No,” he said, “This is good. You should tell me where the lines are,” the last thing he’d want would be to cross any of your boundaries.

Lifting your head slightly, you rested your chin on him so you could get a better look at him, “Sometimes I don’t know where the lines are until they’re being toed,” you admitted. “I know that I’m an adult and I should just be able to figure it out, but any time I start to think about it I just go dark. Have you ever had that?”

Swallowing thickly, Spencer nodded, “I understand, but just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you need to have all of the answers. Any time you go dark, you can just come into the light – with me.”

“That was cheesy,” you told him, a small smile sprouting on your face in spite of yourself.

He didn’t care, he’d be as cheesy as humanly possible if it meant putting a smile on your face. “If you ever need anything from me, to be taken out of a situation, anything, all you have to do is ask, and I’m there.”

You hummed thoughtfully, resting your cheek on his chest again, he wondered if you were listening to his heartbeat, if the steady thumping of his heart served as a comfort to you. “Spence?” You whispered.

“Yeah?” He answered, matching your volume level.

Tracing a heart over his sweater with your index finger, you shifted slightly, “Can I stay here tonight?”

He was grateful you asked because he desperately didn’t want to let you go, “Of course, any time.” Whenever you wanted to be here, you were welcome.

“Can we leave the light on?” You asked, your voice barely audible.

Gently rubbing small circles on your back, Spencer nodded even though you couldn’t see, “Yes,” he breathed, continuing his movements even after your breathing evened out, your nostrils whistling as you slept.

He watched the ceiling fan spin above the two of you, waiting for sleep to take him too.

[kithtaehyung]

minted (m) (snippet) | myg

title: minted (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, knife held to the throat, tension, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, orange!jimin, fight scenes, both versions of yoongi have their own red warning labels smut warnings: to be dropped on drop day but lmfaoooo est. drop date: july 2024! teaser word count: 486 total word count: projecting 15-20k✌️

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back home by now, freshly showered and curling up on your worn bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching diced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the group walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun on their clothes and in their eyes. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

As he gets closer, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do. 

But from the slight confusion pinching his forehead, he didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time rushing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending in with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.

-

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tbc :)))

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⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: LETS GOOOO WHO IS HYPED BCCC..

[avocado-writing]

home

pairing: 14th doctor x reader & 10th doctor x reader

rating: E

notes: no gender or age given for reader, just that you last saw the doctor fifteen years ago. thank you to @mcganns for being my beta!!

This too shall pass.

It was a sentiment that you had to cling onto when he left, because fuck knows it was the most painful thing you’d ever felt. And you’d run away from actual explosions before. Big ones, in space! Supernovas which could eat entire planets while you hung onto the side of a little blue box. 

And yet none of it even begins to compare to when he fucking left you. 

He said it wouldn’t be forever. Well, he shouted it at you as you fell out of the TARDIS. There was a time explosion, and you got rocketed back to your little flat in the middle of Hackney, on Earth only a few days from when he’d picked you up — but in your reality months of adventure had passed. 

You’d not really settled back in, certain that he was going to come and rescue you. But then days turned into weeks into months and you finally accepted that the Doctor had abandoned you. 

So you went back to it all. Your mundane little existence before a mad, brilliant man had whisked you away. Your boss was a bit miffed that you’d gone AWOL but you were their best employee so they couldn’t afford to let you go, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a command not to let it happen again. The people you loved didn’t really seem to notice your absence that much, which stung; you couldn’t blame them though. You’d probably not miss you much either. 

The Doctor. He made you feel special in a way nobody had before. Like you were the centre of a whole, giant, fantastic universe, and he adored you for it. 

Still. 

No point mulling that over again, is there?

Fifteen years. Things did get better. You moved on eventually. But you still find your thoughts drifting back to him every once in a while, and that fragment of time you spent totally utterly in love with each other. When you think about the way he kissed you, without realising it you end up touching your lips.

No. No. Stop. 

The singing of the kettle snaps you back into reality, and you pour yourself a hot cuppa. Ah, tea. The antidote to everything. You go to turn the radio on for some company as you shift into your morning routine when you hear a knock at the door. 

Probably the postie. He’s a bit early today, you think, but make no more of it as you undo the latch and open the door. 

Your heart stops. 

Because there he is, of course. 

Older. Weathered. Not the young man you once knew but a grownup version of him, as exhausted by life as you are. 

You drop your mug. Quick as a flash the Doctor grabs it out of midair. The tea sloshes onto the floor but at least nothing gets shattered. 

He goes to look up at you, but his attention is drawn back to his hand. 

“I bought you this mug years ago,” he says, utterly amazed. 

You shut the door in his face. 

Well, you try to, anyway. But he sticks a foot in between the door and the frame, with one of those stupid Converse he always wears.

“I know you’re angry, I know. But please let me come in.”

It’s such an absurd statement you find yourself laughing, a high and desperate noise. 

“Absolutely not!” Actually, no. That’s not enough. “How dare you. Why are you even here?!”

“Because I wanted— I needed to see you.”

You still want to slam the door on him, but there’s a desperation to his voice that gives you pause. And when he looks at you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes? Those eyes as lined with age as you are?

Fuck. You’re so weak. 

So that’s how you find the Doctor sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. You lean against the counter, defences still up, eyeing him from over the top of your mug. He drums his fingers against the tablecloth. 

“I like your house. Your calendar is nice, I enjoy the kitten motif.”

“Don’t,” you spit, slamming the mug down and sloshing tea onto the floor, “don’t you dare. You don’t get to waltz back here and start telling me ‘oh, I enjoy your furnishings, haven’t you made a nice little life for yourself since I abandoned you!’ I let you in to speak your piece, though god knows why. Say it and be done.”

The Doctor looks deflated. His shoulders sag, mouth falls. You take a moment to properly look at him. He seems… tired. Tired in a way you never knew him to be when you went on your adventures. Part of you wants to offer comfort, but the other part of you wants to withhold it maliciously. Anything to make him feel the way you felt. 

“I looked for you,” is what he settles on, heavily. You didn’t expect that, and it knocks you. 

“What?”

“I did. After the explosion, I tried searching all over the galaxy for you. I didn’t know where - when - you’d ended up. I scanned and scanned but something stopped you from appearing on the TARDIS’s sensors. I think… the amount of artron energy emitted during the blast somehow cloaked you.”

You say nothing, your silence an invitation for him to continue his explanation. 

“It took years. Literal years, for me. Every spare moment I had, I dedicated to looking for you. Head buried in the circuitry of the TARDIS, trying to fix whatever was hiding you, gave myself a couple of nasty shocks too. And, when I finally tracked you down, I’d regenerated.”

You blink. Right. Yes. He’d explained that, but you’d never seen it with your own eyes. The same person, a different face. 

“I didn’t know if you’d want to see me if I didn’t look like me. But I had to try anyway, didn’t I? So I came here. To your house. I got myself all ready for it, knocked on your door… and found that you were married.”

Your fingers grip the counter. 

“Oh.”

“He seemed nice. Loved you a lot, as you deserved. And I couldn’t tell you I was back, could I? I saw you pottering around in the kitchen, making the tea - you were always the best at making tea - and you were happy. How could I ask you to leave that all, uproot the life you’d made for yourself, just to jump back in the TARDIS with me? How could I be so cruel? I couldn’t, could I. So I left again. Tried to move on. Like you did.”

You’re crying now. You can feel hot tears slide down your face and soak into your jumper. 

“Oh, Doctor,” you manage. You want to tell him so much. It feels like it might burst out of you. But instead you settle on:

“Why now?”

He smiles thinly. 

“Because somehow I got this face back, and I wanted to see you. I wanted to be selfish for once.”

You find yourself at the table, on the wonky chair opposite him, sliding your hand over to cover his. It’s rough and warm. Just like you remember. He says your name with reverence, but like it pains him. 

“I never stopped loving you. Ever. Through it all, every adventure, I knew it wasn’t complete because you weren’t there. It just wasn’t the same without wonderful, brilliant you,” he admits. He sounds defeated. It breaks your heart — or, actually, it might just put it back together again. 

A beat passes. His confession lingers in the air, heavy, thick and choking like smoke from an untameable fire. 

“His name was Simon. He was a baker. He was lovely, actually… and we got divorced two years ago.”

The Doctor’s brow furrows. 

“You… what… why?”

“Because he knew there was someone else I never really let go of. Someone else who, despite everything, I still loved.”

He looks you in the eyes, and you see something glimmer there that you long since gave up on. 

Hope. 

And then, suddenly, you’re kissing. 

It’s like nothing has changed. His lips are still rough and searching on yours, a hint of tongue giving away into more the deeper you entangle. He sits you up on the table and steps into the space left by your spread legs, and between each kiss he says your name. It’s full of adoration but lined with desperation, too. 

Like the kisses he gave you the first night you laid together, on a bed in his spaceship floating across the galaxy. When he buried himself inside you and you felt his two hearts beat in rhythm with your own. 

“Doctor…” you manage. 

Fuck. You need him. You didn’t realise how badly you needed him. You didn’t realise a piece of your soul has been missing this whole time, fucking torn out of you and leaving a jagged hole in its wake. And him, back, telling you he loves you and always has? You’re patched together like kintsugi. 

Your Doctor is the molten gold you need. 

“Please. I need to…” he’s so desperate he can barely get the words out, but you nod; he’s undoing the belt buckle of your jeans and pulling them off like they’re silk. When his thin waist meets yours you cross your ankles behind him and lock him into place, and his hands - a little fumbling, a little nervous to be mapping out the plain of you again - begin to trace your chest. You lean into his touch to let him know yes. This is okay. I want this. Make me whole again. 

His warm, rough palms slide under the hem of your shirt and lift it easily over your head, the only break in a while you take from your kiss. You let yourself grab his tie to bring him closer. He’s fully dressed still and you’re almost naked; you remember how he used to like that, enjoy feeling a bit more put together than you. Cheeky blighter. Still though, as his suit scratches your skin, you can’t say you don’t agree. 

However. In this instance he has far too many clothes. 

You tug at his jacket and he knows what you need, letting it fall to the floor with his tie and waistcoat following it. He ruts against you as he unbuttons his shirt a bit, not the whole way, but just enough for you to feel the warmth of his chest. He’s so skinny. You’ve always been a bit worried that, on one of your rougher days, you might snap him in half. You still are now, actually. 

Cupping his face in your hands you let your thumbs caress his cheekbones. Your Doctor. Older but the same. Just like you. 

You can feel him more than half-hard against your leg. No more time wasting. You need him. You need him, you need him, you need him. 

It doesn’t take long to undo his fly and have him in your hand. You’ll always be glad he chose this human anatomy. Though you’d love him no matter how he looks, there’s something wonderful about his cock as it is here. He lets his head fall forward onto your shoulder with a moan if your name. 

“Oh… you’re…”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree, a genuine smile passing your face for the first time in god knows how long. He’s just the right length and on the thick side, and you know what a delicious stretch he is when he pushes inside of you. You can’t wait to feel it again. A couple of pumps and he’s ready, dripping precome and a ruddy red. Another time you’d bend down and taste him, remind yourself what a Time Lord’s cock is like. But now today. Well, not now. 

You lay back, readjusting yourself so he can push your underwear to the side and find your entrance. A couple of fingers - those long, delicate, clever and cunning fingers - press inside you and test you out. You’re ready for him. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat as he realises and you laugh, properly, throwing your head back. 

“Come on, Doctor. Show me that you’ve missed me.”

He used to never shut up. And now he’s stunned into a desperate silence, lining up with you and pushing in as he does his best to make you feel what he’s been feeling too. 

A loneliness is fixed. He slides home inside you and your hips meet, the both of you letting out a long and ragged breath. You sit there for a moment, locked in the most intimate embrace, and just feel each other. You fist your hands in his shirt. He’s here. He’s real. You feel him trace his palm up your back as if you assure himself of the same thing. 

Slowly he begins to move. It is a long and lovely drag, his cock hitting all the points you missed being touched, and when he feels you gasp he goes harder. The Doctor nuzzles into the skin of your neck, nestling to the warmth of you there, and you hear him repeat a mantra both of your name and “I love you”.

Over and over. As if the two phrases are inextricably linked. 

You’re so full. You’re so light. Everything feels perfect in this moment. And when he reaches between your bodies to touch your sex, push you to the edge, you know you’ll climax for him embarrassingly fast. 

When you come you see stars light up behind your eyes. The sky, the unfiltered and untamed sky takes you over. The Doctor says your name one final fine and releases inside you, his hips riding it out as if to savour every second in the sweet grip of you. 

He can’t look at your face when he asks you. He says it from the safety of your shoulder where his face is buried, because if you say no you know his heart will shatter. 

“Come with me, in the TARDIS again. I know I shouldn’t ask you to leave your home but… you complete me, you know. Always have.”

“Leave my home?! Doctor, don’t be daft. This is just a house in bloody Hackney. You’re my home.”

You pull back to meet his gaze. He’s tired, but bright. His eyes twinkle. And there’s the Doctor you know. 

“And of course,” you continue. And, as the smile engulfs his face and he lights up, “it’s not like I’m doing anything else, am I?”

This time, when you go AWOL from your job, you never come back. 

[kittenintheden]

Poker Face

the one-shot I've been teasing has dropped! thank you to every last one of you who supported me and contributed to this. you know who you are. and if you don't know, you will. enjoy!!!

Rating: E Paring: Astarion/GN!Tav Wordcount: 2.2k Content: established relationship, gender-neutral Tav (?), quickie, semi-public sex, party sex, blowjob, penetrative sex, use of lube, The Horrors (?)

You and Astarion are having a casual evening hanging out with some friends. When you spy him from across the room, he gives you a tell only you know.

He wants you. Here and now. And you're happy to oblige.

Astarion has a tell.

Several of them, if you’re being honest, but one in particular with a specific connotation. You catch him tonight as you look over your shoulder, laughing at something your friend just said. On the other side of the room, your love leans against the wall, also engaged in conversation with someone at this casual gathering in the loft above Dammon’s shop.

Astarion smiles blandly at his company before he meets your eye and it turns genuine. A subtle change in the lines of his face that you’ve come to know so well, eyes going rounder and the sharp points of his teeth glinting through his parted lips. That isn’t the tell.

The tell is when he raises his hand to his mouth and rubs the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, letting it pull from the tension ever so slightly as his eyes look you up and down. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and you’re not about to tell him, but you know exactly what it means even as he turns back to his conversation.

He wants you. Here and now. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s a dull ache starting between his legs, just as it’s starting between yours.

You take a sip from your goblet, letting the wine swirl on your tongue as you pay your companions a placating smile, only half-listening to the subject of their discussion. After a few minutes, you graciously excuse yourself and move toward Astarion’s group. You notice his head turn slightly at your approach.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you say to the others as you run your fingers over his shirt sleeve before looking into his face. “I could use some air. Would you walk with me?”

“Of course, my sweet,” he says, voice the very essence of chivalry. He takes your goblet and sets it on the side table, offering his arm. You accept it and allow him to lead you outside the flat and down the stairs. When you hit the ground floor, you gently guide him with you out of sight.

“What’s this?” he teases.

In answer, you put one hand on his waist and slide the other hand around the back of his neck to draw him into a deep soul kiss. When he immediately opens to you without a hint of resistance, you know you were right. Before you pull away, you gently suck his lower lip and listen to him whine when you give it a light nibble.

“You looked like you needed a walk,” you whisper against his mouth. “Partner’s intuition. Was I wrong?”

Astarion tucks his chin and looks up at you, pupils overtaking the heated red irises of his eyes. “No.” He reaches around to twist the cloth at the base of your spine in his fist and pull you flush against him, where you can feel something rigid against your hip. “You weren’t.”

You know what that ridge is.

You open the door to Dammon’s storage shed and pull Astarion along behind you. You fumble with the nearest lantern until the flame lights, casting the space in a flickering orange glow before you pull the door shut. With a laugh, you herd him into the closest open expanse, careful where you step.

Astarion’s back hits the wall. He growls and takes you by the wrist, dragging your fingers down the fabric of his shirt until you’re pressed tight to the firm length of his quivering member through his trousers. You meet his eyes, inches from your own, and note the way he pants out his breath between the points of his teeth.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” he whispers, tilting his chin toward you. “The way my magic male love stick is pulled to you like you’re the Sailor’s Star? The way I want to put my peepee in your peepee?”

Your eyelids go heavy and hooded. You tilt your head and catch his mouth in a kiss and feel the vibration of his approving hum through his lips. At the same time, you give his heckin long chonk a slow stroke through the fabric and his body leans into yours, knees gone weak. He licks along your lip with a quiet groan.

Oh, how you love him like this. Hornt up and ready to ride, tender and eager. He’s frothin’ for you instead of thinking of his next move, and the one after that, and the one after that. Split open like a hot dog bun, 100% all beef frank and condiments spilling from him in a cascade.

Such a show of trust, of love, to let you see exactly how badly he wants to take the skin boat to tuna town. To put that knowledge and that power in your hands.

You’ll show him his trust is well-placed.

Reluctantly, you break from his mouth and he tries to follow you, tries to maintain the connection with a breathy whine. You swallow hard and run your fingers over his jawline. “Where do you want this, dearest? What would you like?”

“Your gibbering gob,” he gasps, still fighting you for another kiss. “I want you to put your piehole on me.”

“On you where?” you whisper, brushing your lips barely against his.

“On my piehole.” His voice contains the hint of a growl, now. “My neck. My chest, my stomach, my schlong.” He tests your will to hold him at bay. “Especially my big pulsating pocket rocket.”

You grin and wrinkle your nose, running your fingers up either side of his head to thread into his hair as you roll your body into his, capturing his lips with an agreeable purr. As requested, you release him and instead reach for his linen shirt, pulling it free of his trousers where he’s tucked it. He doesn’t release you from the kiss until the shirt has to go over his head. You drop it on the floor and put your hot mouth against the side of his neck, following the column of his throat with tooth and tongue. His back arches up off the wall and you use your weight to keep him in place.

Kisses travel across the expanse of his chest and over his undulating abdomen, incapable of staying still in his current state of total horned upitude. With gentle fingers, you pull at the fastenings at the front of his trousers, working them open enough to kiss and lick to the hem of his underoos. You spend a teasing amount of time running the tip of your tongue just under the band before he huffs his impatience at you.

When you sit back to look up at him, you find his eyes lidded and teeming with glossy lust, curls hanging down around his head. “I need you to slobber my knobber, my love,” he says softly.

“You do?” you ask him sweetly, even as you continue working his banana hammock to free his dingdingdong. He sighs his relief when he feels it in your hand, your fingers dancing lightly over that velvet salami.

“I love your mouth muscle on me.” He gasps sharply when you reward him with a light lick under the bulbous mushroom. “Love your sloppy toppies, your…” Another gasp as you swirl your tongue round him. “Gods, I need you to blow my job right now, I can’t think-”

His groan is low and wanting as you take him fully, letting the length of his one-eyed snake slide over the curl of your oral slug as far as you can go without gagging. You hollow your cheeks slightly, giving him the suction he seeks, and begin to move, working his love popsicle slowly.

“Yes,” he breathes, leaning heavily back into the wall even as he gently cants his hips in time with your mouth. You feel the light touch of his fingertips against your temple, moving back to play with your hair. When he looks down again to observe, he adds, “Such a sweet orifice, so perfect for my tallywacker. You are so beautiful like this. Could watch you… forever.”

Forever is a very long time, which you remind him by increasing your efforts, head moving quicker now, your tongue dragging along the underside of his organic dildo. He shudders forward, curling over you, humming.

“Ah, good to me, so good, gods, gods, that-” His words are cut through with an aching moan and you feel his steel rod swell (somehow) and go harder (than steel) against the softness of your mouth.

Then he has his arms underneath your arms and he pulls you bodily off him, up and away, and then you’re on your feet and he’s spinning you both around until your back is the one against the wall.

“What-” you start, but then he’s face humping you with his mouth, tongue desperately tasting.

You feel his hand digging into your side pouch and for one incredulous moment you think he’s trying to bloody pickpocket you mid-doink, but then you hear the near-indistinguishable pop of a cork and realize he’s found the vial of oily sex sauce you keep on hand. He moves to your neck, suckling and kissing, and you glance down to see him pumping his piston dick with his greasy hand.

He raises glazed, ruddy eyes to look deep into you, the rosemary and citrus scent of him resiny and bright. With the same hand he used on himself, he runs his palm straight down the front of your pants and crotch sling to slip in between your legs. Immediately, you lift a knee and he grabs hold of it with his free hand, hoisting it up and wide to get all up in there.

With a winded laugh, he says, “Didn’t know how ready you’d be, and I don’t want to wait.”

“So don’t,” you gasp, your eyes rolling back into your head as his slicked hand slides against your meat curtains in a dizzying way. He works the tips of his fingers inside your love pocket, testing as much as needed, and when he’s satisfied, he pulls his hand free.

You’re fairly certain you pull out a seam in your leggings in the rush to get them off, but neither of you care. True to his word, Astarion hikes your leg back up high and plunges his fuck stem into your bajingo without further pretense, the pair of you choking back your cries as you start doing the horizontal tango, except it’s vertical because you’re up against the wall. With his hand splayed over your hip and booty-butt to keep you in place, his fingers press into your skin on that delightful edge between pressure and pain.

“I a-ache,” Astairon stammers, swallowing hard as he helps you bounce on his fat hog. “Every moment you’re near, I… I ache for you.”

With his free hand, he goes under the hem of your draping shirt and runs his cool fingers up over your torso to your chest, massaging you in slow circles and giving those pink nubs a good once-over. He churns you like butter with his wand of penetration like he can’t wait, like this is the first time, like this is the last time, like this is every time in between.

You whine out your horniness and drop your head back, exposing the length of your throat to him as your jollies climb higher, coil tighter. He clings to you as though you’re life itself, using the wall for leverage as he angles you until he hits that good shit that makes you hiccup.

“Give me this, gorgeous,” he gasps, his humpy-humps firm and rhythmic. “I want to feel your b/p/ussy clench, come on. Let me feel you, let… spurt for… gimme cummies…”

You do. Your body shivers from your toes to the top of your head, radiating in waves from the core of you. Astarion gives a strangled cry almost like a sob as the strength of your whambam hits him, rippling along the length of his tickle stick where it’s bottomed out inside you. The place where you meet goes sticky-wet with your lubricating ointment.

He hoists you higher onto the wall, your legs tight around his waist, until you’re looking down into his face, your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“You are so beautiful like this,” you say, whispering his own words back to him.

It isn’t a lie. Never has been, never will be. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, gazing up at you with eyes the color of lifeblood and hair the color of moonlight as he bumps your ugly, as close as he can possibly get. Just like always, he tries to keep it together, to be the picture of confidence and seductive heat, and just like always, he can’t quite manage it as he closes in on the final moment of your bonedogging, his flesh chandelier slapping a final time.

His eyes fall closed, his brow tenses, and his lips part as quiet ah ah ahs fall from them. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you firmly to him, rolling once more before he releases his brogurt with a shaky exhale, spine arching and head falling back. Tension rolls off his body like rainwater, pooling beneath the pair of you as your cardinal sinning slows and stops.

Without a word, Astarion tilts his head forward again, eyes shut, and finds your mouth with his, lips soft and sweet as sugarcane. His head lolls to the side to lay on your shoulder and you feel his smile stretch against the skin of your neck.

“April Fool’s,” he whispers. “Sucker.”

so, this was a joke. obviously, I hope. APRIL FOOL'S LOL.

there is, however, a real actually sexy version and you can find that one right here. sorry. no I'm not. mwah love you all.

[writing-intheundercroft]

Falling Hard

Summary: A story about how Garreth fell first (literally and figuratively).

Word Count: 5,416

Rating: T (boner alert, but that’s about it)

A/N: Thank you to @cuffmeinblack and @ellivenollivander for arranging @garrethweasleyfest!! And a special thank you to whoever submitted banana peel as a prompt lmao

Read on AO3

Garreth Weasley laid flat out in the center of the Great Hall, staring at the candle lit ceiling. He could hear laughter echoing around him, and a sharp pain radiating through the lower half of his back. Garreth shut his eyes tightly, wishing he was anywhere but the middle of his school dining hall, spread-eagle with banana pith on his heels.

He supposed he deserved this, after all.

And then, Garreth felt her hands cupping his cheeks, the soft pads of her fingers brushing his chin. When he opened his eyes, he blinked heavily, her face hovering over his. Wisps of her hair brushed his skin as she leaned over him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Okay, he would survive this. Especially if it meant being in this close of proximity to her.

“You’re an idiot, Garreth.” She shook her head, staring down at him with wide eyes.

He smiled up at her, blinking to clear his eyes. She was kneeling, hands flat on the ground at both sides of his face. He could smell her, the faint hint of mallowsweet lingering over her distinctive perfume. If he craned his neck up, he could probably kiss her—

“Yeowch,” Garreth groaned, a sharp pain crackling through his head like lightning. The sensation was enough to drive him back down to the ground, grasping at the flagstone floor. She shifted her hand, this time to cup the back of his head. He heard her inhale sharply, examining reddened fingertips.

”Is that blood?” He asked weakly.

Leander scampered forward, gasping when he saw his best mate’s current state. She was frozen at his side, fresh blood dripping down her hand.

“Somebody call Blainey!”

It sounded like Natty. Leander sat at his side, bracing Garreth’s head in place. He tried to move, to pry himself from the other redhead’s grasp, but the sharp pain returned. Someone was saying something to the effect of conjuring towels, and he saw her sit up, the offending yellow culprit in hand.

Fuck bananas, Garreth thought. Horrible stringy fruit. Who even liked bananas anyways?

She did. She’d always bounce over from her table, snatching a banana from the fruit bowl closest to him. She’d smile, say good morning, and that interaction would make his entire day.

”Garreth,” he heard her voice. He tried to crane his neck upwards again, but the ringing continued in his ear.

And then he passed out.

“I can’t believe you,” Aunt Matilda huffed. “Seriously Garreth, cracking your skull a week before graduation. Your mother will have my head.”

”I’m sorry,” Garreth repeated for the umpteenth time, wincing as Blainey wrapped another bandage around his noggin, flattening down his red hair. It was late afternoon already, and he’d missed the majority of his classes. With exams on the horizon, few of his friends had the free time to sit by his side. Therein, he was sequestered to his hospital wing bed with only his aunt for company.

“Garreth, you’re nearly a grown man and I still have to mind your behavior.” his aunt snapped. “How can an employer take you seriously when you’re still acting like a third year? Let alone a woman—“

”I get it, Aunt Tilly,” Garreth grumbled. “I have to wisen up.”

His Aunt Matilda’s face softened, lips pursed as she gave him a flat lipped smile. “I know the final days of term can be stressful. I just don’t want to see your talent wasted on trying to be remembered as a goofball.”

Garreth wasn’t trying for anything in particular—in fact, his stunt in the Great Hall had been an attempt to get everyone to forget what he’d blurted out in the heat of the moment.

Someone cleared their throat; Garreth and his aunt turned their heads to see Nurse Blainey standing next to the fabric partition.

“Visitors for Mr. Weasley,” she announced, gesturing to the now visible doorway.

”Oh thank Merlin,” Garreth wheezed, sitting up. He smiled weakly at Natty and Leander, who were walking into the hospital wing with his textbooks and assignments in their arms.

”Sorry it took us so long,” Natty said apologetically. “Had a double potions session with Sharp.” She dumped Garreth’s book bag onto the bed, books and papers spilling out the top.

”Thank you for bringing his homework,” Aunt Matilda said kindly. She redirected her attention back down to Garreth, eyes narrowing. “Now, don’t get into any more mischief, young man. I’ll be back in the morning.”

”Yes, Aunt Tilly.” Garreth said dully, crossing his arms. Natty and Leander watched the deputy headmistress walk out of the hospital wing, disappearing down the stairs.

”How do you feel?” Leander asked, pulling up a chair. Natty sat at the end of the bed, rearranging his book bag.

”Like shit,” Garreth grumbled, rubbing his head. “Cracked my skull, remember?”

“While skele-grow works wonders, I’m sure it can’t taste all that good.” Natty winced, shivering at the thought. “What did it taste like?”

”Chalk,” Garreth tapped his chin. “Think I blacked out all over again while taking it.”

Leander snorted, opening his own book bag to deliver a pumpkin pasty wrapped in a napkin. “I know the hospital wing food is tragic, don’t eat it all in one go.”

”What’s the damage then?” Garreth asked, swiping the pasty from Leander’s outstretched hand. He took a big bite, chewing thoughtful as his eyes flitted between his two friends.

”It’s fine—“

”Awful, mate.”

Leander and Natty shared similar sharp glances at one another.

“Alrighty then,” Garreth wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Give me the play by play, what people are saying.”

”Well,” Natty said hesitantly, playing with the end of one of her braids. “People are saying you’ve…er, gone a bit mad.”

”Me?” Garreth balked. “Gone mad? Over a banana?”

”It’s not just the banana.” Natty sighed. “It’s how you were speaking to her.”

”To her?” Garreth posed the question, still confused.

”Well, you sort of shouted at her.” Leander said slowly.

”I did not shout at her,” Garreth retorted.

Natty winced. “Yeah, afraid you did.”

Garreth blinked, trying to remember exactly what had happened at breakfast that morning. “I…I shouted at her?”

”She came over to the table to take a banana, like she always does.” Leander recounted. “And you asked her to sit with us. She just about did—“

”Until Sallow yelled at her to come back and sit with him and Ominis.” Natty finished his sentence. “You kind of lost the plot then.”

”I don’t remember this at all,” Garreth groaned.

”I think that’s for the best.” Natty said reassuringly, patting his hand.

“No, tell me more.” Garreth beckoned them forward. “Tell me how bad it was.”

”You sort of…well, you got into it with Sallow, told him off for interrupting you. And you both stood up at the front of the table, got in each other’s faces. And then, Sebastian yelled—“

This part Garreth remembered. It came back to him like a punch to the gut.

It’s almost like you’re in love with her, Weasley.

“Fuck,” Garreth swore. “I told everyone I was in love with her.”

Leander and Natty shared a painful glance with one another. “Just about. I mean, really, you were screaming it, so I’m not sure everyone truly understood.” Natty offered.

Leander scoffed. “It was pretty easy to put two and two together, Nat.”

Garreth buried his face in his hands as the memory formed in his head. Completely red in the face at Sebastian’s remark, he stared at the Slytherin with balled up fists. Garreth had stepped up, puffing his chest out as he blurted out his confession.

Maybe I am, he’d shrieked. IkindofsortofamkindofinlovewithherandI’vebeeninlovewithhereversinceourfifthyear.

”Merlin’s saggy tits,” Garreth muttered, hanging his head low. “I need to move continents.”

“I’m sure it’ll blow over,” Natty assured him. “It’s the last week of school, everyone who didn’t hear you will just assume you had—“

”A mental break?” Leander interjected. “That’s plausible. What’s not plausible is the fact that he decided to throw a bloody banana peel and crack his own skull open.”

“It was for comedic effect,” Garreth argued. “To uh, deflect the problem at hand.”

”Joke went out the window when everyone saw your blood on the floor.” Leander pointed out.

Garreth slumped in his bed, a hand flying up to adjust the gauze bandage around his head. He opened his mouth, shutting it rapidly as he tried to form his next thought without making his brain explode.

”It seemed like the best possible plan at the time.” He said miserably.

”It was funny at first.” Natty shrugged. “Don’t dwell on it, Garreth. Peeves has already stopped singing about it.”

Garreth ripped his pillow out from behind him, screaming into the feathered cushion.

”I told you we shouldn’t tell him that part.” Leander muttered.

Hogwarts was known for its decadent meals, but that service didn’t seem to translate up to the food offered in the hospital wing. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night and Garreth was still playing with his spoon, dragging it back and forth the cold, half-empty bowl of chicken broth a house elf had brought in for him. He wished he hadn’t been so quick to finish the pasties Leander had smuggled in for him.

“You should eat, Mr. Weasley.” Nurse Blainey clucked. The school nurse was clad in her pajamas, hair set in curlers as she prepared for bed. “Your bones will heal faster if you’re properly nourished.”

”Not much nourishment in this soup,” Garreth wrinkled his nose.

Blainey ignored his complaints, instead brushing the edge of her robe. “Now, it’s lights out, Mr. Weasley. I’ll leave you with your tray, but otherwise you should get your rest. I’ll be in my office; should you need me, just ring the bell.”

Blainey disappeared behind the partition; Garreth could see the outline of her walking back to her office, waving her wand to dim the lights. The door clicked shut, and all that was left in the hospital wing was poor old Garreth and his bowl of cold broth. He winced as he shifted in the creaky bed, setting the tray down on the bedside table. If he was going to be stuck here all night, he might as well get a good night’s rest before facing ridicule from the entire student body.

”It’s only one more week,” Garreth mumbled to himself, pulling the woolen blanket up to his chin. A singular week separated him from graduation. In seven days, he’d be a free man. Free to explore the world, to finally start the research on his potion ingredient almanac the way he’d planned on doing his entire school career.

A week before he’d likely never see her again.

Garreth turned on to his side, groaning. Perhaps that was for the best, he thought. He probably frightened her. That, or at least made her think he was completely off his rocker. Who in the right mind would shout their undying love, followed by trying to annihilate oneself with a banana peel?

Fuck, he’d never live it down. The ghosts would tell stories of his tragedy for years to come.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d responded. If she had understood his ramblings (which Leander had confirmed to be an unmistakable declaration of love), she hadn’t visited him in the hospital wing at all during the day. He’d been optimistic earlier, after Natty and Leander left for supper. But with every passing hour, Garreth lost a little bit of hope that his affections might be returned.

How could she love him, he thought. They were friends, that’s all. It was his own fault he’d taken the bait from Sallow, who’d given him that annoyingly smug face at the breakfast table.

Garreth was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice the footsteps, or the creak of the partitions being moved. He only became aware of a second body in the hospital wing when the mattress dipped. He furrowed his brow as he looked over his shoulder, blinking at nothing.

”What the?” He grumbled, sitting up.

“Revelio,” a familiar voice muttered.

“Bloody hell,” Garreth gasped. He clutched his heart, as if it were going to beat right out of his chest at the sight of his crush materializing out of thin air at the edge of his bed.

She smiled at him, wild hair flying around her face as she dropped her wand onto the blanket. “Hi.” She whispered, nudging his legs. “Scoot over.”

”What are you doing here?” Garreth whispered, eyes wide.

Figured you could use some company.” She said nonchalantly, smoothing out the edge of her dressing gown. “And some snacks—the hospital wing food is atrocious from what I can remember.” She reached down to her little purse, undoing the flap. Garreth stared at her in confusion as she shoved her arm down to the elbow.

”Undetectable extension charm,” she murmured, pulling her arm back out to reveal a tin can. “Here, eat this.”

Garreth looked down at the tin, which she’d placed in his hands. Banana flavored candies from Zonko’s.

“What are you doing here?” Garreth repeated, peering up at her through his copper lashes.

She gave him a funny look. “I’m here to see you, silly.”

”But why now?” Garreth insisted. “You had all day.”

”Excuse me, I had a full diary today. I wasn’t factoring a trip to the hospital wing in the schedule.” She scoffed, handing him a chocolate bar from Zonko’s. “Classes, studying for NEWTs, some errands for a few folks in the highlands, checking in on the shop.” She herself opened a tin of licorice, tipping it his way as an offering. “The usual.”

Garreth gladly took a piece. “You do too much, you know.” He pointed out, followed by a big bite. “I have no idea how you manage.”

She shrugged, playing with the edge of the blanket. “I just want to be helpful while I’m still around the highlands. Who on earth is going to help these villagers with all their tasks when I’m gone?”

Garreth chuckled, shaking his head. “You do too much.”

She chewed on the candy, eyes twinkling. “I know I do.”

”And you should probably be sleeping,” Garreth pointed out. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. “Merlin’s beard, it’s nearly midnight. You’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”

She swallowed thickly. “I just wanted to see that you’re okay.”

Garreth felt his face heat up in a blush. “I’m fine,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Just a bump.”

She raised her brow. “A bump? Garreth, you were in a puddle of your own blood.”

”My own fault.” Garreth pointed out. “As everyone has reminded me.”

She shook her head, fighting a laugh. “Garreth Weasley, only you would try to take yourself out with a banana peel the week before graduation.”

”It’s pathetic.” Garreth wrinkled his nose.

”It’s hilarious,” she said sternly, wagging a finger in his face. “But I must plead with you to be more careful with yourself.”

Garreth chewed his bottom lip, avoiding her gaze. He instead focused on the woven pattern of the blanket, pulling on the frayed edge. “I thought I might have scared you.”

She tilted her head. “Scared me? How so?”

“Because I said some things…perhaps I screamed them at you, I don’t quite remember.”

Her face softened, and she tilted his chin up to look at her. “Sebastian can be cruel sometimes, I don’t want you to take it to heart. He felt awful, you know. I gave him a proper scolding afterwards. He didn’t mean to egg you on like that.”

She’d completely glazed over the confession, Garreth noted. A clear sign of her feelings towards him. Just friends, that’s all they were. They’d been friends since she arrived at the beginning of fifth year—she’d been the only person brave enough to sneak into Sharp’s office to get him a fwooper feather, and then she’d boldly traversed the One Eyed Witch passage to gather him some billywig stings. Letters exchanged over the summer holidays, stolen glances across the cauldron from one another in Sharp’s seventh year seminar. He’d memorized the sound of her laugh from all their shared classes, always endeavoring to make her giggle at least once every lesson. And for the last year, she’d volunteer to be his partner every night in Astronomy, shivering together as they charted their stars.

But, there was Sebastian.

Garreth had nothing against the chap, except for the fact that he was a Slytherin. In fact, he and Sebastian had quite a jovial acquaintanceship going before she arrived. But as soon as they’d returned for their sixth year, things seemed to change. Sebastian was more withdrawn, keeping to himself more than ever after his uncle’s death. And she stayed at his side, always fussing over him at meals or passing notes with him during study periods. It was the kind of treatment one would reserve for a loved one, an intimacy Garreth could never seem to cross with her.

Sebastian always hogged her, especially at meal times. She only ever left his side at breakfast to get her daily fruit from the Gryffindor table, exchanging pleasantries and a kind smile with Garreth in exchange. If he were lucky, they’d have time for a cup of tea between classes. On even luckier days, he might catch her walking home from Hogsmeade, electing to take the long way home just to hear her speak.

Even if she was taken, his crush on her grew stronger, made even more alluring by how unattainable she was.

”It was stupid of me,” Garreth mumbled, pinching the blanket. “To say all that in front of your boyfriend.”

She wrinkled her nose. “My boyfriend?”

”Yeah,” Garreth sighed. “Sebastian.”

Her eyes softened once more, and she took her hand in his.

”Garreth,” she said carefully. “Sebastian and I—we’re not together.”

Garreth looked up at her in confusion. “You’re not?”

”He’s just my best friend,” she murmured. “He’s had it tough the last two years, and perhaps I’ve babied him a bit too much. But trust me when I say there is absolutely nothing between us. He’s like a brother to me, Gar.”

”A brother,” Garreth repeated.

”A brother who is very protective of me,” she chewed on her lower lip. “Especially around a boy who might like me.”

“Yeah,” Garreth breathed in sharply. “A boy who might like you very much.”

She started to trace a circle in the palm of his hand. “And if I’m to believe the confession he gave at breakfast this morning, a boy who might love me.”

Garreth gave her a weak smile. “It’s stupid, I know. We’ve hardly had time together, let alone to properly…uh, properly grow those feelings. But it’s true.”

”It’s not stupid.” She shook her head. “Not when I feel the same way.”

Garreth sat up straighter, sucking in sharply when he felt his head ringing. At this point he wasn’t sure if it was the wound or the blood pounding in his head from her own confession.

“You should lay down,” she said, coaxing him back into the bed. “I’ll lay next to you, okay?”

Garreth scooted over to the edge, letting her slip under the covers next to him. He felt as if he was dreaming—his wildest dreams coming true, having the object of his affections curled up into him a week before graduation? He pinched himself as they shuffled on the small bed frame, getting closer.

“You like me,” Garreth said slowly as the top sheet fell over their heads.

”I like you,” she affirmed. “Have for a while, actually.”

”Since when?” Garreth asked, feeling his heart drop into his stomach.

”Since the party at the end of fifth year,” she confessed. “When you let me try fizzing whizzbeer. You…uh, you put your arm around me and kissed me on the cheek. Said you couldn’t have done it without me.” Her face was pink, flushed from her own confession.

“Merlin, I’m an idiot.” Garreth groaned.

”Just a bit,” she snorted. “I tried to drop so many signs. Why else did you think I wanted to be your partner all the time in Astronomy?”

”Because I’m good at Astronomy?”

“Garreth, you’re terrible at it.” She chuckled. “I kept trying to cuddle up with you, but you were always speeding to get the star charts done as fast as possible so we could go to bed. I thought—I mean, I took that as a sign you weren’t interested.”

Garreth’s eyes widened. “That was why you kept wearing such thin cloaks to class?”

”I wanted you to put your arm around me.” She retorted.

Garreth tilted his head, putting two and two together. Now it made sense why she was always shivering, backing into him as they took their evening class. She’d once stepped right between his legs, her backside pressed right against—

Shit. He was an idiot.

”We’re bad at this flirting thing, aren’t we?” She tilted her head.

”Awful at it,” he moaned. He lifted his hand, letting it rest on her hip. She seemed to like it, melting into his touch.

”Sebastian was getting so frustrated hearing me whine about you.” She murmured. “I think that’s why he was pushing you so hard this morning. I think he and Ominis had a bet you’d say something before graduation, and Seb didn’t want to lose his galleons.”

”I’ll have to thank Sallow then,” Garreth pointed out. “For helping me across the finish line.”

“You shouldn’t, his head can’t stand to get any bigger than it already is.” She chuckled. Garreth could feel her breath on his cheeks, and his eyes fluttered at the sensation.

”So, you like me.” Garreth repeated. It felt like a mantra he had to repeat over and over again, lest it not be true.

”And you love me.” She said coyly, lifting her hand to touch his cheeks. When her finger brushed against his lips, he pressed a tentative kiss against them. ”You love me enough to save me a banana every morning.”

”It sounds silly, doesn’t it?” Garreth murmured, his grip tightening on her waist. She shifted closer to him, legs tangling between his.

She looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering as the hand on his cheek drifted upwards to touch the bandage around his head.

“Does it hurt?” She asked.

Garreth shook his head a little. “Just a scratch.”

“That’s a shame,” she pouted. “I was hoping to help you feel better.”

“Oh no,” Garreth blinked heavily. “Oh, it’s actually so painful.”

She smirked, rolling her eyes. “Does it now?”

”So painful,” Garreth groaned, feigning dramatics. “I don’t know how I’ll ever carry on.”

Her hand snaked around his head, fingers threading through his copper hair. She scratched his scalp, and Garreth leaned into her touch in return.

“I’ll make it better,” she said coyly, nose brushing against his.

Garreth had kissed other girls before, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of kissing her. He just about moaned into her mouth when her lips touched his, melting into her touch. He immediately tried to roll over, to cage her underneath him against the mattress, but his body had other ideas.

”I can’t—“ Garreth huffed through gritted teeth, “roll over.”

She let out a breathy laugh in exchange. “Let me, then.” Her voice was low as she swung her leg over his lap, straddling him in his pajamas. She pulled the thin sheet over them, just the two of them under a cotton canopy. Garreth swore under his breath as she leaned over him, hair tickling his chin.

“Is that better?” She whispered.

Garreth grinned against her lips, his nose brushing against hers. “This just might heal me,” he murmured, arms circling around her waist to bring her in tight. She hummed approvingly when he nipped her lower lip, delicately licking into her mouth. Everything was new, yet it felt so right—every kiss she returned was just an affirmation that she felt the same way. She liked that he was silly. She liked that he was loud. She liked the way he saved her a banana in the morning, the way he’d lean his body against hers during the cold nights in the astronomy tower—

Maybe one day she might love him too.

The sheet went flying, exposing both of them to the cold hospital wing. Garreth blinked rapidly to adjust his eyes to the darkness; instead, Nurse Blainey materialized, holding a lamp with the world’s largest frown on her face.

”Young lady,” Blainey hissed. “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?”

She quickly hopped off Garreth’s lap, taking the sheet with her as she slid off the bed. Garreth squeaked indignantly as the warmth of her body disappeared, pulling one of the pillows to hide the rather obvious erection she’d left him with. His partner in crime adjusted her dressing gown, giving Blainey an awkward smile as she patted down her hair.

”I just wanted to check in on Garreth, that’s all.” She said smoothly.

“And you thought it appropriate to crawl into his bed?” Blainey snapped.

She winced, scratching the back of her head. “I wanted to see if his bandage was still alright?”

“Nice try.” Blainey rolled her eyes. “You’re very lucky the two of you are of age, otherwise I’d have to call your aunt in, Mr. Weasley.”

”Oh come on,” Garreth whined. “It’s just a week before we graduate—“

”And I certainly don’t feel like filling out any detention paperwork at this hour.” Blainey hissed. “You, go back to your dormitory straight away. And Mr. Weasley, if you do not rest—“

”Right, right,” Garreth grumbled, sinking back into his mattress. “It won’t heal properly, and I’ll be stuck here longer.”

Garreth wanted to protest as she balled up the bedsheet, tossing it back into his lap. She gave him a sheepish smile, grabbing her wand from the stone floor. “Er, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Breakfast?” Garreth asked hopefully.

Her face flushed red, a smile blossoming on her lips as she backed away. “Yes, breakfast.”

Blainey cleared her throat, saying her name one more time. “If you don’t go back to your common room right away—“

”Alright, alright,” she rolled her eyes, walking backwards towards the entrance. She waved one last time before she turned on her heel, slippers thwacking against the floor as she made her escape.

Blainey looked down at Garreth, coughing as he tucked himself back into bed.

”You won’t tell my aunt, will you?” Garreth asked hesitantly.

”I should,” Blainey narrowed her eyes. “But I won’t. Your aunt has too much to worry about without having to find out you tried to deflower a young lady in the hospital wing.”

”I did not,” Garreth guffawed. “I would never!”

Blainey shrugged. “And at least your case gave me a good chuckle today. Your friend Mr. Prewett is correct. You will always be remembered as the boy who’d cracked his skull open slipping on a banana peel, after all.”

”Oh come on,” Garreth huffed as the matron walked away. “You’ve had to have seen worse cases.”

”Self-inflicted banana related wounds are a first,” Blainey snorted as she walked back to her office. “Go to bed, Mr. Weasley.”

Garreth fell back against the pillows, wincing slightly at the sting from his wound. He stared up at the ceiling, touching his lips. He hadn’t dreamt it—he’d held her in his arms, kissed her until she was breathless. Quite content, Garreth fell asleep with little effort.

He had breakfast to look forward to, after all.

“Good as new,” Nurse Blainey nodded, balling up the wad of bandages from Garreth’s wound.

”Oh, thank Merlin.” Aunt Matilda cooed. “I’m glad the skelegrow was able to sort out the skull fracture.”

Garreth averted his gaze as he glanced at his watch. The house elves had brought up a fresh uniform for him, so he at least wouldn’t have to stop at the Gryffindor dormitory. He tapped his brown boots against the floor as Nurse Blainey went through her concussion checklist once more.

”Can I please leave?” Garreth wheezed, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Breakfast is nearly over—“

”What has you in such a rush this morning?” Aunt Matilda asked, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I just have friends I need to meet up with at breakfast,” Garreth said quickly.

Nurse Blainey snorted as she tapped her quill against her clipboard. “Right,” she drawled. “Friends.”

Garreth drummed his hands against the iron rail of the bed, nodding his head. “Yes, friends.” He repeated. “And I really, really don’t want to miss them.”

“Well, you’ve passed the test with flying colors,” Blainey checked the assessment. “No flying, floo travel, or apparating for the next forty eight hours. Overall, please limit any physical activity.” She waggled her eyebrows at Garreth, prompting a ferocious blush on his cheeks.

”Thank you,” Garreth said quickly, snatching his book bag from the edge of the bed. He could hear his aunt yelling after him as he scampered down the hall, feet drumming against the stairs as he made his way down.

”Garreth!” Aunt Matilda roared. “I can write you a note if you’re that worried about being late—“

”Gotta run,” he bellowed, skipping the last two steps. “See you later, Aunt Tilly!”

Despite Blainey’s instruction to limit his physical activity, Garreth had never run faster in his life. He nearly mowed down a pack of first years trying to scamper through the hallways, prefects and portraits yelling at him to slow down. He tore past both Natty and Leander, their mouths agape at their best friend making a fool out of himself yet again.

There would be plenty of time to explain later.

Garreth pushed the doors of the Great Hall open, panting as he doubled over, hands on knees. He scanned the Great Hall, praying to Merlin he would find a familiar face. The room was mostly empty, most of his fellow students off to their first classes of the day.

Except her. His heart thumped in his chest as he stood up straighter; she was perched on the Gryffindor table, sitting next to the fruit bowl. Like every morning, she had a half eaten banana in her hand.

Garreth willed himself to walk over, a big goofy grin on his face as he approached her. There was a twinkle in her eye as she leaned back on her elbows, appraising him.

”You look well rested,” she hummed, taking another bite. “Good as new.”

Garreth rubbed the back of his head. The injury was gone, the thatch of hair ant the spot of his wound already grown back thanks to Blainey’s tonic. “Better than ever,” he announced, setting his bag on the ground. “Are you going to finish that?”

She carefully peeled the fruit, breaking off a chunk to hand to Garreth. He took it gratefully, savoring the bite as she ate the rest. He cocked a brow when she folded up the peel into a neat square, tossing it onto the table.

”Have to be careful, you know.” She shrugged. “There was a guy in here just yesterday, cracked his skull slipping on a banana peel.”

Garreth rolled his eyes, snickering. “Very dangerous.” He tiptoed closer to her, his thighs pressed against her knees. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking into her. “A fall like that might cause a head injury. Would make someone say some pretty crazy things.”

She snorted, tilting her chin up to face him. “I’m pretty sure you said you loved me before you slipped on the banana peel, Garreth.”

”I did,” Garreth admitted. “I love you.”

She didn’t have to say it back, he thought to himself. He was just happy it was out there, that she might reciprocate his feelings even fifty percent—

She grabbed his tie, tugging it to pull his face closer to hers. He could smell her perfume again, and the faint hint of banana on her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, and she pressed a delicate kiss to his lips. Garreth returned it eagerly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and resting them on the table as he leaned into her embrace. Her kiss was soft and sweet, a reassurance of her feelings for him. When they pulled apart, foreheads resting against each other’s, she smiled once more.

“I love you too, you idiot.”

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cancelled

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your plans change.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Sat on a few of these fics for ages because I'm overthinking them, but thought 'ahhh, I need to post them now in time for the event!' Having a deadline is very helpful.

Warnings: Reader experiencing some sensory issues, Jake reading smutty books, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, rail-road sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 801

Your phone buzzes on the bed. The drone is muffled slightly by the pillow it’s under. You finish fixing your outfit in the mirror and sigh. 

The material was ever so slightly wrong today. Normally it was fine, but now the feel of it just irritated you. But this was the seventh outfit you’d tried on and honestly if you were going to make it to the restaurant by 8pm, even with Jake’s ingenious driving, you had to leave now. 

You pick up your phone, glancing at the screen as you unlock it. 

One message. 

From one of your friends you were meeting up with. Probably something along the lines of ‘see everyone soon’. Usually you were excited to see them. They were some of your oldest and dearest friends, and you loved their company. But today it just felt off. Getting dressed up and going out. Eating at a semi expensive (for your budget anyway) restaurant that you didn’t even like that much. Putting on your ‘social interaction face’. It all just seems far too exhausting. 

Your eyes widened as you read the messages on the group chat. 

‘Can’t make it, stupid traffic at the tunnel! Been stuck for 50 mins and haven’t moved!’

‘I can’t either, babysitter fell through!’

‘So sorry everyone, maybe it’s for the best, I’ve got a horrible headache and was gonna power through, but maybe it’s best if we reschedule?’

The last message had you at-ted. 

‘It’s that okay with you? Sorry you let you down! <3’

Relief floods your veins and you hastily type a, ‘no worries, let’s reschedule’, adding several happy face emojis out of paranoia that your message could be misread, before you wish everyone well and to have a good evening. 

Jake hears you throw your bedroom door open, but doesn’t glance up from where he’s slouched over your armchair reading. It’s one of those bodice-ripping paperbacks from the 80s with the fabulously illustrated covers. Jake’s guilty pleasure. While he knows that Marc and Steven wouldn’t care, and most likely wouldn’t be bothered at all by his reading choices, he also very much does not want them to know. A feeling he’s sure he should try to unpack at some point. 

But that was a future Jake task. 

Which is why he’d taken to either hiding them behind the cistern in Steven’s flat or keeping them at yours, tucked neatly on your bookshelf (with your permission) behind a row of your books. 

“You ready to go amor?” He asked as he turned the page. 

You bounded over to him, ripping your stupid, itchy top off in the process. “Excellent news!” You stopped in front of him, smacking your hands onto the armchair for emphasis. 

Jake didn’t even flinch, half absorbed in his book and half used to your dramatic flare.

“Oh?” He glanced up at you and paused, a small frown of interest crossing his face. “You don’t have a top on.” 

“Exceptional observation skills Lockey.” 

He smirks. 

“Guess what?” 

“You’re embracing a new life as a nudist?” 

“The meal’s cancelled.” 

“What?” 

“The meal’s cancelled. You know cancelled, as in not happening.” You grin.

He gives you a playful look and swats your upper arm softly with his book. (His middle finger pressed inside to keep his page.) “I know what cancelled means, why?”

“Traffic, no babysitter, and headache.” You list the reasons as you count them on your hand excitedly. 

He smiles. “Really weren’t feeling it today were you?”

“How could you tell?” You say playfully. 

“Well, you kicking the door open to tell me was a good give away.”

You laugh.

“Plus, you really were leaving it pretty fine to get there on time.” He slips his bookmark between the pages and puts the book down on the floor before inching forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and gently pulls you into his lap, giving you plenty of time to step back if you wanted to. “I know how much being late makes you anxious.” 

You snuggle up to him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. His day old stubble rubs against your skin. But this sensation is comforting. Like home. 

“So you letting it get to this time without us going, or without you telling me off for reading instead of putting my shoes on.” 

“I don’t tell you off.” You grumble, your words muffled by how your mouth is pressed against his neck. 

Jake laughs. “Playfully.”

You tut affectionately. “Alright, playfully.” You adjust your position on his lap, getting comfortable. 

“So, what do you want to do tonight?” He presses a light kiss to your temple.

“Hmm, how about… pizza and you can read some of your smutty book to me?” 

He laughs again and kisses your lips. “Sounds good.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I left a bad review on a book I haven’t purchased?

(📚📖 to find later)

I’m an audiobook narrator professionally. I do most of my work via independent contracting with a production company. NOTE: they are NOT a publishing house. They do not provide editors/betas/etc for the text, they focus on turning (usually self published) books into audiobooks and marketing those audiobooks.

Most of the books I record with them are great, and I have a lot of fun reading good books! But…some of the books I’ve read for them have been. REALLY. REALLY. bad. Like I personally would have stopped reading within the first few pages bad if it wasn’t literally my job to read the words out loud.

I’m currently reading a book for them that makes me want to tear my hair out. The writing is boring, badly paced, and repetitive. None of the characters are likeable, and the relationships are shallow, the combat is boring, there are no stakes, etc etc. To give you an idea, the main character is the type of kid who on the playground would insist he had a mega super invincibility shield so you couldn’t touch him, but he also had a mega super invincibility shield breaking sword if you decided you wanted a shield too. And the narrative REWARDS HIM for acting that way.

I’ve never left a review on any of the books I’ve narrated before, but this one…i am seriously considering writing a review to try and warn people away from this book.

A few things to consider, though:

1: i am not being paid royalty share from the book, i get a flat rate based on the number of hours in the final audiobook. But as far as I know, the author only starts making money from producing this audiobook once the production company makes back the money they paid me for making it.

2: i would review anonymously/under a fake name and only on the book product page, not the product page for the audiobook version.

3: if an audiobook does not sell, then it is most likely I will not be obligated to continue recording the rest of the series (and it IS a series. At least three books are out as of now. I am currently slated to record them all, provided the audiobook sells decently)

4: the book currently has ~250 reviews already, and a 4.7/5 rating (how???? get some fucking standards), so it’s not like I’m leaving a 1 star review on something that only has 6 reviews.

I don’t think that one bad review would tank the whole series, but I do feel like leaving bad reviews on a product I didn’t even buy might be a dick move, especially if the author’s pay for this book relies on it selling well. But on the other hand, his book sucks and people should know that.

I wouldn’t be leaving a “0 stars: this sucks” review, I’d want to make it comprehensive and detailed. But I’d also feel bad about that because I’m sure the author reads his reviews, and even though his book sucks shit, i don’t want to like…make someone lose their passion to write? But ALSO if you’re making people pay $16 for the book and/or $40 for the audiobook, maybe the book should be fucking good? Idk.

So, tumblr, WIBTA?

[thesweetnessofspring]

A little different version of "so after" and loosely inspired by Far From the Madding Crowd. Rated M and bordering E because..."so after."

Peeta's scarred hands work in the fireplace, arranging everything for the fire. First he situates the New Year log, taken from an oak tree in the woods, in the grate and places the kindling of pine needles on top. Peeta guides he singular flame of the match onto the kindling and it catches. I lean against the armrest of the couch, watching his lips pucker as he blows on the fire. Some of my own fire, left to nothing but embers, burns low and pleasant at the thought of the way those lips press to my forehead and cheek after a nightmare. And leads me to think of the night on a beach. As the fire in the hearth builds, the orange glow shadows his face, his hair appears golden with the light.

The fire reaches a steady crackle, lighting the room with its promise of a new year bringing better days. It's been just over a year since Prim's death and those days I was lost in my grief. And yet, ever so slowly, good has come. I make it a game, thinking of the good things that have happened this past year. Most are from Peeta, who first coaxed me from my empty days into the spring air and reminded me how flowers still grow.

I wait for Peeta to join me, so that I can burrow myself in his arms, my ear over his heartbeat. Yet he stays where he is, sitting back on his heels and staring at the fire. If his hands weren't flat against his thighs, I might suspect he was having a flashback, he's so far away from me.

"Peeta?" I ask. "Come sit by me."

He still stares at the fire, not moving toward me. "Does it bother you what people are saying about us?"

"What's that?" I ask. I hadn't noticed much. But then again, I don't bother with most people these days. Peeta doesn't, either, though he will go on walks and pass by the market that's popped up during the rebuild. He hears more than I do.

"That we're living as husband and wife," Peeta says. He turns his head to peek over at me, half of his face shadowed and cautious.

"I suppose we are. In our way."

We've shared our meals, kept each other company, and held hands since he came back. When I couldn't take sleeping alone anymore, I went into Peeta's bed. I'm surprised by how comfortable it feels to admit that what we have is almost like a marriage. Not since before my father's death have I ever thought I might be someone's wife.

"They don't mean it like that," Peeta says. "They're saying I'm taking your milk without paying for the goat."

It was an old saying, talked about with judging looks. The man for taking advantage of a woman without ensuring her proper legal protection. The woman for running the risk of having a fatherless child. When he found out Peeta and I were sharing a bed again, Dr. Aurelius encouraged me to take birth control and I could think of no reason to object. So even if Peeta were taking my milk as they say, it couldn't hurt me. Not in the way I worried about so much before.

I still flush at the thought of it, of the two of us naked and touching each other, of his lips on mine and his hands on my body. I clench my legs together at the thought.

"That's stupid," I say.

Peeta's cheeks turn dark in the firelight and he avoids looking at me. "I'm only saying what everyone else says. And of course, the idea of us—like that—it's stupid."

"I said they're stupid," I say. "Not us—"

I fluster and can't say the words. Only there's the thought again, the thought of olive skin to pink skin, scar to scar, and him inside of me, all over me. Tasting him again. Would he taste the same? Or sweeter this time, after so much bitterness?

"Not us what, Katniss?" Peeta asks quietly.

Our eyes connect and there's something burning brightly inside of me. Life. A warmth that I'd thought had long been extinguished, and yet persists despite all we've lost. What he means to me, the safety and goodness he brings to me, had never gone away. It only waited for this moment, when everything was right.

I slide from the couch and crawl to him on the floor. When I sit by his side, my back to the fire, it's just how it was at the beach. Only he hasn't even touched me yet and I'm craving him. So I lean in and kiss him, soft at first, as we brush off the last dust of distance between us, and then the kiss grows deeper and slows so we can savor it. Although I've kissed Peeta a thousand times before, and a couple made me want more, this feels like the first time. It's certainly the first time we've been able to kiss like this all on our own with no one watching. I want more, and he must, too, because our kisses build to crushing, breathless events.

At some point, I swing one leg around him so I'm on his lap and his hands are at the small of my back and I want, I need his skin on mine. So I break our kiss to pull my shirt over my head and then reach for his, too.

Once we're both topless, I cup his cheek to draw him into another kiss. His bare hand rests on my waist, then travels up to my breast. I tremble from the intensity of the feel of him there, of the way I need him more. My body seeks it, pressing down on his lap and finding him seeking me, too.

It's not enough. As much as I know we're on the right track, it's as if I'm smelling the food instead of tasting it. The motions only make me want more.

Peeta pulls back for a moment only to flip us so that I'm on my back parallel to the fire and he hovers over me, elbows holding him up. His curls cascade around his face as he peers down at me.

"Don't stop," I tell him, missing the contact more than anything.

The flames catch his eyes and he kisses all over my face and down my neck, my chest, my arms, my stomach and taking extra time where the scars run deepest, his tongue running along them. At my belly button he looks up at me and I hurriedly lift my hips up to slide off my pants. He moves back up to kiss me on the mouth, but I'm more aware of his hands gently tracing my underwear. I open my legs to his touch.

"This okay?" he asks, uncertainty in his words.

"Yes," I assure him and he moves more confidently in rubbing me over my underwear. It doesn't have that same spark as when I was on top of him, but I do like him touching me there. Then there's a place he finds and I jerk with a sharp pleasure and give a little cry.

"Right there?" he asks, going over the spot again.

"Yes!"

He swipes up and down and I whimper, biting my lip. Still, I need more. I put my hand on top of his and guide him beneath my underwear. When his fingers find my bare flesh over that spot, my whole body blazes with heat and I move my hips against his hand. Peeta's free hand cups himself, squeezing over his pants, his body shaking now. He's holding back, keeping himself hidden from me, as if we were still those kids in the arena. Me squeamish at the idea of seeing him completely naked, and him waiting for me to let him in, even though our lives depended on it. But we're not as we were before in the arena. The most obvious sign now is that I want to feel him, too.

I grab hold of him over his pants and for a second he falters where he rubs me, giving a short curse. That reaction makes me more responsive in turn. I lift my head up to kiss him and then make for his pants, first unbuttoning and then tugging them and his underwear down.

While Peeta untangles his bottoms from his prosthetic leg, I peel my damp underwear off and then we're naked together, both of us pausing to look from the other's bodies to making eye contact and swiftly looking away again. It hits us both what we're about to do, what we could do.

"We don't have to go further unless you're sure," Peeta says.

He's right. I know we could keep going the way that we have, with our easy routine and companionship for the rest of our lives. Neither of us will abandon the other. If we were going to, it would have happened long ago. Yet, even if we don't do this tonight, it's obvious we will in time. I don't think there is a single thing in the past that could have changed us coming to this point eventually.

"Come here," I say.

Peeta doesn't need telling twice. We take our time exploring each other, asking questions, trying things out. I almost feel foolish how little I know about my own body while Peeta gives more to guide me on, though he says he doesn't mind experimenting. Some things feel wonderful, others are just nice because Peeta is touching me. He takes it all in until he has me soaring from his caresses.

After Peeta asks if it's what I want and I confirm it, finally, we're joined. I'm breathless for a moment and there is a tightness that's uncomfortable at first, until I adjust to him. Peeta hovers above me, staying still, watching my face. When I make eye contact with him and nod, he begins to move. Our communication then is through our sounds of delight, quick kisses, the tilt of our bodies, quick affirmations, a cry of the other's name.

The fire dances beside us when Peeta brings a blanket over our naked skin and I'm in a haze of blissful sleep, making a pillow of his chest.

"Katniss?" he asks.

I hum to let him know I'm listening, so warm and happy the next words, said as soft and low as a baby bird's downy feather, take me by surprise.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

The question I've asked since after the berries myself, always in a muddle of confusion, comes to light like a spring morning. There is now, and for always, only one answer to give.

"Real."

[the-common-cowgirl]

Greater of Two Evils - Part 5

Summary: Reader returns to her childhood home only to move to a new home the next day. How will she cope?

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dark! Modern Aemond x Fem!Reader

Warnings: DUBCON to Consensual, AFAB reader, Smut (p in v, oral sex f&m receiving, orgasm denial, teasing, creampie, Dom vibes, choking, food play?), verbal arguments, cursing, tension, feelings of anxiety, feelings of hate, manipulation, Aemond not being a total jerk at the end? Lmk if there’s any I missed!

Word Count: 4790

A/N: This was split off of part 4, then I added some smut. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Your childhood bed was warm and stiffer than you remembered but you slept well regardless. Something about being home, being safe, surrounded by familiar smells and sounds, allowed you to fully rest, but now, the sun had long since risen and it was time for a nostalgic breakfast. 

Pulling on some pajama shorts and a crewneck sweatshirt, you drug your sleepy self from bed, lumbering down the steps to the living room, rubbing your eyes. The smell of bacon permeated through the small cottage home  and as you neared the bottom of the steps, you heard your mother call your name from the kitchen as she had when you were growing up when breakfast was early ready; allotting you time to get out of bed and get downstairs before the food went cold. 

Sleep wouldn’t quite leave your eyes and you reached up to rub the drowsiness from them with your sweatshirt sleeve, yawning. Your mother scolded you lightly, “Dear, we have company, you should go upstairs and change-”

Your arm dropped from your face quickly to find that evading your nightmares wasn't an option in this personal hell of a life you were sentenced to. 

Silver hair. Eye-patch. Finely tailored suit.

Maybe that song your dad used to sing in the back garden was right, maybe the devil does in fact wear a suit and tie. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is flat and devoid of fear despite the fact you very much were filled to the brim with it. Maybe anger at him invading such a sacred place of yours took precedent… finally.

Your mom turned around with a hand on her hip, “That’s no way to speak to your-”

Aemond raised his hand, silencing your mother with a soft smile. The action made you nauseous; no one silences your mother so easily. “Please, it’s alright.” He turned to you, “I came here to meet your parents and ask formally, this time, for your hand in marriage.”

Your eyes widened and you looked at your mom. She shook her head with a sweet smile, “Honey, if you were running here because you were scared of marriage, you should have thought of that before you got pregnant. Now here, Mr. Targaryen is trying to make things right.”

‘Trying to make things right’ felt like a stab in the gut, fueled by betrayal. 

“Mom I-”

Aemond cut you off, “Perhaps we can speak alone?” He looks over to your mother with the smile of a snake and she returns it, mayhaps without the reptilian features. 

“Of course, I’ll be out in the back garden with your father,” she tells you before she wipes her hands on her apron and exits the room. 

You stare at Aemond as he stares back at you with his lone eye. He hears the backdoor open and shut before he speaks. “I told you to stay.”

You pull up a chair opposite of him. “Like a dog,” you bite back. “What did you tell my parents?”

A sly smirk pulls at his lips, “I think you understand the predicament we’re in.” He leans back, grabbing his teacup and bringing it to his lips, “your mother loves me by the way.” He sips, smiling like a Cheshire cat, lone eye studying his prey.

“She also prefers my brother over me so I’d take her approval with a grain of salt.”

He frowns slightly, bringing the cup back down to the table. “They know the baby is mine and they know I am planning on taking care of you, and it, financially.” His eye flickers up to you triumphantly, “And they also know that I proposed to you, my girlfriend of three years and you had your doubts and came to see them.”

You narrowed your eyes, “You told them we have been a couple for three years and they believed you?”

Aemond smirked, shrugging lazily. “Apparently you do not talk to your parents enough for them to know much about you.”

Anger rose within you, making you begin to sweat with loathing. How did Aemond seem to get away with every little thing? It was like he walked and the grass parted a path for him. He seemed untouchable; making your cause seem hopeless.

“Go upstairs and pack, we’re leaving.” HIs command was stern with no room for contest.

You shook your head despite this, “I’m not going with you. No.”

Aemond stood from the table slowly, towering over you. His hand snaked down reverently from the top of your hair, along your cheekbone, landing beneath your chin and pulled your face up to look at him. “I’ve done things in a quite unorthodox matter at the beginning of this relationship-”

“This isn’t a relationship.”

He barely contained a sneer, you felt the anger boiling just underneath his skin but he kept it from burning you…surprisingly. “Whatever you want to call it- relationship, understanding-”

“Containment-” you cut.

“-whatever,” his voice raised slightly, “you may call it.” He returned to his false softened hum, “I believe I can do better by you and our child. You have to give me that chance.”

Your eyes met his lone blue and you knew you had no choice….for now.

“Okay.”

He looked half shocked, probably suspecting more of a fight. “Okay? Okay. Yes,” he pulled his hand from you. “I will arrange for us to leave immediately. Go upstairs and pack what you need.”

You stood from the table, “All of my essentials are in Sunspear.”

Aemond pulled out his phone, bringing it to his ear. “Well, we aren’t going back to Sunspear so I’ll just buy new essentials unless anything cannot be replaced.”

You looked at him in confusion, “Where are we going then?”

Someone on the other end of the line began speaking so he mouthed what looked like ‘King’s Landing’ before he started barking orders into the phone.

Kings Landing.

The drive to the Crownlands took a few hours and every bit of that time was spent with Aemond on the phone, rearranging your life, unenrolling you from your college, and closing your account at your bank in Sunspear. With every call, you started to grow more and more anxious.

How is he able to do all of these things without my permission or consent?

At the final call, the one where he closed out your membership to the student credit union, he looked over at you. “We are close to my estate now.”

You remained staring out the back door’s window, “How were you able to do all of that without my permission?”

The car slowed and began to turn, Aemond leaned up to the driver, mumbling the code to the driveway gates. Once he leaned back, he looked sideways to you, “I thought you were well aware I had plenty of connections.”

A pit grew in your stomach as you drove through the gates of the estate. A large, white stone home sat proudly in the nicest part of King’s Landing; the homebase of Westeros’ rich, powerful and corrupt. A tall hedge bush ran along the property lines, behind it, you could see glimpses of an iron-wrought fence at least twelve feet high. Physically, there would be no escaping the property.

The car parked beneath the carport at the very front of the house, Aemond opened the door and exited his side, you followed; pulling the handle and exiting. Aemond rounded the car, grabbing your arm a little too harshly and leaning in next to your ear. “We are to be married soon, wait for me to open the door.”

His harsh scolding gave you chills as he pulled back from you with a smile as if nothing had happened. “Allow me to show you the manor.”

Red roses adorned the foundation of the home and when you stepped inside, the floors were marble. Nothing was out of place, everything was extravagant and lavish. Aemond had walked you through the entire first floor (where a butler or maid was scattered purposefully about every three rooms) before leading you upstairs. You had hoped the second floor didn’t have another random person who would pop out from behind a plant or tall vase just to add to your embarrassment as you were paraded through the home as its new captive; fortunately, there were none. 

Aemond led you to a set of double doors, pushing a single open and leading you through gently. “This is our room,” he stated plainly as day. 

You shook your head, “No. I want my own room.”

He fixed you with a look that scorched your skin. “Absolutely not.”

So you used his own logic against him with the words ‘be a river’ giving you the courage to do so. “Aemond,” you reasoned lightly, lighter than natural for you, “I uh, don’t want to assume anything but to my understanding… you want the image of a perfect life.”

His brow furrowed, immediately with shock and before it could resolve to anger, you spoke again.

“I see the white house, the roses, the perfectly manicured yard. I saw the butlers and maids downstairs alongside the decorations that I wouldn’t particularly attribute to your style - not that I know your style, we are just strangers whom you’ve decided should conceive-”

Aemond snorted, anger clearly beginning to rise within him but you continued on.

“I also saw the Seven Pointed Star several times throughout my tour. Decorations…books… and I know that’s the predominant religion of Westeros. You being a politician and all, I’m sure you want to look the part, even if you don’t believe in it, I can almost guarantee you don’t.”

“I do,” he retorted.

You smiled, taking a step toward him, “Interesting.” He looked at you with a thin veil of confusion. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is that it’s quite obvious that this house,” you gestured vaguely around you as you stepped closer to him, “is all for show. You moved me here,” pointing to yourself, “for show. I know your intentions, I understand what I am to you…so I ask you to allow me to have my own room until we are wed. If anything, it’s only for show.” You smiled up at him, feeling you aced him.

He simply smiled back, leaning down slightly. His smile made your triumph falter and fade. “I knew I liked you for a reason, you’re incredibly…perceptive.” His eye leveled you with a glance from your eyes, to your shoes and back up again. “Fine,” he straightened, “you’ll get your own room…until we are wed.”

You blew hot air through your nose, feeling anger festering in your pores. “And when is that?” 

Aemond turned from you, pulling his suit jacket off and placing it on the mattress. “Two weeks.”

Your blood ran cold, “Two weeks? How can you plan a wedding in two weeks?”

Aemond laughed as he loosened his tie, “I’ve had someone on it for a while now-”

“Show me my room please,” anger, resentment, hate boiled through your veins and ignited your heart. “I need some space.”

Aemond chuckled, “Take your pick.” He motioned toward the door, expecting you to find your own way out. You turned and began marching for the door when you heard him call out, “Just remember, you said the bedroom is ‘just for show.”

Turning back toward him, you glared. Of course he wouldn’t let you leave without an innuendo and threat. “Fuck you,” you spat and turned back for the doors, pushing hard. Before you were out of earshot, you heard him laughing to himself with a “soon enough” coming from his lips.

You picked the room furthest from his, on the other side of the second floor entirely. Locking the door as soon as you got into the room despite the fact that the door could be unblocked from the outside. So, for extra measure, you managed to push a dresser in front of the door, more effectively blocking yourself in. 

Safe.

The feeling of dread left you quickly and you felt safe enough to take a shower, wrapping yourself in your towel and laying in the soft bed. You check your phone for the first time today to see you have no messages or calls. You try to call your dad, explain why you left in such haste but your phone would not ring out. No phone service. No carrier.

The fucker turned off my phone too?

Bitterly anger turned into hopelessness which turned into tears. And like how most of your nights went recently, your tears lulled yourself to sleep.

A field of tall grass surrounded you as the soft wind blew your hair. You looked around you to see a river rushing along the base of the hill you were standing on. The river rushed proudly against the grey landscape pushing and pulling where it dared. Then suddenly, the river changed its course, pummeling straight up the hill for you. Sand and loamy clay was left dry where it ceased flowing. Now, at the bottom of the river lies the grass that surrounded you, held you, protected you. You had mere seconds to think before the river reached you and you had yet to think of anything but the cold waves approaching. Suddenly, the sky overhead was dark and thunder thumped hard against the sky. Thump. Thump. Thump.

You awakened to thunder, sitting up in bed. You look around the room in a daze from your previous slumber. The night is dark, starry, clear.

The room thunders again. 

Knocking.

Aemond calls your name from behind the doors. 

“Go away!” Your voice doesn’t tremble, you’re safe behind the doors with the dresser blocking you in. The sounds cease, you find sleep again with less ease.

In the morning, you stand staring at the doors after having moved the dresser, contemplating if your hunger is worth emerging from your hiding spot. The grumble in your stomach pushes you to open the doors and reassures you that Aemond won’t try anything stupid in front of his hired help. You walk to where you remember the kitchen is, bare feet padding against the cold marble floors, without seeing a single person. The sun has been up for a few hours now and you grow uneasy at the fact there aren’t people here to bear witness and pass judgment on Aemond if he were to do something inappropriate but the house is quiet…too quiet. You wonder if he is even home.

You stop in the middle of the kitchen, listening for footsteps or even life; all you hear is the ticking of a grandfather clock several rooms away. Aemond must not be home. 

Relief trickled through you as you opened the fridge, cool light flooding across your face. Picking the easiest thing, a yogurt cup, you closed the fridge then searched the multitude of drawers before you found the silverware drawer and plucked a spoon from it. Quickly, you headed back upstairs with your scavenged breakfast in case Aemond came back early. Opening the strawberry yogurt cup and dipping into it with a spoon, you ate a bite on the way back to your new room until movement stopped you dead in your tracks. 

Your eyes locked with Aemond as he was stepping out of your room. 

“What are you doing?”

A flash of a glare ran across his face, if you blinked, you would have missed it. “You’re not supposed to eat food outside the kitchen or dining room.”

You narrowed your eyes, reiterating, “What are you doing in my room?”

He challenged you, narrowing his own back. “Not. Your. Room. I own this house.”

“Sorry, my space in this hellscape you call a home,” you shifted your stance.

He took a step toward you from the door, “Don’t ever lock yourself in again.”

You laughed, “I’m not your free use slave. You can’t come in and fuck me whenever you want-”

Aemond shook his head, “I was worried about you last night, you had screamed in your sleep-”

“You good-for-nothing jackass…I don’t talk in my sleep, let alone scream. Quit lying and stay the fuck away from me.” Anger overrode your body as he took more steps toward you, causing you to fling the yogurt cup at him, splashing across his face and body. 

He was shocked for several moments, mouth hanging agape, before his eye settled on you; you trying to suppress your laughter behind your two hands clasped over your mouth.

“You little bi-”

Before he could finish, you turned tail and ran, gleeful you’d made an actual mess of him and feeling some sort of victory in doing so. You heard him swear behind you then, the thundering footsteps closing in quickly behind you. 

With nowhere to escape to, you ran into his bedroom, shutting the doors behind you with barely enough time. His pounding on the doors rattled the wood just after you had locked the handles. He called your name behind the wood and you just laughed again, feeling bested the beast in his own home. 

“You’re gonna have to be quicker than that- '' came your sing-song voice in a mocking tone. 

Immediately, the banging ceased. The speed at quick Aemond gave up his pursuit gave you an awful feeling in your stomach but thinking about it was short lived when you saw that in your valor of throwing the yogurt on Aemond, you had spilled a long drop down your shirt and thighs. Cursing to yourself silently, you made your way into the bathroom.

Flicking on the lights, in search of whatever vanity drawer Aemond stored his washrags in so you could wipe the pink yogurt from your only pair of clothes. You didn’t find it in any of the top drawers so bending down, you continued your search for something to wipe off the residue. Soon, you found the drawer containing the washrags and plucking one from the drawer, you stood, turning on the water and running the rag under it until it was fully soaked and warm. Only then, did you look up from the vanity countertop and into the mirror; jumping in fright.

Aemond was standing behind you, smirking. Like a cougar watching his prey from the trees.

You turned quickly, and tried to shove the wet rag in his face only for him to grab you and spin you around to face yourself in the mirror, your hands subdued tightly behind your back. You then noticed another door, slightly ajar, it looked like it led to a large walk-in closet that must have been connected to the hall. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you-”

“Leave me alone,” you struggled weakly in his grip. The pain in your wrist igniting once more.

He chuckled and pressed himself harshly against you, smearing the pink goo across the back of your shirt. “I think we need to clean up, don’t you?”

“Nope, all fine,” you gritted out as you struggled in his hold.

His nose came to press against your throat, you felt your heartbeat quicken as he inhaled your scent. “You, at least, need to clean me.” Without giving you time to process, he hauled you toward the shower, pushing you in and then stepping inside himself. You offered him only a quizzical glare before he turned the showerhead on and began soaking you through your clothes. You huffed and backed out of the water stream and he closed you in, water now drenching him and his clothes; he didn’t seem to care as he began to strip the wet clothes from his body. “Clean the mess you made and you’re free to go.” 

It seemed too easy, too simple. He definitely wouldn't leave it at that. 

Regardless, you began collecting water in your hands as he continued to strip. With trepidation, you moved your hands to his face, wiping a splatter of pink from his cheekbone; trying not to look at his smug expression. His skin was coarse against your fingers. Something about the action was intimate, close, you hated it; it made you feel at ease in his presence.

He bent down, stripping his underwear from his body, completely nude now. However, the rest of the mess was left on his clothes, his skin was clean now.

“I’m done,” you announced with no emotion, trying to conceal embarrassment behind impassiveness. 

He tutted gently, “You’ve made quite a mess of my cock too. You need to clean that up as well.” He glanced down to his member, returning his triumphant smirk to your face. 

You narrowed your eyes, “That’s your own doing. I’m not-”

He brought a hand up to your thigh, collecting some of the yogurt that hadn’t been washed away and rubbed it along his cockhead. 

“Seems like you did make a mess, sweet river, now be a good girl and this’ll all be over.”

HIs honeyed tone was laced with something addictive and once again, you felt yourself falling victim to whatever charm this snake held over you. When his hand came up to your shoulder and pushed you down, you found yourself falling to your knees for him while your glare never left his face. That was, until you were face to face with his manhood, tip smeared with pink. Your mouth watered against your wishes and your eyes glanced back up to him as water trickled down his toned abs, valleying around the base of his and his heavy sac.

Just do what he wants, a voice told you and you gave in.

Carefully, you stuck your tongue out, licking some pink from the bottom of his ruddy head. You heard him shudder at such a small action and it excited you; the thought of reducing him to your whim as he often did to you. So, your tongue swirled around his head again, taking just the tip of him into your mouth and sucking wet and slowly, letting saliva, mixed with yogurt and precum fall down past your lips to be washed down the drain with the rest of the water that fell off of him. You felt him buck against your mouth, releasing a small, barely audible whine when you pulled back from his charge. His hand flew to your hair, eye scrunched shut. He didn’t attempt to move you further onto his cock, rather, hold you steady. “Fuck- please,” he all but groaned as you continued licking and sucking just the tip. 

Smiling, you pulled off of him. “I think you’re clean now.” Your hands in your lap, his hand in your hair. He opened his eye and looked down at you with an annoyed, lazy glare. “Finish,” he all but demanded.

You shook your head. “That would make a bigger mess.”

He rolled his eye, “Okay, let’s see how you like it.”

And before you could process what he was doing, he pulled you up, pulling down your pajama bottoms and underwear in one swift motion, backing you against the cold, tiled wall of the shower and sinking to his knees before you. His mouth was on your cunt like a madman and he hiked one of your legs up with a strong hand, giving him freer access to your womanhood.

His tongue circled your clit like a vulture before he zeroed in, suckling gently. Your hands flew into his wet hair, entangling as you whined and threw your head back a little too harshly against the wall, making the back of your head sting in residual pain but you didn’t care, all you could focus on was the intense pleasure he was ripping from you.

His other hand came up to play with your entrance, lithe fingers dancing, teasing, but never acting in the way you wanted them to, needed them to. You ground down, trying to impale yourself on the fingers that played at your entrance to no avail. Aemond chuckled against your folds, pulling himself from them to look up at your ecstasy ridden face. 

“Don’t like it?”

You huffed, running a hand over your eyes, wanting nothing more than to hide yourself from his goading. “Shut up.”

“How about I grant both of your wishes while you grant mine?” He stood, pulling your top and bra off, depositing them in the heap of clothes at the bottom of the foggy shower.

His hands ran up your ribcage, stopping just below your breasts and cupping them. He placed tender kisses on each one, tongue running along the soft skin. 

“Which is?” Your breath was heavy. This is wrong but at the moment, it’s so right. 

“I’ll shut up and we both get to come,” he added a kiss to your collarbone.

“Are you actually asking me permission?” You could have laughed.

He suckled on the skin just below your ear, making you repress a breathy whine.

“I told you I’d treat you better.”

You chuckled this time, grabbing his wet hair and pulling him away from your skin so he could look at you. “Okay. Fuck me Aemond.”

His face cracked with a soft smile and he cocked his head, “Manners…”

You rolled your eyes and grasped his cock, stroking the velvety skin, pulling it closer to your aching core. “I think we’re long past manners…don’t you?” 

Aemond huffed a singular chuckle through his nose before he hiked one of your legs up and aligned himself, sinking into your core in a slow, purposeful thrust. You moaned at the feeling of him stretching you; how he made you feel so full. No one could make you feel like this and you were painfully aware that he knew it.

He began thrusting into you in earnest, chasing a high he had been denied by your lips and newfound victory in your cunt. He steadied himself with a hand on the wall beside your head as his rough pounding became faster, pulling and pushing against that delicate spot inside you that had you whining and wrapping your arms around his shoulders and neck. 

“Play with yourself, “ he commanded through rough thrusts.

Your brain was nearly too fucked out to comprehend he had even spoke.

He grunted, delivering a harsh thrust. “I said play with yourself.” He panted, “M’ Close and want you to cum on my cock to finish me.”

You obeyed a bit too quickly, moving a hand down between where you two were joined, rubbing your clit gently and sometimes, teasing him by moving further and caressing his shaft as if emerged and sunk back into your heat. 

“Fuck- fuck- don’t do that.”

You cocked your head to the side, bobbing with each snap of his hips, “Do what?”

Your playful ignorance ignited a more severe side of him and his hand came up and wrapped around your throat, “Don’t- fuck, you like that don’t you? You like it when I’m rough with you?”

It was true, the moment his hand wrapped around your throat possessively, you clenched around him and nearly came. You could be just as brazen though.

Before he knew it, your hands intertwined in his hair, pulling him close to you. Your mouth was on his lips, kissing him with a fever that took him off guard. Lips interlocking, you sucked on his plump bottom lip before forcing your tongue down his throat that he greedily took in.

Suddenly and without warning, Aemond thrusted forward, driving deeper inside you and groaning against your lips as he came harder than he ever had. You felt the hot spend coating your insides and nearly sent you over the edge as he pulsated, hot and heavy in your cunt.

His lips slowly fell from your own as he came down from his high and pulled back, looking at you with a strange reverie in his eye as if he was studying a new species of animal only he had just found.

His cock, still lodged deep inside of you as you ground yourself against him, making him break his trance and hiss in overstimulation; pulling out of you. “You lied,” you said simply as his cum started dripping down your thighs. “But I guess that’s all you ever do, isn’t it?”

His eye searched your own, a confused look on his face. “You said you’d shut up and we both got to come. Only you came and I didn’t. Oh, and you didn’t shut up. You talked a whole lot.”

He chuckled, turning off the shower and kicking the drenched pile of clothes off to the side, “Well, I know how I can fix that.” He took your hand and moved you to sit down on the shower floor. “Lay your pretty head on those clothes and spread your legs.”

As always, comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated but never necessary!

*Bold means I cannot tag you*

Taglist: @croatianprincess @toodlesxcuddles @drwstarkeyy @gemini-mama @iloveallmyboys @boofy1998 @ammo23 @zenka69 @lokiofasgard12 @moonlightfoxx @diannnnsss @winter-soldier-101

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[fulcrvm]

SNIPPET — Dreamling Bingo: New Mundanities

Square/Prompt: A1: Magic School, A3: Replaced with Adoptable Prompt "Meowpheus"

Rating: G for this post (T for final fic)

Ship(s): Dreamling

Warnings: N/A

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Retired Dream

Summary: After spending some time in Jo Constantine's company, Morpheus, now newly human and living with his partner Hob Gadling, finds himself missing a small part of his previous station as Endless. And one morning, Hob wakes to find a cat in his flat.

🌟 @dreamlingbingo

Snippets for a Dreamling bingo fic I feel particularly proud of so far! I hope this piques your interest!

- - - - -

“Duck?” Hob raises his voice, not taking his eyes off the door while he grasps around his side table drawer for the wrought iron charm he’s had since the late 1600s, “Are you there?” He’s answered by another rolling waul. It’s a heavy sound, Hob can almost swear he feels it rumbling through the floor. “Do not laugh.”  “What—?” Hob rushes to the door, pressing his ear against it, “Morpheus? Are you okay? Is there—?” “Promise not to laugh, Hob Gadling, this is serious.” Morpheus’ voice sounds weighty, nearly as it did before, but somehow each word reverberates in Hob's skull in a way so alien it nearly makes him wince. Morpheus continues, “Now, could you please open the door.” "Love, what's going on—” The question dies in Hob's mouth when he sees what sits in front of the bedroom door. Or rather, what just darted to his feet as soon as the door was opened.  The purring is the first thing Hob registers. It's the scragliest cat he's ever seen, a skinny thing still the size of a maine coon with an insanely silky, jet black coat of fur. Hob just stares as it immediately starts making rounds around his legs. He crouches down to let the cat sniff at his hand, “Hello, there.” The cat peers at him with a regal air, “Hello, Hob Gadling.” Hob barely just keeps from jumping out of his skin, “Morpheus?!” “Yes, my love,” The cat's— Morpheus?— mouth doesn't move when Hob hears the words, it's as if his partner is somehow projecting his words directly into Hob's poor human brain that really isn't wrapping around this situation quite yet. “I'm beginning to think this spell has affected your memory as well, you can't seem to say anything that is not a question.” “Oh, come on, I think it's perfectly reasonable when I've woken up and found my partner's voice coming from a sodding cat— Murph, why are you…?” Hob frowns, still stoking Morpheus’ head (what, he's surprisingly soft?), “Did someone do this to you?”  Morpheus bristles, turning away with his tail in the air and stomping away to sit by the settee. “...No.” Hob gives up on crouching and sits down, “Then, why…?” He receives the most scathing side-eye he's ever seen from a cat, “I may have... Subjected myself. To this. On accident.” “What?” “I turned myself into a cat. On accident, Hob.” Morpheus staunchly does not meet Hob's eyes, “Happy now?” Hob laughs. 

[thejockout]

New File Time! | Team Player (BONUS RELEASE)

(LET ME STRESS that you should read this description carefully. Don't worry - this isn't taking the slot of a "standard" release because it's so, incredibly niche. But for those of you who'll like it, I think you'll really like it. I made a poll about this ages ago on Tumblr and people expressed interest in it, soooo here it is! )

Right. Moving on. This is probably the weirdest thing I've actually released - it was a commission for someone who, basically, wanted a file that would help them get some kinky enjoyment out of work + help them fit in better with their masculine coworkers. It's very much a "becoming one of The Guys at work" file basically. You'll be influenced by and attracted to your coworker's masculinity (very fitting if you're in a field with a Corporate Bro culture) and want to fit in with them, so you'll subtly change to be a better team player by matching them. Understand the title now?

However, there's also some kinky incentive to work hard, achieve your goals, and etc. There's almost an element of "dronification" as being of service to The Company brings pleasure, which can double as a means to help you feel less stressed and crappy about your workload. Instead you'll take a strange... even arousing... fulfilment from being a good Team Player and getting your job done. And hey, with any luck, no one will notice how hard it makes you.

The thumbnail also took me like 25-30 minutes so you're welcome. Not because it's good, but because I stuck with it... and then a friend had to bail me out and fix it BUT I STILL PUT TIME IN OKAY.

CONTENT WARNINGS:

Masculinization - you'll absorb/learn masculine traits from your coworkers and begin to embody tem, so that you can fit in better with them. Elements of peer pressure here.

Trigger installation; workwear, suits, etc - these garments will arouse you, stimulating you to do your best and be the best man and Team Player you can be.

Installation of a work/productivity kink - you'll begin to find achieving your aims/goals/quotas etc. to be a pleasurable, almost erotic activity at times, with safeties to make sure it's not going to get you in trouble at work.

Implication of submission to company hierarchy, which will then bring pleasure - this is where the Team Player element kicks in. The phrase is used as a trigger to inspire feelings of company loyalty, masculinity, and chill around your work to make it more fun for you.

General workplace productivity/calm suggestions - finally, there's also just a plain Safe-For-Work (get it??) element to the file where you'll be encouraged to avoid workplace drama, but assert yourself as needed... keep your head down and get your shit done till clock-out, when you'll wanna hang with your coworkers to build team morale. After all, that's what a good Team Player would do!

--------------------------------------------------------- https://linktr.ee/jockout When I'm not dropping myself or others, I'm off being a mystical forest bro in the wilderness of Ireland. But I am always available for commissions if you reach out via DM. My flat rate is currently $65-100, but you can check my pinned Tumblr post for more up-to-date info. You can also support me with a one-time tip either via Paypal or Ko-Fi! Keep listening, bros.

[addledmongoose]

Good Omens Fanfic Friday (27 Sep 2024)

Crowley and the Chocolate Factory (55K; Rated E) by @entanglednow

Human AU (sorta). Second week in a row of suggesting a fantastic story by @entanglednow. I've recommended many of this author's works over the year, so I highly recommend checking out their large backlist.

If you thought the one thing missing from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was Wonka and one of the parents sneaking off for a shag in a classic Bentley, you're in luck! I kid (well, not about the shagging; that did happen), because this was truly a fantastic original story, with the Them and Warlock stepping in for the children in the movie, and the Eriks taking the place of the Oompa-Loompas. It's more than just the original story with different names and a modern setting; it's its own thing, told from Crowley's POV, so you see all the weirdness the same way he does. I could easily read so much more of this world if the author were ever inclined to write a sequel.

Crowley has to step up for his nephew Adam when he wins a ticket to tour the famous chocolate factories, run by the reclusive and deeply strange Zira Zonka. It doesn't take Crowley long to decide that he wants nothing to do with the man, who's clearly hiding dark and mysterious secrets.

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A Demon's Guide to Exorcism, Haunted Flats, and Murderous Plants (15K; Rated M) by @notesoflore

After the notpocalypse, Crowley's flat seems to be haunted. Instead of telling Aziraphale, he leaves the angel wondering why his demon seems to have unofficially moved into the bookshop.

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Oh, be quiet (15K; Rated E) by @sabotage-on-mercury

Human AU/Enemies-to-lovers. Part of the GO Theatre Bang. Aziraphale is cast as the lead in a production of Hamlet, the newest member of the theater company alongside greats like Anathema Device and Anthony Crowley. If only his counterpart wasn't so arrogant. Or rude. Or handsome. Or looked so good in tight jeans.

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End of the road (100K; Rated M) by @ochre-sunflower

Human AU (sorta). Aziraphale is on his way to a new job when he finds himself in a small town full of strange goings-ons. I don't read a lot of WIPs, but I was eagerly awaiting each chapter release of this psychological horror tale. Now it's finished, so I urge you to check it out.

[whocaresaboutdecent]

Thanks @theriverspath for inspiring this fic by asking for a fic where Crowley creates a new type of pansy for Aziraphale after seeing this beautiful fan art by @nim-lock :)

Rated: General Audiences | Read on Ao3 | Warnings: Implied / Referenced Homophobia & Homophobic Language

***

Aziraphale and Crowley were sitting in the hindmost corner of a crowded pub when someone called Aziraphale a pansy for the first time. Aziraphale blinked, astonished, and turned to see who had spoken. But the speaker had already disappeared into the crowd.

“I don't understand,” Aziraphale said, frowning, as he turned back to Crowley. “Why would anyone use the name of such a lovely flower as an insult?”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, his eyes scanning the room for any lingering threats. “Uh, I don’t think they were talking about the flower, angel.”

Aziraphale’s confusion deepened. “Then what were they talking about?”

Crowley found himself in a conversation he really didn’t want to continue, but Aziraphale’s questioning gaze left him with no choice. Reluctantly, he explained the slur's intended meaning.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, scandalised.

“I'll never understand why someone would use an insult against people who love each other.” He shook his head in disbelief.

Crowley shrugged. “Humans seem to think your boss disapproves.”

“Certainly not!” Aziraphale exclaimed. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised Crowley. “Wait, wasn't that your side's doing?”

Crowley raised his hands in mock defense. “Nah, not as far as I know. My lot would never get in the way of people succumbing to lust, would they?”

Aziraphale sighed, and they both muttered in unison, “Humans.”

In the silence that followed, they shared a knowing look, a look only two supernatural entities having spent most of their eternal lives learning the ways of humans could share.

“Pansies are such beautiful flowers,” Aziraphale said after a pause, lifting his chin stubbornly. “I refuse to let that word be anything but a compliment.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, as was probably expected from a demon witnessing such an approach to an insult. That's not what they had been invented for after all. But secretly he thought Good for you, angel.

As time passed, Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s resolve beginning to falter. Each time someone hurled the word at him, the angel’s smile grew more strained, as if every incident drained more of his resolution not to be affected. Crowley’s concern deepened, and one evening, after yet another such encounter, he decided to do something about it.

Though never very fond of the blooming variety of plants, Crowley found himself acquiring pansy seeds and setting to work. He nurtured them with care, his thoughts always on the light, clear blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. He willed the flowers to bloom in the perfect shade, but it was harder than he thought—they never turned out the way he wanted them to. They were too small, the colour too pale, the shape of the petals not quite right. Still, he persisted.

They were the only plants he never yelled at.

He’d tried, once, but going too fast, expecting too much too soon, had made the delicate flowers wither. No, he realised he needed to be patient, cautiously coaxing them from the protective dark earth with gentle, encouraging whispers and the lightest touch. He watched them absorb water and nutrients, growing stronger, more vibrant, more like the vision in his mind.

When they finally bloomed into the perfect shade of blue, Crowley was unexpectedly moved by the result. The pansies didn’t just resemble Aziraphale; they felt like him, radiating a quiet love.

Crowley hadn’t thought he could create something like that anymore.

He didn't dare to give the flowers to Aziraphale. They were too personal, too revealing of the feelings he kept hidden behind his sharp exterior. The idea of giving them to Aziraphale felt both overwhelming and insufficient. So he kept them hidden in his flat, seeking their company whenever his longing became too intense to bear.

Aziraphale didn’t get to see them until they moved into their cottage.

Crowley chose a spot visible from Aziraphale’s favourite reading chair to plant them in the garden, so whenever the angel looked out the window, the sight of the pansies would remind him of the compliment he truly deserved.

“These pansies are beautiful, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly, his voice full of admiration.

Crowley flinched, startled by Aziraphale’s voice from behind him. He had been so absorbed in tending to the flowers that he hadn’t heard Aziraphale approach.

Gentle fingertips brushed his nape in a silent apology. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the gesture.

“Um …,” Crowley began, forcefully reminding himself that there was no reason to uphold the pretense of demonic nonchalance anymore. “Actually, angel,” he continued, wiping his hands on his trousers as he hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He sat back on his heels, looking at Aziraphale standing next to him as he finally confessed, “I … created them for you.”

“For me?” Aziraphale’s voice trembled slightly, his face glowing with surprise and something that Crowley still struggled to understand, something that made him indescribably happy.

“Yeah,” Crowley murmured, avoiding the tender gaze that was too much to handle. “You said you’d only take ‘pansy’ as a compliment, right? So… I made these as a… as…” Crowley struggled to continue as his mouth went dry.

“As a compliment?” Aziraphale finished softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Crowley nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale’s smile was radiant. “Oh, Crowley, thank you. They’re perfect.”

Crowley couldn't help but smile to himself as he dug a hole to plant the first pansy. That had been his point exactly.