#snake beater

[arttreyn]

Idk i saw this tumblr interaction and i thought it was sooo them

[imprfctlyok]

good things

logan howlett x reader

Summary: You and Logan hadn't had sex in weeks, and now that you had a bit of alone time celebrating your anniversary, you figured it was time to make it up to each other.

Warnings: afab!reader, MDNI, smut w/ plot, pet names (bub, princess, doll)

Aromatic herbs and garlic wafted throughout the house as you sat on the counter watching Logan cook.

If someone had told you in the past that you'd be living with this gruff, angry man, settled down and watching him make you dinner, you would have laughed in their faces. The man in front of you was definitely not the same one you met a year ago, but keeping him company as he prepared your anniversary dinner was definitely something you could get used to.

You swirled the red wine in your glass around, studying the strain of Logan's muscles under his white wife-beater. It had been so long since you had touched him, felt the lines and ridges of his arms and chest. Work had made it difficult for you two to find...alone time. By the time either of you made it home and into bed, one of you (usually Logan) would be too tired to start anything. You didn't say anything, because you were also tired, but also because you knew how much he needed the rest. Being in such a close proximity to him now, with nothing but time on your hands...it was too tempting.

Logan turned around, a slight smile growing on his face as he leaned on the counter and picked up his glass of wine. By no means was he a wine drinker, but today was a special occasion, and so he swallowed it down if for nothing else but your own sake. "Almost done doll. Ten minutes and then we can eat."

You clicked your glass against his and downed the rest of your wine. "Cheers to that. I'm starving. Wanna..." you trailed off, sliding your empty wineglass towards him, "...fill me up?"

A mischievous glint flickered in Logan's eye, but he didn't rise to your bait. His gaze never leaving yours, he slid the bottle of wine over and poured more in your glass, leaning just far enough over the counter to give you a kiss on the forehead with a dark chuckle. "Thirsty bub?"

You took his intense staring as a challenge, leaning back in your chair and lifting your glass to your lips, sensually tipping the liquid into your mouth. "Parched."

A smile formed on his lips. Shaking his head, he turned his back towards you again, gathering the dirty cooking utensils to dump into the sink. You were 100% certain that the wine must have been making you overzealous, because your before your brain could catch up with your movements, you had slipped out of your chair and padded to the other side of the counter. Logan stiffened as your set down your glass and snaked your arms around his midsection, pressing your face into his back.

"What's this?" he asked jokingly, spinning around to face you. His strong hands immediately found your waist, gripping them firmly as he pulled you closer.

"Lo," you said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. "We've both been working, and we haven't...it been a long time since we...you know."

Hesitation crept over his face. "Bub, I—"

"Logan, please." You reached up on tippy toes, pressing small kisses into his jaw. "I've missed you."

With a show of strength that made heat pool into your stomach, Logan lifted you up and set you on the counter, nudging himself between your thighs. The breath was stolen from your lungs, and that familiar ache in your core that you had pushed down for weeks returned.

"Princess," he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. "There is nothing more I wanna do right now than fuck you right here on this counter. It's all I've been thinking about. But you've been working hard, and I'm sure you're tired. You need rest."

He's about to pull away from you again, but before he can, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in, the buckle of his belt catching on the crotch of your jeans. He sucks in a breath and you arch into him.

Your lips ghost over his jawline, and you can't help the whimper that slips from your lips. "Please."

One, two, three seconds of hesitation before his hands are under your ass and hauling you into your shared bedroom. He drops you onto the bed, hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your tits. A gasp escapes you as he grinds into you, his hard cock hitting your clit so deliciously.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping his head against your shoulder as he rolls his hips against you. "Haven't had you in so long princess...haven't even taken your clothes off yet and you feel so damn good."

Your hands trail up his chest, down his back, as you arch yours looking for any sort of contact. Logan's fingers found the button of your jeans, making slow work of undoing them and pulling down the zipper.

"Do you know how badly I've been needing to taste you?" He slowly strips your jeans off of your silky legs, making quick work of your shirt next. "My baby, spread out all pretty like this—fuck—"

He trails a finger down your stomach, dipping the digit beneath your panties. A wanton moan slips out, your voice catching as his middle finger dipped into your folds, collecting the wetness pooled there. "Fuck, Logan—"

He pushes his finger into your mouth, effectively shutting you up as you lick and suck the taste of yourself off of him. His eyes never left yours, his gaze so dark and intense that it had your mind reeling with inappropriate thoughts. For weeks, this was all you had been wanting—him.

Pulling his finger out of your mouth with a pop, Logan slide down your body until his face was directly in front of your cunt. You gasped as the tip of his nose brushed your clit, your hips jolting forward to grind on his face, searching for any sort of contact. He laid his strong arm across your hips, caging you in and holding you down.

"Ah ah, patience doll. You've waited three weeks, what's a little longer?" He inhaled your arousal, hands gripping your thighs and prying your legs apart. You couldn't help but moan, him being so goddamn close to touching you where you need it.

"Besides," he added, pulling your panties to the side and looking up at you. "Good things come to those who wait."

a/n: AHHH MY FIRST FIC ON HERE FINALLY DONE! this is seriously a moment for me bc i haven’t written fanfiction that flowed so easy and genuinely enjoyed in a looooong time. i hope you like it!! lmk if you want a part 2?? lol

[morelikeravenbore]

Feigning Indifference

"— And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference."

 (I promised Quidditch!smut for the girlies a literal year ago, oop. 🐢🐢🐢 Anyhoo...)

Rated: Explicit. MDNI. NSFW. 🔞

Content warnings: f!reader, no mention of house or appearance, size difference kink, semi-public sex, voyeurism/exhibitionist fantasies, possessive!Sebastian, Beater!Sebastian, feral!Sebastian, excessive use of the word fuck, p in v, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1.8k

[MASTERLIST] [WATTPAD]

Sebastian descends onto the Quidditch pitch, wind-swept, sweat-soaked — victorious.

Like a stone in quicksand, he's swallowed up by the cheering throng of admirers before he's even fully off his broom; Slytherin's mostly, their faces painted emerald, scarves transfigured into woolly snakes around their necks — they crowd around him, beside themselves with the thrill of Sebastian's triumph, back-slapping, hand-shaking, cheek-kissing. Sebastian is glad to be wearing his protective gear against the most enthusiastic among them — not that he's weak without his shoulder pads and arm guards, but some thump him so hard with their congratulations that he wonders if they're Gryffindor’s in disguise trying to put him out of action before the next match.

Once he's past the worst of it, he shirks off his Beater's gear: pads, guards, helmet (even cup, which he unashamedly yanks right out of his pants) hit the ground in quick succession, discarded for the teams’ first-year assistant to collect in his wake (provided his rabid fan club doesn't get to them first.)

Thanks to his seventh-year growth spurt, Sebastian is hardly any smaller without his bulky gear on — a fact he uses to his full advantage to shoulder through the crowd. It takes him several minutes to wind his way through; supporters and haters in equal measure jostle for his attention, girls squeal and find excuses to touch him, Imelda criticises his technique as he passes (even though he just won her the bloody match), and somebody lets off a series of explosions overhead that shower the crowd with green and silver sparks. — And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference. 

He wants to kiss the frown right off your face. 

‘There you are.’ He grins down at you. You glare up at him.

‘Seven different girls touched your shoulders just now,’ you grumble, scanning your narrowed eyes over the crowd. ‘Two more touched your chest, and that last one tried to climb you.’

Sebastian's grin widens, delighting in your jealousy. ‘Did they?’ He affects a look of innocence. ‘I didn't notice.’

‘Liar.’ You shoot him a deeply contemptuous look. ‘Maybe I should take up Quidditch, see how you like seeing your girlfriend being groped after every match.’

His amusement drops faster than a fumbled Quaffle. Usually, he finds your little jealous streak endearing — after pining after you for two long years, convinced his feelings were one-sided, your possessiveness makes him embarrassingly gooey-eyed and lovesick. But today he's too jacked up on adrenaline to let that comment slide: nobody touches you but him. Not even in your imagination. 

With no more effort than he expends on waving his Beater's bat around (less, even), he lifts you with one arm, bringing your face level with his. 

‘I wouldn't let you play Quidditch,’ he says lowly, his voice deep with authority.

Authority which you completely ignore, like always.

Incensed, you scoff and wiggle and squirm for freedom (‘Ugh, put me down, you brute! — You can't tell me what to do! — If I want to play Quidditch, you can't stop me!’) but Sebastian only waits, watching your little tantrum with a mix of resigned patience and wry amusement. 

‘You're not the boss of me!’ you wail. You’re tiny in his grip, slender limbed and delicate, but you’re agile enough to break free if he doesn’t handle you right. His arm tightens around you, pinning you so firmly against his chest that you squeak. 

‘Yes,’ he growls in your face, ‘I am.’

Despite all the height and the strength he’s gained since you met in fifth year (or the physique if all the giggles and whispers about his shoulders are to be believed), Sebastian is, generally speaking, an unapologetic softie when it comes to you: the most precious thing he's ever beheld, there's not a girl alive more loved than you. But fresh off the field, bolstered by the dizzying rush of glory and adrenaline, all his usual gentleness eludes him. — Suddenly, he wants to do more than kiss the frown off your face. 

A hot lick of desire alights in his belly, as familiar as it is impossible to ignore. Without another word, he hoists you higher and carries you off beneath the stands; game forgotten, celebrations be damned, he only has eyes for you, little doll, little bunny caught in his hungry gaze, so small and soft and devourable. 

You yelp when your back meets the wall, but hidden now deep in shadows, Sebastian only grins, wolfish. Grateful he'd thought to discard his cup, he pins you there with his hips, making sure you feel every sudden aching inch of him between your legs. 

You're his now. You both know it. 

‘How can you be jealous when you're the only one who does this to me?’ He leans in close enough to spill hot words right into your pretty, parted mouth. ‘I should fuck you standing. Right here,’ — he punctuates with a sharp thrust that makes you gasp, — ‘right now.’

Your eyes go wide, but whether you're scandalised by his audacity or desperate for him to keep whispering filth, Sebastian doesn't particularly care.

He wants to fuck the shock right off your face. 

‘R-right here?’ The wobble in your voice makes him twitch. He grinds into you again, sloooowly this time, rolling the entire length of himself against you while he watches you shift from stubborn brat to good fucking girl; no matter how many times he's seen you like this, flushed pink and panting, he's still utterly obsessed with the moment you finally give in. 

Because you always give in. 

‘Why not?’ He begins the careful crumbling of your resolve with the top button of your blouse, then the second button, third, fourth… But by the fifth his patience snaps and he yanks — hard; no need for a vanishing charm, he rips your shirt clean open. Buttons pop off in all directions; he knows you'll scold him for that later, but right now you only have strength enough to whimper. 

‘What if they see?’ You palm his shoulders — but you're pulling, not pushing. 

‘Let them.’ His lips are on the hollow of your collarbone, sucking shivers out of you. ‘Let them watch me fucking ruin you.’

Yanking you away from the wall, he spins you around and envelopes you from behind, one arm curled so tightly around your waist you couldn't wiggle free even if you wanted to. Not that you do want to; that much is clear when his other hand slides beneath your undies. Fingers slick, he fucking moans his way down the side of your neck, his tongue laving a hot, wet stripe down to your shoulder. 

‘You think I want to touch any of them like this, huh?’ He bundles your little body against him like a blanket, his arms taut and muscles straining as he works your moans free with his hands and his tongue. You buck obediently against his palm, and when he slides two thick, long fingers inside you, your knees give out. He holds you up, pinned pretty to his chest, your tits heaving in the open air, nipples begging to be painted wet by his hungry mouth. 

Sweat drips from his hair and lands on your face. ‘You think I want to fuck any of them the way I fuck you?’

Through the gaps between the stands, the Quidditch pitch is empty, quickly abandoned for post-match festivities (or commiserations if you're a Gryffindor). He imagines marching you back out there right now fucking you in the middle of it, stripping you bare and pounding you silly while the teams debrief in the changerooms and the Slytherin's celebrate their win in the dungeons. — He'd never do it for real, of course, but the fantasy of claiming you so openly, having you exposed and babbling on his cock for anyone to see makes him dizzy. 

He wants everyone to know you're his. 

The thought makes him fucking — lose — it. 

Hot and thick in his hand, he strokes himself free from his trousers with frantic pumps and a long, drawn-out whimper. If he's teetering on the edge of control, then you don't stand a chance; he hoists your leg up and rubs himself desperately against your underwear, mouthing your neck from behind, palming your tits with his big, calloused hand. Never has he been more grateful for all the grueling training sessions that have granted him the strength to manhandle you onto his cock whenever the mood strikes.

Undies bunched to the side, you arch your back and reach an arm around his shoulder, begging, begging, begging even as he's pushing in, in, into you. The sound he makes when he's fully sheathed is nothing short of feral; he stumbles forward, that hot, tight squeeeeeze of you so good it makes him weak in the knees. 

It's fucking unbearable what you do to him, the way you make him dribble and buck and moan all sorts of dirty things in your little ear — the way you make him lose control. 

‘Look at you,’ he slurs, anchoring you to his body with the full, hot length of his cock. ‘S'fucking good, s’all fucking mine.’

Holding your leg up, he sets a slow, deep rhythm and imagines himself watching you: a last-minute straggler drawn to your hiding place by your sweet moans. He imagines how pretty you'd look all stretched out and stuffed full of himself, tits bouncing, mouth agape with pleasure, too fucked out of your mind to realise how loud you are. He'd touch himself to it — oh fuck yes he would, edging himself to time his climax with yours. And maybe you'd notice him, a pair of dark eyes burning with desire. Maybe you'd like it. Maybe it'd make you cum harder. 

Fuck. Lust roils thick and luscious in his stomach and he makes a mental note to fuck you in front of a mirror next time. 

He's gasping now, slamming into you so hard your foot almost leaves the ground with every thrust.

‘If only —’ he groans, ‘— they could — see you —’ He drops his head to your shoulder and bites. ‘You're the — ngh — only one — oh, fuck —’

Surely you know — surely you understand that it's always been you; that the way you surrender makes him feel strong; that being inside you makes him feel less broken. Surely you know that he uses his body to say the things he can't put into words. 

It's more than sex: he fucking loves you. 

Your peak hits you first: a long, slow, wet release that Sebastian rides out as best he can without falling over. He moans along with you, echoing ecstasy into your ear, holding you up while your body succumbs to the overwhelming love he gives and gives and gives over to you. And when you're done, spent and shivering in his arms, sweet and limp and loved to the extreme, he follows. 

[my-castles-crumbling]

captain - August 5th - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 170- slightly NSFW

"Password?" the tall Gryffindor Beater smirked down at Regulus, raising one eyebrow, leaning in front of the entrance to the locker room.

"Hmmm....fuck off?" he said sarcastically, trying to push his way through. But the boy wouldn't budge.

"Like I'll let a Snake into the room ten minutes before the game! I'm sure you're coming to sabotage us," he accused, eyes narrowed.

"You're going against Ravenclaw, you idiot," Regulus drawled, again elbowing him.

"Then why do you want to come in, hmm?" the other challenged, like he'd caught Regulus in a great lie.

But Regulus was about done with this. He sighed and glared at him furiously. "To give your Captain a good-luck snog. And maybe a bit more if you don't take up all our bloody time!"

Shocked, the Beater slumped aside, gaping. "What?"

But Regulus just pushed past him, only to find James right inside, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Smith!" he called as he dragged Regulus to a secluded stall.

[cranberrydietcoke]

based on this request !!

u and nic are close for stepsiblings...

content warnings: stepcest, p in v, squirting (had to switch it up on yall), he’s kinda like soft dom vibes, kinda icky yeah :p, accidental creampie, hes kinda a gaslighter oops

wc: 1.2k

sock-softened footsteps padded against the floor, gliding over the polished wood of the darkened upstairs hallway, lined with family portraits. this was second nature by now; you knew every creaky floorboard, dancing around them delicately as to not wake your sleeping parents. of course, a family this idyllic couldn’t be without its fair share of depravity.

you knew it was wrong, what you and nick had. but like, what did they expect? your parents were completely clueless—too wrapped up in their own worlds to catch on. they never noticed how often you slipped out of his room at dawn, how his t-shirt collection had become yours, or how he always seemed to sit just a little too close to you at family dinner. anyone with a shred of sense would have felt the discomfort, the immorality of it all. but its not weird, y’all are just close, duh !

the sound of muffled gunshots seeped from under his bedroom door, his shadow moving around in the light. silently twisting the knob, you push the door open and slip inside, unbeknownst to your stepbrother, who was immersed in his game. his voice carries as he talks with friends through his headset, fingers moving with precision over the controller. a white wife-beater clung to his muscular frame, grey sweats hanging casually on his hips.

“n-nick?” your tiny voice rang out, making him jump in his seat. his gaze snapped from the tv and onto you. the t-shirt you wore fit more like a dress, brushing the tops of your soft thighs.

“shit! hey!” he breathed out, obviously startled. “you can’t sneak up on people like that. scared the fuck out of me,” you stood, hands clasped behind your back, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, innocent eyes drifting down to the floor.

“hold up bro, i’ll see you,” he huffed into the mic, switching off his console and standing up from his chair. he strolled over to you, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

“what do you need?” he cooed slowly, almost condescendingly. “why are you in my room?” his eyes were dark, almost black, searing holes into you.

 “jus’ wanted to see you.” you pout, “i can’t see you?” doe eyes looking up at him, tugging right at his heart. he hated how much he loved you. and not in a way that a stepbrother should love you.

“fuck,” he sighed, wiping a hand down his face and motioning at the bed. “go lay down.” he knew how this would go, how nasty he would feel after, like always. but you asked for it. how could he not?  he watched with hooded lids as you tippy-toe to the bed, enveloping yourself in the blue silk. before crawling in beside you, he stepped out of his sweatpants, left only in the tanktop and calvin klein briefs. his big, veiny hands ran over the curve of your hip, up your abdomen to cup your tit, squeezing and massaging it like a fucking creep. you roll your hips back against him subconsciously, whining into the pillow, accidentally brushing the throbbing length in his underwear.

“is this why you wanted to see me?” he spoke, hot and heavy into your ear, pressing his clothed tip to your drooling hole, snaking a hand up to grab your throat. with a tiny squeak, you nod.

“ju-jus’ couldn’t sleep n’ i-” your words are cut off with two thick fingers pressing down on your tongue.

his digits ran over your tastebuds. “shhhh, it’s okay, imma take care of you, put you right to sleep,” he whispered down your neck, finally freeing his cock and working his way on top of you. he slides your panties down, placing an ankle on each shoulder, aiming his spit to your puffy pussy.

he was your first everything. first kiss, first handjob, first fuck. he decided he had to teach you. ever since then, it was your guilty pleasure, your fucked up little secret. it was your initial response to any minor inconvenience now; go down the hall to get split in half by your stepbrother's cock. a perverse conditioned response. you could’ve chosen anyone, really. but you just had to go and confuse everything. with your little dresses, your instagram posts, the way you pressed against him under the blanket at movie nights. it’s only natural, what he felt.

his hands held the back of your knees, watching with parted lips and tiny grunts as he polished the slick over your petals with his swollen red tip, flitting his eyes to meet yours when you let a whine slip from your lips. “so pretty like this,” he let out in a breathy moan, pushing into you. breaking through the ring of muscle, each vein on his shaft massaging your velvety walls, working himself deeper with each buck of his hips. “so tight, so fuckin’ wet for me. such a good girl.”

your moans got louder as he rammed into your cervix, leaving you to scramble for a handful of his duvet, shoving it into your mouth and clenching your eyes shut. “shhh baby, i knowwww, i know,” he soothed, bringing up a strong hand to smooth the mess of hair on your head, still fucking into you with deep, slow strokes. “takin’ it so good, always do,” his words trailed off, mixing with the sound of your squelching cunt wrapped around him and muffled moans. his hand brushed down, circling your clit with his thumb. hips stuttering and rolling, babbling incoherent ‘ohfuckohfuckohfuck’ s as tears of pleasure clustered in your lashes. frilly socks bouncing by the side of his head.

“gonna cum for me? gonna make a mess?” his thrusts sped up, digging into that spongy spot that made your legs go limp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you bit down onto the comforter you’d been drooling on. the knot in your stomach came loose, legs shaking and sending gushes of wetness down his cock that puddled on the sheets under you. desperate and dampened whines straining through the dense ball of fabric. “theree we go baby,” he smirked, guiding you through your high and swiping his finger against your spasming bundle of nerves, clenching and unclenching around him. “just stay still for me.”

grabbing onto your hips with both hands, he held you down into the bed, pressing into each bone with his thumb as he sunk down into you, pounding at a relentless pace. he knew he couldn’t hold it for much longer, just mindlessly slamming into you, drunk off the sound of your little mmmph’s and ah’s! before he could even think twice, he was spilling into you, jaw hanging open as he pumped it in, forming a creamy ring around the base of his thick length. he was too blissed out to notice your face screwed in disgust, scared eyes helplessly darting around the room. your wriggle to plant your feet on his chest, trying to struggle him off of you.

“ew, nick!” you let out in a quiet shriek, holding your knees to your chest to not get nut all over his bed - as if it wasn’t already drenched in yours. “why would you cum in me?”

his hands shot up defensively, trying to choke out excuses as he got up, throwing you a navy towel. “i just-you wouldn’t get it, alright? you’re a girl.” his eyes met yours, which were wide and confused, a bit angry.

“couldn’t help it, calm the fuck down.”

[ryiju-muunie]

Juicy Juicy!

18+ viewer discretion is advised

Fem!reader/Toji Fushiguro Warnings: hookups, clubbing, age difference, ass fetish, reader has a PHATT ASS, VERY public sex, HEAVY exhibitionism, breeding kink, creampie, dry humping, grinding, size kink, Toji has a big dick, standing mating press, finger sucking, daddy kink, pet names [good girl] Word count: 2313 DESC: I keep it juicy juicy, I eat that lunch~

STOP TAKING DOWN MY STUFF TUMBLRRRRR

Your friends had convinced you to go out that night. Typically you’d stay in and wear sweatpants, sinking into your couch and watching some TV. But something about tonight was different. You wanted to go out and… let’s be blunt here, get laid. You hadn’t had sex in a while, it was customary for you to yearn to be fucked like a dirty whore. So maybe you did wear something low cut, even though your main asset was your ass. You chose a purple mini skirt that exposed a baby pink thong between your legs and on your hips. Then your top, just a purple tube top. You wanted something that could get ripped off easily. 

Walking into that club, you didn’t expect your eyes to land on the hottest man there. He was large, bigger than anyone you’d ever seen before. Muscles poking out of his wife-beater and spiky hair framing his face. A scar pulled at his smirk as his eyes met yours. He was older, older than what you’d typically go for. But that’s not what made you pause, it was the log in his pants. Those tight black jeans didn’t leave anything to the imagination. You could practically feel it from the entrance of the club. Your friends murmured something to you about getting a drink, but you didn’t care to have them repeat it clearly. 

Your mind was set. You were going to fuck him.  

Two thick legs pulled you down the dance floor, inching toward him. You turned on your heel, ass out in his direction as you began to sway. The song was something you’d never listen to on your own, but it was perfect for clubbing. All it was was an excuse to grind on people, feel their bodies and the heat that came with it. Dry-humping was hot. You couldn’t deny it. The thought of getting so close to cumming without penetration … was hot. An erection pressed to your ass, in the sea of sweaty bodies, aching to release on your skin. That’s what turned you on

You tilted your head to the side, letting layers of hair brush against your forehead. You peeked to see if he was watching, and he was. His stare was lustful, practically tearing you apart with nothing but his eyes. You could hide behind all that hair, but it wouldn’t save you from his perverted stare. Now, you needed him to come closer. A hand trailed up your side, lightly pulling at the hem of your skirt. It was short, practically a belt that left nothing to the imagination. It didn’t help, you were wet. You were just a whore who found her next meal; Who wouldn’t be wet under that stare? You could feel your thong sticking to your pussy, clinging to the crevices, and making your movements tight. If you moved the wrong way it would create a tense friction that would make your legs wobble.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna have to take you out,” a voice purred in your ear. He was behind you, a hand snaking around your waist and pressing you against his front. Your eyes fluttered closed and you let his warm touch take hold of your body. Even his scent was hot, making your head spin. It was a mix of expensive cologne and firewood, musky, sexy, and mouth-watering. 

“Oh? Maybe I want you to take me out,” a smile pulled at your lip, as you turned away your head bashfully. Your hips spoke for you, rolling lazily in a circle to the music. 

The man laughed coldly, hands directing your ass into his growing erection, “Name’s Toji.” You told him your name, gasping when one of his hands moved to your front, playing with the top hem of your short skirt, “You like ‘em older, huh? Naughty girl…” He cooed, nose touching your earlobe. Before you could respond, a wet tongue trailed from the spot where your ear and jaw connected, down to the crook of your neck. He bit down, applying pressure on your stomach to keep you in place. 

You gasped, hands on top of his, “...Tease.” You gritted, through a dazed smile, “Buy me a drink and I can show you how much I like older men, Toji,” you turned your head to the side, nose brushing against his soft hair. 

Toji pulled back from your neck, admiring the small mark he had left behind. His half-lidded eyes looked at you and nodded. But he didn’t move, slowly grinding into your plush ass. Your top teeth found your glossed bottom lip, biting down when he let out a groan. Oh, he was perverted. He didn’t care who was watching, just if he could get off. You knew from the way he carried himself, he liked to tease and prod at women, before pleasuring them with his length. And you knew, he wasn’t going to cum his pants for some simple dry humping in a club. So you gave, pressing your behind into his erection, which you could feel prominently through your skirt. He let out a gruff noise, both hands on your lower stomach. You danced to the music, at least, that’s what you disguised it as. To other people, they’d see a couple who was just handsy, but you didn’t. You knew exactly what was going on. He was teasing himself, getting a taste for you. Getting drunk off of your smell and your ass alone. 

You knew an ass man anywhere. The way his hands trailed from your front to your back, squeezing occasionally, or how tight his grip was on you, to keep your ass from leaving his clothed cock. Toji liked your bottom more than he liked your face, which you didn’t really care for. There was something you were after that was better than his hot face, his large cock. You hadn’t been fucked by someone as big as him before, and it was a curious kind of horny that took over your pussy. You longed to see a bulge from his dick form on your abdomen, growing as he pumped you with cum.

One of the man’s hands trailed up your front, squeezing your breasts before his fingers found home in your mouth. You didn’t care that you were in the middle of a club, greedily opening your mouth for them. It was hot, it was sticky, and it was sweaty. You moaned as you sucked against his digits, head leaning against his shoulder blade.

“Dirty slut… you want Daddy’s fingers so bad, huh?” He smirked, and you knew he was smirking too. One of his large legs spread yours apart, perching you on his thigh. It was wrong, to do this in the middle of a club's dance floor, but you couldn’t help it. You were throbbing, pussy lips spread in your thong. Your clit rubbed against the fabric, then on his thigh, causing you to moan through his fingers. “Good girl…” He murmured, head beside yours, “Take what’s yours, baby.” 

You started to grind against his thigh. It was awkward sure, but you didn’t care. How could you care? You wanted to be fucked stupid. Your legs spread and you bent forward, hands on your knees and mouth stuffed with his thick fingers. To anyone, it looked like you were dancing to the songs playing on the speakers, in the dim light. But you were busy trying not to moan too loudly. Pleasure shot up through your pussy, into your clit, and down your walls. Your eyes rolled back slightly, as you whimpered through a full mouth. It was only a matter of time before your slutty cunt came, staining your thong with slick cum. Toji felt you cum, and as a reward, he pulled you up by the neck. You whined and grinned, saliva trailing down your chin. 

“Little whore… Cumming from some grinding.. I’m gonna make you feel so good,” his words were honey to you. You took them in and nodded helplessly, so you followed him when he brought you to the back of the club. It was dim, lights flashing a neon pink. Couples were up against the wall, grinding and making out, so no one noticed when the two of you did the same. Although, it was different. His hands pulled your skirt up, your legs around his hips, and his fingers spreading apart your pussy in your thong. You gasped and gave into the touch, rolling your hips to get any sort of friction. It was pathetic how easily you unraveled for a man twice your age, but you didn’t care. It was sweaty, it was gross, it was nasty, but it was hot, it was arousing, it was godly. 

“Take ‘em off,” Toji uttered, letting go of you and letting your legs hit the ground. You nodded and did as he said, taking off your pink thong and admiring how wet it had become. The man grabbed it and stuffed it in your mouth, not giving you time to react as you were picked up again. Legs pressed above your head, you both were going to get caught, but you didn’t care. It was a kind of mating press, but up in the air. You cried through a stuffed mouth, as his pants fell. He held you up by pressing his front against yours, one hand supporting your ass and the other dealing with the erection in his jeans. You didn’t get a chance to see it, but you got a chance to feel it. 

You looked down as he aligned his tip with your folds, grinning as he groaned, “So tight…” How was no one catching on? But you didn’t have time to care, as he thrust into you. Both of Toji’s hands were on your knees, well under them, holding you up. Think of it like this, a full Nelson but in reverse, so you were facing him. A standing mating press, with your knees bent instead of up in the air. 

His dick slid into you with ease. Such a slut, you didn’t need time to adjust, even though you were tight. You were plush and clenching just for him. Your stomach bulged, just as you hoped. A moan flew out of your mouth and you leaned your head back. It was hitting every spot. Being so big, you were getting off from no friction at all, just the feeling of his dick in you was enough. But then Toji started to thrust, pulling out ever so slightly then snapping his hips, forcing himself back into you. You gasped, eyes widening. It hurt, it hurt so good. You were being stretched out in ways you loved, in ways you hadn’t before. Such a greedy whore you were, whining through your underwear-stuffed mouth. You could taste yourself on your tongue as he plunged into you, your walls clinging onto him making it hard for him to pull out. Plush, soft, spongey, better than any sex toy he could have purchased. 

“Fuck… pretty pussy for a pretty slut,” Toji’s eyes closed, his face resting against your neck. Your arms rose and swung around his back, digging painted nails into his shoulder blade. He moaned, thrusting in you with such velocity you couldn’t handle it. Spit dribbled down your chin, more so than earlier. Your tongue threatened to hang out, but it was blocked by the thong forced down your throat. But your eyes said enough. He was rubbing all those perfect, sensitive areas, making them unfocus and cross. Something out of a porno, your moans muffled but high-pitched for him. For him and his large cock. You wanted the man to pump you full of his semen, and make you a pretty little mommy. You would be such a pretty mommy. You whined at the thought, hips grinding against his cock.

“I’m gonna…” he groaned, pulling back to look at you. With beads of sweat forming at the base of his forehead, “I’m gonna cum…” You nodded quickly, giving him all the permission in the world. 

Who cared if he fucked you this loudly in public? No one had caught you yet. You almost forgot because of how good it felt, waves of pleasure rushing through your pussy and into your insides, making you clench around his dick. It was a few more seconds before he moaned again, signaling he was becoming closer. You needed it. You needed him to fuck his cum into your cunt and make you writhe in it, make you bathe in it. Fill you up so good you could feel it in your throat. Fucking your cervix and making you pregnant. Making you a good little mommy for your daddy, huh? You tried to speak, to moan, but it was cut off when he came inside you. Ropes splattered against your walls and your back arched. It felt so good to be filled up, you hadn’t been used as a cum bucket in so long. You wanted it so bad you unraveled too, spilling all along his dick with your filthy cream. Toji fucked you through his high, groaning and moaning into your ear as he came. Spurts of cum traveled inside you and made your legs shake. It was so good, it was so warm. You just wanted to sit there with it inside you and let it fester for hours, relishing in the warmth. 

You two didn’t even notice the security guard behind Toji until he tapped the man’s shoulder, “Uh excuse me?” You glanced over at him, a spit-covered thong hanging from your mouth, “You two are going to have to leave the premises.”

Toji blinked a few times and looked over at the security guard, “Sorry. This isn’t the first time this has happened, hah.” 

[emeritusemeritus]

Art of Deception [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: Art of Deception.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

Timeline: Non-specified.

Summary: Cormac McLaggen won’t take no for an answer, insert fake dating trope with Fred Weasley.

Warnings: Fake dating? Mentions of Cormac, he needs his own warning. Kissing. Implied derogatory comments about wealth, status and red hair.

"Okay, emergency, for the next five minutes you're my boyfriend, okay Weasley?" You say in a rush, sliding in next to Fred on the common room sofa, almost out of breath as you run in, narrowly avoiding your pursuer.

"Can do, come here" he says matter-of-factly as he pulls you into his lap without a second thought.

"Not even questioning it?" You ask curiously at his unquestioning willingness to go along with your silly scheme.

"Nope," he says simply, rubbing his hand across your back as you sit across his lap.

The worn fabric of his jumper feels soft against your skin as you lean into him just a little, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him. You flinch a little as the portrait covered door swings open, knowing exactly who would be entering. Fred must have felt your slight flinch and flicks his gaze to you, his hand still rubbing your back. You feel his long fingers bump into the band of your bra strap and he lingers only a moment, fingers hovering over the clasp before swiftly changing the direction of his absent stroking.

"Oh, y/n, didn't think I'd find you here," Cormac says, running a hand through his curly locks which don't even move thanks to all the product in them.

"In her boyfriend's lap?" Fred says, sounding possessive, playing the role perfectly.

"Boyfriend?" Cormac asks, eyes widening at the realisation that you were sat in someone's lap, and that person being Fred Weasley.

"Yep," he says with a wicked smirk, pulling you righter to him as his arm snakes around your waist.

"Didn't think gingers where your thing," Cormac says, posing on the side of the couch where he leans trying to look seductive but failing miserably.

"This one is," you shrug, gesturing to Fred who sends a sarcastic smirk towards McLaggen.

"Look I've made my intentions clear but you keep playing hard to get," Cormac says smugly, clearly not reading the room. "I'm top of the class in charms, keeper for the quidditch team, perfect student record and"

"Narcissistic," you add.

"A Prat?" Fred interjects at the same time.

Cormac ignores your words entirely, fixing you with a smarmy smile, "I'm a Mclaggen, why would you want to parade round with a Weasley when you could go out with me?"

The word 'Weasley' was said like a curse word with just a hint less sneering than Malfoy's way of saying it; but with just the same tone of condescension and derogation.

His verbal attack on the Weasley name did not sit right with you one bit and you couldn't hold back any longer, not when he was offending your friends.

"Because, unlike you McLaggen, Fred actually has a sense of humour, doesn't have a face like a troll and doesn't make me want to be sick when he opens his mouth," you say, trying to hold back your own sneer.

"But," he tries to say but you sarcastically smirk back at him, not willing to let him argue your statements.

"You want more? Okay," you snark, "He's a beater in the quidditch team so you're bragging is moot, he's kind and don't even get me started on how knee-shakingly tall he is. I can't think of anymore ways to tell you that I'm not attracted to you Cormac."

"So you're sticking with the Weasel then?" Cormac says with a huff after a few moments silence, staring you down.

"Looks like it to me," you shrug, choosing to ignore his turn of phrase.

"And me," Fred says harshly before turning you to face him, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw as he presses his lips to yours, pulling you in to a surprisingly passionate kiss. It takes you a second for the shock to wear off but you quickly kiss him back, no longer caring about Cormac or anything else around you. You pull apart eventually, discovering Cormac had left and you looked up at Fred with a sudden shyness at your actions.

"Knee-shaking Eh?" Fred teases, his hand moving from your hair to wrap around a strand of hair on your shoulder.

"Shut up Weasel," you snarked jokingly, nudging him with your shoulder, mirroring Cormac's apparent nickname for the jokester.

"I'm just saying, you did make some very good points there about me," he smirks, still holding you firmly in his lap. "Almost as if you had them prepared."

"Oh shove off," you laughed, nudging his arm around you so that he'd let you up, but it only seemed to fuel him to hold you ever tighter, not letting you escape. "I could have been describing anyone."

"I could describe you too you know," he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows and you push him once again to get off of you but he just laughs.

"Go on then, I'm annoying and sarcastic and," you say rolling your eyes already at the anticipated sarcasm about to fall from his lips.

"Funny and mischievous, more talented than I've ever seen anyone be at potions and devastatingly beautiful," he says, making you flick your gaze to him in surprise. You'd expected him to follow it with a joke or say it with pure sarcasm but nothing came, he simply looked down at you with honesty in his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips.

"You know, I could get used to having you in my lap, fake girlfriend or maybe not so fake girlfriend."

[bluetooththereptile]

Father

You were convinced your father hated you from the start, result of a night of passion that Severus regretted heavily, you were left at his doorstep to raise, and he...well he wasn't a good father...controlling, cold and judging, your father wasn't a fitting parent for you, thay was why you left as soon as you finished hogwarts. And yet after the war, finding out he has lost his voice after the attack of a snake to his throat, he found yourself there, sitting beside his bed at the infirmary.

Male reader had followed a path of fame, becoming the best beater of the quidditch world cup at 20 years old, yet his life was bleak, and je was ashamed of his father's dark path, yet he had to go back, for the sake of repaying him, I won't meet him again it he pushes me away again, he'd tell himself, yet unknowingly, he had given a man of unquenchable thirst, something to savor, you were back and he wouldn't let you go.

Unbeknownst of you, your father has a heart, albeit dark, and you are locked inside of it, doomed to remain there forever.

[seaslugfanclub]

Kool-aid Isn’t the Only Thing I’m Thirsty For

Happy 4th of July everyone!

————————————————————————

“Y’know my great grandfather was stationed in France?”

“No shit? My nephew was deployed there.”

“Yeah— Cant remember for the life of me what division he was in, but he was sent back to the states after he blew off most of his fingers.”

“Yeesh.. Makes me mighty glad I missed out on all o’ that! hey- make sure to keep flippin’! These need to be grilled correctly.”

“Don’t tell a man how to use his own grill…”

Sykes, Rourke, and Alameda hovered over the grill, Sykes in charge of the burgers as he shot the shit with the old commander and cow wrangler, a half-smoked cigar hanging from each of their mouths and a chilled beer bottle in hand.

It had been a while since Sykes had celebrated the 4th, but he had subtly dominated the command of the grill. And Rourke was more than happy to piss away time, puffing on his cigar as he talked about old war battles with the two other men.

The sun beat down on the men, who had stationed themselves in the old lot behind the main studio building, both Rourke and Sykes had exchanged their usually stiff outfits for their old wife-beaters. While Alameda wore a simple plaid button up. An old radio played classic yacht rock, sitting atop a splintering picnic table. And a cooler filled with drinks was placed beside the grill, a few spare wasps hovering around the yellowed plastic of the cooler.

“(Y/N)!!!” Sykes hollered, Rourke and Alameda flinching at the noise,

“How're you doing with the Kool-aid!?”

(Y/n) opened the door to the backyard, calling back, “Almost done!!!”

Closing the door, (Y/n) turned towards Medusa, who was finishing mixing the disgustingly sweet drink, limp cigarette between her lips

“Hey, don’t get any cigarette ash in it!” They whined.

“Oh please, I won't! At least the ash would cut back the sugar.” Medusa muttered, sweeping back her dangling American flag earrings.

(Y/n) nodded, pulling on the hem of their denim shorts that stuck to their sweaty skin. “Cool, Imma bring out the ketchup and shit, Facilier, do you wanna join us?”

Facilier, who was draped on the counter across from Medusa, top hat off and slightly fanning himself shrugged,

“Eh, I’m not too big on burgers Chére. And I’m pretty sure drinking even a small glass of that red monstrosity will put me in an early grave.”

“You sure? I brought some illegal fireworks that we’ll be setting off later? You could do the honors of lighting them?”

Facilier paused his fanning, “…Illegal you say? What kind?”

“Oh I’ve got; Snakes, sparklers, firecrackers, M80, black cats, Roman candles, screamin’ Mimi’s, ladyfingers, fuzz buttles, snicker bombs, church burners, finger blasters, gut busters, crap flappers, whistling bungholes, spleen splitters, whisker biscuits, honkey lighters, hoosker do’s, hoosker don’ts, cherry bombs, nipsa daisers with scooter stick, and whistling kitty chasers.” (Y/n) listed off with their fingers.

…

“….Well, I could never pass up a good ol’ Roman candle… sure. Just let me know when you bring ‘em out.”

(Y/n) laughed, nodding excitedly as they carried out all the condiments, paper plates, and napkins to the backyard, Medusa bustling beside them with the large pitcher of iced Kool-aid.

“I haven’t had a proper July 4th cookout since I was a girl! I still remember my ol’ mother and father screaming over the undercooked hot dogs… Oh, back when this country had proper domestic violence~” Medusa cooed, a nostalgic smile making her eyes squint.

The park attendant gave Medusa the side eye, brows furrowed before shaking their head, (Y/n)’s attention quickly turned towards the large men outside.

They tried not to blatantly stare at how tight Sykes beater was stretched around his chest, or how all of the men’s chest and arm hair were slicked with sweat, OR how an old anchor tattoo made itself known on Rourkes back whenever he flexed, OR OR how good Alameda looked taking a long puff his cigar.

…

“…Meat's back on the menu tonight…” (Y/n) thought to themselves, hoping that the heat could excuse their flushed face.

To break out of there thoughts, (Y/n) shouted to the group,

“Alright! Who’s ready to party!?”

———————————————————————

“What in god's name are they doing?” Hook muttered, watching through the window in morbid fascination as (Y/n) fanatically cheered on Facilier, who had begun to laugh maniacally as he shot off three Roman candles at once.

“Oh it’s that silly American holiday, today. The one where they dress up is garish clothing and raise their cholesterol.” Cruella hisses, already feeling a headache coming on. “I tell you those Americans eat like they have free healthcare..”

“Ugh, a wretched holiday for a wretched country, the traitors..” Governor Ratcliffe sneered.

“Oh, now look at that—” Hook pointed out,

From the backyard, Rourke hands (Y/n) what seems to be a small, multicolored bazooka, a wicked grin on his face as he helps them light the rocket's fuse.

Rourke ruffled their hair, stepping back a few paces to join Sykes and Slim’s side, watching proudly as (Y/n) braces and aimed the rocket towards the sky, shooting a fiery ball high up into the night air, which promptly exploded into a burning flower of sparkles. The firework joking one of many across the dark sky.

“USA! USA! USA! USA!”

…

“…I bet 30 dollars one of them is losing a finger tonight.” Clayton speaks up amongst the crowd of villains watching from inside.

“Aye, make that 50.”

————————————————————————

Just wanted to write a little blurb celebrating the 4th of July! I realized just how little American villains the Disney cannon has, and I wanted an excuse to thirst over Rourke and Sykes in old wife- beaters grilling me a burger🤤.

(ALSO DISCLAIMER!! This was merely written for fun. I love America and I love the beautiful nature it has, but I don’t love the American government.

This was not written with any political intention, only thirst for old men and Kool—aid.)

[5sospenguinqueen]

CURSES & CONFESSIONS - GARRETH WEASLEY

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

Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy

Warnings: Fluff, unrequited love, shitty writing.

Word Count: 4957

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#1. Imelda Reyes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#2. Natsai Onai

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MC smiled up at him, amused by his actions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is going on with you and Garreth?”

“Nothing. We’re just friends.”

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

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

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

“I feel like a faerie princess.”

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

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

“A new record.” Natty deadpanned. 

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

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#3. Sebastian Sallow

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

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

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

“Are you stalking me, Sallow?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn him and his perception, she cursed. 

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

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

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

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

“What are you blabbering on about?” 

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

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

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

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

Sebastian’s smirk deepened. “Ominis.”

“Oh.”

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#4. Ominis Gaunt 

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

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

“Is that blood?” A horrified voice exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, he’s not.” 

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

“You are blind.” 

“Exactly. And I can see it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────── . ☆ * ☽ * ☆ﾟ. ────────

#5. Garreth Weasley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told Sebastian-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

[flowerandblood]

Green Snake, Red Lion

[Slytherin • Aemond x Gryffindor • female]

[warnings: swearing, fluff, physical violence]

[description: Aemond is a Chaser and captain of the Slytherin team. His biggest rival on the pitch from the Gryffindor team, turned to be his biggest fan, and he hates her with all of his heart. His hatred towards her slowly turns into something else, when she one day stands up for his sister, Helaena. This is a slow burn love story.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Aemond left his team's tent furiously. Slytherin lost to Gryffindor by only ten points, as none of the Seekers managed to catch the Golden Snitch before time. Even though Aemond wasn't the only Chaser, he was the captain and he couldn't stand that the opposing player that he had the biggest problem with was a petite, inconspicuous girl.

Solren was a Chaser for the Gryffindor team. She was slim and of slight build so she was fast, agile and light on the broom. It was hard to keep up with her.

She appeared and disappeared suddenly, knocking the Quaffle out of his hand. He was often brutal with her on the pitch, she had more than one strong collision with him which she paid with bruises. He hated her with all his heart.

Even though he repeatedly told his Beaters, his brother Aegon and Darec, to keep an eye on her, they couldn't keep up with her. She dodged the Bludger nimbly, flying remarkably on her broomstick.

She was able to do various stunts on it, much to the delight of the audience. Aemond looked at it with embarrassment. He thought that she was just showing off, trying to get the applause. Nevertheless, nothing annoyed him more than her behavior off the pitch.

He felt like there wasn't a person in the world who loved him more than she did. She praised his skills over, his speed on the broom and the power with which he could throw the Quaffle over the hoop from afar. She always cheered him on at all the Slytherin matches, except of course for those played against Gryffindor.

She never imposed herself on him like the girls who tried to sneak him a love potion drink, but the joy and optimism she felt when she was around him drove him crazy. Sometimes he wanted to punch her. He thought she was just stupid.

He rolled his eye impatiently, letting out a sound of frustration as he walked across the grass to the school grounds and saw Solren waving at him from afar.

She had a cotton swab up her nose, which was oozing blood, another reminder of the collision with him when she tried to take the Quaffle from him. He pursed his lips, thinking that even his elbow in her face didn't bring him victory.

"I'm going to the infirmary right now to see Madame Pomfery, because I think you broke my nose." She laughed a little, as if she was talking about something funny. He looked at her incredulously, not stopping, looking away, impatient.

"I don't know if it makes sense, because I'll probably break it again in the next match." He spoke teasingly and coldly.

She burst out laughing at his words, as if his attitude didn't scare her at all. She pursed her lips in an apparent attempt to contain herself, her eyebrows twitching in helpless amusement.

"Come on, why are you so aggressive. If I broke your nose, you wouldn't stop playing either." She said low, and he gave her a dispassionate look.

"Do you have to follow me?" He asked in frustration, wondering why, among such huge fields of free space, she had to be right next to him, talking to him. She raised an eyebrow at his words.

"I'm sorry that I'm going in the same direction." She muttered, feigning an offended tone, walking a few steps ahead of him, shooting him a defiant look. With a gauze pad stuck up her nose she looked comical to say the least, and she knew it.

"You'll get back at the Ravenclaws. I will be cheering for you." She said with a smile and moved forward quickly, ahead of him. He sighed heavily as she disappeared from his sight.

She always chatted with him after the match. She congratulated him on every success on the pitch with an excitement and joy that left him completely off balance.

He usually didn't answer at anything she said, but she didn't mind that at all. He wondered if maybe she just want to fuck him, like the other girls who had tried to get his attention, with varying degrees of success.

He rejected the thought, however, because she always approached him in public, in front of other people or in plain sight. She didn't try to drag him into the restroom or other secluded places where he satisfied his temporary physical needs with various girls. He had absolutely no idea what to do with her or how to discourage her.

She used to come to all his matches, watching him play. She even painted a banner with his name on it, green and white with tissue paper patterns, which she happily held up in the audience, embarrassing him. His teammates often laughed at her and, wanting to humiliate her, approached her openly about it, asking if she was in love with him.

She replied that she thought Aemond was the best player in the school and that he was her biggest inspiration and authority. She said it so lightly and with such joy that his buddies finally let her go, finding her behavior even cute.

He noticed that she also sometimes praised them after a match if she thought that they played well. She was the only Gryffindor that they talked to without irony in their voices.

He thought that she was an attention-seeking whore, painfully craving the applause of others. She would say all these nice things to have someone praise her too, pat her on the head, tell her how sweet and kind she was.

He was furious when he saw her talking to Helaena in the corridor. His sister was in Ravenclaw. Withdrawn, quiet, a bit mysterious, she sometimes said strange, ill-considered things. He knew that some people in her household avoided her because of this, considering her a weirdo. Aemond knew that she had a naive, tender heart, and that Solren must have easily wrapped her around her finger.

"Stay away from my sister." He'd told her once when he'd approached her after a match, all hot. She gave him a puzzled, confused look, not smiling for the first time when she saw him.

"What?" She asked, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. He moved closer to her, so that no one could hear the exchange between them.

"Stay away from my sister. She is naive, she might believe that you actually like her. But I know that you're a bigger viper than most Slytherins I know." He hissed, leaving her pale and shaken.

There had been a change in her since then that pleased him. She stopped approaching him after matches, stopped bringing that fucking banner, and finally gave him a break from her outward appearances. He thought with relief that she would finally let him go.

One day, entering the Great Hall, he found a scene that knocked him off his feet. His sister was crying softly as she knelt looking at something on the floor between the long tables, a good distance from him. Solren was leaning over her, her back to him, stroking her head. He could barely hear what they were saying.

"He killed Meles. My spider, he was so attached to me." Helaena whispered in a trembling voice, looking at her for understanding and comfort. Solren nodded.

"I know, I'm so sorry. We'll give him a funeral on the common, what do you say?" Solren asked, and Helaena smiled sleepily.

"Do you think I could sing to him?" She asked, and Solren gave her a light, warm laugh.

“We can come up with some kind of funeral march for the spiders. Meles won't be offended for sure." She said softly, Helaena seemed a little less broken than she had just a few seconds ago. The Ravenclaw beside them, apparently responsible for Meles' murder, shook his head in disbelief.

"You're both abnormal. It's just a worm, and this girl is crying like she's lost her mind. Are you sure you shouldn't be at St. Mung's?" He asked Helaena loudly, amused, leaning over her with a biting smile. Solren straightened up, frowning.

"Apologize." She said threateningly, clearly angry. The boy laughed at her words.

"Fuck you and your "magic creatures", play fun funeral for your sweet spider together." He said amused and turned to leave, but Solren grabbed his robe and pulled him so that he nearly fell.

"Apologise, you bastard!" She snarled, and they both began to grapple with each other.

"Fuck off!" He said, grabbing her arm aggressively, trying to pull her away.

Aemond was about to step in and interrupt but Cregan Stark, captain of the Gryffindor team, stopped him. He was a tall, robust dark-haired man, who lifted Solren with ease, tossing the kicking, angry girl over his shoulder.

"Calm down." He said, carrying her back to the Gryffindor table, obviously not wanting his house to lose points. Solren paid no attention to it and pointed her finger at the boy with whom she had just almost fought.

"I will fucking kill you!" She hissed and sighed loudly, lowering her head, letting Cregan put her on the floor after a moment.

He saw them talking about something for a while, Stark trying to calm her down as she gesticulated aggressively, obviously taken over by the whole situation. Her gaze met his and she stopped suddenly, frowning and she turned her face away.

Aemond walked over to his sister and helped her to get up. Helaena held the spider in her hands, or rather what was left of him after he had been crushed.

"I'm sorry." He spoke softly, not knowing how to comfort her. Helaena looked at him sleepily as if she hadn't quite heard what he said.

"We're giving him a funeral. Will you come with us?" She asked, looking at him hopefully.

He wanted to refuse but he thought that he had done nothing to stand up for her. He didn't even react when Solren struggled with that Ravenclaw. He sighed and just nodded his head.

After several minutes the three of them met behind the school grounds in a clearing, under one of the trees. Helaena thought that was the perfect place to bury her dead friend.

Solren brought a small cardboard box into which they placed the remains of his body and closed the lid. Helaena dug a small pit with her hands and placed the box in it, then shoved it all back in.

Helaena and she step back, his sister taking Solren's hand, apparently seeking comfort in her difficult time. Solren stroked her fingers, pursed her lips, real concern on her face. Helaena looked like she wanted to say something, but she couldn't. After a moment she turned to Solren.

"Will you sing something? I was going to do it, but for some reason I have a very tight throat." She said, sighing softly, her eyes red.

Solren looked at her, then at Aemond, not knowing what to do. She cleared her throat quietly, bewildered.

"I don't know what song would be appropriate for your friend." She said softly, uncertainly. Helena smiled.

"Sing what you think that he might like." She said, squeezing her hand tighter.

They stood there, staring at the mound of fresh earth in front of them. Solren opened her mouth after a moment.

When trust takes you over When the sleep of just falls on your head The moment you shut your eyes, I, under the cover of the night, will run away as far as I can I'll run becasue I can't take it no more I'll run before this love makes me devour you whole ‘Couse the more I want of you, the less I got of me Forgive me Oh-oh-oh-oh Sleep, my love, sleep

She sang it in such a way that it sent shivers down his spine. The song was primal, folk, magical, slow, from the depths of her chest. He was surprised at how pleasant her voice sounded. Helaena looked at her equally surprised, squeezing her hand tighter.

“It was beautiful. Thank you." She whispered.

The three of them walked back to the school grounds, Solren and Helaena still holding hands, walking ahead of him together as if they were a couple. He thought he had judged her very hastily. He looked down, discouraged and tired.

They escorted Helena to the dormitory. As she disappeared through the door, they both looked at each other in silence. He knew that the Gryffindor had a high-stakes match against the Ravenclaws tomorrow. If they won the match, they'd make it to the competition finals on points, even if they lost the next match to Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

"Good luck tomorrow." He said low, turning and walking down the stairs, leaving her with a shocked expression on her face.

The next day, his Slytherin teammates were talking about the upcoming match. He wasn't in the habit of watching them, except from the sidelines, knowing each team's tactics perfectly well.

He was sitting on the couch in their common room, reading a book, preparing for his Potions exam. Aegon walked over to him, sitting on the couch across from him.

"Will you come to the match with us? It's going to be a good show." He said low, brushing his hair casually.

Aemond wanted to answer automatically no, but hesitated. For some reason he wanted to see her fly on a broomstick from the side. Does she have any weak points. He decided that as her opponent, he should have been better acquainted with her personal way of acting on the pitch.

He agreed.

He and his friends settled in the audience. There was beautiful, sunny weather all around them. Some of the Slytherins started whistling and howling as the Gryffindors came onto the pitch. He thought it was childish and watched the whole spectacle dispassionately.

As Professor Hooch released the Golden Snitch and the match began, he was surprised to see how nimbly and quickly Solren grabbed the Quaffle.

She maneuvered confidently and lightly among the other players, not even giving them a chance to react. She immediately hit one of the hoops, making the entire Gryffindor audience roar in ecstasy and joy.

She and the other chaser flew like clockwork, exchanging positions. Several people clapped and shouted with joy as Solren dodged the Bludger, turning the broom 360 degrees without losing focus.

He thought, looking at her sideways, that he was not surprised that he had a problem with her and had to resort to violence.

She played perfectly.

He also noticed, surprised, that she sometimes used his own tricks and feints in the game. He hadn't noticed it before.

He didn't realize that she was actually modeling on him.

He felt a cold sweat on his neck at the thought that everything she had said to him was true.

She really treated him as her authority, and he humiliated her.

He pressed his lips against the unpleasant tightness in his stomach, which he didn't like at all. He didn't want to feel guilty but he knew that he had misjudged her very, very badly. He looked down, thinking of Helaena. That she was the only one standing up for her.

The only one who wasn't laughing at her.

He jumped in place as the rest of the audience when he heard screams and squeals. One of the contestants hit Solren in the head with a Bludger, she spun on her broomstick and fell from a considerable height to the ground, her body limp. He stared at it with wide eye, his mouth parted in disbelief.

"Oh fuck me! Is she alive?!" Said one of his colleagues, horrified, for some reason no one was laughing anymore.

"Sweet Merlin, he hit her right in the head! The only Gryffindor girl I liked to talk to!” Someone else said, there was a commotion around him.

The judge stopped the game by running over to the girl, checking her pulse. Several people from the hospital wing quickly ran to her and lifted her onto a stretcher. Aemond stared at the entire scene unable to move for some reason. He heard the loud pounding of his heart in his ears.

After the game, he sat with everyone in the common room, completely absorbed in his thoughts. All they discussed was the accident, exchanging guesses and information from the hospital wing.

"She still didn't wake up. Poor girl." One of the Slytherins said, sighing heavily. Her other friend laughed, waving her hand.

"Come on, one less Gryffindor is better for our team, right Aemond?" She asked him sweetly, clearly remembering their one-time toilet experience, still hoping for more. Aemond looked up at her.

"Shut the fuck up." He hissed, staring at her with a stony face, his eye dark and dangerous. The girl swallowed loudly, confused and scared, looking away.

He got up from the couch, ignoring the curious eyes of several people who had heard his outburst and left the common room, heading for the hospital wing. He thought that he would go crazy if he didn't go there.

He went inside, looking around. Apart from Solren no one was there, the setting sun pouring in through the great, gothic windows. He walked over to her bed, looking down at her, her head covered with a large bandage, her eyes closed in a deep sleep.

He stood there, staring at her, unable to say anything for a long time. His lip quivered, his heart pounding hard as he finally managed to get it out.

"Forgive me."

_____

What can I say. I love it so much I couldn't wait any longer to show you this. Song that I used in this chapter is real. It's an english translation of first verse of song by Kayah & Bregovic - Śpij kochanie, śpij. You can listen to original, polish version of this song on YouTube. Śpij kochanie, śpij means: Sleep my love, sleep.

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13

[sevspotions]

SEV SNAPE

5TH YEAR

she/her — taken — 15

❤️ potions, horror, cooking, magical theory, coffee, winter, snakes, cats, snow, my partners

💔 summer, gryffindors (house rivarly, other than that I dont care.), bigotry (literally a halfblood. get me out.)

@f1rstw0man-ev3r — panda. <3

@xeno-philius-love-good — xeno. <3

@autistic-ratboy — pettigrew.

@jackfrostlookalike — lucius.

@marybabee — macdonald.

@cissa-n0ble-black — narcissa.

@forever-sirius — black (sr.)

@no1-beater-cas — dorcas.

@dr0wn1ng-st4r — black (jr.)

@1-h8-my-d4d — crouch. (jr.)

@james-pottah — potter.

[wandasaura]

hi aura i missed u!! idk i’ve been thinking about the yail au all day it’s driving me insane i think i’m a fein for it but that’s good!! ☺️

so ik it’s canon that ducky gets super hot at night (same) and sleeps with little to nothing on so what would her go to sleeping position be cuz i mean everyone’s got that super duper comfy position

i believe ducky is the type to sleep on her stomach which would drive wandanat crazy cuz the slight arch this creates omggg and shed probably have her arms under the pillow

how would wandanat react to r dressed a bit more “masc” sometimes, like boxers (both the loose comfy ones and maybe the tighter briefs and stuff) or maybe like a wife beater tank top or maybe the combo. like even tho wandanat and r have an age gap, they still know what’s up. like imagine r wearing grey sweats that sag a bit showing off boxers and a white tank top or sports bra type of thing, like wandanat knows. they know. and i know the grey sweatpants theory doesn’t technically work on women, it’s still a look. would stuff like this drive them crazy as it isn’t her usual look? like would r ever even wear this shit lmaoo. if so, is it just in the house as it’s comfy or would she go out in this? just some curious little thoughts !

duckling wouldn't wear this, but in know my place, r steals all of their clothes whenever they're done fucking her into the mattress, so she has a random assortment of clothes and styles. and when they all meet up one night she's dressed in maria's tank, carols boxers, and natasha's sweats wearing wanda's pink slippers that the sokovian didn't even realise was missing. it's not her typical style, but it's also not unusual for her to wear something more masculine when they're just hanging out, but they literally cannot keep their hands off of her knowing that she's wearing their clothes. maria's the first one to crack, and she pulls r into her lap and grabs her tits over the tank and comments on how "little girls should wear bras if they don't want their nipples pinched", and carol smirks about the boxers like, "if you wanted me to use you whenever you should've just asked. don't even have to pull your panties to the side, i can just..." and she snakes her hand into the cut out in the boxers meanwhile wanda and natasha are just ogling her waiting until they can have a turn.

[thebigoblin]

dumb & dumber

tags: Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Failwolf Derek Hale, Failhuman Stiles Stilinski, is that a tag? it should be actually, Implied Sexual Content, Possessive Derek Hale, Attempt at Humor, Failwolf Betas, they're all just dumb tbh

"You know, you're kind of the worst," he says this with a pout on his face, the television in front of him blinking back his own face at him. He sorta looks cute with a pout. Huh.

Beside him, the couch dips with the weight of his boyfriend. An arm snakes up along the back of the couch, and he moves forward before that arm and his shoulders can make contact. The huff he gets at his pettiness has him scoffing right back.

"You're being petty."

"And you're an asshole. What's new?"

Another huff. A sigh. He stares forward, resolute.

"Stiles, please." Nope. He is not giving in. He deserves to be upset! "Baby," and oh no.

Stiles turns towards his left, and sees the forlorn look on Derek's face. His eyes are searching Stiles', likely trying to impart how unhappy he is, and how much he wants Stiles' forgiveness.

Stiles might have turned around to actually have a conversation, but hey, he's still got the upper hand here. When Derek reaches out to hold his hand, Stiles takes his wayward limbs towards himself and crosses his arms. Derek isn't happy, his nostrils flaring, but hey, Stiles isn't happy, either.

"Why are you so angry at me?"

Stiles instantly points a finger at his dumb boyfriend, wagging it at that dumb gorgeous face to punctuate his point, "Oh ho ho, don't you play the dumb boyfriend card with me! I wish I could tell Lydia she's right and that all men, no matter the age, suck at being a good boyfriend. But welp! I can't, can I? Because even now, after months of us having been together, I cannot tell people I have a boyfriend! Nobody in the fucking pack knows who you are to me, and you know what Erica has been planning, huh? Huh?"

Derek blinks his dumb, gorgeous eyes at him. He has been staring at these eyes for counting on four months now, but he still can't pinpoint what colors they are. Are they blue? Green? Hazel with gold flecks in them?

Fuck. He is getting distracted. He once again wags his finger at Derek's face, who, this time around, wraps his big, rough arms around it and pulls Stiles forward until Stiles stumbles right onto Derek's lap, and really, why is the universe so unfair? Why is Derek in a barely there wife-beater and grey sweats?

"You know what I am to you, Stiles."

Stiles resolutely stares at Derek's chest. His hands are gripped tight in Derek's, but Derek lets one of his hands go free to grab at his chin, forcing him to look up at the eyes that reflect the early morning sun in a deep, beautiful forest.

"Baby, I am yours."

"But not to the world. To them, you're a single, hot, in much need of a date Alpha werewolf. You're not mine in their eyes, Der."

His heart doesn't waver at the truth, but his chemosignals must change because Derek leans down to rub their noses together, dragging his down to Stiles' neck, scenting him.

Claiming him, in a way.

"If Erica is planning a date for me, she's not competent as a wolf. I might not have told them we are dating, but you smelling much more like us should be a clue."

Stiles noses his way down from Derek's nose to his neck, bites at the junction between it and shoulders just to be a little shit. Derek arches under him, and it has Derek's dick, from under the damned grey sweats, rubbing a delicious friction against Stiles' ass.

"We smell good, huh, Alpha?" He could say more, but Derek is already panting like he cannot take it any more, and hey, that is lips on his own and he can't really speak now, can he?

Derek kisses him with passion, pushes him down back on the couch so he is on top of Stiles.

"Erica needs to learn how to use her fucking nose. You smell like mine," Derek's growl has Stiles instantly wanting to take off his clothes and present to him, down on all fours and ready to blackout in bliss for hours, but.

Stiles pushes at Derek's chest so there's space between them, and asks, a bit breathless, "Why haven't we just told them?"

"You're a fucking tease. I'm going to ruin you once this conversation is over, understand?"

Stiles stares back, wide-eyed, pupils evidently dark. Licks his lips. Nods.

Derek grabs his hair and wrenches him in for a deep kiss before letting go, putting space between them.

They don't speak for a few minutes, trying to get back to some semblance of control. Once they are, Derek speaks.

"I haven't told anyone... because I forgot."

If this weren't Derek, and he wasn't Stiles, he would have been offended. Because what the fuck? But he is Stiles, and this is Derek, so.

"You figured everyone would use their super-sniffers?" Derek nods. "Except you also forgot not everyone is a werewolf, and that even those with super-sniffers are idiots. They would first figure out how to stop a bus with failing brakes from crashing by jumping in front of it rather than using their wolf strength to well, pull the bus Superman style."

"Yes, I'm aware my pack is brave but stupid. Especially because their leader is here with me."

"Hey!"

"Then why didn't you tell them?"

Stiles opens his mouth. Closes it. Scratches his head, his hair. Eyes fixed on the TV again, he mumbles, "I thought you didn't want to."

Derek takes his hand and points it at himself with a raised eyebrow. "Me? The one who has been scenting you extensively and making you wear butt-plugs? Me?"

His cheeks color with embarrassment. "Alright! We are both idiots. Got it."

"Truly made for each other." Derek again uses Stiles' hand to pull him forward, right until Stiles stis on Derek's lap. Again. Except this time Derek is already working to make Stiles' jeans dissappear. "Now, tell me about this date Erica has planned for me while you warm my cock with your pretty hole, okay, baby?"

"Yes, Alpha." Oh, coming to the Loft in a fit of anger/sadness was the best course of action today.

And Stiles is definitely going to pilfer that fancy-pants restaurant Erica has reserved for Derek's blind date with one of her college friends for a date for them.

And then he's going to be fucking annoying about calling Derek his, just like he is sure Derek is going to be insufferable about making it clear that Stiles is his in return.

[rypnami]

Durmstrang Gang

i made these OCs about a year and a half ago for a discord server roleplay group, but i kinda abandonded them as i moved on to other projects. i want to use them again, so have some basic facts! if you remember them you are entitled to a Char Besties Club Ticket!

Cassian Peverell

Half brother of my oc Jack. Same dad (horrible man iykyk), different mum. He was the favoured son because he sort of embodied all the pureblood sterotypes that the Peverell family value, whilst Jack is the opposite in every way.

After it was discovered he is a bastard he was sent to Durmstrang to preserve his father's image and keep him out of the picture. He deeply resents his father and is now a recovering pureblood supremacist. He is in Atticus house, although once transferring to Hogwarts he is a Slytherin with his brother. His patronus is an adder.

General appearance- black curls, ice blue eyes, snake bites, lots of piercings, snake tattoo on his neck, sleeve of tattoos on left arm, tall. wears lots of rings and necklaces.

get in line ladies and gents, he's single and ready to mingle

Elias Ahlberg

Elias is a Swede, and comes from one of the oldest pureblood families in all of Sweden. Yes, I made up an entire Swedish pureblood society for ONE random character for RP purposes. I'm fine.

He's a sweetie and loves art. His partner is @mamalunawolf 's Cirilla, and they met when he and Ziven came to Hogwarts over Christmas to surprise Cass. One of the more open-minded of the boys, as in Sweden there is not so much emphasis on who has what blood, unlike in the UK where it's sooo important if you're pure, half, muggleborn etc.

He is in Terpsichora house, but if he attended Hogwarts he would have been a Hufflepuff. Patronus - golden retriever

General appearance- long, strawberry blonde/light ginger hair, brown eyes, slightly tannish skin, moles, tall, gangly

Ziven Karkaroff

JOCK JOCK JOCK. Buff man. Dumb as rocks. Still adorable. If Quidditch was allowed at Durmstrang, he'd be a Beater, and a damn good one. He's got an extra-thick skull that's good for taking bludgers probably.

He was raised in a similar way to Cassian, in the sense that he should know that he's better than everyone for being a pureblood and that he's superior in every way. Luckily for us, he has, as I said, a thick skull, and those ideals didn't really sink in. He genuinely just... doesn't understand WHY one's blood status should mean anything. Good for him! Ziv is a nice guy if you can get through that very, very, VERY thick exterior. A bit stoic and on the surface DOES look like one of those people that would bully you from your lunch money and drinks the blood of non-Slavics for fun. He would never, though.

He is in Concinne house, would be a Gryffindor if he was at Hogwarts. Patronus - Saint Bernard

General appearance- black hair, cropped close, hazel eyes, BUFF AS HELLLLL, very tall, tattoo of hippogriff on his chest (iykyk), wears a karakroff crest signet ring

he's with one of @girl-named-matty 's ocs (but idk if you still use her waaahh)

Nikolai Krum

The nerd of the group. He is fascinated with the mysteries of the universe and in an au that takes place in a different time period HE would have been the first man in space or died trying. probably died. he's got claustrophobia as well, so you can see why his ambition to travel through space would be conflicting with that...

GAYYY, likes to write and map the stars. Plot twist: despite the fact that Durmstrang ONLY accepts purebloods, Nik is, DUN DUN DUNNNN a halfblood. His parents lied about his blood status so he could attend, and it's only by technicality anyway (his mother comes from a long line of purebloods, but because one time like 2 generations ago one of them married a muggle, for some reason that's not good enough??).

He is in Terpsichora with Elias, but if at Hogwarts he would have definitely been a Ravenclaw. Patronus - Blackbirdl

General appearance - Black hair, green eyes, freckles, short, wide shoulders but slut waist, always painting his nails either black or dark purple. earrings

He's single too, gentlemen hehe.

None of them have in-game models, as none of the presets actually fit how i imagine them. one day, though, i shall draw them

[kawaiibarty]

JAMES JAMES JAMES

HI YEAH

OKAY PLEASE I BEG OF YOU HEADCANONS OF YOUR FAVORITE RARE PAIR THAT YOU DON’T TALK ABOUT MUCH

favourite rarepair has to be hm....

moonrose:

evan calling remus romulus

remus being able to talk to evan without a filter, without fear of judgement or disgust

evan bringing remus weird little gifts after the full moon (dried spiders, torn pages out of library books with lewd annotations, pieces of plants, rocks with weird werewolf looking drawings on them, feathers from birds he poached in the forest, snake shaped chocolate (sometimes charmed to hiss))

shared interest in biology, imperialism and architecture.

bring out the worst in each other.

evan begging remus to let him watch him turn JUST ONCE and remus getting so fed up with him

remus teaching evan welsh because evan is a polyglot and absolutely eats up every language he can get his filthy hands on.

dc martins x banged up levis

wooly sweaters x wife beaters

thick welsh accent x thick german/french accent

burns easily x burns easily

they're both nocturnal creatures so they almost always meet up at night.

theyre not exactly a couple. just two dudes in a homoerotic companionship.

evan losing interest in remus because he won't let him do his weird research thingies on him and remus being very confused but also not exactly concerned because sirius (!!!!) is giving him attention.

there you go. xD i love giving headcanons 🙇🏼🙇🏼