#hairy finger-grass

[thebotanicalarcade]

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

[sunnami]

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

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

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

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

word count. 11.4k

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

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

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

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

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

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

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

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

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

“Watch out!” 

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

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

“Move!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With—what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE STORY GOES like this: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

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

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

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lily glares at him. 

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

Everything is starting to change. 

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

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

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All of them.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

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

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate Quidditch.

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

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

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

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

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

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

It’s Lily Evans. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Pads, shut up.” 

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

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

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

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

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

Which happens to be right beside you. 

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

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

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

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

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

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

How fun.

Not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ascendio!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

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

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

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

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

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

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

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

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

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

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

“I know.” 

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

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

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

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

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lily—” 

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

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

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

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

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

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

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

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

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

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

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

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

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

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

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

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

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

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

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

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

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

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

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

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

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

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sirius grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

[petew21-blog]

Swapcation: After the escape Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now or never"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And a lot of cardio, I presume?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 1:

[wordstome]

Satyr!König Headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[toxycodone]

Husband anon is back to tell you about another adventure with the IRL husband that is also just Laios and inspires the writing.

Coming home to him in loose workout shorts and running your hands up his thighs to make him squeal and laugh because he’s so sensitive while you try to nibble and lick his wonderful hairy thighs, him pushing you away complaining that it’s too sensitive while moaning your name. Laios begging for you to switch to his thighs or somewhere else less sensitive only to find out it’s more sensitive and when you finally sink your lips over his cock, he’s hard as a rock and rutting against your head to hope for you to go deeper as your saliva coats all over him and your hand that you use to keep you from gagging yourself.

It starts off totally innocent.

You and Laios get into tickle fights on occasion. It’s not anything super intense, he just likes to mess with you and get you smiling and giggling because he thinks you’re absolutely adorable. Today, he happens to be in his workout outfit. He’s coming home from a hike and smells like grass and sweat.

Laios is just playing around, so he lets you get on top of him in the bed. His shirt rides up a little as he’s beaming up at you. His golden eyes shine with mirth as stifled giggles leave his lips. In order to get him back when he’s tickling you, you decide to blow a couple raspberries on his exposed tummy, slowly moving down to his plush, pale thighs.

As you do that, Laios’s laughs begin to get cut off by gasps, shortly followed by sweet moans. Laios tells you that’s a bit too much. And you can tell what he means by that by the growing bulge in his pants. He’s not asking you to stop, just letting you know the kisses and nips you’re trailing up his groin is going straight to his cock, and now this sweet moment between you two is gonna turn into something else entirely.

You take the cue to link your fingers under the waistband of his pants and boxers. His cock eagerly bounces out, already almost fully hard. Laios looks up at the ceiling and you can see the pink blush starting to spread across his cheeks and down his neck. Every time you give him head, he always gets embarrassed. You’re assuming it’s a mixture of him just not being used to it still, but also the fact that just a little touching can get him so fucking hard for you. It’s actually sweet how enthusiastically his body reacts to you.

As you lean closer to his length and give it a few licks, you can smell the dried sweat, musk, and scents of nature from him being outside today—but it just turns you on even more. Laios lets out a hushed gasp, then shudders as you take him down your throat. After a few bobs of your head you feel his body start to relax, then his hand cradles the back of your head as he guided a you up and down.

He’s always surprisingly gentle as he fucks your throat. Well, at least in the beginning. His moans and whimpers grow louder and louder as you continue. And each time you gag or moan yourself, Laios lets out a loud groan. He can’t help it, the little vibrations travel from your throat down his groin and he just can’t resist.

You take a moment to start gently massaging his hefty balls which makes thighs shake and toes curl. This is where things take a turn. You anchor a hand on his groin to keep Laios from banging the head of his cock against your uvula or another sensitive area of your throat. He starts to get eager now, raising his hips to get you swallowing more of his length as curses leave his slick, slightly parted lips.

Laios then sits up a little and looks down at you. He’s still embarrassed, but he always has to look at you. As usual, Laios’s mind begins to wander. You’re so cute when you suck him off. He pays attention to how you take him. He always wonders if you like the taste. Is it different when he hasn’t washed? He wonders if his cum will taste different from what he ate. Maybe you’ll like it more this time…

And when you make eye contact with him, looking up from beneath your lashes, Laios fucking whimpers. God, you’re so fucking pretty like that. Handsome. Gorgeous. Beautiful. You’re so good to him, the best thing that’s ever happened to him. You’re too fucking good and so fucking perfect—

“I’m gonna cum.”

He chokes out, now gripping your hair and guiding you faster and faster. It only takes a couple more strokes for Laios to blow a fat load down your throat. Thankfully, you’ve become used to his terrible timing and lack of verbal cues during blowjobs. You sorta gracefully take him into your mouth, trying not to choke and swallowing what you can manage.

Laios’s lips are on yours as soon as you’re finished servicing him. He’s always more than eager to taste himself on you and whisper his thanks and tell you just how good you did. You could give the toothiest blowjob in the world and he’d still be over the moon he got to cum within five feet of you.

Afterwards, Laios has the goofiest smile on his face. He hugs you tightly and kisses your cheeks and asks you if you need anything. He always gets you something tasty to drink though. Whether it’s juice from the fridge or just a sip of his half drunk, lukewarm Gatorade on his nightstand. When you suck him off, he’s always a bit concerned about the taste, especially if you do it when he hasn’t washed…

Want him to cook? Maybe take a bath together? He can wash your back…maybe let you sit on the corner and he can return the favor…anything you want to do afterwards is just perfect to him.

[chronically-ghosted]

vivarium

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

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Ezra Masterlist 🤍 AO3 Link

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

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

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

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

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

Shit, he’s so fucking hot. 

Oh, bad thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ez–,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m taking a hike.”

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

“Be safe, Neptune,” he calls softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neptune? You with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Regret what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ez– shit, the flap–,” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Neptune, I revolve around you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to obey his every word. 

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

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

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

“Was that mine?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. He grins with a mouthful of teeth.

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

His wide palm appears beneath your chin.

“Spit.”

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“J-just a little harder, Ez.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lay like that for a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles, unguarded and open. 

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

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

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

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

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

+

[p1nkprincess444]

ᴍᴀsᴋ - ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀғᴀᴄᴇ

gn!reader x leatherface

word count: 624

contents: fluff

You were sprinting through the woods sobbing as you heard the mechanical buzz of the chainsaw that was approaching from behind. The dried trees and thorns scraped and scratched at your sweat covered skin but you knew you had to keep running because what lay behind you was a fate worse than death. Your feet carried you as fast as you could until they couldn’t anymore. A bear trap that lay hidden under the dried leaves and thorns clamped down harshly around your ankle causing you to scream ungodly loud breaking the silence the night shared. You sobbed as you yanked at your ankle desperate to free it from its steel confines but all it did was cause the teeth of the trap to dig deeper into your skin.  The man who wielded the chainsaw now loomed over you as the grim reaper loomed over the ill. Your eyes shut in a desperate plea to make the man disappear but suddenly the loud mechanical roaring of the chainsaw came to a halt followed by a soft thud in the dried grass next to you. You opened your eyes to see the masked man pulling the bear trap open allowing you to free your mangled ankle. Your confusion overshadowed your pain as he hoisted you up in one arm picking up his chainsaw in the other. 

It had now been almost a year since this had happened, your ankle only having a scar around it to show all you went through. You frequently thought about that night as you laid in bed next to your husband. You rolled over in your shared king sized bed to face the sleeping man. His large hairy chest rising and following with each sleepy snore that passed his lips. HIs mask laid discarded on the bedside table, you knew as soon as he woke and caught you staring it would return to hide his scarred and mangled face. It always saddened you the way he would hide away his unique beauty even when it was only you around. 

Your hands gently raked through his short curly hair making him stir only slightly, but soon he woke and like always he caught you staring. His cheeks flushed pink before he quickly reached for his mask hiding his face underneath it as it was something to be deeply shameful of. You didn’t say anything as he rose from your shared bed dressing in one of his dingy cotton button ups following a pair of denim overalls. Before he left the bedroom he placed a rough kiss on your forehead making you laugh to yourself.

The next morning it was the same, you waking before and watching his peaceful sleepy expression before he woke and caught you. However the following morning you thought up an idea. When you were sure your husband was deep into his sleep you slipped ever so slowly from his grasp and plucked up his mask from his bedside table. You tucked it away under the bed going to sleep in his arms without another thought. You woke in the morning following the same routine you always did, but when Thomas woke his hands grasped at nothing but the wooden table. His cheeks flushed a deeper red before he pulled the covers tightly over his face. 

You moved up over top of him, your legs straddling his broad hips before your fingers gently clasped onto the blanket pulling it down ever so slowly. Thomas’s grip tightened momentarily before he let you pull away the blanket from his face. 

Your hands gently moved up to cup his scarred cheeks as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“ I’m tired of seeing someone elses face instead of my husbands. ”

[foxpaw9]

Yan!Samurai X Maid!Reader

Context: This is the part three. Here's the part two → Part Two

Content Warning:- 18+++ Contains some Yan themes and *coughs* Pervy themes as well

Synopsis: you are assigned to the Samurai general Nereus as, his personal maid during a war after he killed his previous maid. You are supposed to tend to his every needs even those of sexual ones since he is a general who's leading the war and unmarried.

━─━────༺ - ༻────━─━

Nereus X Y/N

★ Nereus walked to the pond with his erection,where you were supposedly taking a bath alone.He can't wait,he can't wait to see you as yourself. You have always hidden your beautiful body by layers of clothing. While other personal maids were seducing their masters for their own selfish reason,here you were, hiding his body from him.

★ He stopped as he heard the sound of water splashing. It was past evening and darkness has already started spreading everywhere. Nereus paced towards the pond. Green Forest surrounded the pond area hiding it from the outside.

★ He hid behind a huge old tree and looked towards the pond. He saw your clothes and dim lit lamb. But you were nowhere to be seen. He searched you around with his eyes until he saw swimming in the pond. All naked

★ His hand traveled to his abdomen and parted the robe and grabbed his thick and veiny cock. He gave it a tight squeeze and gazed at you,you were done swimming and now cleaning yourself with the herbs.

★ He leaned on the tree with his left forearm while he groped his own cock and pumbed it. Pre-cum oozing out of his dick,as he bit his lip to prevent the urge to moan.

★ Y/N was done with cleaning her body and she was bathing herself again. Nereus thought to himself - One day we will bath in the hot spring in my home together and you will be under me,gazing up at me with your teary eyes begging me to let you cum as I pushed my fingers in and out of your pussy.

★ He imagined,what could be her favorite position? Standing? Or doggy style? Or maybe I should just rut into her as a feral beast does. Wouldn't she enjoy it?

★ In his fantasies,he had you under him,in the mating press. Your legs on his shoulder while your pulsating pussy was being abused by his throbbing dick. He will pound himself deep into you while his cum paints your walls white. Every time he pulls out, the cum would immediately pool out from your hole only to be pushed in with his dick again. yes, he will fuck you till the sun rises if you want.

★ He looked at you,and you were done bathing. And what are you doing?? Y/N was looking at her tits with a frown,she then raised her hand and palmed both her bust and muttered “ They do feel uncomfortable sometimes ”

★ Nereus pumped faster,his pupil dilating. Are you going to give him a show?? Oh then just bent down just like that,all naked. And show me your pretty pussy. Your busts were probably larger than your palms. Nereus slightly parted his mouth and imagined his mouth on those brownish nipples of yours. He swirled his tongue inside his mouth as if he's playing with your nipples.

★ And then you came out of the water, unaware of his presence. Your naked body in his sight. It awakened something feral in him. He saw your hairy pussy and just wanted to pounce on you and fuck you till your pretty little cunt is full of his cum.

★ His body shivered and his hips jolted thick streams of cum burst out of him. He fell on his knees. The impact was too much. Seeing you naked for the first time and being able to get himself off of it.

★ He partially laid on the mat of grass,his knees bent in pleasure and his right hand pushing out the remaining cum.

He wonder,what you will do if you see him like this?? Would you run away ?? Or would you help him with it ???

━─━────༺ - ༻────━─━

It's my first time writing smut so please bare with the flaws. Also follow me if you want to read more 🥰🥰

This is the 3rd Headcanon out of the 7. I'm planning on writing another Headcanons from July.

[brittscafe]

Hehe hello I'm new to this request thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tags: @kr0wu

[what-in-the-gloobie-glob]

R.e. hairy forest man soap with hairy ass, i would love any thoughts you have on how absolutely crazy soap's body hair drives ghost. thinking like that one post about how really hairy dudes can't even hide it, even if they tried, because the hair just crawls up their necks, onto their hands, down their knuckles, but soap doesn't even TRY. just constantly has the carpet on display, and by god ghost is about to become cleopatra the way he's wrapping himself in it.

-definitely not projeting as a fellow large blonde wife with fat titties

Oh GOD

Also.... don't peep me posting in the height of daylight 🫣🫣

Soap who goes on morning runs around the base early in the morning when dew still sicks to the grass and fog hands low on the ground. Soap who works up a sweat and shucks his shirt easily enough.

Ghost who goes with him just to see dark hair matted with sweat. Ghost who watches beads of sweat slide down the hair on his chest until it catches on a dry patch on his tummy

Soap who likes to work up a nice sweat in the gym wearing leggings and a loose muscle tee

Ghost who salivates at the sight of a hairy tit that pokes out from the arm gap. Who wants to bite and lick and nip the flesh. Who wants to nose into the hair and lave his tongue all over.

Ghost who almost gets distracted petting over his ass when they're fucking just because he likes the feel. Ghost who likes to run his fingers through the hair between soap's thighs, surrounding his balls when they fuck just because he can.

[gayfanservice]

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

Tried to romance him and got rejected twice lmao

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, you’re beautiful.

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

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

So, so beautiful, my darling.

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

Get kidnapped, duh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gale’s had enough teasing, it seems.

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

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

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

Good?

“Good,” Gale said with a satisfied smile.

*********

Do NOT follow if you use she/her pronouns

Read the rules before following

[cardinalcanis]

Not this time

Summary: Elric and Lion meet again after being apart fighting across Imperium Nihilus, the distance and time making them crave each other more than anything.

TW: smut, fluff, yes I joined the breeding kink gang, ftm character,

Word count: 3009

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal @moodymisty

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll

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“Easy with those hands Big Guy, you do not want to jank my hearing implant out again.” Joked Elric as Lion’s calloused hand had pulled him closer, his growing arousal demanding more of the cadian’s skin to make contact with his. “Maybe that’s what you want, if I can’t hear you I can’t be told to stop.”

There was a time when the colonel wouldn’t have lowered his guard half a second inside that strange forest world Johnson could travel through. But there they were, naked under void kissed canopies. 

“No answer to that?” he teased again, only receiving a pretending to be oblivious grunt from Lion. 

His Big Guy liked to keep secrets, but the primarch’s body was such a talker and Elric loved conversing with it for hours. The Lion was laying on his back, a landscape of blonde hair carpeted his muscular body just as the grass did the ground beneath him. Elric was straddled over one of Lion’s thick thighs and now being dragged to rest his full body over Johnson’s while he continued fingering Lion El’s hairy hungry cunt. 

The sound of the man’s wetness threatened to overshadow the nearby stream’s, coating his buttocks and shaky thighs. Elric observed Lion’s chest expand as his breath deepened, an excited nipple right at the perfect height to be taken into his mouth, throne it would be an act of heresy not to dig his face and suck on those godly pecs. His teeth biting into the pale skin made Lion’s hole tighten around his fingers, making Elric increase the intensity in which he assaulted the growing tender spot inside Lion. On the outside he kept his thumb massaging the swollen clit, already overstimulated from having been driven to climax several times already. 

“Soldier… ahh… Elric…” fuck, it had been six months since last time they saw each other, how much he missed having his name being grunted and moaned by the primarch. Yet Lion was trying to keep restrain.

“Such chaste sounds still, what do your other lips say?” Lion had started to rock his hips along Elric’s fingers, helping to finger fuck himself and full on grinding his clit on the soldier’s palm. “Look at that, your mouth needs to learn from them.” He teased the wanting giant. 

“Soldier I… I think I need to pee.” The First said, making Habermas smirk as if chaos had possessed him. 

“No, you are not peeing yourself.” He would have caressed Lion’s hair reassuringly, but his left arm was trapped with the primarch’s touch starved need to have him held close. 

“I know when I’m… ah…” 

Elric felt the man tense under him, fighting the new unknown feeling, wrestling the natural reaction to keep rocking his hips along Elric’s fingers. The Colonel in response increased the intensity once again, making a weak whimper emerge from Lion’s unwilling mouth. 

“Big Guy, Big Guy, focus on me.” 

As if it was that easy, Elric himself struggled not to ram himself inside such a perfect cunt. Fuck how easily he could slip in now with how wet it was, it would stand no opposition and welcome his cock in its warmth. He had begun to instinctively hump Lion’s thigh as he failed to control his own arousal. Many men would have seen being the first to claim Lion as a source of honor and pride, Elric found that fetishization as a way to hide lack of skill and insecurity, in fact it filled him with rage knowing that said beauty has been left unworshiped and unfed for so long, not because Lion’s desire to be so but the insecurity he would lose something that would make him less valuable as a partner. 

He kept the pace despite Lion’s stubborn pleas, he had stood shooting non stop for days, there is no way he would allow his arm to falter in this battle of will. 

“Big Guy please, relax for me, it is not a bad feeling.”

The man’s stomach and leg muscles began to twitch, a familiar sting of nails drawing blood kissed Elric’s back as Lion’s grip possessed him. At least after one broken rib he has learned to measure his lust directed strength. 

Forest green eyes met warp cursed purple in a plea for release, the pale face was flustered, aroused red lips parted into a moan that was a bit higher and nasal than the normal deep commanding voice. Vulnerable and exposed as that quivering pussy spread like a flower ready for his picking. 

“Soldier… I am going to… but I am peeing.” whimpered Lion in a weak attempt to look like he was still under control.

“It is not pee, relax and let it happen.” He answered in a soothing tone almost being swallowed by the intense lewd rhythm of fingers ravaging a cunt lost in lascivious desire. “When you feel it coming, I need you to push a bit, not too hard, just as if you know, were going to pee. Trust me.”

A sober Lion would have found twenty mistakes in that argument already, but this wasn’t him, the stern giant was downed and unshielded. Elric took pride, as any cadian shock trooper would, in his job at taking down beings that dwarfed him in size. His people’s blood had been tempered by generations by the Eye of Terror, nothing no matter its size could break him, it would be brought to surrender. Be it fuck up the daemon prince or fuck a stubborn primarch, they will break before he does or die trying. 

The force of spasms became stronger, remaining firm on top of Lion was similar to riding an untamed wild beast. 

“Remember what I told you, okay? Now Big Guy cum for me, your brave Soldier is back home between your legs, give him the hero's welcome only you can.” 

The struggle finally broke, the giant’s body surrendered to one single purpose: the pressing sensation between its legs. Desperately grinding on and driving Elric’s fingers deeper, harder. The orgasm came with a long shaky moan followed by a stream of liquid running between the colonel’s fingers. He pressed on no matter how hard Lion buckled and twisted, calling for the rain two more times before the primarch yanked his hand away. 

His Big Man howled and panted, rolling to the side to wrap his body around Elric’s like a child in fetal position. Face nuzzled on his neck as a soft wimpey purr accompanied every exhalation.  

“You should have told me the fuck you were going to do.” 

“Complaining? This fast? And I thought I had done a good job.” he teased before capturing the man’s lips with his, that mouth still tasted like Elric’s own cock and cum from earlier, in exchange Lion could enjoy the flavor of his very slick on his. “Big Guy, it’s been so long…” 

“I missed this too.” Lion kissed him again in the lead of lifting Elric up with ease and setting him up on a sitting position, back resting on the nearby tree. “And this even more.” He continued getting over Habermas’ lap, legs supportorting on both sides, controlling the weight so he is not crushed. 

What a beautiful sight, being almost killed by orcs was worth every second if it meant getting back to this. Johnson rubbed his drenched sex against Elric’s aching shaft; he wished he had bigger hands so he could squeeze more of Lion’s ass in them. Even at the outside he could feel the cunt still twitching in post orgasm spasms, he needed to be inside before he’s driven insane. His thoughts seemed to have been read as the tip of his dick parted the entrance open. 

“No, Lion El’, wait…” it took so much of him not to stretch that hole open in one thrust. Elric tried to move and get a hold of his casted away pants. “The cond…”

“No.” Lion’s tone was stern, demanding, and in its depth a masked desperation. “I want… “ he paused, ever so proud to admit what he truly ached for. “I need you raw.” The desperation bled more through the facade. 

“Alright, just be ready so I can pull out in time you wouldn’t want to…” 

“I WANT TO!” His words were more of a plea than an order, that tone hurted Lion’s pride to use “Elric, my Soldier…”

Gently, he brushed Lion’s pale gold hair strands away from his face and behind and ear. Having a full view of his shameful expression. The primarch responded with the same gentleness when he took hold of both of Elric’s hands and placed the palms over his lower belly.  

“Lion, my Big Guy.” This face was new, sex always made the cold and calculating Lion a bit dumb, but the new development was very entertaining.

“It has lurked on the edges of my mind for a while, distant and passing quickly… ah…” Lion was getting back to the composed leader tone, nothing the painfully slow caress over his clit wouldn’t fix.

“You were saying?” In contrast to the Lion, Elric’s tone wasn’t hiding his intentions. 

“These six months… mhmm…” a deep moan  right from his center intruded him mid sentence. “It has moved to the front, Elric… ah…” his body arched at the constant touch and the rubbing of the wanted dick across his cunt. “No matter what I shove in me… shit… you damned clown, you get what I want, do it or I will… ah…” he barked with his usual temper before surrendering back to the feeling. 

“I’m sorry my Lord Lion, your orders are too vague, I need specifics.” He tilted his head to the side and pushed the hair away so Lion could see him clearly lower the hearing implant’s sensitivity. “And I think you pulled me a bit too hard, you’ll have to say it louder, shit’s failing again.” 

Lion closed his eyes and sucked his lips followed by a heavy swallow. Large pale hands followed the contours of his chest upwards, then cradling Elric’s face, it fit just right in one of them. Lion El’Johnson was found mute helpless, biting his lower lips while teary eyed. 

“Tell me what you want and it's yours. I live to serve you, Big Guy.” There was no sarcastic flavor to the words, it was loving and understanding, maybe he had pushed too hard knowing how bad Lion is with vulnerable feelings. 

With the care someone picks up a glass piece, Lion turned the implant’s sensitivity back up, his gaze lingering on Elric’s eyes. 

“My sons already call you father, I want to make you one proper.” Elric felt how Jonson pressed his hips harder. “You’ve made love to me, you’ve fucked me… I need you to breed me.” 

“Lion” They’ve had this discussion briefly before, the responsibilities of their lives, the constant danger… they had decided not to take the risk. And yet Lion El’s plea triggered something in him. “Are you sure we are in the right state of mind for this discu… Ah… throne…”

The primarch’s hips became more pressing on their demand, their rock abandoning the gentleness they had been keeping. 

“You don’t get it, I’ve finger fucked myself to tears of frustration these last months…” his voice was fully broken and meek, almost a whisper “every cell of my body is screaming, I cannot discuss in another state of mind because I am unable to get out of this one until you pump my womb…”

Elric was right, that sweet sweet cunt presented no opposition to him. It welcomed him between its silken walls with such ease, even the thickest part of his cock that used to be a bit of a problem got in during that same thrust. Emperor, why did you make your son’s pussy so divine? Lion was also over the moon at his first taste of raw dick. He didn't remember him riding with such delight and intention, Elric smirked as he considered that the great strategist had planned and practiced for the moment he could drain him dry. 

“Soldier… my soldier…” Lion’s body didn’t lie to him, he’s been wanting this for so long that now he has it, there is nothing more than a pure display of euphoria “I love you soldier… please breed me… look how much your cock loves me it stretches me so good… ah… this is meant to be.”

Those were the moans he missed so badly. Lion was designed to hyperfocus on one single task, leaving everything else at secondary or just shut off. And when the task was ‘cock’ the results were as witnessed.

“Lion El’Johnson saying please and being cute.” He teased “If I would have known all I needed to do to make you be nice is shove my raw dick in you I would have done it so long ago.” Lion gripped the tree behind Elric, helping himself with balance and to pivot to make the thrusts even deeper. “If I had done so from the start we could already have a little soldier of our own, he would have been almost two if I’m not wrong.”

His own hips were getting numb out of Lion’s weight but stopping left the vocabulary the second he rammed himself all in, his man mewling like a cat in heat with every push against his cervix. 

“Do it now, please, whenever you want to force it into my hole, raw cock, please… ah… everyday… please don’t pull out until you put a child in me… or two…” 

Elric had joined the careless whimpering and grunting, sex is supposed to be careless, messy, to turn you so dumb you only knew the person you were with was the best thing in the world. 

“You’ll get so big.” He said, pressing on Lion’s sweaty stomach. “Swollen full cum and later children.” 

Lion squeezed hard around him followed by a quick trembling and groans, his lower body felt even wetter as a result of the bigger man making a mess all over him, pooling slick juices over cinnamon skin. Elric managed to fist the demigod’s blond hair making his eyes roll back lost in cock drunk bliss. 

“Big Guy your cunt’s so good… ah… I’m making you pregnant today… and the day after… no more fucking only breeding for you.” 

The drooling mess on top of him had lost the ability of speech relegated to a series of simple words. The air rised hot with the bare stench of fucking, the relief he had been containing for so long arrived in a delicious wave of pleasure. Every single muscle ached at the titanic effort of holding that giant mess of a man in place so he could properly fill him up, one deep trust after the other he was taken over by the unparalleled bliss of releasing himself inside his lover’s warmth. 

Elric howled and kicked as Lion kept riding him with renewed vigor after his climax, he was so tender and sensitive after cumming yet his man’s focus was lost to the one and only purpose of draining the cadian dry. He spotted a malicious grin on the Lion’s drooling mouth, the ever petty primarch was claiming vengeance for earlier.  The human couldn’t tell how many times he came or if it even stopped to be sure, once his whimpering and gasping stopped he found himself lying beside Lion, a gentle breeze making loose leaves fall over them. 

Elric fully silenced his implant and leaned into him, intertwining their bodies like the tired man does with a warm bed full of blankets, wanting nothing else to distract him from each other’s unaltered twitches and breaths. The drumming of Lion’s hearts, his breath on his face, the smell of their previous arousal, the map of textures in their skins; hairy patches meeting flesh with barely a bit of fuzz, old scars sharing their stories with new ones, firm muscle pressing against fatty pouches. 

“Are you really sure about this?” Elric said, breaking the silence, his glance upwards to read Lion’s lips. “We can still talk to the apothecary for a morning after brew.”

‘It looks like you are the one who’s not sure’ Jonson’s lips spelled.

“We were dragged apart for six months, it has never been this long, but it can get longer.” He started to rub his man’s stomach tenderly. “I want to be in my children’s lives, Lion, not leave you to the work like some deadbeat.” 

‘The fact you are worried about that makes you no deadbeat. Maybe they’ll just learn earlier to skin a pelt than to assemble and disassemble a rifle, but they would never doubt you love them, like I never doubt you do to me.’ 

Elric buried his face on Lion’s chest and chuckled, hiding a slight fluster. The vibration on it made him aware he was speaking again.

‘You’ll be a good father.’ He didn’t need to perceive the tone to understand the firm belief the speaker had in his words. 

“Big Guy, I’m a guardsman, my job is to die. How good of a father is a corpse?” 

Lion pulled him into a lazy yet loving kiss. 

‘Trust me on this soldier, can you do that?’ 

Trust is a word that took them both to be able to use on each other, even had times in which it almost fell to pieces. Elric looked down at one of Lion’s hands that was resting on his leg, a crude polished metal ring on it, Looked more like someone snagged and shaped a piece of scrap from a wreckage than proper jewelry quality metal. He placed one of his hands over it, an identical ring on one of his fingers. Trust.    

“Just this time, don’t make it a habit.” 

They smiled at each other, knowing full well the extent and dangers of their responsibilities. He has lived his life for duty and will end it for it, Elric thought about maybe he could allow himself a bit of selfishness. 

[mr2swap]

Dungeons and Dragons

-Jacob! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?! - the childish and strident voice of a child made the gang of friends leave their wooden swords, their plastic shield and their "magical" scepter that was actually a broom on the floor

Among all the "kids" there was one that stood out from all the others, a 35-year-old man, shirtless, holding a large metal sword that would normally decorate the Johnsons' game room, he fell on the grass, The muscular man and Shirtless froze in terror instantly upon recognizing that shrill and annoying voice-Ups! Damn, we met-

A scrawny 8-year-old boy walked into the garden, his angry look turning to surprise as he saw the group of children staring at him in silence. -oh Fuck- those words escaped from his mouth with an adorable tone. -Hm… Hey… Dere- I mean "my" dad needs you to help him move something… from his niece.-

-Hey!… Uncle Dick, don't worry, I told my friends about the amulet, I saw you asleep on the sofa, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I took your body to play and I…- Uncle Dick He slowly approaches the children and takes the huge, hard hand of his little thief of his nephew.

-Yeah! Come on Uncle Dick! Just let me play with my friends for 15 more minutes!...- the rejuvenated Uncle Dick sighed and placed his soft hands on his head to give himself a little massage to prevent his brain from exploding from all the anger and anger. accumulated stress in this. Little time.

-Listen Jack... you took my body without my permission, you told your friends our little secret and you left me locked in your room while I slept with a note that said "I'll give you your body back at dinner time, it would be great if you did my math homework” -How the hell do you think I feel?!-

Jack winced and a couple of tears formed on his face which was covered by a freshly cut beard, he rushed to the grass and started crying as he yelled -SORRY UNCLE Dick I JUST WANTED TO PLAY DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS WITH MY FRIENDS AND KENNY NEVER LET ME BE THE KNIGHT BECAUSE I AM THE SMALLEST OF MY FRIENDS AND ALSO I…-

Now the thunderous voice of his nephew was heard throughout the neighborhood, The Man in the body of his weak nephew looked to all sides worried that one of the neighbors would look at the muscular man throwing a tantrum -Okay, okay! Only 15 more minutes! You're not in trouble! But stop crying for the love of God!-

The tears stopped, Jack using the hideously long fingers of his new hairy hand wiped the tears from him, wiped his nose and stood up. -Thanks Uncle Dick! You're the best! - The children continued their little game while their uncle Dick supervised them, from time to time he checked his text messages so he was not having such a bad time in the skinny body of his nephew Jack.

"I just hope Uncle Dick doesn't mind having to spend another day in my body. When he finds out that I gave my friend Clarence the magic amulet so he could take over his stepfather's body, he's sure to try to kill me. But what?" could I do in my puny body of only one meter? I guess I'll keep the amulet for now, I don't know what planes my brother had with this thing, but I have big planes for his body tomorrow.

We have big planes for tomorrow! We will drive, go to the bar and even buy our first cigarettes! Maybe if we have time we'll play Dungeons and Dragons, maybe we can both be knights now!”

Hey! You can support me to continue creating stories, see similar stories on my patreon, you can also join my discord if you are interested in role-playing about bodyswap, possession and transformation, m2m!

[redcoralpot]

Hi may I request something like twd (any character) and a ghost reader who is like haunting them just for fun.. reader is sort of mysterious and cryptic but overall he just wants to mess with them :3 Idk how it would work but I couldn’t get rid of the idea in my head

Harmless Pranks, Little Thoughts

Daryl Dixon x Ghost!M Reader

-

Summary: You are quite the formidable ghost from your years behind a desk, however, you find that the afterlife gets boring rather quickly. When you stumble across a man in the forest, struggling to survive, how can you resist a little harmless fun?

Warnings: Animal death, canon typical violence, and implied death.

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: Long time no see!

-

-

-

Earth is quite ugly these days. The cracked asphalt was steaming underneath your feet, but you simply sighed, walking alongside broken down cars. Some had weeds curling around their tires, holding them in place. Nature had long overtaken civilization by the ten year mark of humanity’s extinction event. Any survivors had scattered, chased away by slow, blubbering undead. 

Said creatures weren’t hard to relax among once the odor stopped bothering you. Strange, how one of the only senses that stayed with you was smell. They only had mind for the living, no discrimination as long as it had flesh and blood for their teeth to rip to pieces. Otherwise, they just… existed as eyesores. You squinted at a rather unfortunate one, trapped by a seatbelt, doomed to scratch at air until a merciful survivor put it out of its misery. It gnashed its teeth, its jaw uncomfortably visible against gaunt skin. A few steps further and you were met with the edge of a forest, closer than you remembered. The grass didn’t sink when you breached the treeline, nor did sticks prick your arms, and you whistled as loud as your lips would let you.

You brushed your fingers against the bark of trees, seeing the ridges rippled underneath them. Sometimes, if you focused enough, you could almost feel how it would have been if you were alive again. There were some scratches, naturally put and then those which seemed too precise. A bear couldn’t knick away the outer layer to access inside it, straight lines cutting windows in pine. Leaves had been crushed underfoot, meticulous, pressed into the grooves of a boot sole. This only gave you a matter of seconds to flinch back as a breeze whisked past your face– metal glinted in the sun, sharp and sleek. You could practically feel its feathered end tickling your nose. Then, it was gone as quick as it came, hitting its mark with a squeak!

A gruff voice grumbled, “Hello, dinner.”

Years of floating around hadn’t gotten rid of your instincts– hell, you had seen one too many survivors suffer gory deaths to play around. You ducked behind the vandalized pine, watching as a squirrel landed on the dirt, the arrow piercing straight through its eye. Footsteps approached and a hairy, uniquely human hand grasped the corpse. The smell of sweat, blood, and dirt filled your nose; fitting for a survivor. In this world, you supposed you couldn’t judge. Shoulder-length brown hair framed hardened yet passionate eyes, with gray peppering the stubble on his chin. Old for a survivor but still alive and kicking, you noted. 

The man gently pulled the arrow out of his target, blood dripping in crimson rivers as he placed it back in his quiver, reaching down to tie the squirrel to his leather bag. Another, equally sized rodent shared the same fate. Its fur blew in the wind, dull; a simple decoration on a cold corpse. He lifted his crossbow easily, taking his view to the sky above, searching for a new target. 

Thus, an idea sparked in your mind; unexpected and brilliant in the moment. Mischievous, sure, but when have you ever been opposed to some fun? If anything, being nothing but floating air piqued such interests by thousands. It took energy to physically manifest yourself– kind of like working out. The more you did it, the easier it got, you told yourself. Your eyebrows scrunched and your stomach clenched as you stomped your foot down with a crack, splitting a runt of a stick in half. Despite its size, the noise echoed throughout the atmosphere, bouncing off of rocks until it dissipated. 

The aftereffects were immediate, dizziness slamming into you like a freight train. You tried to lean on the tree for support, but you were as solid as smoke, and the wood simply phased through your body. The man whipped his attention towards you, crossbow pointed, but no amount of arrows could get rid of you. Perhaps, that is what started your obsession with Daryl, when you looked back on it. A man that only protruded sharp edges and weight on his back, yet had survived with the burden for so long. You looked down at your dress shirt, bloody, ruined from when a customer had lunged for your neck. It still had your name pinned to the black tie.

 -

 Carol slammed the door shut behind Daryl, crossing her arms in the most private space they could have in the settlement, “Something’s been up with you lately, Daryl.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with me,” he said, shrugging, but his tone held no annoyance.

You floated through the door, watching as a shiver went up Carol’s spine at your passing. She shifted her weight and continued, “I’ve just noticed you’ve been jumpy, that’s all. You know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you, right?”

That bothersome thing, you knew, was obvious. Harmless pranks, some basic and some ingenious, but none that ever harmed the man. Not anything that did more than attract a lone walker, which is what you learned survivors called them now, at any rate. Hiding an arrow, Dog’s toy– why is a dog’s name Dog, anyway– or knocking on the walls occasionally. Sure, Daryl was jumpy, who wouldn’t be in a world like this? However, over time, he got accustomed to your antics, so much so that he did not react to them nearly as satisfying as previously. You had to go bigger, better, each time. 

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” 

“There’s only one in a million things that can scare you these days.”

Mhm, that’s right. You are– were– a one in a million office worker; the sentiment was baffling. If only your boss thought the same, you chuckled.

However, what was once a likely source of pride for the arrogant prick lost in the winds of time… now only cast deep shadows underneath Daryl’s eyes as the man glanced at his feet. His face had permanent wrinkles where his eyebrows touched his nose, ingrained like inked tattoos on his skin. 

It was then, in the swirl of conflicting emotions painting Daryl’s face, that your fingers twitched. It was then, past Carol’s careful exit, that you yearned. Such a strong instinct, akin to fear and overtaking greed, gripped you. Your surroundings felt less dim and you felt more alive than you have in the many, many years prior. For the first time, you had the urge to clasp his cheeks and to comfort the man whom you suspected rarely ever felt a gentle touch. Not to prank, not to scare, not to dance around like a jester for eternity– the desire melted your body like chocolate. As the air gave way to your ghostly form, parting under your fingertips, you realized that the Earth was a little less ugly with Daryl in it.

- 

@cannabrisano @dxrkymxrchy @bedshrooms

Want to be tagged?

[glasswaters]

an ode to happy trails. to furred backs and sloping bellies. to beards and bushy brows and yellowed teeth. to crooked smiles and rough laughter, to white a-shirts gone translucent with sweat.

hands gone rough with callouses. faces gone wrinkled and dark with age. chest hair with white streaks through it, jewellery worn and scratched.

a love letter to hairy calves, slashed with scars. to low smoldering grills and the scent of just-burnt meat. the sun has not yet set, this summer, and the grass has yellowed. there is laughter around the table, and the paper plates are stacked, half-full and mostly torn, by the bin.

to potatoes wrapped in aluminium foil, greasy fingers, to picking at corn and bones in between beer-softened giggles and burned shoulders. thinking idly about hair and mouths.

and beautiful men.

[sillyromance]

Hellooooooo yeah

What do you think of writing some vore stuff about tfp starscream?...😇⚡️🌌

Good day, dear anonymous!

Yes, of course! I remember I was asked about it before, but, unfortunately, at that time I had mental breakdown and couldn't come up with anything. I'm very sorry about that, and if you're the same anon who sent me the first ask, I sincerely apologise for the delay... However, now I finally made it up! Hope you'll enjoy!

Homesickness

Rain. Through the monitor you looked at a wide grey valley disappearing inch by inch as “Nemesis” was flying north, farther and farther. There was something dreamy, nostalgic about that melancholic landscape; pale colors set numbing bitterness in your chest, but it didn’t mean there was no beauty in them… You could almost sense fresh, chilly air and cool heavy drops on your cheeks and neck – rain water has an amazing, unique bouquet combining wild, crazy variety of natural scents: grass, earth, field flowers, mushrooms... All living beings love summer rain – it fills them with peace and hope for the better times. And what an incredible view it is when the sun comes out and the water on tree leaves starts to sparkle like trillions of moon stones.

But it wasn’t the thought lingering in your head. Watching as a wall of piercing, needle-like streams were bombarding the ground beneath, you thought of your loved ones, people that you had to leave behind to be here. Of course, you kept in touch – you texted them every week and they did the same, even more often… But it was impossible to go back, at least any time soon. Conspiracy had to be strictly kept: your decepticon friends wouldn’t be glad to hear that even more people knew about them – it was literally luck that Megatron, their huge scary boss with more scars on his armor than hairs on your head agreed to let you join the crew and didn’t kill you as far as you showed up. After getting some experience you figured out that these big mechanical creatures were not very fond of humans. Well, most of them.

- Nasty weather, isn’t it? No matter what Megs says, I won’t go out until this nonsense stop!

You glanced back and saw a pair of familiar long wings twitching in annoyance and distaste.

- You think so, Starry? I rather find it relaxing.

- Well, you don’t need to worry about rust eating your joints if you get outside…

- Ha! You has a point…

The seeker seemed irritated, though you knew he wouldn’t be like that for long. He loved complaining – everyone has their bad habits, and grumpiness is an innocent sin. He saved your life, he gave you food and shelter – and he became your ally you could count on despite the fact that at first others wouldn’t give a tip of a finger (or a digit) for your partnership to last at least a month.

It had been two years already. And so, who wouldn’t bear some little disadvantages when there was so much to be grateful for?

Starscream stepped closer to you and, in spite of his exclamation, layed his gaze at the monitor, his manipulators clenching behind his back.

- Back at Cybotron, we didn’t have rains.

You lifted your head, now looking at his pointy face, two ruby-red optics flaming on it. They were unnaturally sad.

- Really?..

He nodded.

- And the skies had different hue, and our stars looked brighter and bigger. And the cities! Oh, you must have seen them in their golden days… I miss it. Those careless days.

The rain grew heavier; it turned into a solid white wall.

- Did you have a family?

- Hm?

- I mean… Someone who you would be close with, like… Parents? Siblings? Friends?.. Did you have such connections with someone back there?

Two pines far away looked like shaggy beasts standing in the fog – their hairy muzzles swayed back and forth as if they were arguing about something and biting each other’s long “fur”.

- Actually, we don’t have such concept as… family. But I did have friends. Some were very good ones. I still remember things we did when we were young. And there was one I would even call a brother… Though, all of them are gone by now. Killed, missing…

Something bubbled painfully in his chassis.

- Sometimes… Sometimes I think if I could choose: to become a leader of Decepticons or to make things like they were before - I would choose the latter. I’m not kidding! I… I really would. Even now, it’s so strange to get up in the mornings and realize that you are actually alone on another planet and your… home… is destroyed. Everything is dumb and alien: whatever I see or touch has nothing in common with me. At the same time, I’m afraid to remember… I’m grateful Knockout and you still pay attention to me – if you didn’t, I would most likely crush down on Earth.

He grimaced. His wings lowered. The more Starscream spoke, the less he looked like himself, but you knew – it was him. True him, hiding back in the shadows. Who can tell what he lost? Who can claim him to be heartless? If a vase is empty, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t full. If a man can’t love, it doesn’t mean it has always been so.

And if you fear to look back… It doesn’t mean that you stopped longing.

- I miss home too, Starry. My planet is in one piece, it blooms and lives – I can’t possibly compare your grief to mine. And still… I’m lonely here. I guess, you understand. Though, not that lonely. At least, I have you.

There was an unreadable expression on his faceplate for a minute or two, but then he smiled softly.

- At such moments you fleshy things hug each other, don’t you?

- Yeap! We do. But it would be quite complicated now.

- Agreed. However, not for us, don’t you think?

You lips stretched in a mischievous grin.

- Ha! You think about the same thing I do?

The seeker bent to you and turned his head on a side, examining your artificially-naughty face with only one optic – at that moment he reminded you of a big carnivorous bird.

- Well, tell me, little one… - He murmured, his endless claws suddenly appearing just beside you...

… Sitting in a comparably spacious, slimy pouch of Starscream fueltank, you listened to the quiet noises of his huge body, your heart beating slowly and thoughts lazily crawling around your tired mind. Your muscles still could recall the tenderness of your friend’s long throat and esophagus, gentle licks of the glossa trying to sneak under your shirt and reach the bare skin – and so making you squelch in surprise while your cheeks were getting much, much hotter from slight embarrassment and annoyance; by the way, you and his tongue had quite an impressive fighting session (which he almost lost) before you, content and completely exhausted, let your limp wet body helplessly slide down, in the comforting confines of the warm stomach. At that moment even you couldn’t believe you was able laugh that hard!..

Greyish cobalt walls kneaded you, squeezing your tiny frame in strong, affectionate embrace. Hints of red and blue lights ran across them like shooting stars in August. Forgetting about your miserable weight, you floated in your personal small piece of cosmos, rubbing it gently and receiving low, pleasured purr from above, vibrating in your bones.

Rain. It doesn’t rain, but pours. But it’ll be better one day, if you stay strong.

If you stay together.