#world wide stag

[lilacella]

Your moodboards are amazing! 🤩 How about Finnish James? Curious to see what you come up with!!

Hello!😊😊🥰 So. This has escalated a little into a whole, potential, fic idea.

But first, the moodboard: SÁMI JAMES!

This was peer-reviewed and supported by @plecotusauritus 💜

Teenage Sámi James is from Nuorgam in Lapland and helps to take care of his family's reindeer herd. He's pretty great at reindeer races and has a huge obsession with aircraft. When he's done with school he wants to be a pilot!!

Living in such a remote area, James spends many evenings in front of his laptop, often in scetchy video chat roulette websites because he thinks it's fun meeting people from all around the world. So he is surprised when he actually matches with a boy from Finland one night. He's from Hanko though - on the other end of the country - but no distance can harm the immediate bond that forms between them.

Sirius (because of course it's him, who did you expect?! Regulus?) is very interested in Sámi culture and language since his parents have told him much crap that he is already quite certain is incorrect. James teaches him gladly 😊 They keep talking and talking, then exchange numbers (because all sense for stranger danger has left the chat for these lovesick babies already) and continue to videocall each other daily...

There's more but that's for another post 😊😇

Hope you like him!!

[haleswallows]

DC x DP Dead Tired 'Fake Relationship' plot bunny

Alright, imagine me presenting you with this like a proud cat bringing you the hair tie I just murdered. (Anyone is welcome to add to this - to treat it like a prompt or to expand on it. Just, like, let me know so I can consume it with an unhinged fervor, thank you!)

Tim (no longer forever 17) finds himself in a bit of a situation. One being that he's really fed up with Dick and Barbara and Alfred and even Bruce being nosy. And why are they being nosy?

Because that's their love language. And also, because for some absurd reason Tim cannot discern, Dick got it in his head that Tim is lonely. Which, of course means everyone has accepted the mission to get Tim hitched.

Is it that Tim and Bernard broke up? Is it that Tim has gone stag to every charity gala for the last year? Is it that Bruce finally pulled his head out of his ass and made things work out with Selina? The world may never know.

What Tim does know is he isn't lonely. He's fine. Truly.

Enter Danny Phantom.

The ghost hero is interesting. Tim side eyes the guy pretty hard when he joins the Justice League. For a dead guy, he's pretty cheery and up-beat. Honestly, with all the quips & puns, he could have been a Robin in a past life.

Surprising absolutely no one, Nightwing and Phantom quickly become butt-buddies, joined at the hip, partners in crime. Tim is not jealous, no matter what Dick says. He has his own team, his own cases, CEO work, etc etc etc and even more etc. Great, Dick has a new friend.

Too bad for Tim, one of his cases overlaps with Phantom's 'jurisdiction'. No one will tell Tim what that means. No worries, Tim will find out. He always does.

Red Robin and Phantom team up. It goes... great. No grievous injuries, the case gets solved, Phantom takes the frankly disturbing relic of Red Robin's hands. Tim cares only in-so-far that the thing is out of Gotham and Phantom promises (so-signed by Batman? the actual fuck?) it will be safe and won't return to the human realm.

They're wrapping up in one of Tim's more 'civilian' passing safe-houses. Mostly because it was the closest, and Phantom said something about 'ley lines' and 'easier to open a portal'. Cool, whatever. Tim was going to burn this safe-house soon anyway.

Tim, as always, gets himself into trouble. Chronic Thinking Too Much Disease, they really ought to make a cure for it. He's reflecting, watching Phantom eat Cheerios right out of the box, sitting on the counter, looking like he belongs there. When the fuck did Tim get Cheerios?

There's no denying it. Tim liked working with Phantom. The guy is good in a fight, doesn't rely on his powers too much, and kept up with Tim. Not not physically, but intellectually. And he's shockingly earnest when he isn't being a trash-talking little shit.

So. Tim gets an idea.

"Hey," he says before he's even thoroughly thought it out, "we should date."

Phantom pauses, gloved hand suspended in the middle of shoving another handful of cereal into his mouth, wide eyed and gaping. Attractive.

"Huh?" he says, eloquently.

"Not for real," Tim scrambles to explain. "I mean fake dating. Just hang around some, be a bit performative, nothing out of masks. We can say we're taking things slow and break up. Nightwing keeps trying to set me up with a date. This will get him off my case."

"Oooooh." Phantom resumes inhaling cereal. Why a ghost needs to eat, Tim would like to know, but it's probably rude to ask. Slowly chewing, Phantom seriously thinks it over. "You know, the council has been bugging me too. About dating. This could work out for both of us."

Council? Tim would like to know why a council is interested in Phantom dating. So he asks.

Phantom sighs explosively. Finally, he sets the Cheerios down. "OK, so like, this is need to know basis only. I haven't even disclosed it to the League. And like, Nightwing only knows because he's my friend and the Observants crashed one of our mission and blew the lid."

Pulling a face, Phantom waves an arm in an arc over his head. A crown appears, spinning and shooting off beams of light like an Aurora Borealis.

"I'm the Ghost King. It's a whole thing, no I am not taking questions on it at this time. Well, technically, I'm the Prince of the Infinite Realms because I'm too young to take the throne. So, there's a council and a regent. Whatever, not important!"

Phantom claps, getting himself back on track. "What that means is there's a council and Observants that are really interested in my personal shit. Including who I date. But like, I'm enjoying my brat girl summer and being single right now, not that they care."

Tim blinks. Then blinks again, slotting the new information in place alongside everything he knows about Phantom. That's... something.

"That sounds annoying," Tim says, instead of one of the approximately 23 questions in his head that are quickly spawning more by the second. "Fake dating would solve both of our problems."

Because Tim is a professional, they make a contract. Phantom will remain Red Robin's boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and no secret identities will need to be disclosed. Tim doesn't ask why Phantom would have a secret identity... he's dead? Saves the question for the later.

Red Robin will remain Phantom's totally human badass vigilante boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and Tim won't be required to do anything in any capacity for the Infinite Realms.

Then they set boundaries. Date ideas, what they're comfortable with for PDA, how much they'll have to do to sell it.

"I mean," Phantoms says, again with a mouthful of Cheerios. "Clockwork monitors the timelines, so he definitely already knows what we're doing. And he hasn't intervened yet." When Tim gives him A Look, Phantom helpfully explains, "He only intervenes when I do something stupid enough that'll change the course of the multiverse. So," then shrugs, entirely too nonchalant for Tim's tastes.

"If Clockwork already knows, won't he say something to the council or the Observants?" The very Observants Phantom has guaranteed will pop in on Tim at some point. So Tim feels compelled to ask.

"Nah," Phantom says. He kicks his feet from where he's sitting on the kitchen table now, right at Tim's elbow. "He hates the Observants more than I do. I bet he loves this. He's always down to fuck with them."

Great. That's... great.

Nothing can go wrong, right?

[my-castles-crumbling]

smart - October 6th - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 665 - trans!Regulus Inspired by a reddit post that I heard about on a podcast so I don't have the original source to link it lol

"It's going well, I think," Effie whispered to Monty, who nodded at his wife, grinning.

"I like him. I have to admit, he's not what I thought he would be, though," Monty murmured, looking across the room.

It was true. James was so larger-than life and attention-grabbing; so loud and, Effie had to admit, dramatic. But Regulus, James's boyfriend who he'd finally agreed to introduce them to, was quieter. It had struck them as strange that it had taken so long, since Regulus was Sirius's little brother, and Sirius had practically been their adoptive son for years. But they didn't know a lot about Regulus. Just that he had taken longer to cut ties with Sirius's problematic family, and that their son was absolutely crazy about him.

He also seemed nervous and a bit skittish, though when he did speak, he came off as extremely smart. Though both men looked at each other with stars in their eyes, it was certainly a different match than what James's parents had been expecting.

When they interacted together, it made all the sense in the world, though. At least in Effie's opinion. They were natural opposites in the best way, and Regulus seemed to bring out the best in James. He'd never seemed happier.

"I'm going to do the dishes," she announced, standing and exiting the room, waving all of the boys off as they got up to try to help.

But as she began to get to work, the short, curly-haired man who had been glued close to James's side all night entered the kitchen, balancing a stack of plates.

"Oh, let me get those, dear!" Effie jumped over to grab the stack from Regulus's hand, eager to help.

"Thanks, Mrs. Potter," Regulus smiled softly. "The meal was wonderful. Was that thyme I tasted?"

"Oh, thank you, dear. It was! Do you cook?" she asked as they began to fall into a rhythm of washing and drying together.

"A bit. I learned a lot of family recipes as a child, and it was one of the few things my parents insisted on teaching me that I actually enjoyed," Regulus shrugged, meticulously drying a plate.

"Interesting," Effie frowned, speaking over the running water. "Did they make Sirius learn, too?" Sirius had become a permanent fixture in their household long ago, but had never mentioned learning how to cook.

Regulus just snorted softly. "No, they only made the girls learn."

It took a moment for Regulus's admission to sink in, and the dish Effie was now washing in the sink slipped from her hands as she realized. "Oh!" she said softly, her brain catching up with the conversation.

Regulus's eyes grew wide as he, too, figured out what had happened. "James and Sirius never told...?" His face, which had previously had a small smile playing on his guarded features, grew nervous and almost cold.

But Effie wasn't having that. "Regulus," she said firmly, grabbing his arm with her wet hand and refusing to allow him to turn and walk away. "It doesn't matter to us," she stated, looking the terrified man in the eye, making sure he understood she'd never been more sincere.

The gray eyes that stared back at him grew wide and watery, and he blinked a few times before nodding and letting out a shaky breath. "I- okay," he mumbled. "Sorry, I- It's just, my parents were-"

"I understand," Effie murmured, movign her hand up to squeeze his shoulder.

Nodding again, Regulus visibly relaxed, turning back to the dish he had been drying.

"It won't matter to Monty, either," Effie clarified, squeezing his shoulder again and returning to the sink. "As long as you and James love each other and you support his Quidditch team, he'll approve."

Chuckling, Regulus smiled. But after a moment, he turned to Effie, frowning. "What Quidditch team? Because James likes the Chudley Cannons and I can't even pretend to like-"

"No, he likes Puddlemere," Effie laughed, pulling him into a hug.

[ikkyfics]

Expecto Patronum

James Potter x f!reader x Remus Lupin

Summary: For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen, but then, a silver light exploded from the tip of your wand, illuminating the clearing. The air grew heavy, as if time had stopped. When the glow faded, a magnificent stag stood before you. Your wide eyes followed it as it trotted across the clearing, majestic and serene. Remus stayed silent, his lips slightly parted. He knew. You knew. There was no denying what it meant. The stag was not just a reflection of your heart, but of what you had always tried to bury.

Warnings: angst

Masterlist | Finite Incantatem

The cold breeze coming from the Forbidden Forest did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. Every failed attempt to conjure a Patronus left your hands shakier, your heart heavier. You had been there for longer than you could count, holding your wand like it was an anchor, but it seemed there wasn't enough happy memory in the world to light up the growing emptiness inside you.

Remus, sitting on a nearby root, watched you with a gentle and concerned look, his fingers drumming on the piece of chocolate he'd brought as encouragement. He was patient, as always, and his presence should have been comforting, but all you felt was a bitter mixture of frustration and shame.

"You need a break," he suggested, his voice low and calm, but firm enough to cut through the sound of your heavy breathing. "It's past time to try another day. There's no rush."

"I'll manage," you replied, though even your words sounded fragile, as if the weight of your determination was about to crush them.

He sighed, but didn't insist. Instead, he stood up and approached, holding the chocolate towards your trembling hands. "At least eat this before you pass out. Please."

You accepted, more so he would stop looking at you that way — with a mix of concern and something else you weren't ready to decipher. The sweet melted in your mouth, but the knot in your throat remained intact.

"You know what they say about Patronuses, right?" He asked hesitantly, as he sat back down on the root. "That they reflect something of the heart. Something true."

The thought struck you like a blade. Because you knew it was true. And that was exactly why you couldn't conjure anything. How could you find a happy memory strong enough to fight the darkness, when what occupied your heart was... him? James.

James, with that smile that made your knees weak. James, who made the silliest jokes just to see you smile. James, whose Patronus matched Lily's perfectly, as if the universe had designed them to be together.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, as if you could push away the weight of the memory that inevitably surfaced. It was a normal day, just you and him, running by the Black Lake, skipping stones across the water, laughing like fools. It wasn't what he said or did that marked the moment, but the way he looked at you. As if, in that moment, you were the center of his world.

When you opened your eyes again, something inside you had changed. You raised your wand, your hand steadier than before, and whispered the spell with more force.

"Expecto Patronum!"

For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen, but then, a silver light exploded from the tip of your wand, illuminating the clearing. The air grew heavy, as if time had stopped. When the glow faded, a magnificent stag stood before you. Your wide eyes followed it as it trotted across the clearing, majestic and serene.

Remus stayed silent, his lips slightly parted. He knew. You knew. There was no denying what it meant. The stag was not just a reflection of your heart, but of what you had always tried to bury.

"It's like his," you murmured, more to yourself than to Remus. Your voice came out almost inaudible, laden with something you didn't want to admit, but also couldn't hide anymore.

Remus stayed silent for a long moment. You could feel his gaze on you, heavy but also filled with a silent understanding. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft it seemed to hesitate in occupying the space around you.

"I know what it’s like," he said, the words carrying a weight that seemed far greater than the situation. You lifted your gaze, surprised, meeting his eyes fixed on yours, as if he wanted to make sure you heard, that you understood. "Loving something that feels... unreachable."

At first, you didn’t know what to say. The declaration hung between you, like a secret, revealed yet impossible to fully comprehend. He smiled, but it wasn't a joyful smile — it was melancholic, a curve of lips that seemed as tired as his heart.

"Remus..." you started, but you didn’t know how to continue. It was like the meaning behind his words was hanging in the air, and you couldn’t quite reach it.

He took a deep breath, looking down before continuing. "You know, sometimes it feels like a whole life is made of things we can never have." His voice faltered slightly, but he recovered, his eyes returning to yours. "I know how it hurts to look at something... someone, and know that, no matter how much you want it, it’s not for you."

His words hit you like a blow. Not because they were cruel, but because they were true. It was as if he was voicing everything you had been feeling, all the anguish you had been trying to ignore since you realized what James meant to you. And somehow, it made the pain feel less lonely.

"But that doesn't mean you have to carry it alone," he added, with an unexpected firmness. "I know it feels like no one understands, but... I understand. And I'm here. I'll always be."

The tears you had been holding back finally escaped. You tried to speak, but your voice failed, and all you managed was a barely audible murmur: "I don’t know what to do, Remus. It’s like... it’s like it hurts just to be near him."

He tilted his head, his eyes filled with something indescribable — maybe sadness, maybe empathy, maybe something deeper that he wouldn’t let surface. "Then don’t rush," he said. "Give time to time. And, when it’s too much, let me carry some of it for you."

You couldn’t respond, but when he reached out to take your hand, the gesture spoke more than any words could. His fingers were warm, firm, like a silent promise that you weren’t alone, even in the pain.

His eyes lingered on yours longer than seemed normal. For a moment, there was something there, something you couldn’t interpret, but that seemed as painful as what you felt. And then, as if forcing himself to do it, he looked away, the melancholic smile returning to his lips.

"You're going to be okay," he said, with a softness that seemed meant as much for you as it was for himself. "Even if it feels impossible right now. I promise."

The words hung between you, heavy with a weight that seemed impossible to shake. His eyes were fixed on you, and for a moment, you felt something inside your chest break. It wasn't just the pain of your own confusing emotions — it was the realization of how much he was willing to carry for you, how much he understood, how much he cared.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, your arms moving automatically to wrap around him. He hesitated, for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, before responding to the gesture, his arms closing around you with a firmness you didn’t know you needed. The warmth of the hug was immediate, but it brought with it a vulnerability you had been avoiding for so long. As if his presence was the only thread still holding you up.

"I don’t know if I can," you whispered against his shoulder, your voice trembling and broken.

"You can," he answered, without hesitation. His certainty seemed unshakable, even though his own heart was heavy with all the things he couldn’t say. "And if you can’t now, I’ll be here until you can."

The Patronus, that magnificent silver stag, didn’t disappear. It walked slowly around you, its hooves almost silent against the forest floor. Its light illuminated the space around you, casting soft shadows on the nearby tree trunks. It was impossible to ignore it, impossible not to feel the weight of what it represented. You felt warm tears sliding down your cheeks as you buried your face in Remus' shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just kept his arms around you as if he wanted to protect you from everything, even yourself.

Time seemed to stop. The world outside that clearing didn’t exist, only the sound of the light wind, the glow of the stag, and Remus' steady breathing against you. But then, something broke the moment — footsteps. Heavy, determined. And before you could react, you saw him.

James.

Your heart raced, as if it knew that, from that moment on, nothing would be the same. He was there, still, his bright blue eyes behind glasses fixed on you and Remus. The way he stopped, how his body seemed to stiffen for a moment, betrayed something he might still be processing.

Remus’ arms were still around you, and you felt their comforting warmth disappear as he took a step back, almost with an awkward haste. But the belated movement didn’t change the fact that James had seen. He had seen everything: the intimate hug, the way you had allowed yourself to crumble into Remus' arms, and, worst of all, the stag. The Patronus that was exactly like his, walking around you both.

"James," you managed to say, but your voice came out weak, trembling, as if his name was a blade in your throat.

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped to your face, registering the glisten of the tears that hadn’t dried yet. He always noticed. No matter how much you tried to hide — James always noticed.

"You’re crying," he said, finally, his voice low, laden with something you couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t just concern. It wasn’t just confusion. It was deeper, more complicated.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. How could you explain something you didn’t even understand? The silence dragged on, heavy, suffocating, until he took a step forward, his eyes moving from you to Remus and, finally, to where the Patronus had disappeared.

"Was it your Patronus?" he asked, but the question sounded different now, almost as if he already knew the answer. He wasn’t asking for confirmation; he was trying to understand what it meant.

"Yes," you admitted, the word escaping before you could stop it. But your voice faltered at the end, as if the weight of the truth was too much to bear. "I... I’m still learning. It wasn’t—"

"It was perfect," he interrupted, his voice firmer than before. "I saw."

There was something in the way he said that, something that made your stomach twist. He saw. He saw the stag. He knew.

Remus, at your side, was quiet, his eyes fixed on the ground as if he wanted to disappear into the earth beneath his feet. He didn’t say anything, but his silence was as loaded as any word could have been. He knew this moment wasn’t his. He always knew.

"I was looking for you," James continued, but there was an evident tension in his voice. "I wanted to see if you needed help with the spell... I think I got here too late."

You tried to smile, but the gesture came out crooked, broken. "I managed... Remus helped me."

"Of course he did," James replied, but there was something in the way he looked at Remus, something that seemed like a mix of gratitude and discomfort. "You’re always there when someone needs you, aren’t you?"

Remus looked up, finally, but didn’t respond. He knew that anything he said now would only complicate what was already unbearably difficult.

James turned his gaze back to you, and the intensity in it made your heart tighten even more. "Why didn’t you call me?" he asked, and this time, there was something almost vulnerable in his voice. "I would’ve come. You know I would have."

"I know," you replied quickly, almost desperately trying to ease the hurt you saw in his eyes. "I just... didn’t want to bother you."

"Bother?" He laughed, but the sound held no humor. "You never bother me."

The silence returned, but this time, it was heavy with unspoken words. You could feel the weight of everything he wasn't saying, everything he was trying to understand. He looked at you again, his eyes locking with yours, and you saw when he realized it. He realized everything. The patronus, the tears, what it all meant. What you felt.

"I... I'll leave you two alone," Remus suddenly said, his voice low but firm. He took a step back, avoiding James' gaze as he turned to leave the clearing. "If you need me, I'll be in the tower."

The silence that followed Remus' departure was almost tangible, filling the clearing like a living presence. You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat felt tight, unable to form words. The weight of everything that couldn't be said hung between you and James, and every second dragged on, a lifetime of pain.

James stepped forward, his expression shifting from something near confusion to a devastating understanding. He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, a proximity that, instead of comforting, made your chest tighten even more.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, and the question, so simple, seemed to hold an ocean of complexity. His voice was soft, almost as if he feared the answer.

You clenched your hands, struggling to keep some composure, but the weakness in your body was as great as the one in your soul. "It's nothing," you lied, but your voice trembled, betraying the attempt to hide the truth. "I just... was frustrated. With the spell."

James shook his head, and his gaze met yours with an intensity that made your heart stumble. "It's not just that," he said, the words coming slowly, as though he were choosing them carefully. "I know you, remember? I can tell when you're lying."

You looked away, because facing him at that moment felt impossible. But James didn't back off. He took another step, closing the distance between you, until you could smell his familiar scent, that aroma that always seemed like a mix of freshly cut grass, fresh air, and something unmistakably unique.

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" he asked again, and there was something in his voice, a vulnerability that seemed as painful as your own emotions. "You always call me when you need help."

"I didn't want to bother you," you said, the same excuse you had used before, but even you could hear how empty it sounded now.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with those eyes that seemed to see through every wall you tried to build. "You never bother me," he repeated, his voice soft but firm. "Never."

Tears started to fall before you could hold them back, and the pressure you had been holding in your chest finally exploded. "I couldn't," you whispered, your voice faltering at the end. "Not with... with all this."

"With what?" James pressed, and the concern in his expression was tinged with something deeper, something more complex. He was starting to understand, but there was still a piece of the puzzle missing, and you could see that he was desperate to fit it together.

"Please, James," you begged, your voice broken. "Don't make me say it."

"Why not?" he asked, and there was an urgency in his voice now, as if he needed to hear it more than anything. He took another step, until you were so close that his warmth seemed to envelop you entirely. "Why do you think you can't tell me?"

You shook your head, but the strength to push him away, to create any distance, was no longer in you. And then he did the unthinkable. He raised his hand, and his fingers brushed your face, as light as a feather, wiping away a tear that was still falling.

"Please," he said, his voice now almost a whisper. "Tell me."

You felt your heart stop for a moment, as if time had slowed down. The words were stuck in your throat, burning, begging to be spoken, but the weight of the truth was overwhelming. He was so close now, his eyes locked on yours, filled with an intensity that almost hurt.

"It’s better not to," you finally answered, your voice hoarse, trembling.

James furrowed his brow, confusion mixed with something else — something you didn’t have the strength to decipher. "Why not?" he insisted, his voice firmer now, but still full of care.

"Because, James," you said, your lips moving before your mind could stop them. "If I say it, it will change everything. And I don’t want... I don’t want to lose you."

He was silent for a moment, processing your words, his face softening. "Nothing you say will change what we are," he stated, but there was a hesitation there, an uncertainty he was trying to mask.

You let out a bitter laugh, more to yourself than to him. "It will change everything for me, James. It already has."

"I don’t understand," he said, taking another step forward, his closeness making your breath falter. "Please, help me understand."

You clenched your fists by your sides, your heart pounding so hard it seemed to echo in the silence around you. Finally, you gave in, the barrier you had tried so hard to maintain crumbling in front of him.

"I love you," you confessed, and the pain in those words was so evident that it felt like it was cutting the air between you. "I love you in a way I never should. And I know you don’t feel the same. I know I shouldn’t have let it happen, but... it did."

James blinked, as if the confession had stolen the air from him. For a moment, he stood still, and the silence was almost unbearable. Then, with a slowness that seemed cruel, he sighed.

"I didn’t know," he said, his voice so low it sounded like an echo.

"I know," you replied, tears finally escaping your eyes. "And it’s okay, James. It’s not your fault. It never was."

He took another step, his hands moving as if he wanted to touch you, but stopping halfway. "You should have told me earlier."

"For what?" you asked, and there was a bitterness in your voice that you hated, but couldn’t contain. "To make everything harder? So you could feel guilty for something you can’t control? No, James. You didn’t deserve that."

He fell silent again, but the look in his eyes was so full of emotion that it was almost impossible to face. "You don’t deserve to go through this alone," he finally said.

"I’m not alone," you replied, and although your voice was soft, there was a firmness there. "I have my friends. I have you... even if it’s not the way I wanted."

James hesitated, the internal struggle evident in every line of his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, as if the words simply wouldn’t come.

"You’re so important to me," he finally said, and the sincerity in his voice almost destroyed you. "I just... wanted you to know that."

You nodded, knowing that was all he could offer. It was all you could have.

He took another step back, the distance between you growing, but still seeming far too small. "I hope you know that, even so, you’re incredible," he said, his voice gentle. "Really."

"I know," you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "Thank you, James."

And then he was gone, walking back toward the castle, leaving you alone in the clearing. The emptiness he left behind was almost unbearable, but you knew you had done the right thing. Even if it meant living with the pain of knowing he would never be yours.

[vulnerary-prince]

From Harvard ethics professor Christopher Robichaud:

“Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).

Take a good hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be.

The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.

The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.

Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural.

America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.

A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.

The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least, enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.

And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics, or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.

This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.

And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.

The first quarter of the 21st century will therefore in hindsight be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.

Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.

I think that's all I've left to say.”   

[heartfullofleeches]

Some sweetness to help swallow that Bugman angst- Bugman does something their family has dubbed "cocooning" when they are upset. They will go mostly nonverbal - seeking out their sleeping bag which double as their bed with they will crawl into and just laying there until they feel better. Childhood Best Friend Reader has gain some muscle over the years, dragging and later carrying around Bugman until they feel better. No quicker cure for a sad Bug than being flung over the shoulder of your dear friend and love of your life.

-

"Gonna tell me what happened this time?"

The subtle ruffle of fabric confirms your knowing suspensions that their answer is a big fat no. Regardless of their lack of response, it's still good to talk to them when they're like this. Somedays all they need to hear is the voice of your voice. While now wasn't exactly one of those moments, you had the next best thing.

Scrolling through your phone, you sort out the culprit amongst your bookmarks. "Limited sale plush stag beetle backpack. Ringing any bells?"

An air of silence predates the shuffling of the sleeping bag as Bugman nods. Pocketing your phone, you breath in a sigh - rolling your shoulders as you cross one arm over the other, stretching in preparation for the next phase of your plan.

"Then I think you might be hapt to know your family members and best friend in the whole wide world are always looking out for you. Pretty sure the reason why they went out of stock so fast was your all siblings and cousins trying to get it for you first. I may have ruined my sleep schedule a bit worse than it already is staying up all night so I'd get one for you too."

Bugman falls limp as a sheet of paper as you drop to your knees, wedging someone arm benath their knees and the other behind their neck for head support. Time seemed to slow down the first time you successfully managed to carry it when you were teens. Doing so now at your current adult ages still never fails to leave them short of breath. Day in and out, Bugman ponders what their life would be like without you.

"Come on, my little caterpillar. Let's get you downstairs. We can open your package whenever you're ready to come out and show the world what a wonderful butterfly you are."

They pray they never find out.

[pursuitseternal]

“Rescue Me:” Risk, nsfw Romance, and sub!Ascended Astarion update for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.2K rescue and nsfw reward

Summary: just a harmless hunt turns dangerous, an old threat from your Tadpole days resurfaces. Once your love has you rescued, you reward him handsomely for the effort.

CW: Canon-typical violence, bloodshed, Vampire Bride powers homebrew, protective Astarion, soft sub/dom dynamics, Sub!AA, outdoor sex, praise kink

My bloody Valentine for @marimosalad , @myfavouritelunatic

Ao3 Link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The world is a wash of colors, a bouquet of scents, now that you step into it with all your vampiric powers. The forests around the city are colored as the trees begin to turn, reds like his eyes and golds like the treasure you’ve amassed as sovereigns. And your limbs are alive as you bolt under those trees. Reithwith is far behind you, the forests and wilds ahead. The only thing faster in the world rushes at your side

Astarion. Hair whipping wildly in the wind, eyes narrowed as he runs. Mouth grinning like a fool so wide, his pointy fangs peek from his lip.

You feel the same too. Alive. Powerful. The rush of speed and thrum of your vampiric vigor, it intoxicates you. Powerful. Like nothing can touch you.

“Bet I find and kill a bigger animal than you, my love…” you taunt right into his mind.

“Oh my dear, I’d like to see you try…” he pants with open mouth as he purrs back into your thoughts. “Nothing so delicious out here in these woods than me, my pet.”

“True…” you flash him an image of your razor-like fangs biting him all over… his neck, his thigh… that sweet, filled out swell of his own ass cheek, your hand fondling his balls from behind…

He nearly stumbles over the roots of some great oak at that. Regaining his sure footing just in time. “Tempting… but I’ll enjoy my spoils so much more by winning this little hunt you suggested, darling.” He slows a bit until you’ve caught up, until your shoulders bump as you keep in stride through the forest undergrowth. Even as it’s dying.

You toss your head, hair streaming from your face as you flash him your own fanged smile. “To the winner goes the spoils, then….” You give a giddy laugh before darting into the forest away from him and out of his sight….

It’s only after you’ve fallen a stag, feasting on its warm blood, that you realize someone stands behind you. Before plain lances throught the back of your head.

Before the world goes dark.

The forest has grown dark by the time you open your eyes, your head swims. Whatever they smacked you with, it left no lingering damage, not with your vampiric powers. Not when you have his blood in your veins. Slowly the world comes into focus, and you know you’re not alone. Three large male Drows stand guard over you, their armor thick and their eyes intense.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

That voice. A female crosses towards you, her own armor dark like night, her red eyes shining as she scans you, bound with your legs together under you, your arms behind your back. The chains around your wrists and ankles sting, but it’s her gaze that makes you disgusted and slightly nervous. Those eyes flash between your mouth and your neck.

She wants your bite. And your blood.

“Araj…” you growl.

“I’m glad I made such an impression on you and your lord that I haven’t been forgotten.” She looks down at you, closing in on where you’re bound. Every urge in your body hums to life, you strain at your bonds, but they burn your skin the more you struggle.

“You know, he will kill you when he finds you,” you hiss, “Lord Astarion wouldn’t deign to drink from you, but he will enjoy spilling your every last drop.”

Araj laughs as she crouches next to you, “I should hope he tries, little consort. I cannot wait to study your blood. You little spawn, how does it feel when he compels you?” She runs a finger up the side of your neck, you pant as she touches you, you flinch. She is repulsive, her finger on your skin an insult to Astarion’s greatest creation. She strokes where your own two bite mark scars dip your flesh. “Does he drink from you nightly? Make you do all sorts of exotic and rigorous things, that Vampire Ascendant?”

Fangs bared, you hiss in her face. “You dare to touch what is his…” your mind spins, suddenly flooded with a surge of power. A warmth races down your spine and into your limbs. It makes you bold. It makes you laugh. “He is coming, you vermin. And he does not like having his things taken….”

Araj gives a nod to her soldiers, they draw their blades and fan out into the dark. She laughs, cackles more like. “Oh, imagine if I captured the Ascendant and his consort… if I had their blood to play with… their teeth to satisfy my dreams and curiosity…. You should have killed me when you had the chance instead of leaving me unconscious.”

Your voice shifts in your throat, you can feel him whisper in your mind. “Your hero is coming. I’ll be there soon, my lady….” You take a sigh of relief, feeling his haste, drinking in the wave of his rage as if it can nourish you.

And then, you speak, his voice in your mouth, his silken tones on your tongue. “I’m rather glad I did leave you… it will be far more satisfying to end you slowly now for what you have done… darling….”

Araj freezes at the sound of his voice. Eyes wide and frightened as she watches his power possess you. His power caresses your body, giving you a lasting sense of comfort. And you give the Drow a wicked smile. “We are going to love punishing you.”

The dark glade you’re in is suddenly filled with the sounds of bones crunching and blood spattering on the ground. One body… two… three bodies hit the dirt with a crunch. And Araj draws a little dagger. You laugh, your own sweet tones on your tongue again. “Oh yes, little prey, pull out your claws. Won’t stop you….”

“…from being devoured….” That low, velvety male voice caresses up your spine, his footsteps landing behind you.

Your hero, your lovey villain. Your master and mate. He touches the top of your head briefly, assuring you of his protection and presence.

Astarion’s hands pull your bonds apart. That roguish dexterity never leaving his beautiful fingers, the silver chains coming apart like butter in his grip. And even as you hear the little hiss of its power burning his skin, he gives no hint of pain.

Flinging the chains aside, he lifts you to your feet, steadying you, as if you weigh nothing to him.

The Drow’s eyes are wide, the red of her irises shaking up and down in her fear. Astarion growls, his twin daggers pulled from behind his back swiftly. You have seen it countless times. A chilling laugh comes from his mouth. “You really should have brought an army if you planned to touch what is mine… if you planned to take what is precious to me.”

“How else was I…” she tries to back away, stepping with a sickening crunch on the bones of one of her guards.

“What… darling? Fulfill your twisted little fantasy? Or find a way to sate your death wish?” he chuckles, his daggers twirling so beautifully, so gracefully in his long and bloodied fingers. “It took me all but a moment to rip all three to shreds… and you,” he points his dagger at her quivering form, head held high and shoulders squared, bloodied mouth ginning wide in the moonlight. “You’ll I’ll take my time with, darling. For what you tried to rob me of, my Consort, my Bride, there is no punishment fit enough for your crime, if I am any judge.” Another roll of dark laughter. “Which I was once, but now…” he closes in on Araj, feline and fast, “I’m your executioner.”

You watch, your stomach turning sour at the smell of her fetid blood. He’s so graceful, the way his body moves as he fights, not really a fight. It’s a dance, his movements fatal and swift, his little noises of effort punctuating the silent forest.

You draw closer, until he drops his blades into the mat of leaves on the forest floor. She’s still twitching on the ground, Araj, lover of all things sanguine, laying in a pool of her own life’s blood.

It’s more than enough vengeance for now. His arms sweep you up, taking you from the carnage.

Taking you to safety.

A clearing bathed in the moonlight… not unlike your first time. If only you knew the road ahead of you that night and all the pleasures and love that awaited.

You still smell fetid blood in your nose, you still feel the burn of silver round your wrist and ankles.

He sets you gingerly on the ground, his eyes looking everywhere but your face. His heart pounds so heavily, you can hear it as if it is your own. His touch pulses with it in his fingers, his hands turning over the burn marks on your pale skin. Hetugs where your sleeves and trousers have been torn to expose you, to make room for the silver chains to corrode into your flesh. “That bitch… I hope she does slowly, I hope she’s still in agony for what she did to you,” he spits, words hissing between his clenched teeth.

“Never,” he proclaims so loudly it hurts your ears. Suddenly both palms press into your face, making you turn to meet his glowing crimson eyes. He’s livid, silver brows furrowed deep, thick lips somewhere between a frown and a snarl. “Never again, I’m never letting you out of my sight again, darling. Where you go, I go. I will always be watching you everywhere you go. And never again will you stray from my side, do you hear me? Don’t you dare….” The ferocious snarl, the fearsome timbre of his voice, snaps in an instant.

His face presses against you, nose to nose, his forehead hot and damp with sweat where it crams against yours, his cheeks beginning to stain with wet. “Don’t… I can’t… I can’t lose you again.” He sobs, his tongue licking his lips from the salty strains of tears. “I’m not strong enough for that.”

His arms wrap around your head, pulling you into his blood spattered and embroidered jacket. His favorite one, with the golden stitched peacocks on a sea of cream silk. But it wasn’t cream any longer. You hiss as your hands and wrists brush his body. Instantly he recoils, concern etched across his handsome features. That mask of indifference he wears so often as Ascendant has vanished. And all you see staring at you in the dark woods, huddled on the ground, is the man who loves you, who stops at nothing to rescue you.

He pretends his cheeks aren’t wet, pretends that aquiline nose of his isn’t almost running. He brings your wrists to his mouth, kissing over the burn marks as if his lips could heal you.

As if his love could heal you alone.

You shiver in pain. The wounds are still fresh and raw with blisters. He instantly starts to work the buttons of that jacket, his pale skin exposed to the night as he wraps it around your shaking shoulders.

His heat saturates the fabric, his eyes and hands busy as he snugs it tightly around your frame. But behind his eyes, inside his thoughts he only hears that beat of how he needs to save you.

Just as you have always saved him.

Fangs pierce his own naked wrist, his blood, warm and tingling, drips with a hiss on your burned skin, blisters fading and raw skin knitting back together the second it connects with his powerful essence. Quickly, he moves to your ankles, making sure every little bit of your injuries is bathed in his blood.

Feeling returns to your extremities. You wriggle them, and Astarion leans closer, bringing his wrist to your lips, letting it whet your hunger.

Your stomach turns at the taste, instantly needing more in your belly, instantly losing all sense of pain. Or fear. Or loneliness. Not now that his power flows from his veins to yours. And you release your lips after a few swallows. Just enough to steady your head.

He’s shushing you softly, muttering to himself, “Never agains, never…”

“Astarion,” you breathe, “you are strong.”

“No,” he shakes his head, bringing you against his warm chest, “I can’t be if it comes to losing you….” His breath is ragged in his lungs, heart racing still from his rescue.

And fear.

“Then we are strong enough together, my love,” you force his face in your hand, turning it, making him, compelling him, to meet your gaze. “I knew you’d come,” you whisper, feeling him lean a little harder into your touch. “You fearsome Vampire Ascendant, if I need to be confident enough for both of us, then let me do that for you.”

He gives a wet laugh, “My consort, my queen, my right hand….”

“The hand that helps pull you up even when I’m the cause of your fall,” you give a tender smile in return.

He gives you a smile that resembles more of his rakish smirk, if still a bit tragic and a bit forced. “Maybe there’s something that hand of yours could pull… if you’re offering.”

Your hand strays down the soft skin of his chest… his stomach. “I wouldn’t want to spoil you, but you do so love when your acts of heroism are compensated, I recall….”

“Rewarded, my little love,” he tries to chuckle. Still weak, his body showing more of the despair that still blisters inside him that his words will allow to describe. “Why don’t you reward me,” he looks down on you with those big, wet crimson eyes, “haven’t I been so good to you?”

“Of course,” you whisper, pressing your hand in the valley of his chest, making him flatten out on the forest floor.

Not unlike days of old.

“You’re always so good to me, won’t you let me be good to you in return?” you slink your way over his body, spreading your thighs so straddle those hips of his.

“I have earned it, haven’t I?” He preens beneath you, just a small spark of that arrogance and seduction coming back. His hands haven’t left your body, pawing at your hips, running up your back.

As if he will never let you go, never let himself lose you again.

You shrug the weight of his jacket from your shoulders and pull the edges of your long tunic over your head, torn and dirty as it is, you breathe a sigh of relief. The dark of his pupils consume that ring of red around them, eyes dilating to see your breasts, a sight just for him. Instantly his hands reach for them, one in each palm, cradled in his touch, so soft and so perfectly. You long to taste him, to get the sour tang of fear and bile that still lingers in your mind, despite even the taste of his ascendant blood on your tongue.

His lips shake as they meet your own, almost unwilling to believe he gets to do this again. Disbelieving he’s managed to save you, to decimate your enemies with you so deep in their clutches.

He basks in the way your body clings to him, like he does every chance he has to sit curled in the sun. A little smile on his lips, even as they dance and devour yours. His touch reverently ghosts up your belly, tantalizingly light on your skin, tucking into the waistband of your trousers to try to slink them down.

But you smile into his kiss, brushing his hands away like gnats. “My love…” you rasp, “did you ask to try to remove those?”

“No,” he growls in reply, hands instantly slinking back up your body, brushing against your swaying breasts to cradle the back of your neck.

“Mmmm, that’s better,” you moan slightly into his mouth. Hands splayed on his chest, you raise yourself back up, feeling the heat and pressure of his growing erection beneath your body. A slight wriggle of your hips makes his mouth hang slack. “Let me just ride you, my love. Let me make you feel that I’m here with you.”

He groans at that. Hands planting firmly back on your hips, you slowly grind on that length, feeling it hardening under you. But you tutt your tongue, sliding down his thighs. “Can’t have you hard down your leg, can we?”

He shakes his head, “By the hells no,” he hisses as you reach in to adjust him. He groans as you take his shaft in your grip, a few gentle pumps aren’t enough for him over that steely hard erection. You sweep your thumb over that weeping slit, just enough to make the bead of precum slick your fingers before you let go, keeping his cock inside the waistband of his breeches.

Tongue running over one fang, he watches as you lick your fingers clean, as you slide your body back over to grind on his aching hardness. “Aren’t I worthy of a little more reward for my heroics?” He tries to sound demanding, but with each buck of your hips that rubs the heat and fabric where you join, he only grows more desperate.

“Good things come to Ascendant Lords who wait, my love,” you purr, slowing the way your hips gyrate over his just to prove your point. Fingernails claw into your hip bones, scoring and tearing your skin. His head digs back into the ground, the rustle of leaves beneath him a staccato to the way his breath pours out in a long pant. “Tch,” you lean down to capture that mouth that twists in agony. “Easy my love,” you whisper as his lips try to consume your own cold breath. His hands press on your shoulders, the back of your neck, holding you steady as he thrusts up into that warming crease between your thighs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damned right, you’re not,” he growls, a tenacity in his tone and ferocity in the way his fingers cling into your mussy hair. “And you’re mine…”

You shake free of his hold, sliding to slip off your trousers, the night air making every hair on your body prickle. Your nipples firm up harder than pebbles, even as your nerves burn to take his heat within you, for him to thrust his pulsing cock inside, to fill you with the friction you crave more to survive than blood.

But instead you settle back, your folds wet and pressing into the suede of his breeches. “Your reward is rather cruel, little love,” he hisses, nearly whining, even as his voice rumbles in his chest. “May I touch my spoils?” he whispers.

A wicked, gaping smirk on your lips and your head throw back as you demonstrate. “Like this, my lord?” You still on his prodding cock, lifting your hips just enough for his darkened eyes to watch your fingers slip loudly into your drenched folds. Your stroke, you circle and curl, whatever movements make the most sounds. Astarion’s hands slowly creep from your hips lower… lower… daring silently as he encroaches closer where you now ride your own touch.

You smile, closing your eyes, giving him a little nod, a little gift of your permission as his thumb slips inside where your fingers already play. His cock presses into you as his fingers slide over your clit. That bulge throbs through the now soaked spanse of suede, a satisfied smirk on his face as his touch catches you just right.

As your thighs grip him hard, as your own hand goes still inside your entrance, leaving you with just that merciful stroke of his thumb on your clit as he steals your breath. As the warmth of pleasure blooms from your belly. As you buck and writhe all the harder, all the more erratic until your vision swims.

Boneless, shivering, you’re pulled down to his mouth, fingers gently throttling you as you stil gasp for air from your climax.

It feels… so good. Saved. Rescued. Claimed. Good to be his.

His kiss is all tongue and fangs, those little growls and huffs he makes when he feeds on you filling your mouth as he caresses you. His hands slink into the new open space he’s made, fingers snapping his laces open. Finally almost freeing himself.

But you laugh, sinking your own fang into his lip to make him gasp and freeze in pain. “Naughty,” you breathe before sucking on that seeping blood. “You know better than that… you know to ask first, my love.” You chastise him, making him shudder under your lips. “But since you were so wonderful being my hero, saving your lady love, I’ll forgive you…” you raise up, feeling his hands tugging fiercely, not even finishing all the straps to release that aching erection.

“To the victor…” he raps, guiding your body to sink quickly on his shaft… He pants in delight as you squeeze around him at last, “go the spoils.” His chest rises and falls, pale skin catching in the moonlight, his sweat glistening. But you can’t tear away from his mouth. Not with how he works his lips on yours, his tongue tangling in time with every little thrust you make.

One of his arms presses you closer to join where he fucks up into you, where you soak his skin and slap hard against him. But that other, that other arm winds behind your shoulders, hand clawed into the base of your neck, keeping your breath as his breath, your tongue twisted with his. But it’s not enough… not hard enough or fast enough, even as you feel his breathing grow ragged.

You sit up, launching off his chest with two hands braced. He whines, whines to have you break from his clutches. A single finger crooking, you beckon him up to you. A rustle of leaves, the scent of damp, nighttime earth in your nose, and he obeys to sit up too. Eager, biting his fangs into his bottom lip. Hips rolling, back arched in deepest pleasure, you feel his tongue lapping up, a single damp streak between your breasts. Those dexterous hands grip into your skin, those powerful arms that snapped your enemies in half are wrapped tenderly around your waist.

He growls against your neck, too hesitant to bite. Warm lips wrap around your ear, the loud suck, the squelch of his tongue sends ice cold shivers of pleasure right down your spine. One more time, a loud suck, the clack of his fangs together in your ear, and you shatter, another wave of orgasm ripping you in two. Wetness squirts down your thighs, his cock is so slick inside you from your arousal, even as thick and hot as he has grown approaching his own release.

Even as your walls clutch and undulate through his thrusts into you that never relent.

His back is wet, dead leaves clinging to his shoulders as you hold him, trying to keep your balance against the flexing muscles of his back. Your rogue, your hero, he takes advantage of your breathless submission as you float down from orgasm to clutch you even harder. His voice grates in his throat, thick with desire and breathless from exertion. “May I…”

“What do you wish?” you murmur, slack in his arms as he thrusts with desperation, your body barely able to ride him much longer.

“I want…” he pants, “to fill you. For you to seep with me, to make you…” he groans as you shudder at that dark, deep tone in his voice, “make you full of my seed and scent. So I’ll always be able to find you, darling…”

“Yes,” you hiss somewhere in the middle of his words. A shuddering whine in his throat, and you feel every muscle tighten like a bow string. Rolling you to your back, he presses your legs into your body, the heat of your folds now open to the night air. Hips snap hard, reckless and with abandon. He fucks into you at his pleasure, at his mercy. His eyes don’t seem to blink as he stares into your own face. Dirt smudges his cheek, but it’s that haze in his eyes, that way his mouth twists in beautiful bliss that makes your own body hum to be used.

Pressing you, folding you bent and spread for him, he cages you into the earth this time. A smirk, wide and toothy, pants down from above you, those dark crimson eyes flutter shut as he bucks and shudders. One loud pant that sticks in his throat and your walls grow warm, coated as he does fill you, cum and arousal leaking into the dirt. Not for the first time.

Not for the last.

Breath heavy, skin damp, he hugs you into him, the echo of his beating heart in your own chest hard enough to almost be your own.

“Never again, my love, my consort,” he whispers, more to himself than for your ears. “I’ll spend the rest of our lives rescuing you… as you rescued me.”

With one last kiss, he softens over you, almost sleepy in his breath, and you wipe the mud from his cheek.

That roguish mud from his ascended skin. And nestled as he is, he smiles against your breast as you do.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Something something, stag/deer coded knight Simon riley, because that characterisation is just speaking to me.

There's this gritty wilderness to him that's unlike a predator- he's not made of snarling jaws and frosted black fur that creeps and stalks, keening to sink his teeth into anything he deems tasty. He's something else- something just as enduring and strong. Something that survives in this cutthroat existence, despite being something that can be perceived as prey.

He's made of muscle and height and jagged antlers. Sharp keen eyes, and a stare that sees through walls. Listening. Watching. Observing for danger to fend off. His strength is silent. All he needs to do is stand in a room and command with his eyes and stance, and onlookers will fall meek. He doesn't even seem like a man- more like a creature from the woods, one that parents would warn their children of to stay away if they want to stay alive. The way he intensely stares with his dark doe eyes and stands tall as if he were bearing a breast of muscle and bone and soul of something old and wise beyond his years.

He'd always shedding velvet, shedding skin, shedding weakness and identity. Losing parts of himself to become anew- become something that can serve something more than just desire. Purpose.

He was once a little spindly legged fawn. Freckled and small, fluttery blonde lashes and wide black eyes. Always stumbling and coping- pushed to the back of the group and dismissed, left to fend for himself. Cast aside to survive in this harsh world that devours anything meek and soft. No longer a little fawn that scrapes by to survive. Now he's the trees that he once looked up at with awe and fright and wonder. All imposing height. Towering and formidable- proud and stoic and unwavering. Moody and territorial and righteous by his own means.

He grew out of his meek body and thin skin and tearful eyes to be something that could protect you- to be the thing he needed to be- no, wanted to be.

He doesn't blame you for not recognising him, sweet thing. It was so long ago. You couldn't possibly guess that the forgotten little doe that once shyly approached you in that barn all those years ago is now your formidable protector who bestows the grace and brute strength of a stag now. Rough and grizzled and bloodied.

Maybe once he's content with playing this little guessing game by giving you glances and gentle passive looks, he'll tell you who he is. Watch your face fall in awe and shock, maybe a little fear, and then finally into something akin to happiness.

There's no reason to fear anymore. He did it, like he said he would... He said he'd look after you, didn't he? Now he can.

[apiswitchcraft]

orphic hymns to apollo and diana

i should mention that i did NOT write these!! they are from like the 1st century AD lol

APOLLO:

Blest Pæan, come, propitious to my prayer, illustrious power, whom Memphian tribes revere,

Slayer of Tityus, and the God of health, Lycorian Phœbus, fruitful source of wealth.

Spermatic, golden-lyred, the field from thee receives it's constant, rich fertility.

Titanic, Grunian, Smynthian, thee I sing, Python-destroying, hallowed, Delphian king:

Rural, light-bearer, and the Muse's head, noble and lovely, armed with arrows dread:

Far-darting, Bacchian, two-fold, and divine, power far diffused, and course oblique is thine.

O, Delian king, whose light-producing eye views all within, and all beneath the sky:

Whose locks are gold, whose oracles are sure, who, omens good reveals, and precepts pure:

Hear me entreating for the human kind, hear, and be present with benignant mind;

For thou surveys this boundless æther all, and every part of this terrestrial ball

Abundant, blessed; and thy piercing sight, extends beneath the gloomy, silent night;

Beyond the darkness, starry-eyed, profound, the stable roots, deep fixed by thee are found.

The world's wide bounds, all-flourishing are thine, thyself all the source and end divine:

'Tis thine all Nature's music to inspire, with various-sounding, harmonizing lyre;

Now the last string thou tuned to sweet accord, divinely warbling now the highest chord;

The immortal golden lyre, now touched by thee, responsive yields a Dorian melody.

All Nature's tribes to thee their difference owe, and changing seasons from thy music flow

Hence, mixed by thee in equal parts, advance Summer and Winter in alternate dance;

This claims the highest, that the lowest string, the Dorian measure tunes the lovely spring.

Hence by mankind, Pan-royal, two-horned named, emitting whistling winds through Syrinx famed;

Since to thy care, the figured seal is consigned, which stamps the world with forms of every kind.

Hear me, blessed power, and in these rites rejoice, and save thy mystics with a suppliant voice.

DIANA:

Hear me, Jove's daughter, celebrated queen, Bacchian and Titan, of a noble mien:

In darts rejoicing and on all to shine, torch-bearing Goddess, Dictynna divine;

Over births presiding, and thyself a maid, to labor-pangs imparting ready aid:

Dissolver of the zone and wrinkled care, fierce huntress, glorying in the Sylvan war:

Swift in the course, in dreadful arrows skilled, wandering by night, rejoicing in the field:

Of manly form, erect, of bounteous mind, illustrious dæmon, nurse of human kind:

Immortal, earthly, bane of monsters fell, 'tis thine; blest maid, on woody hills to dwell:

Foe of the stag, whom woods and dogs delight, in endless youth who flourish fair and bright.

O, universal queen, august, divine, a various form, Cydonian power, is thine:

Dread guardian Goddess, with benignant mind auspicious, come to mystic rites inclined

Give earth a store of beauteous fruits to bear, send gentle Peace, and Health with lovely hair,

And to the mountains drive Disease and Care.

Dividers by @vibeswithrenai

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 1 EPISODE 10 || BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The realization of Jamie’s imminent departure was deeply depressing; I suddenly realized just how much I looked forward to seeing him at dinner after the day’s work, how my heart would leap when I saw him unexpectedly at odd moments during the day, and how much I depended on his company and his solid, reassuring presence amid the complexities of life in the castle. And, to be perfectly honest, how much I liked the smooth, warm strength of him in my bed each night, and waking to his tousled, smiling kisses in the mornings. The prospect of his absence was bleak. He held me closely, my head snuggled under his chin. “I’ll miss you, Jamie,” I said softly. He hugged me tighter, and gave a rueful chuckle. “So will I, Sassenach. I hadna expected it, to tell the truth—but it will hurt me to leave ye.” He stroked my back gently, fingers tracing the bumps of the vertebrae.

“Jamie … you’ll be careful?”

I could feel the deep rumble of amusement in his chest as he answered. “Of the Duke or the horse?” He was, much to my apprehension, intending to ride Donas on the stag hunt. I had visions of the huge sorrel beast plunging over a cliff out of sheer wrong-headedness, or trampling Jamie under those lethal hooves. “Both,” I said dryly. “If the horse throws you and you break a leg, you’ll be at the Duke’s mercy.” “True. Dougal will be there, though.” I snorted. “He’ll break the other leg.” He laughed and bent his head to kiss me.

“I’ll be careful, mo duinne. Will ye give me the same promise?” “Yes,” I said, meaning it. “Do you mean whoever left the ill-wish?” The momentary amusement was gone now.

Perhaps. I dinna think you’re in any danger, or I wouldna leave ye. But still … oh, and stay away from Geillis Duncan.” “What? Why?” I drew back a little to look up at him. It was a dark night and his face was invisible, but his tone was altogether serious. “The woman’s known as a witch, and the stories about her—well, they’ve got a deal worse since her husband died. I dinna want ye anywhere near her, Sassenach.” “Do you honestly think she’s a witch?” I demanded. His strong hands cupped my bottom and scooped me in close to him. I put my arms around him, enjoying the feel of his smooth, solid torso. “No,” he said finally. “But it isna what I think that could be a danger to ye. Will ye promise?”

“All right.” In truth, I had little reluctance to give the promise; since the incidents of the changeling and the summoning, I had not felt much desire to visit Geilie. I put my mouth on Jamie’s nipple, flicking it lightly with my tongue. He made a small sound deep in his throat and pulled me nearer. “Open your legs,” he whispered. “I mean to be sure you’ll remember me while I’m gone.” Sometime later, I woke feeling cold. Groping sleepily for the quilt, I couldn’t find it. Suddenly it came up over me of its own accord. Surprised, I raised up on one elbow to look. “I’m sorry,” Jamie said. “I didna mean to wake ye, lass.” “What are you doing? Why are you awake?” I squinted over my shoulder at him. It was still dark, but my eyes were so accustomed that I could see the faintly sheepish expression on his face. He was wide awake, sitting on a stool by the side of the bed, his plaid flung around him for warmth.

“It’s only … well, I dreamed you were lost, and I couldna find ye. It woke me, and … I wanted to look at ye, is all. To fix ye in my mind, to remember while I’m gone. I turned back the quilt; I’m sorry you were chilled.”

“It’s all right.” The night was cold, and very quiet, as though we were the only two souls in the world. “Come into bed. You must be chilled too.” He slid in next to me and curled himself against my back. His hands stroked me from neck to shoulder,waist to hip, tracing the lines of my back, the curves of my body.

“Mo duinne,” he said softly. “But now I should say mo airgeadach. My silver one. Your hair is silver-gilt and your skin is white velvet. Calman geal. White dove.”

Cap 24 ~OUTLANDER

[lilacella]

hi slothy i have another worldwide woofs request for austrian wolfstar: alpine skier sirius & cross country skier (LANGLÄUFER) remus (bonus points if it's wolfstarbucks and james is a snowboarder) (we would need another hashtag for worldwide wolfstarbucks) (world wide threesome?)

Hello😊❤️! I don't know if these cheesy Lebkuchenherzen are a thing in Austria too but I just think they should have them!!

I just love the concept of James and Sirius shooting down the mountain, doing insane tricks and Remus is just: 😊🥰 Hi! ☺️ I am skiing here 😊 Slow and steady ☺️

I bet he eats snacks out of his pocket at each little peak he has walked up. As he should be!

[onehundredflamingos]

4 / dynamic / 276 words

@stag-microfic

Regulus could hear James and Barty arguing from the street, again. He wasn’t sure why they ever agreed to hang out together while Regulus was at work.

“What is this dynamic?” Regulus asked as he pushed into the front door. “I could hear the two of you screaming from a block away and now you’re — are you playing footsies?”

Their legs were tangled together on the couch, some sort of wrestling match happening between all four feet.

“Sexual tension,” Barty said coolly, making James choke on his own saliva.

“Barty, you can’t just say that about my boyfriend,” Regulus huffed, but he could feel his pupils dilating, could feel his cheeks heating, could feel his cock growing at the thought of the two of them together.

His boyfriend and his best friend. His two favorite people in the world.

Barty hummed, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a smirk. He could see what the comment was doing to Regulus. “But it’s true, isn’t it, pretty boy?”

Regulus watched as James’ Adam’s apple bobbed roughly around a harsh swallow, his moral dilemma warring with his clear desire for Barty.

James shook his head.

“Jamie,” Regulus cooed. “Baby.”

“Y-yes?” James asked, eyes wide, like he was afraid of what Regulus was going to say.

“I think it’s time we resolved this tension,” he replied, this newfound fantasy taking hold of him. “Before the neighbors call in a noise complaint over all your screaming.”

“Oh,” Barty said, shifting closer to James, “if you’re letting me get my hands on your boyfriend’s cock tonight, then tonight is the night your neighbors will be complaining about all the screaming.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

light - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 280

Sirius has been looking forward to this for months. Years, really. As he adjusts his suit and offers his arm to Regulus, he smiles down at his baby brother, heart about to burst with love. "Ready, Reg?" he asks, telling himself it's too early to cry.

And Regulus just nods, looking terrified.

Sirius knows it's not cold feet. Somehow, after years of being with James, Regulus is still convinced that the other man doesn't love him. But now, as Sirius walks Regulus down the aisle to give him away to his best friend, he hopes Regulus can finally see.

Because when they turn the corner and James's eyes lock on Regulus, it's like the whole word goes quiet. Sirius feels Regulus falter and squeezes his arm reassuringly even as he sees James's entire face light up, tears springing to his eyes.

Sirius anticipated James reacting like this, of course. His happiness and tears as Sirius and Regulus slowly walk toward him. But his next comment?

"Fuck!" James swears clear and loud, making the entire crowd gape as he beams, still fifty feet away. "Fuck, do you guys see my husband?"

And he speaks like he can't believe it. Like he's the luckiest man in the world. Like he simply must be dreaming, because every aspect of his life is perfect. Eyes wide and face awed, he is enamored.

Though the silence, Regulus laughs. His nerves leave his face as he lets out a chuckle, leading the entire crowd in a fit of laughter as he rushes forward, grinning, and wraps his arms around James. He looks blissful.

And now, Sirius finally lets the happy tears fall, mixing with his laughs.

[ikkyfics]

— REMUS LUPIN

fluffy ʚଓ angst ✦ hurt & comfort ☘︎

main masterlist

⋆˚࿔ 16 works 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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(4.1k) Sweet Lies ✦ — Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

AUTHOR'S FAVORITE

(1.8k) Full Moon ☘︎ — “You didn’t have to come here,” he murmured, almost as a weak attempt at protest. “I know,” you replied, letting your fingers gently caress his hair, a light and repetitive touch. “But I wasn’t going to let you spend this night alone.”

ONE-SHOTS

(3.6k) When the Stars Fade ✦ — Remus knew—felt—that something was wrong. It wasn’t just the aftermath of the full moon. It was as if the air was heavy, carrying the weight of bitter promises.

(1.2k) Whispers of the Sea ʚଓ — Remus looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."

(1.9k) Lullaby ʚଓ — The quiet cry woke him. Remus approached cautiously, leaning over her. “Hey, my little star, it’s okay. Daddy’s here,” he whispered, his voice so soft it almost got lost in the sound of his breath.

(3.3k) Expecto Patronum ✦ — For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen, but then, a silver light exploded from the tip of your wand, illuminating the clearing. The air grew heavy, as if time had stopped. When the glow faded, a magnificent stag stood before you. Your wide eyes followed it as it trotted across the clearing, majestic and serene. Remus stayed silent, his lips slightly parted. He knew. You knew. There was no denying what it meant. The stag was not just a reflection of your heart, but of what you had always tried to bury.

↳ (6.5k) Finite Incantatem ☘︎ — The days that followed the Patronus were a silent battle. You tried, with all the strength you had, to go back to normal. But what was "normal" when the silver stag continued to haunt your thoughts, even in the absence of its light? You did your best to convince yourself you were fine. And when you couldn’t, Remus was there.

(2.3k) Colors That Speak ʚଓ — “Now it’s my turn.” “What?” You look up, surprised, but he’s already grabbing a blue pen from the table. “It’s not fair if I can’t return the favor.” His tone is mischievous, but the expression in his eyes is so gentle that you can only nod in agreement. When he begins to draw on your arm, something shifts. His touch is gentle, his fingers holding your wrist with a tenderness that makes your heart stumble. He starts with a small star, the line hesitant, but to you, it feels like art.

(3.7k) Unrequited Love ✦ — It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way. And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness. You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

↳ (3.7k) Unrequited Love | part II ʚଓ — Some days he thought about going to you, trying to say something to fix things. Other days, he knew it would be pointless. He didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve the smile he used to get, the attention that made him feel... seen. As if all parts of himself, even the ones he despised, were worthy of acceptance.

(4.1k) Sweet Lies ✦ — Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

↳ (1.4k) Consequences ✦ — Remus had never hated himself more. He leaned against the wall of an empty corridor, his fists clenched at his sides, trembling. He wanted to scream, but he felt like it would be pointless. Screaming wouldn’t erase what he had done. It wouldn’t relieve the fact that he had hurt you in a way that never be fixed.

(2.5k) Distraction ʚଓ — But most of all, you wanted him to know. You wanted to tell him how important he was, how he was more than just a friend to you, even if that meant risking everything. And yet, you couldn’t. Not when he seemed so calm, so oblivious to any feelings you might be silently holding.

↳ (1.7k) Attention ʚଓ — "I really don't know how I'm going to get over this," you teased, a smile forming even before you finished the sentence. "Fresh flowers and a book? You're spoiling me, Remus." He laughed, a low, almost contained sound, but you noticed how his shoulders relaxed, as if he were relieved by your reaction. "Well, I'd say you deserve this and more."

(1.4k) Beyond Words ʚଓ — “Tough day?” Remus asked, turning slightly to watch you more closely. You shrugged. “Kind of. Just… a lot of noise. I needed a little peace.” “Well, you came to the right place.”

(1.8k) Full Moon ☘︎ — “You didn’t have to come here,” he murmured, almost as a weak attempt at protest. “I know,” you replied, letting your fingers gently caress his hair, a light and repetitive touch. “But I wasn’t going to let you spend this night alone.”

(1.7k) Letter to Santa Claus ʚଓ — you convince Remus to write a letter to Santa Claus

(1.5k) Adorable ʚଓ — “You know, Remus, if you weren’t so adorable, you probably wouldn’t have gotten the chocolate.”

[polo-drone-001]

The Awakening of Freyr – Preparing for the Ice Hockey Match

Ezan was a beast on the soccer field, a force of pure dominance, but ice hockey was another battlefield entirely. The skates, the ice, the need for fluidity instead of brute power, it frustrated him beyond words. He trained harder than anyone, pushed himself past the limit, but something wasn’t clicking. Even with advice from Briar, the Ace of Ice Hockey, and Icelander Daniel, the breakthrough never came. He hated feeling like this, hated the uncertainty, the stagnation. Ezan was unstoppable, but now he was stuck.

After another brutal practice, he stormed into the Golden Army headquarters, dropping into his chair. His golden eyes flicked to the match schedule. The Golden Army vs. Pachy Pack. The toughest team they’d face this season. His jaw clenched. His fingers drummed against the desk. He skipped practice the next day, not because he was giving up but because he couldn’t stomach the frustration anymore. Instead, he showed up as Percival, the team’s head office manager. He strategized, analyzed, watched every move, but even Percival couldn’t fix what was missing.

After another crushing session, he sat alone in the locker room, head in his hands. Daniel walked in, saying nothing, just placing a steady hand on his shoulder. That quiet presence said more than words ever could. Percival exhaled deeply, leaning into it, and in that instant, Daniel was gone. Fenrir stood in his place, silver-white fur shimmering under the dim lights, golden eyes filled with knowing. Percival didn’t resist. He let himself collapse into the warmth, the strength, the raw presence of the wolf god. No talking. No thinking. Just acceptance.

The next afternoon, Percival left the Golden Stadium, walking until the world around him turned quiet. The Eldingr Woods stretched before him, the scent of pine and fresh earth filling his lungs. The Vetrgull River shimmered like molten gold in the fading light, and there, at the edge of the tree line, stood the stag. Massive. Watching him. Its antlers gleamed like polished gold, eyes locked onto him with divine weight. He followed without hesitation, deeper into the untouched parts of the forest, until they arrived at a massive rune stone, golden inscriptions glowing along its surface.

At its base lay a cloak, The Shimmering Golden Stag Cloak. It pulsed with something more than magic, something more than power. It was a calling. Percival reached for it, and the moment it draped over his shoulders, his body ignited. Energy surged through every muscle. His mind expanded, memories of past lives crashing over him. His form shifted, golden eyes burning with an icy-blue fire, hair braided into Nordic patterns, veins glowing with divine strength. He was no longer Percival. No longer Ezan. The stag had not just guided him. It had awakened him. He had become Freyr.

When Freyr stepped back onto the Golden Army’s field, the entire team felt it before they saw him. The air shifted. The energy changed. The players stopped mid-motion. The drones froze in place. The golden bros turned, eyes wide. He walked in, golden veins pulsing, power radiating from his very existence. Ezan had been a powerhouse. Percival had been a strategist. But Freyr was something beyond both. He did not just command strength. He granted it. He did not just inspire loyalty. He was worshipped. The Golden Army had a new force among them, and now, they were ready for war.

That night, when Ezan stepped onto the ice, there was no hesitation. No doubt. He moved with effortless precision, each stride fluid, each movement calculated. He was faster. Sharper. Unstoppable. Briar smirked. "Looks like you finally figured it out, bro." Daniel grinned. "Took you long enough." Ezan rolled his shoulders, his golden gaze gleaming under the arena lights. "Nah. I just remembered who the fuck I am." The whistle blew. The puck dropped. And with the power of a god fueling him, Ezan dominated the ice like he was born to rule it.

@polo-drone-050 @danielgold-16

@polo-drone-070

🔥 Ready to embrace gold? 🔥 Hit me up @polo-drone-001 or reach out to our Caps @goldenherc9 & @brodygold to join the brotherhood. 🏆✨

[that-one-gay-from-the-gay-club]

HI IM A LITTLE LATE I WAS AT A CONCERT HSHZHDUAAUID

@croptopjames <3 NSFW but not explicit

It's sinful, fucking sinful.

When Regulus agreed to be dragged along to this guys birthday party as part of him and his brother reconciling, this isn't how he thought it would go.

He thought it would maybe go something along the lines of he got a drink or two or three, say hi to the birthday boy, meet his brothers boyfriend and other two "best friends in the whole- the whoolle wide world reggie" he had slurred just slightly (just preparty drinks things), and then maybe, maybe if he got drunk enough, dance a bit. You know.

Most of those things did happen, to be fair. But the one thing he didn't see coming was James Fleamont Potter.

James potter, with his fucking dancing and his fucking hips and that fucking crop top. He had a waist that regulus just wanted to sink his teeth into, one that would look much better with handprint bruises, and his tattoo, that fucking tattoo, the stag antlers just barely peeking over his jeans.

Just barely, that is, until James hooks a finger in his waistband and starts swaying his hips to the beat of the music, other arm holding his bottle above his head, the head that's thrown back exposing a neck Regulus just wants to wrap his hands around and squeeze.

The worst decision he could make is walk over to him.

So he walks over to him, drink in hand (there's no way he's leaving it unattended) and smiles his most innocent smile. He looks up at James though his eyelashes, a perk of being the smallest black brother.

"And who might you be?" James grins. "No no, noono let me guess. Baby Black."

"Oh fuck that Nickname sucks, Potter" Regulus all but shudders

"Potter? Not James?" He pouts. Regulus wants to bite that lip, bite down on it and pull antil it bleeds. He wants to watch the blood run down James's chin and then lick it off.

He's so fucked. He stands up on tiptoe, so he can be right next to James's ear. He'll blame it on the music.

"James" he murmurs, low and dark and sweet all at the same time. He could have sworn James shuddered at the name.

"Regulus." James copies his tone, in his own ear, and if he sounded anything like that whilst saying James's name then he's surprised James is still upright. It makes his knees buckle for a second.

Strong arms wrap around his waist, and a slower song comes on.

"Dance with me?"

Regulus nods. Its polite, isn't it? It's rude to say no to the birthday boy. Even if, technically, it stopped being his birthday about an hour ago. The pair dance, and get far too close, and Regulus has his hands on that fucking crop top and on James's stupid little waist. It's fucking- it's not tiny, but it's not big. It's muscled. Seriously, the man is sculpted from clay or some shit.

Regulus tugs at the crop top. It reaches to a little above his belly button, and Regulus really really wants to rip it off.

"Now now honey, what are you doing that for?" Regulus blushes at the pet name, and it's almost impossible to hide because of how pale he is. James smirks, fucking smirks. Its usually something regulus Hayes, but on James it makes him want to kiss, and scratch and bite and make James his.

"Do you maybe want to go upstairs?" James asks, almost hesitantly, despite how confidently he's now murmuring in Regulus's ear and- and oh fuck, and kissing his neck.

He nods, frantically, resisting the urge to bite his lip.

"Not good enough, baby, I want to hear you say it" James says, standing up straight again, cocky smile back in place.

Regulus can play that game too. He stands on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around James's neck and breathing in his ear.

"Please, sir? Can we go upstairs, to your room?" He says, tongue dripping with honey, as he gently tugs at James's earlobe with his teeth