#blasting away the wankers

[ladysmutwriter]

Off with your head

Simon Henriksson x Female!Reader x David Leatherhoff

After going to the disco with your boyfriend David and his -weird- friend Simon, you three go to your house; little did Henrikkson know what you two had in mind.

Two chapters mixed into one <3

@/ p365x.art on Instagram

The music blasted in your ears, sweaty bodies against yours as everyone danced and drank under the blinding neon lights; David's hands going all over your body as he danced behind you, big hands groping your soft flesh as he had a beer on his free hand.

Simon was sitting on a chair nearby, face flushed as he saw how attractive you were- shit, you were his best friend's girlfriend, but the way the lights shined on your slightly sweaty body, David's hands going under your small tight shirt as you kept dancing. He didn't even know how a junkie like him got you, shit, you had a nice work, was friendly to everybody and had the body Simon had only dreamt on seeing on someone in real life.

Little did he know, everything was planned tonight. David had spoken to you about Simon's shitty love life, being rejected by Sophie and being probably a chronic wanker, porn magazines always laying on his floor whenever David went to visit him; so he had asked you if you'd like to take part on his little plan.

David was always someone to try new things, but he knew that if he tried anything with Simon alone he'd freak out and call him gay, and you'd be pretty pissed too; so what a better idea than to seduce him into a threesome? He saw how Simon looked at you, as if you were some eye-candy, his eyes undressing you as his face got redder, he stumbled over his words and stay like 5 feet away from you, and not to mention the odd sexual tension he sometimes had with him too.

Simon's head turned from the beer in his hand to you sitting next to him, David nowhere in sight; your skin was wet and you smelled like cheap beer.

"That asshole dropped his beer on me" you told Simon, him answering with a low "mhm" as he tried not to stare at you.

Simon was never one of too many words when you were around, usually lost in thought as he almost ignored you- not even the booze on his veins making him more social- until he felt your hand.

His eyes opened like plates, feeling your wet hand squishing his thigh, and soon enough, your face was close to his, your eyes half lidded as they stared into his own dark pupils, his lips turning into a thin line as his mind went blank. You began speaking about something he couldn't hear over the music, your lips whispering as he became hypnotized with the way they looked- the shade of your lipstick suddenly becoming his favorite color as his eyes became stuck to the way you'd stick out your tongue to lick them, your hand getting dangerously high near his groin where a tent was forming, thumb rubbing circles over his jeans as his face drained from all the color it had.

Was this even real? Perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks, perhaps you were just cleaning your hand on his jeans as mockery, and he was just misunderstanding the situation. Shit-

It all happened to quickly, as now you were massaging his hard dick over his jeans, eyes fixated on his bulge as you bit your lip; Simon's hand going to grab his chair as his eyes closed, too lost in the feeling of being touched for the first time too even realize your hand left him as soon as David arrived with drinks for the three of you.

The night kept on as normal, you kept on drinking and talking nonsense with David, completely ignoring what had just happened.

Soon enough, you three were drunkenly walking to your house, since David lived with you and Simon's mother was having her boyfriend on her house, so he'd stay at your place too.

Getting into your house it was just like he imagined it, dirty clothes on the floor, a bong on the dinner table and three cats you had rescued off the streets meowing as soon as you three entered.

Simon went to the gaming chair in your room, David following him as he dropped to the king sized bed, taking off his hoddie leaving him in his green turtle-neck, him blubbering some drunken nonsense as he instantly fell asleep, Simon checking his phone as he texted his mom saying he'd stay over David's house tonight.

After you finished feeding the cats, you entered the room and laughed at David already snoring, sitting on the edge of the bed as you stared at Simon.

He stared akwardly back at you, not sure if he should ask you where he'd sleep, his mind drifting towards the club where you began touching him.

Getting up from the bed, giving him a little "shh" pointing at David, you kneeled in front of him, hands opening his legs as you went to work on his zipper.

Simon went non-verbal, breath stuck in his throat as you undid his zipper, your hands massaging his thighs as you watched the tent in his boxers begin to get bigger; Simon biting his lip as he tried not to moan like a girl, his eyes fixated on the way your warmth felt, how tight your top was, how smudged your lipstick was from making out with David before- fuck, what if he woke up? David would probably beat the shit out you two.

He didn't even realize David was watching you two, a smile plastered on his face.

Your hands went to caress the outline of his hard cock, fingers skillfully applying pressure on his wet tip as your tongue went to lick over the fabric, your hot, steamy breath hitting against his sensible skin turning him mad, his hands covering his eyes as he tried hard enough to not let any noise slip out, failing miserably as little meowls and little whispers of "more" left his lips, his soul leaving his body as you shoved down his pants and boxers, his cock standing pridefully in front of your hungry face, a little drop of drool leaving your mouth as you licked your lips, eyes focused on his virgin cock. Simon didn't even notice David going behind him, until he felt his cold hands moving Simon's hands away from his face- but before he could even react, your soft lips engulfed his aching cock, your mouth sucking him in a way he didn't even imagine was possible, body going weak as David began kissing and leaving hickeys over his neck, your mouth bobbing up and down, tongue licking the veins of his shaft as your hands jerked off what your mouth couldn't reach.

David's hand went to Simon's, guiding his hand towards your head as he pushed you deeper, you groaning out in annoyance, feeling Simon's tip hit the back of your throat, Simon letting out filthy groans as he felt the tight reflexes of your throat hug his cock, the obsene sounds you were making as you sucked him only getting him more off. David began dirty talking, something he was really into recently- "you're taking this poor boy's virginity, fucking slut", the warmth in your legs becoming wet at his words downgrading you, Simon now moving his head to let David suck on his neck better, different red circles turning purple as he licked and bite the soft skin of Simon.

Feeling his cock twitch in your mouth, you took a deep breath through your nose and digged your fingers into your thighs as you pushed your head to the base of his cock, the sensation of his cock choking you making him let out a loud groan as he came inside your mouth- hands tangling in your head as his thighs began to shake. Taking him off of your mouth, you got up and kissed Simon, semen and spit mixing in your mouths as your tongue battled against his, David separating from Simon's neck, his lips puffy as he grabbed Simon roughly by the hair as he forced him to break the kiss, David's mouth going onto Simon's as you went to the bed and began undressing, your fingers going to your cunt as you jerked off watching the men make out, Simon's cock once again hardening at hearing your moans as wet sounds as your hand vigorously fingered your pussy, and the feeling of David's manly scent entering Simon's nose only making him go crazier with his tongue now against his best friend's one.

Breaking the kiss, David grabbed Simon's arm, pushing him to the bed, his hands going to take off Simon's hoodie, it landing on a random place in your room- you crawled over Simon, your ass facing David as he smacked you hard on your cheek, you going to bit down on Simon's shoulder as you felt the sharp pain explore your body, pleasure taking over your body as Simon's hands nervously groped your tits, hands going to play with your nipples as they simultaneously squeezed your breasts. After David's hands were marked in a red shape on your ass, his fingers went to his mouth, licking them and once he felt they were "lubed" enough, two digits went to your rear entrance, his fingers roughly pushing inside your tight entrace as he began finger fucking you in the ass, shameless moans leaving your mouth as you went to kiss Simon, your hand going down to his cock, pushing it inside your cunt as you began moving, the feeling of his tip opening your insides as David's long fingers fucked you from behind turning you crazy, the so well feeling of your orgasm quickly approaching.

Noticing this, David took his fingers out as he pulled down his pants, taking his cock in his hand before guiding it to your ass, his tip opening your tight hole, groans of pain and pleasure coming out of your mouth, David was big, and if you usually had problems with fitting him inside your cunt then behind wasn't going to be any easier, the feeling of burning pain going to your brain as Simon's cock head began hitting deeper inside of you, David's cock finally penetrating you harshly, the pain becoming too much to ignore it now, your teeth biting once again into Simon's shoulder as a few tears ran down your face.

Simon loved pain- the feeling of your teeth almost breaking his skin sending him to the clouds, as he could feel David's cock inside of you, making you more tight and driving him to his next orgasm.

With a loud moan, Simon felt his thighs shake again, his semen exploring your insides as he breathed heavily, the overstimulation driving him crazy as he moaned uncomfortably- but still enjoying it. You on the other hand, were finally stretched enough to enjoy it, your mouth open as you laid like a ragdoll, David moving your hips as you felt both your holes filled to the brim, the sensation of Simon's hot jizz running down your cunt onto your thighs making you reach paradise- soon enough David following Simon as he too came inside of you, ending it all with a harsh slap to your ass.

#cry of fear #cry of fear smut #cry of fear x reader #david leatherhoff x reader #simon henriksson x reader

[rockingrobin69]

Step up

For the glorious @mintamintathings, 900 words. TW for alcohol. 

Draco closed his eyes and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. His head shook with the vibrations, smacking against the tiles every time he took a gasping breath to the rhythm of distant music. Gods. How ridiculous, how impossibly ridiculous this all was, the entire fucking situation. He tried to raise a hand to wipe his face, but it was heavier than lead. It just lay there in the ends of his useless arm. Useless—everything was useless. Draco laughed, choking on each sob of it like he was a child, like he was insane. He was a little bit of both.

“Malfoy?”

He stopped laughing, but only for a hiccough, tearing through his chest. Then another stab of manic laughter. “What—” another hiccough—“Do you want?”

He meant to inflect more. To make it accusatory: what do you want? Or at the very least, what do you want? Instead it sounded like a joke. Potter, to his credit, didn’t laugh. Draco’s chest was still going up and down too fast for comfort.

“I just—you disappeared.”

“No, I didn’t,” was what Draco intended to say. What he garbled instead was a matter of chance.

“It’s your party.”

Finally a good point. Draco bestowed a generous shrug.

Potter sighed and then suddenly, out of nowhere, he was down by Draco’s head, crouching improbably close. “Why are you hiding back here at your own party?”

“Am not hiding,” Draco huffed. “Just—tired.”

“Tired.” Potter lifted a thick eyebrow. Were they always so thick? So black, too?

“My arms won’t move,” Draco said, and it wasn’t an excuse, because he didn’t need to excuse himself to Potter. In his own party. Even if he was lying on the floor in the kitchen laughing like a bastard.

“Your—what?”

“Look,” Draco whined, wiggling them. “I can’t. Training broke me.”

Now Potter laughed, and it wasn’t even a bad laughter. “Training didn’t break you, don’t be such a crybaby. I thought you were trying to impress me.”

“Exactly, I—what? Who said I was—” he squinted, which for some reason made Potter laugh even more. “I’m not trying anything. Wanker.”

The last word was served with such venom, it should have scared Potter away. Instead he actually sat down on the floor next to him, and picked up one of Draco’s useless arms.

“What on earth are…?”

“Let me,” Potter said, and started massaging Draco’s forearm. “I told you. I said you should take it easy, no? But you kept… fuck, Malfoy, you’re so tense. Doesn’t it hurt like shit?”

It was more stunning, actually, in the full sense of the word, jaw-gaping-stunning, to have Potter touch him like that. Not that Draco only joined the gym for—none of it mattered. He’d already given up way before the party, hence why he was hidden alone on the floor, crying—er, he meant laughing—but the warmth circling back into his arm made him wince, drop it.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicious. “Why are you so… all of a sudden?”

Potter had the audacity to seem confused. “So what?”

This, Draco wanted to say, but found his mouth too dry for words. Like this, with me. He hoped his glare was telling enough.

“I’m not… look—I didn’t know what you wanted, in the beginning. What I could give you. Or if I wanted to. But you just kept on coming week after week with your fucking leg warmers and that ridiculous sweatband, making me laugh with your crazy jokes, and at some point I… fuck, you’re too drunk for this. Let’s just talk tomorrow.”

In a feat of supernatural strength, Draco managed to push himself up, so fast the whole room was spinning. It was dark, the glow of fairy lights from the living room faint, but he could see the frown on Potter’s face. Why did he have to be so fucking pretty? Wasn’t it enough that he wrenched Draco’s heart every single night at that blasted gym? Which may or may not have been the reason why Draco was suddenly so interested in fitness? Which may or may not have been the reason he now yelped as he tried to grab Potter’s face, which wouldn’t stop spinning?

“Potter.” It was a question, and a statement, an accusation and a bit of a plea.

“I like you, okay,” he sighed. “You’re an absolute lunatic, and I like you. Let me help you to bed, and then we can—I can ask you on a date, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” it felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. “Really?”

How did he make rolling his eyes seem so fond? “Yeah. And you’d better say yes, after all this. I have training at six tomorrow and yet here I am, scraping you off the floor in your own bloody party. Thanks for inviting me, by the way.”

“I didn’t… think you’d come,” Draco swooned, literally, unsteady on his feet. “Why did you come?”

“Are you really that drunk?” a thick slug of an eyebrow cocked. “Or do you just want me to say it again?”

“Please.”

“I like you,” Potter laughed, putting an arm around him. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

It would hurt like hell tomorrow. Draco fell asleep to the sound of Potter’s laughter, and discovered he didn’t really mind at all.  

You can prompt me too!  

#drarry #fic #tw alcohol #900 words #fitness? and so on? #PINING #loads of pining #draco malfoy in leg warmers #i just think it's neat #prompts #RockingRobin69

[thefloatingpickle]

All Shook Up

A bored, lonely librarian gets a break from the mundane when a night out leads to a meeting with Tom Bennett. Tom!FemOC Older woman (not by much)

Please excuse errors I have no one checking this for me

Triggers for a bit of a tough spot towards the end

_____________________

London was nothing like what Adaline Harper imagined it would be. Back home in Chicago she had dreamed it into a mythical world of fairytales and gentlemen. In reality she had seen very little in the way of magical thinking and even less of a gentleman since coming over at twenty two to finish her masters in Library Sciences. Don’t get it wrong, she was glad she had come, spending the rest of her life toiling away on the north side of the city with her alcoholic father and useless brother was her worst nightmare. Losing her mother so young from cancer after watching her waste away at the service of her cold hearted, often cruel father only fueled her need to escape. Originally she had only planned to go as far as maybe the east coast, but when she was presented the opportunity to study abroad by her favorite English professor she jumped at the chance. 

 Unfortunately for Adaline she had not been swept off her feet by a strapping young brit like she had imagined. Much to the contrary she went on several dates with mostly what would be considered posh type men she met attending classes, and all of them were only interested in the rumors that American girls were quick to the sheets. So she had quit trying and dedicated herself to her studies. When she finished she was quickly awarded a position at Central Library in Manchester. 

 She liked it well enough, the head librarian was a stout cold woman, but she often brought in food for the girls who worked the stacks and had even brought Adaline a gift of a beautiful sterling silver necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a book for starting in her new position. She worked the main desk in non fiction. It was mostly long boring days, academics and curious minds coming to find this book or that, but on slow days she could go into the shelves and find herself something interesting to keep her mind busy, history had always been a favorite subject.

 It was in the middle of one of these slow days that the slightly younger girls who worked reshelving the checked in books in her section approached her for what may be the hundredth time about going out with them for a drink after work. “You can’t spend every night curled up in your flat reading romance novels, can ya Addie?” Tilly, the louder of the two girls with her beautiful blonde hair and lean features announced too loud for the surroundings. “It was one romance novel Tilly, ONE!” Addie spit back in a harsh whisper. “One or ten it’s still a sad sight. You being only what Twenty-Five and all? Come out with us, you’d have a blast. None of those uptight wankers you’ve talked about dating at Uni, our mates are fun!” Becky, the sweeter  of the two, pleaded with you. Her brown hair stopping just above her shoulders showed off her sharp jawline, which seemed unusual given the softness of the rest of her features. “I have letters to write. My aunt has been bombarding me with posts for the last two months and I haven’t gotten back to her or my nieces.” 

 They rolled their eyes in unison, “You could write during work you know. We all do. Besides it is my BIRTHDAY” “I like to write in the privacy of my home thank you.” “Ugghhh,” “Quiet!” The head librarian had heard the noise from the main lobby and made her way in to announce that you were bothering the small smattering of patronage the building had pulled in on the clear spring day. “Sorry Ma’am.” Addie whispered. “Get back to your shelving girls, I appreciate the invite but going drinking with a bunch of twenty year olds isn’t my idea of a good time.” 

 With a chuff and a turn they were back to work and you were grateful for the silence until he walked in. “Addie girl, you look dashing as ever.” “Hello Greg, how are you today?” You couldn’t stand Greg, he had seemed nice at first but after the fourth time he asked you to dinner you started running out of good excuses. Not that he wasn’t handsome, but his parents were on the board for the library and he strutted around the place like it made him a prince. “You know they’ve just opened a lovely new cafe down off of Pike street, a beautiful view of the Medlock from the outside seating.” Her stomach turned as she felt the question coming, “Oh yea? Sounds lovely.” “It is, and I was just thinking how lovely you would look sitting there.” “That’s kind of you to say.” “Isn’t it? How about tonight?” She wracked her brain for an excuse, any excuse, just then she caught the sight of Tilly watching her interaction with a satisfied smirk. “I can’t, you see I already have plans.” He lifted a brow in surprise, “Plans? You, to do what?” “Well you see it’s Tilly’s birthday and I’ve promised to get a drink with the girls down at a pub later.” He didn’t believe you for a second. “You… are going to a pub with Tilly and Becky?” Like a saving angel Becky popped up from behind you. “Oh yes, she is. We had to practically beg. But you know even Adaline isn’t monster enough to miss out on Tilly’s celebrations.” I let out a sigh of relief as he walked away seeming flabbergasted. “Thank you Becky, I owe you one.” “Don’t be thanking her too fast now Addie, you’re coming to the pub tonight or I’m going to run right behind the good lad and tell him you’ve played him a fool.” Tilly said head peeking out from the stacks with a grin on her face.

_____________________

“I cannot believe I roped myself into this”, Addie thought as she made her way down the cobblestone path, her mary janes clicking loudly off the road at every step. She had agreed to meet the girls at McDuff’s, a known hang out for the sort of kids Tilly and Becky liked to spend their time around. Petty criminals who were just as likely to walk out on a tab as they were to start a street fight just in the name of a couple minutes entertainment. 

 She’d gone home from Central and put on one of the few dresses she had that were more suited for a night out than a day at work, the deep green dress went perfectly with her pale skin, and auburn hair. She had had to dig through half of her vanity drawers to find the one shade of lipstick she had that wasn’t just a pale nude, but the red went well with the dress and for once she felt a bit pretty. 

She heard the place before she saw it, rumpus laughter and loud music pouring out the door as she rounded the corner.``You actually came!” A shout rose out over the noise. “Hello, Tilly. Happy birthday.” Was all she got out as she led you into the small but jovial building. “Everyone, THIS is Adaline! She came!!” Adaline almost felt bad, she didn't realize it would make such a difference to Tilly whether she had come or not. “You must meet everyone.” The young woman exclaimed as she led her over to a section of standing tables swarming with people. “Obviously you know Becky, then this is Adam, Luke, Nathaniel, Jackie, Devlen, and Peter.” You couldn’t help but notice how intensely male company outweighed the female. “Hello, nice to meet everyone.” “And what about me then?” A voice came from behind, it was pleasant with a sort of smugness that suggested confidence. “Oh yes we can’t forget you can we,” Tilly said, turning her to meet the newcomer, “this is Tom.” He had a wide smile on his face that was friendly in a cocky way, but damn if he wasn’t handsome. “Hello, luv.” He reached out his hand to her expectantly. “Hi” Addie took his hand and was surprised by how tightly he gripped the shake. “Always a pleasure  meet’in a lass lovely as yourself.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m sure it is.” Her quick remark gained her another wide grin. “Drinks all around then?” He put the question to the group but never broke eye contact. “Yes please!” Tilly said in reply, as he turned to leave she leaned in and whispered in Addie’s ear, “Careful with that one, he fancies himself a heartbreaker but has about as much game as a sailor in the desert.” The girls laughed at the joke and shortly after Addie found herself with a drink in hand enjoying the night more than she had expected. 

 The music was almost too loud for conversation but the girls' friends were funny, and light hearted. Addie felt almost guilty for avoiding them for so long, but often also felt the distinct gap in age as one would make a comment about being nineteen or twenty and at that she would take another large gulp of her drink, which seemed to always be magically replenished when she would finish. Everything was going well, except that every so often she would feel a set of eyes on her and when she turned to see who it was it was always Tom. He was quieter than she had expected, choosing more to watch and listen than to speak up and join the cycle of storytelling, but his presence loomed over her in a way that made her unsure of herself. She often found herself checking her compact to make sure her lipstick was in place, or pulling at the hem of her dress to check it was sitting right, and every time she did she would look over to find another too confident smirk across his face. After a couple hours she decided she needed a smoke and stepped outside, though as soon as she had her cigarette between her lips she realized she couldn’t find her lighter in her small handbag. “Dammit.” A quiet laugh came from behind her, “Trade you a smoke for a light?” She knew who it was before turning her head. “Alright Tom.” She agreed, handing him her smokes. He took one and placed it between his long thin lips, then held up his lighter in front of her smoke. “Pretty ladies shouldn’t be lighin’ their own sticks.” She couldn’t help the smile, or the blush that came over her cheeks, “Thank you.” “Thank you.” He replied and then they stood mostly in silence smoking. “How do you know Tilly then?” The question had almost startled her out of her own wandering train of thought, “Oh, uh, we work together at the library.” He smiled, “A jumpy bit you are eh? You can’t be a cart girl though can you?” She felt the flush of embarrassment come over her. “Why is that?” “Well, not for nothing but you look a touch grown to be reshelving books.” “So I look too old then? Well no I’m not a cart girl, I’m a librarian. I work the non fiction desk.” There was a bite to her tone that he seemed to catch quickly. “Now hold on lovely, wasn’t calling you old. I said grown. You’re clearly not some twenty year old girly.” “And what about you Tom? A ripe old, what eighteen?” He grimaced at that. “I’m twenty years old, I’ll have you know, a grown man. And I promise that means in every way that counts.” He gave another confident smirk. “Well twenty is still awfully young for me, being twenty five and all.” “Five years aint much unless you make something.” At that he leaned closer, tossing the burned end of his smoke to the side. “Bet I could make you feel twenty again.” He pressed himself closer to her, coming around to face her directly and Addie was suddenly very aware of not only the brick wall behind them but the years past since a man had been this close. “I’m sure it would be a valiant effort Tom but unfortunately I’m not interested.” She couldn’t meet his eyes because she knew he would find the lie in them. “Are you not, weren’t you in there fixing your lips, and touching up your skirts every time you looked at me.” “You were the one starring Tom, it made me…” Her voice trailed off, not waiting to admit he had any affect. “Nervous?” He finished for her a glint of pride in his eye that now drove her to annoyance. “I’d like to go back in now please.” She was stern in her tone. His smile dropped and he stepped out of the way. “Alright love, no harm intended.” He stayed behind as she walked back in and she didn’t see him again for the next hour she stayed. Finally ready to go home she went looking for Tilly to say good night, when she found her she was outside in the alley smoking, with Tom leaned against her side. Addie didn’t know why the sight bugged her but it did. So instead of approaching to say goodbye she simply yelled over her shoulder as she walked away. “Happy birthday Tilly, thanks for the invite.”  “Bye Addie!” She heard her yell, a small giggle escaping her. 

Adaline didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until they were almost on top of her. “Well Ello’ there pretty lady.” The first man said, “Too late to be walking home alone isn’t it.” The second followed. Addie was panicked, she was too far from the bar to turn around, but still several blocks from home. “I’m actually just walking to meet a friend. They don’t live too far off from here.” She prayed they would care, they didn’t. The first one reached forward and grabbed her wrist as the other came around behind her. “I don’t think you know anyone from round these parts miss.” One said. “Please just let me go home.” She had never been more afraid in her life. “Oh we will, right when we’re done with you.” Bile rose in Addie’s throat as she realized she was trapped. “Oi, you there. Watcha on about then?” The shout came from about a block behind, and sounded familiar. “None of your business lad so piss off.” “Is that you Erik? And Shawn then is it? I know you too, work over at the butchers driving the truck. Doubt Mr. Ebbes would be thrilled to hear what you’re getting up to here?” Tom came into sight and was as much of a relief as Addie had ever felt. “We weren’t up to nothin Tom, no need to be gossiping about. Just wanted to see the lady safely home is all.” “Well I’ll take her off your hands boys, no worries there.” The two men disappeared down a side road and Addie turned to  face Tom again. 

 “Oh god, thank you.” She couldn’t help the red hot tears as they slipped down her face. “Hey there, we’ll have none of that.” He said reaching up to wipe them away with a gentle touch from the back of his knuckle. “Nothing bad happened, you’re alright.” “Because of you.” She said, voice shaky. “What were you doing anyway?” “Walking home, I live just round this corner here, didn’t see much point in sticking around…” He looked at her, a small soft smile on his lips, “after you left that is.” Addie stood straightening her dress and hair, “And what about Tilly?” “What about her?” His brows rose in realization, “You mean in the alley? Us being close? Wasn’t anything meant by it, I’ve known her since we were kids.” They had started walking in the direction of home as he spoke. “Tilly may be my oldest mate, we’re just familiar like that. Wasn’t trying to make a move on her.” “Oh.” Addie’s voice was soft in reply, then she caught herself, “Not that it matters if you were, she’s more appropriate for you anyway.” “Appropriate?!” He nearly cackled, “What are you my babysitter now? Five years isn’t a leap you know, if I was the girl, and you were me no one would so much as blink. You’ve got yourself in your head over nothing.” “You're the same age as my baby brother Tom.” “Yea, well that is unfortunate but doesn’t make a lick of difference to my point.” The two of them walked in comfortable quiet the next few blocks until she realized they had come up on her place. “This is me.” “Right then.” He smiled at her again, “You work tomorrow?” “No, it’s Saturday, I have things to get done around though.” “Alright, well when do you work next?” “Why?” “Thought I may stop in and get a library card is all.” “Tom it wouldn’t be…” “Appropriate?” He cut her off. “Yes.” Before she could say anything else he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He was sure of himself, working open her lips and slipping in his tongue before she could catch herself. He tasted like cigarettes and beer, but god did he feel good. Slim body pressing against her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, her hands went to his chest before she could stop herself. He pressed the kiss deeper, pulling her tongue to his mouth as he backed them to the doorway, one hand coming to rest on her neck. Then her senses came back to her and she pulled away. “Mhmm.” Was all he said as she pushed against him where her hands rested. “Thank you for walking me home Tom… I… I need to get to bed.” He backed up with no resistance. “Alright.” He seemed unaffected by her abruptly ending their contact as he turned to go. “See you soon Adaline.” He said in a sing-song tone as he walked down the road, whistling to himself as he went.

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #world on fire

[resident-gay-bitch]

okay, eddie munson may be big and edgy and scary, and yes he snarls at wankers on the street and has most certainly thrown more punches he can count on one hand, but… well, he’s actually not all that tough once you get to know him.

what’s his favourite movie, you ask? well, you’d think something like halloween or nightmare on elm street, right? wrong! he’s riding a fine line between grease and rocky horror.

what’s his favourite song? oh, yeah, it’s totally gotta be something from one of those angry violent demon bands he listens too, right? like… breaking the law, or run to the hills… or like, master of puppets, right? nope! it’s starman, by david bowie.

his favourite artist? we’ll, sabbath and metallica come pretty close to making the cut, but in truth, it’s the beatles.

and it’s not just his taste that has you fooled, it’s everything about him.

he throws punches, but he can’t remember the last time he won a fight. they all end up with him flat on his back, blood running from his nose or a gash under his eye, and he’s laughing at the asshole who’s serving him like dinner and making jokes, and then ends up crying about it once they’re gone.

and yeah, he wears a lot of edgy, dangerous jewellery. the spikes on his leather wrist bands are one thing, the chunky rings that he surely wears for punching people with are another. but… well, he wears the rings because they’re shiny, and he likes shiny things, and he gets very fidgety and they’re fun to spin. and the leather straps? they look so cool, and he likes rolling his wrist over his thigh or knee when sitting and feeling the spikes prod at his skin, and it tickles.

his mane is actually his top priority on his physical appearance. he will leave the house with teeth un-brushed if running late, but never with tangled curls.

and he wears dorky patterned underwear and matching socks. and he has tattoos of superhero emblems and lord of the rings references and what not. oh, and don’t forget his night time routine. he won’t get a good sleep without it.

say goodbye to wayne, sit on the couch with a good snack and watch an episode of garfeild or looney tunes, or if it’s a weekend a movie, and then shower, do his hair, brush his teeth, hot drink whilst he plucks at his guitar for a couple of minuets, goes to take a piss, puts on his bedtime socks, kisses his guitar goodnight, puts on his sleepy time mix tape, turns out the big light, snuggles down in bed cuddled up to his mangled old teddy from his youth, counts the glow in the dark stars on his roof, and goes to sleep.

but the best part of all - out of all the soft little things that make up eddie munson - is his ability to fucking scare like an ant under a boot.

it’s everyone’s favourite thing, scaring eddie. what’s not fun about making him jump out of his skin? he’s so easy to startle and the pout he pulls once he realises he’s not in real danger is the sweetest little thing the sky will ever see.

jumping out behind doors. blasting loud music right by his ear. creeping up behind him. jabbing his side when he’s deep in concentration. leaning right over him when he’s napping and saying his name.

but the best one of all, is his blatant fear of spiders.

it’s even more humours when you realise he has a tattoo of one on his shoulder.

he fucking despises the cretins. they scare the ever living shit out of him.

an abandoned spider web is left curled up in an old corner? get that the fuck away from him.

a strand of hair fell from his head and lightly brushed his arm or leg? he’s slapping himself until he’s sure there’s no way anything lived through that abuse.

a plastic spider that is so obviously fake is left on his pillow? he’s shouting and running back out of the door.

and god forbid a real spider crawl anywhere near him.

wayne is the designated spider guy, thank you very much. if one’s ever about when he’s not home, we’ll… let’s just say wayne will be lucky to come back home to find the trailer still standing.

he will scream and jump onto table tops, pull out his lighter and hold out the flame to the little bug crawling across the floor about three meters or more away.

or he’ll grab a knife if he’s in the kitchen and defend himself like it was near death.

a can of hairspray is about? well, that thing is going to have stiff fur for years if it doesn’t suffocate under the toxins like eddie does himself.

if someone’s around, he’s screaming and running behind them for protection, and makes them kill the damn thing before it breeds and comes to kill them all with its little army of eight legged beasts.

“it’s an ant, eddie.”

“are you sure-“

“yes, look at it.”

“i don’t want to… oh.”

he won’t let one be crushed under his shoe though, he does not want spider goup on his shoes.

if one touches him, he’s showering and washing all his clothes like the plague has come. if it’s a shirt he doesn’t care much for? he’s burning it.

he is the biggest baby when it comes to spiders and it’s the most adorable of all his features.

wayne’s favourite thing in the world to do is point at eddie frantically when he’s walking around shirtless and scream spider! big spider on you! and watch eddie go though every emotion known to man.

the kid will slap himself and scream like a three year old girl and run and just freak the fuck out, and wayne will just stand there, sipping on his coffee, laughing at the full blown theatrical comedy taking place in his living room.

it always takes eddie like five good minuets to realise wayne’s just talking about his tattoo.

it gets him every time.

so yeah, eddie munson may be a big scary metal head on the outside, but didn’t your mum ever teach you not to judge a book by its cover?

if ever in doubt, just mention the word spider around eddie and watch the tough act die.

but please, whatever you do, don’t forget to console him after because that man is having a heart attack, and will need a good cuddle to calm down.

#this just came to me on a whim #enjoy #i have no idea what it is #a ficlet? #a blurb? #a head cannon? #i guess we’ll never know #but what we Do know is that eddie munson is scared of spiders #no #i will not take any negative opinions on this #he is a soft boy with a crippling fear of creepy crawlies #he’s all lies #and he’s adorable for it #bless his soul #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #jay writes #eddie hates spiders #eddie is a softie #eddie is the sweetest pie to exsist #wayne munson #eddie and wayne #wayne munson my love #eddie & wayne

[aelyosos]

oc speech mannerisms

tagged by: @liurnia & @swordcoasts waayy bck; thanks again loves ! 🥂 this was a blast not tagging any1 cuz i'm late 2 the party 😳 but if u feel like doin this, tag me !

BASICS

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES >> 1 / 2 / 3 (common, welsh, infernal)

TONE OF VOICE >> high / average / deep 

ACCENT >> yes / no 

DEMEANOR >> confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other

POSTURE >> slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed

HABITS

head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance

COMPLEXITY

VOCABULARY >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️

EMOTION >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️

SENTENCE STRUCTURE >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️

PROFANITY

FREQUENCY >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️

CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity) >> ⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️⚪️

BOLD THAT APPLY

arse / ass / asshole / bastard / bitch / bloody / bugger / bollocks / chicken shit / crap / cunt / dick / frick / fuck / horseshit / motherfucker / piss / prick / pussy / screw / shit / shitass / son of a bitch / twat / wanker

THIS OR THAT

straightforward or cryptic? / finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind? / masculinity, neutrality, or femininity? / formalities or with abrasiveness? / praise or equivocation? / frankness or lies? / excessive or minimal hand gestures? / name-calling or magnanimity? / friendly or blunt?

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER? almost always / frequently / rarely / never

DOES YOUR CHARACTER’S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE ‘WHOM’ IN A SENTENCE? yes / no / only ironically

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? but / though / although / however / perhaps / maybe

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? walk away / ask if that’s everything / say that’s everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don’t

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? upper / middle / lower

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn’t

#sam.txt #oc talk: ocean #oc: ocean #aaaaa a this took a lil bit but worth it cuz i miss talking abt my boy #actually this took a good amount of time cuz i also had to make that lil banner ALDKFH #but i had fun ! & now i can use that banner on all other ask games abt ocean 😌 #neway i hogged this & held onto it for months wanting to fill it out but never quite having the spoons #glad i finished it !

[elfmoon3]

The Guardian Angel (Freak Fortress story)

Ship: self-insert x tf2 Freak

Summary: Meagan followed a dangerous individual but was saved by a familiar face.

Location: Sawmill

It was a rainy day in Sawmill as Meagan watched the gloomy skies. "I love gray skies like this." She said, her mentor groaning, "Well, oi bloody don't!!" CBS said loudly. "You ain't scared of a little bit of water, are ya maggot?" Painis asked jokingly. CBS glared at the cannibal soldier. "No, oi just don't loike it." CBS answered. Meagan giggles, but then she sees another soldier wandering around. She sees that the two freaks were arguing and leaves to go investigate who this soldier was.

Meagan searches for the soldier and eventually finds him. "Excuse me, but I thought everyone was having a cease-fire day today?" She asked him. The soldier said nothing, taking out a katana, looking at the goth with murderous intentions. Knowing that she didn't bring any weapons, she ran off to get CBS and PC. However, the soldier was right in front of her path as soon as she turned around. "Don't resist. Join us, and you will be spared." He said as a faceless being appeared behind him. Meagan backed up and tried to run, but the soldier grabbed her arm. "HELP!!!" Meagan yelled. As soon as she said that, a familiar voice said,"Bankai!!" as the soldier and faceless being were launched by a blast of air, causing the soldier to let go of Meagan. She looks at where the direction of the air blasts and sees Reaper of the Demon Slayers. "Run sheila, I'll take care of these wankers!!!" He said, Meagan ran to the direction of her friends.

Meagan made it back to see CBS, who ran toward her and held her in a hug. "Oh, thank bloody God, you're ok." He said as he let's go."Why'd you go walking about without us knowing?" He asked, "I saw a soldier and got curious. It turns out it wasn't a normal soldier." She answered."How'd you get away from him?" Painis asked, "Reaper saved me." She said, "The captain of the Demon Slayers?" CBS asked in surprise. And as if on cue, the said Demon Slayer appeared to them in a tired state. Meagan ran to his aid as he collapsed. "Reaper!! Are you ok?" She asked. "Oi'm fine. It's just that Oi'm low on energy." He said,"It seems you've been injured too, mate." CBS said. Meagan then used her healing power on Reaper. His injuries disappeared in seconds. "Thanks, sheila." He said as she helped him up. "How'd you know I was in danger?" She asked, "Well, to be honest, oi was watching over you, making sure you were safe." He said,"Sheesh, stalker much, mate?" CBS said, chuckling. "Oi wasn't stalking her, wanker." Reaper said "I was told to watch and protect her by Erzengel's word." He explained, "Why does he want you to keep me safe, Reaper?" Meagan asked. "Cuz you became a target on Nightmare Medic's hit-list." He answered, "That demon sees you as a threat, Erzengel gave me this task, and oi accept." He said. Meagan smiled. "So you've become my guardian angel?" She asked."Yeah, oi guess you can say that." He said, CBS gagged, "If you two are going to get cozy with each other, don't expect me to hear it!!!"He yelled. Meagan is trying not to laugh and hugs the spiritual Sniper who seems confused. "Wait, what do you mean by cozy?" He asked. Meagan whispered something to Reaper, making him blush. "WHOA, MATE!!! I don't know how that's going to work out." He said, embarrassed. CBS and PC laughed uncontrollably.

Unbeknownst to them, they were being watched from the faceless being and his servant. Behind them was Nightmare Medic, who laughed. "Prepare for your demise, Ms. Walker." He said as he and his new allies vanished.

The End?

#christian brutal sniper #painis cupcake #nightmare medic #reaper demon slayers #Slender Mann #avatar #my persona #freak fortress #tf2 freaks #self insert

[five-incorrect-nights]

Bonnie: Ya-da-da-da-da-da- It is good day to be not dead!

Monty: POW! You are dead!

Bonnie: I am dead!

Monty: [Chuckling, while Foxy is doing the conga towards the scene] (The Monty says aw, shucks” as the Foxy gets close.)

Foxy: Oh! The Bonnie is dead!

Bonnie: Yes (Pizza). I am dead!

Foxy: Why is the Bonnie dead?!

Monty: I dunno.

Bonnie: I think it was-

Monty & Foxy: Shhh, you are dead!

Bonnie: Ok.

(Freddy enters scene exiting van)

Freddy: What's up, you wankers?! Who’s up for a- AH! What the- bloody hell just happened?!

Monty & Foxy: The Bonnie is dead!

(A, B, C, or D game starts)

Freddy: The Bonnie is dead!

Foxy: Correct!

(Option C lights up and celebration music starts playing)

Foxy: So, did you see the murderer?

Monty and Freddy: Nah, sorry mate.

Foxy: [Slams hand on desk] I will find him, I will capture him, and no one will ever die again!

(Monty and Freddy applause)

Freddy: Ah, well that's nice.

Monty: I am damn proud right now.

(Chica appears in scene)

Chica: Atteeeeeeeeention!

(Chica rushes to dead Bonnie)

Chica: That Bonnie is dead!

Foxy: We know!

Chica: Who killed him?!

Foxy: We don’t know!

Chica: I will find clues!

(Chica searches through pile of stuff while sniffing)

Chica: What's that? [Grabs gun] A weapon?! That thing is why the Bonnie is dead!

Monty, Freddy, and Foxy: The Bonnie is dead?!

Chica: [Slams hands on desk] Yes, (Intense background appears) he died!

Monty, Freddy, and Foxy: [All shocked]

(Intense background stops, showing the Monty, Freddy, and Foxy standing in front of a green screen)

Marionette: (From far away) Incoming!

(Ambulance crashes Chica into a building wall, killing her.)

Marionette: [Exits out of Ambulance] Raus, raus! [Pushes Monty, Freddy, and Foxy away from Bonnie] Move now! [Kisses Bonnie on head]

(Heavenly music sounds while the light focuses on Bonnie)

Bonnie: (Rising in air) Hohoho, Hea- [Explodes] Oof.

Marionette: In my medical opinion, that Bonnie is dead!

(Camera rotates to Freddy)

Freddy: Doc, what happened?

Marionette: My professional opinion? [Slams hands on desk then turns to the right (Intense background comes in)] The Bonnie was killed!

(Intense background stops)

Monty, Freddy, and Foxy: [Panicking]

Marionette: I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.

Foxy: Well, now what?

(Balloon Boy entering while doing the conga in the background)

Balloon Boy: Clipidy clop mother****er!

Foxy: Oh, come on.

Balloon Boy: Boom!

Balloon Boy: Look at this! The freaking Bonnie is dead! [Pause]

Balloon Boy: What do you think of that? [Pause] Ahm…

Foxy: Yes, yes, Balloon Boy.

Balloon Boy: Yea?

Foxy: Go home!

(Balloon Boy’s sister JJ appears in a car telling Balloon Boy to get in)

Balloon Boy: Ah come on! Pffff! Freaking unbelievable seriously, you all suck.

(Car drives off and crashing noise is heard)

Balloon Boy: [Screams of pain]

Foxy: Ok, let’s get back to the point.

Bonnie: [Poking at his dead body] I think Bonnie is dead.

Monty, Freddy, Foxy, and Marionette: The Bonnie is dead?!

Marionette: [Turns around and notices dead Balloon Boy in burning car] Balloon Boy! I will heal you- [Car explodes and camera goes back to Bonnie]

Bonnie: Oh, Seriously?! Who killed Bonnie?!

(Camera shows on Lolbit drinking Freddy Fazbrew)

Lolbit: [Slurp Slurp] It was me!

Monty, Freddy, Foxy, and Bonnie: [Shocked]

Lolbit: Yes! [Bottle of Freddy Fazbrew slides up Lolbit’s body and Lolbit eats the bottle] I did it like this: [Takes out a revolver and shoots Freddy in chest] Boom! [Lolbit flies off from force of revolver blast]

Freddy: [Screams of pain]

Lolbit: Woop dee doo!

Monty, Foxy, and Bonnie: [Are terrified seeing Freddy’s dead body]

Lolbit: [Burps] That’s a joke, lads.

Monty, Foxy, and Bonnie: [Starts laughing like crazy]

Lolbit: [Slurp Slurp Burp] It was… yo-... [Burp] [Points at Monty] Him!

Monty: [Shocked] How did you know?!

Lolbit: I didn’t. [Burps] That was a joke too.

(Camera moves to Monty, as the Lolbit keeps drinking faster)

Lolbit: [Falls on ground] Oh, I’m dead.

Monty: [Manic laughter] That’s right! It was me!

Foxy: You monster!

Bonnie: But whyyyyy?

Monty: Cause you’re fat, boy. And another thing, you’re ugly.

Bonnie: Monty, stop!

Monty and Bonnie: [Arguing]

Foxy: [Shrugs] (Text appears saying : IT’S TRADITION)

Monty: Ah dammit Bonnie **** off! You are dead.

Bonnie: No u, POW! Haha.

(Monty falls dead on floor)

Bonnie: You are dead! Not big surprise.

Foxy: Well that was idiotic. Off to hang myself! [Foxy doing flip on noose] Watch and lea- Choking noises

Bonnie: I am alive! Is nice. Yes, this is stupid.

[langdhon]

I feel like the real question is why WOULDN'T I follow you? Because honestly there's so much about you and your character interpretation that draws people in, myself included. I know we originally interacted with my fallen star and your Thranduil. I was in awe of your story telling and honestly, watching that grow with Michael compared to your previous blog is incredible. I really like your ability to humanize while not erasing his flaws. You don't go "well thats my little meow meow and he does no wrong ever". You constantly call him out on his shit and make it known that his behavior isn't excusable. That's so important when it comes to villains and why following your michael in the very beginning was such an easy choice to make. you add complexity and your own take and style to him. NOT TO MENTION everything about YOU as a person. You're a wonderful mun to talk to and scream about our characters, plotting and winging it. I know I can send you an idea and you'll be upfront about whether it'll work or not AND THEN give your own variation or idea. We build off each other which is SO HARD to find these days. You are a unicorn in the roleplay community and i am so blessed to have found you. That's why i follow

Why you wouldn’t follow me,,, well, maybe because we literally NEVER write!?! Get that hate outta my ask!! Nooo honestly I'm floored because you know I adore the heCK out of you and Alice and ugh... 99% of my blog content is with you. Find that. This is a jackpot and I love this for us! Also what you say about keeping his flaws, calling him out on his bs: yES, I think this is so important! I always advocate for villains being layered, able to love and be stupid and be dangerous but also sometimes crybabies because EVERYONE HAS THOSE, whether you're good or bad or in between. And I've seen so many villains get excused like "they are actually just pOoR bAbiEs who deserved better!", as if this takes away from the fact that they decide to be assholes in the end? How many of us have experienced bullying or other forms of abuse or felt misunderstood; do we all go around and kill people? Nah. SO IDK MAN. Michael, while he does have very human sides and needs and can care about someone else, still is a manipulative and violent little wanker. I'm glad it's received so well tbh and I'M EVEN HAPPIER about how we keep developing our kiddos with each other and it's so much fun with you!!! I thank you again. One unicorn to another 🦄 And you saying with Michael my storytelling even grew makes me cry! He is such a blast to write because there can be so much done with him! Thank you, love 💛

#SAVED. #🦂𝙎𝙔𝙈𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙇 // ava. #ravenskeeper

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

The Return of Doctor Who Part 1: Rumour Patrol

TRIGGER WARNING: I still hate Chris Chibnall; unneccessary bukkake references; a tractor-crash described in punishing detail; the tragedy of being Wales (Britain’s Designated Punchline Province).

So, Doctor Who’s back- or is going to be later this year! And if you’re thinking “but it never went away…?” in a confused tone of thought, then congratulations on being completely fucking oblivious! The last few years have been… a car crash. But a not a fun car crash with lots of blood and guts to gawk at… more like one of those crap, country road car crashes where you pass a tractor upside down in a ditch with a farmer standing looking mournfully at it and wonder how something so slow and heavy failed to do the one thing it was trying to do so fucking miserably. That level of car-crash. So, when I say ‘Doctor Who’s back!’, what I mean is that Doctor Who is once more going to star talented actors and actresses and be written by experienced, skilled screen-writers who have paid their dues and actually have a handle on the genre their working in, as well as how to use themes, subtlety and subtext.

Now, to you or I or any sensible person, this just seems like straight-up good news. Russel T. Davies, who brought the show back to life in ‘05 is going to be showrunner, David Tennant is going to star, followed by Ncuti Gatwa (a BAFTA-winning actor, enthusiastic Who fan and all-round chocolate sex machine). For normal, mentally healthy people, this is a confluence of wonderful events that categorically does not invite shit-stirring. For certain parts of the media, however, it’s an excuse to invent dementedly racist straw-men from whole cloth, spread stupid-arse rumours about casting decisions in the hope of getting a rise, and just generally talk bollocks and pedal nonsense for clicks. So, because I can’t stand to see the discourse on something I love dominated by towering wankers with the media literacy of four year olds, I’ve decided to round up the rumours and op-eds, put them in a row, and subject them to the Firing Squad of Actual Facts. In other words, I’ve done the bare minimum of due diligence that the mainstream media didn’t bother to do and am now going to tell you which headlines are true and which are horseshit.

THE RUMOUR: ROSE TYLER IS NOW A DARK-SKINNED TRANS WOMAN THE REALITY: This is, of course, absolute bullshit. The Guardian (which used to be fairly reputable, before they started letting nutters with no journalistic training write for them) got hold of the name ‘Rose’ and the name of a trans actress attached to the upcoming Doctor Who special, put two and two together and somehow came up with seven. Trans actress Yasmin Finney will be playing Donna Noble’s trans daughter, Rose Temple-Noble, not Rose Tyler. Amazingly, it turns out two people can be named Rose- one probably after the other. The Guardian article is absolutely fucking hilarious, however, on a number of levels. For a start, it’s just factually wrong in the way that an article published in a proper newspaper shouldn’t be, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. It takes the form of an imagined argument with a made-up racist transphobe so arch that it’s immediately obvious nobody on Earth has ever uttered their side of the fictional conversation. Additionally, the author seems to think that Rose Tyler is a Time Lord who can change her face like the Doctor (which is incorrect… although, if it turned out that absorbing the Time Vortex that one time rewrote her DNA, I’d totally be there for that. But that’s just me writing fanfic in my brain- not a real thing within the show). To put the icing on the cake, the article invites all those evil, bigoted fake fans to fuck off while (and I quote) “the rest of us have a blast.” Apparently, ‘the rest of us’ who will be enjoying Doctor Who once all the mean, bad people have left are people who, er, don’t watch Doctor Who or know how to research really basic casting decisions. Genius.

THE RUMOUR: AFORESAID YASMIN FINNEY WILL BE NCUTI GATWA’S DOCTOR’S COMPANION THE REALITY: This rumour is less stupid, in that it’s entirely possible she’ll have an important and ongoing role within the show once Gatwa takes over from David Tennant as the Doctor... but still no. She’s not the main, recurring companion for Gatwa’s Doctor. That honour goes to young up-and-comer Millie Gibson, who will be playing a character called Ruby Sunday. While we’re on the subject, I’d like to go on record and make a prediction right now, so we can check back and see if I was right in about, say, five years: while she doesn’t appeal to me personally (partly because I’m engaged and partly because she has less meat on her than ploughman’s sandwich), I predict Millie Gibson and her freakishly buoyant Jessica Rabbit chest-bongos will launch puberty early for an entire generation of Whovians. And now I’ve made that prediction… we play the waiting game. Preferably with our Bukkake-proof umbrellas raised and readied.

THE RUMOUR: NEIL PATRICK HARRIS WILL PLAY THE CELESTIAL TOYMAKER THE REALITY: This one is possible but, as far as I can tell, not confirmed at the time of writing. It seems that the Beeb has released a photo of Harris in costume… but not told us who he’s playing. The Celestial Toymaker seems like a reasonable guess, because he’s an entity with incredible, seemingly magical powers coupled to an eccentric demeanour and aesthetic, while Harris is a magician in real life (yet another reason to love the guy) whose general persona approximates the classic-era villain. The costume, of course, also fits the bill. I would be fucking delighted if this one turned out to be true, but let’s not get our knickers dripping with anticipation just yet. It’s still entirely possible he’s playing someone else. Maybe the Dream Lord from that one episode where the Doctor was basically torturing himself inside his own mind; maybe a classic antagonist so obscure even I don’t know who they are; maybe someone completely new, invented for the upcoming 60th Anniversary Special. We’ll just have to wait and see.

THE RUMOUR: GILLIAN ANDERSON MIGHT BE IN IT. THE REALITY: That would be great, because Gillian Anderson is basically the Second Lady of Sci-Fi after Sigourney Weaver (who’s kind of too American to fit comfortably into the quintessentially British Whoniverse, awesome though she is). However, at the moment, it’s sheer wishful thinking on behalf of the fans and on behalf of Gatwa, who’d apparently like to see her involved. Actually, since we’re occasionally going to be getting female regenerations from now, could we just cast her as the next Doctor after Gatwa? I mean, I know that gender-flipping is stupid because it erases an important part of a character’s identity (it’s a point I’ve made many times), but I also realise the toothpaste isn’t going back in the tube on this one, so we might as well just cast some really great actresses instead. So, yeah: Gillian Anderson for Doctor Who! Let’s start a petition before they accidentally hire a talent-free walking charisma-dampner instead! Don’t laugh- it’s happened once already. Twice if you include Collin, the crap one of the two Bakers.

And that’s pretty much it for the rumours. As it turns out, only one worth writing up was actively shit-stirry, while the others were… well, one was kinda dumb but understandable and a couple were just wild optimism. Honestly, that’s pretty cool. It’s nice not to have to spend hours of my life dismantling idiots for once- only mere minutes. Before I go, there are a couple of things that the media have been saying about the coming era of Doctor Who that aren’t rumours but which I feel I might as well address while we’re here.

1) Yasmin Finney said her casting and role in Doctor Who will “change the world”. To be clear, it definitely won’t. It might very slightly course-correct casting decision criteria in the BBC’s drama department, and it’ll be nice for trans people to see one of their own in an important role in a sci-fi drama, but ‘changing the world’ is definitely beyond the scope of a role in a piece of modestly-budgeted British genre fiction. That said, I’m not going to roll my eyes and tut too loudly- Finney’s young and excitable and you’re allowed to say stupid shit when you’re young and excitable. That’s what you’re teenage years and early twenties are for. That and substance abuse.

2) Loads of media outlets are going on about what a big deal it is that Gatwa is the first black Doctor in the show’s history. Again, I’m sure it’ll be lovely for non-white Brits to see one of their own in the lead role of the Beeb’s flagship sci-fi drama, but it’s not really a historic moment just because it happens to be a first. Britain isn’t America and, while we have our share of racist cretins, for the most part national and regional identity are much more prominent in our collective psyche than skin tone. Case in point, both black and white Irish people hate the English with equal intensity, everyone makes fun of the Welsh with no reference to colour, the Scottish are universally feared as hard-cases and Cornwall refers to the rest of us as ‘the mainland’ despite not being an island. Meanwhile, if the TV show Luther has taught us anything, it’s that we’re actually pretty good at judging a man by the contents of his character and not the colour of his skin. Provided a man’s an untidy megalomaniacal wreck with anger management issues and connections in the criminal underworld, most Brits will embrace him as truly One Of Our Own regardless of his ethnic heritage. I slightly suspect that the media is hoping the racists will come out of the woodwork over Gatwa’s casting so that it can go into smug preachy mode and score some Right Side of History points with thickos, but since this is the UK not the deep south of the US of A, that probably isn’t going to happen and they should stop embarrassing themselves. The gender-flip of the Chibnall/Whitaker era was capital-letters BAD and attracted backlash because, across every regeneration, certain aspects of the Doctor’s character were specifically male-coded or masculine, so the change was damaging to the character. The same just isn’t true of his skin colour- he’s culturally coded as British (despite being an alien) but not necessarily white or even class-conforming, so it just isn’t the same thing.

Right, glad we got all that sorted out. I’ve got a few more things to say about Doctor Who now that we’re heading into a period when it’ll be worth watching again, but those are definitely separate blogs. Expect to see those sometime this week. Until then, I never made the Doctor’s vow to never be cruel or cowardly, so if you’d like to fuck off before I get my shotgun, that’d be swell.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #Doctor Who

[maniacs-in-drayven]

"The Ice Queen"

Breaking Hearts. And Breaking Egos. Since the 90's!

#courtney love #hole #live through this #the ice queen #90's alternative rock #blasting away the wankers #miss world #sub grunge #counter culture #90's haven

[godlessandwrecked]

down like sunsets | r. lupin

1978. summer at the Potters’ is always guaranteed to be a hell of a good time: swims in the lake, cold beer, apple picking and marshmallow roasting. remus can’t keep his hands off his girl.

WORD COUNT: 4,3k

PAIRING: remus lupin x fem reader

CONTENTS: NSFW 18+, fluffy smut and rem being a softie for his girl, oral sex (female receiving), kind of an exhibitionist vibe but not really, sirius and reader being besties that simultaneously hate each other, alcohol consumption

A/N: I couldn’t help myself, I had to write this so I could live my fantasy of spending the summer with the Marauders in the 70s, cause WHO the fuck wouldn’t want that? it inevitably turned steamy and I am: not sorry. this is just Remus being a needy puppy. that’s it, that’s the whole plot.

“Sirius, I swear, if you let me fall-”

“Will you calm down? I would never,” Sirius huffed through gritted teeth, his hold on your thighs getting tighter as he struggled to keep his balance with your added weight on his shoulders.

You stretched your arm out, the tips of your fingers barely grazing the glossy red apple hanging off the tree, “I can’t reach it, it’s too high.”

“Okay, I’m gonna jump,” Sirius exclaimed. “You get one chance.”

“What? Siri-”

Before you had time to finish the sentence, Sirius had already jumped, making you bounce up on his shoulders. You quickly stretched your arm out a little higher and managed to get a hold of the fruit in your hand, but Sirius lost his balance from the leap, his ankles wobbling, and you both tumbled onto the soft grass with a loud thump and a squeal. 

“So much for not letting me fall, you wanker,” you laughed, untangling your arms and legs and pushing Sirius away, who was sitting on top of you hand, still holding onto the apple. “Oh no! It has a fucking hole in it!”

Sirius stared at the apple silently for a second before he broke into an obnoxious laughter that echoed through the whole backyard, throwing his head back onto the ground and clutching his stomach in his hands.

“It’s not funny!”

“What are these knobheads up to now?” James stepped out of his house and into the yard where his friends were hanging out, holding a blue beach towel in one hand and a brick red radio in the other.

“Trying to manage without magic.” Remus was laying down on the grass, watching his girlfriend and his best friend with a huge grin on his face as you laughed like idiots under the apple tree. “It’s not going well, clearly.”

You got up from the ground, dusting the dirt from your hands and knees, and walked over to Remus, holding the apple up in your hand, your lips in a silly pout, showing him where the birds had ravaged the fruit and crushed your dreams of a sweet, freshly picked apple. 

“Aaww,” Remus cooed. “Poor baby,” Remus laughed softly, mimicking your expression in a mocking manner. He grabbed your hand and dragged you down to where he was sitting to peck your lips, as you mumbled “Not funny” between his smooches on your face.

“Lovebirds,” James whistled loudly, interrupting your sweet moment. “Let’s go for a swim! Pads, get the beer.”

And soon after, you were all lounging by the lake near James’ house, the same you’d gone to every single day that week, your bicycles laying in the grass by the shore.

The clear water shimmered beautifully under the scorching mid July sun, the soft waves glinting under the sunlight like crushed diamonds. The birds were chirping happily, and the air carried a soft flowery smell that made you all dizzy. It was your favorite type of day; one of those long, lazy summer afternoons spent swimming in the cool lake and nursing a cold beer.

The radio you’d brought with you from London was blasting some rock tune. Sirius bobbed his head to the song, whistling along to the guitar solo as he laid down on the grass on his towel, flicking his zippo open and shut in his hand as he took puffs from his cigarette with the other. Lily and James were in the water, looking more in love than ever, splashing and chasing each other and laughing fondly; all silly smiles and giggles.

You were laying next to Remus on your shared checkered towel, and he couldn’t have been happier. Your head was resting on the crook of his neck, the water droplets dripping from your wet hair tickling him as they trickled down his neck and pooled on his collarbone. The fruity lotion you had put on was making his head fuzzy, and although his hand was holding your waist, his fingers itched to feel more.

It had been hard for Remus to sit there in only his swimming trunks the first time he’d stayed over at James’ for the summer, with faded scars littering his chest. They had always been a reminder of pain and distress, an anguish that loomed over him even on his best days. But now, years after, he was proud to say he sported his scars unashamedly and comfortably under the non-judgmental presence of his best mates. You all had seen him at his worst and had stuck with him through thick and thin, so there was no point in hiding such superficial things from the people who loved and supported him, and he knew that now.

You stirred by his side, planting a soft kiss on the base of his neck, eliciting a content smile and a squeeze of your waist from Remus. He really couldn’t keep his hands to himself, especially today. The powdery blue swimsuit you were wearing complemented your skin tone beautifully, and you almost reminded Remus of a cat, stretching out in the sun and soaking in its warmth.

You’d also insisted on helping him apply his sunscreen, claiming you didn’t want him to get a sunburn, so he’d had to fight back the urge to topple you onto the grass and kiss you dumb as you made him lay down on his stomach. Your slightly cooler hands felt like heaven under his flushed hot skin, massaging the lotion over his sun-kissed freckled back. 

He also just couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to thoughts of your last night together in London, the week he’d spent at your house, meeting your parents and exploring your hometown through your eyes. That first night you’d shared together and thoughts of you both in your bedroom; of your soft lips and your sweet moans and your hands on him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you—even as you laid beside him now.

“How the fuck is it so hot today?” Sirius exclaimed, holding a freezing beer can against his forehead as if to cool himself down before cracking it open. “This is England, for fuck’s sake.”

“I know,” you sighed, untangling yourself from Remus’ embrace and getting up from the grass. “I’m gonna go for another dip. Y’coming?”

“Yeah, wait for me,” he said, slowly getting up from where he was laying. 

“Oh, yes, cool,” Sirius spoke. “Leave me here feeling even more single than I already was. Thanks, Moony,” he said with a fake tone of annoyance.

“Don’t be dramatic. Give us some time and we’ll find you a girl, Pads. Or a guy.”

“Or a dog owner,” you said, giving Sirius a wink and a grin—to which he answered with the simple gesture of showing you his middle finger—and walking to the edge of the lake. 

Without a second of hesitation, you jumped, perfectly plunging into the greenish water head first. Remus followed behind you, diving in and emerging back up as quickly as he could, only to wrap his arms around you; his chest tightly pressed to your back, picking you up in the air and earning a high pitched squeal from you. He gave your cheek a sweet peck and let you go so you could swim away, swimming behind you. 

“Yeah, go ahead, rub it in!” you heard Sirius’ voice in the distance as you swam away from the shore.

You moves further into the lake, to a shadowy spot shielded from the burning sun by a huge tree, Remus trailing behind you in big, effortless arm strokes.

You couldn’t reach the bottom, but Remus could, so he pulled you towards him and wrapped his arms around you, just so you wouldn’t have to make the effort of actively trying not to drown. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his hands moved under you thighs, your arms around his neck and your foreheads resting against each other’s.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek affectionately once; and then once again, a little lower this time, again and again, cradling his jaw and chin as his face scrunched up in fake disgust. You giggled softly against his ear at his stupidity and went back to kissing him, only for him to rub his cheek against yours instead, scratching you with his stubble, and making you let out a muffled scream followed by a loud laugh.

Pulling back to look at you, sparkling eyes looking at him through soaked eyelashes, he leaned in closer, capturing your lips in a soft kiss, and humming against you contentedly as you tangled your fingers on the wet curls at the nape of his neck. Your lips molded together as his fingers moved slowly across your skin under the water, inching carefully towards your inner thigh in a dangerous trail. 

“Rem,” you warned, pulling away from his lips, an eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Where’s your hand going?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”  he teased, acting oblivious.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Wolf.”

“This is torture,” he complained in a childish manner, sighing as he leaned down to press a kiss to the valley of your breasts.

“Suck it up, my love.”

•••

The sun was setting down now, the bright forget-me-not blue melting into deep ambers and violets across the sky, the crescent moon bright and high up against it. Pink Floyd was playing on the radio on a late night session, the spacey melodies bidding farewell to another fun day, and everything was just good.

You’d all taken turns to take quick showers after coming back home from the lake, and had now settled on the backyard once more. You’d managed to build a bonfire with just a lighter and, surprisingly, no magic, and Lily and you had even found some sticks in the woods nearby to roast your marshmallows on. 

You were arguing with Sirius over said marshmallows, again. For the second time that week. The scene was truly comical, to the point where you would think you were fighting for a true life or death matter. Sometimes, Remus thought you both had surely been married in some other lifetime, because the amount of times you argued over nonsense was insane. 

The two of you had known each other for way longer than the rest of your friends had, as your parents had been acquaintances for a long time, and you had been this way with each other since before any of you could recall. You always had a playful bickering going, to see who could irk the other one more or have the last word. You enjoyed pissing each other off, but you were undoubtedly the best of friends; always there for each other, always ready to fight anyone that dared mess with the other. You had sort of an older brother-little sister bond that no one quite got, because as much as you loved each other, you were also at each other’s throats most of the time.

The many beers that had been consumed already weren’t of any help either. James’ parents were away on holiday, leaving the friend group all alone for the week, and it was safe to say that the beer had flowed freely. You’d bought the full stash of the little grocery store in the village close to the house, under the vigilant stare of the old lady selling it, and most of it was already gone. The chaotic energy was sky high, and the daily laughter attack accompanied by tears that always lasted at least a good ten minutes was sure to arrive at any minute now. 

You sat around the bonfire in the backyard, a wood stump serving as a table ready with all things necessary for your nightly snack. You were wearing Remus’ maroon sweater now that the temperatures had fallen along with the night, the sleeves of the garment rolled up as they were far too long for you, the hem reaching your mid thigh.

In Remus’ eyes, you looked adorable. He always felt a sense of pride that he couldn’t explain when you wore his clothes. It wasn’t possessiveness, Godric knows Remus wasn’t the type at all—but more of an endearing, happy and prideful feeling that made his chest warm and his heart ache in the best way.

You sat on his lap sideways, your legs dangling off the armrest of his camping chair, and he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you under your shared blanket. You cozied up on his chest, resting your head on the crook of his neck like you always did. Your happy place.

You leant forward and picked up a big chunk of chocolate from the makeshift table, breaking it in half and offering a piece to Remus. He opened his mouth so you could feed him, and hummed softly when you did, savoring the sweet creaminess of the treat on his tongue appreciatively.

“So, do tell us what you lovebirds did in London. Did you have fun? Was there any snogging? Any touching, perhaps?” James asked curiously, poking a hole through a marshmallow with his stick. 

“Not this again…” Lily complained. 

“Why are you so obsessed with our sex life?” You asked, eyebrow raised as you took a swig from your beer.

“Oh, so you’ve shagged? I knew it!”

“Took you long enough,” said Sirius, popping a roasted marshmallow into his mouth. “Where’s my fucking money?”

“You were betting on us?” Remus asked, taken aback but unsurprised, a slight smile on his tone. 

“No, but now I wish we had,” Sirius said. “Come on, we were just waiting on you two impatiently. You never did it back at school, and Godric knows you wanted it, always all over each other and whatnot. I just don’t understand how you lasted so long without doing the deed.”

Clearly annoyed, you threw a marshmallow at him, landing it right between his eyebrows and bouncing back onto the floor. Sirius picked it back up, the plushy sweet now covered in dirt, and with a crazed expression, threw it back at you. You ducked down on Remus’s lap, barely dodging it.

“You’re gonna eat that, Black,” you threatened in a tone that could’ve scared anyone but only made Sirius laugh hysterically. You give him your middle finger and hot up from the chair, walking into the house, empty beer can in hand.

Remus trailed behind you, making his way towards the kitchen to find some more chocolate and hopefully avoid any more questions about your shared time in London.

He wasn’t uncomfortable with his friends’ harmless curiosity, he just didn’t think your shared affections were something to be discussed. He wasn’t the type to brag about those things like people back at school used to when they were younger—he preferred to keep certain things private, just for the two of you. It only made it all the more special and exciting.

He found you in the kitchen, filling up a glass of water from the tap. You turned around to face him when you sensed his presence, to see him silently sneaking a piece of chocolate from the counter. He winked at you from across the room and you grinned, shaking you head. 

“Hey, you okay? That didn’t bother you, right?” he asked, referring to their friends’ inquiry. He walked closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Not at all. It’s just fun to be mean to Sirius, s’all,” you said, making him laugh at your constant fake animosity.

He cupped your cheek with his hand, brushing over your brow with his fingers, admiring your familiar features silently.

His girl.

You looked so pretty clad in only his sweater, your legs bare; tired, sleepy eyes from the day’s activities; a content smile on your face as you gazed back at him, batting your lashes slowly. You pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand cradling your face, and before he knew it, too entranced in you, you were dragging him back to the backyard, your hand in his. 

But he couldn’t let you go that easily. He wouldn’t, not now that you were finally alone for the first time that day.

The dim light coming from the kitchen faintly illuminated the desolate hallway as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards him, pressing you against the wall and silencing your surprised squeal with a kiss. You melted into his embrace, draping your arms over his shoulders, your lips molding together gently. He grinned at your reaction, both his hands coming up to your face to hold your cheeks and bring you closer to him.

He swiped his tongue over your lips, asking for entrance into your mouth, but you denied him, pulling away from his mouth instead. “Don’t get carried away, Rem. We’re not alone.” 

He could hear his friends laughing and talking animatedly outside, but he didn’t care much, “So?”

His lips moved down your neck, placing playful, wet kisses under your jaw. He gently tried to persuade you into giving up, his hand sliding down your body, finding your butt and pressing you flush against his front.

“Please?” he asked. “You know I have a sweet tooth.” He eyed you up and down, like he was about to have a piece of cake.

You bit down on her lip at what he was hinting, your skin heating up as you pondered his proposition.

Remus Lupin wasn’t as innocent as everyone thought he was—playful, cheeky and witty Remus, with the smart comebacks, and as you had learned not that long ago, a skillful tongue.

“Let me make you feel good, baby.”

At that, you were done for.

“Okay,” you nodded in excitement and pushed his head down, bringing him to his knees as he grinned up at you happily and eager to have your now familiar taste on his tongue again.

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, nudging your legs apart before he dove in and started to plant soft, open mouthed kisses from your knee all the way up to your thigh, inching closer and closer inwards, and biting at the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

“Remus,” you squirmed. “Don’t tease, please. Someone’s gonna walk in on us.”

“Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?” 

You weren’t embarrassed to admit to yourself that the possibility of it was exhilarating, but of course, you weren’t going to tell him that. It only made you more impatient for him to get on with it.

He hitched your sweater—his sweater—up, revealing your underwear, and kissed you over the fabric gently, barely grazing his lips against you and inhaling your scent, looking up at you through his long lashes, green eyes sparkling in the dim light.

You breathed in harshly in anticipation, your breathing getting agitated, already weak for him as your knees wobbled. His fingers caressed lightly over the skin at the hem of your underwear, carefully tracing the outline and leaving goosebumps under his feather light touch.

“You’re gonna kill me, Remus, please,” she looked down at him with pleading eyes. 

“Please, what?”

“I want you, please.”

“What do you want, my love?” he kept playing with you, hooking his fingers on your panties and pulling them down your legs slowly as he placed gentle kisses over your lower belly.

“Your mouth. I want your mouth.”

Who was he to deny his precious girl the pleasure she deserved? 

That was all he needed to get on with it. He wrapped his hand around your thigh, lifting it up effortlessly and placing it over his shoulder, his face inches close to your core, and he eyed you in concentration, his lips parted as he debated his next move. One of his hands moved up from your thigh, and with careful fingers, he spread your folds, staring at the sweet, wet spot where your arousal was pooling. 

“Look at you, baby. That’s a good girl,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, a smug grin on his face when he saw how wet you were already for him.

He buried his head between your legs, his lips finally making contact with you, and you gasped in surprise, the feeling of his warm tongue washing over you like some drug. He breathed a laugh at your reaction, and stroked over your clit again, kissing at your folds and your slit; hot, and slow, and wet, and relentless.

He sucked on your nub before running his tongue down your folds and pushing it into your opening, lapping at your dripping hole and catching your arousal in his mouth. You tensed in his hold as he kept fucking you with his tongue, his hand moving up your thigh to draw lazy circles over your clit with his thumb.

Your fingers tangled in his sandy, sun bleached hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp, and you gave it a firm tug as his tongue made a certain vertical stroke that sent you into overdrive, your head falling back onto the wall. Thank fuck he was holding you up, because you were sure that if he wasn’t, your legs would’ve given up by now. 

He looked up at you from his spot on the floor once more, his big green doe eyes darker in the dim light and hazed with arousal, and kept lapping at you, sucking and licking ravenously, seemingly unable to get enough of your sweet taste on his tongue. He intently observed every little face expression you were making: your eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed tightly, mouth hanging open in a soundless, broken moan. He twitched in his pants as you bit down on your lip, swallowing your own moans, trying to keep as quiet as you could. 

“My girl, so beautiful. I love you,” he mumbled, his mouth never leaving your skin.

“I- fuck, Remus, I love you too,” you managed to choke out, trying to catch your breath. “Yes, so good.”

“You wanna ride my face, baby?”

His nose bucked against your clit as he urged you to roll your hips against his tongue, his hold on your thigh tight, sure to leave the imprint of his fingers; his other hand on your hip, bringing you further on his shoulder and closer to his mouth, pinning you in place.

He just sat there, letting you have your way with him and fucking yourself on his face as he moaned along with you, your hips rocking on his open mouth, his tongue flat against you as you tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged at it harsher now.

You were trying to keep your moans and whines at bay, letting out hushed out encouraging praises and whimpers instead that only made Remus more insistent and eager to please. Although, your efforts proved to be of not that much help, because the sounds he was making echoed through the whole corridor.

Merlin. The sounds. The slurping, and the slobbering, and the filthy wet sounds he was making as he sucked on you. You hadn’t realized before that you could be so fucking turned on. You were sure that if his mouth hadn’t been catching your juices, you would be quite literally dripping onto the floor by now. 

You felt like you were floating, laying down on a pillowy cloud in the sky, far, far away from the dark corridor. Everything else banished, you couldn’t really think about your friends suddenly walking in on you, to find Remus on his knees with his head between your legs. You couldn’t even feel an ounce of embarrassment or shame. It was just Remus and you and his mouth on you driving you closer and closer to release with every brush of his tongue over your swollen clit. 

“My pretty girl. So, so good for me,” he hummed against you, sending a chill down your spine. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

You nodded desperately, making the arduous effort of opening your eyes, and as your gazes met, you felt the world crumbling away. His cheeks were flushed red, his murky green eyes hazed and burning with intensity, pupils blown out, his hair messy from your hands running through it. You could see the outline of his growing erection in his pants, aching to be released, and how he was palming himself over the fabric, his other hand tightly wrapped around your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh.

The overwhelming feeling of love you felt for him at that moment only added more fuel to the fire burning bright in your belly. It seemed as if looking at him was all you needed to come.

A flush of heat surged from the pit of your stomach and up towards your chest, dusting your skin with a cold sweat, and your breathing got rattier and uncontrolled as waves of pleasure washed over you; fingertips pricking with electricity and your head spinning, eyes rolling back into a leg shaking orgasm.

Remus smiled at you as you came down from your high, still down on his knees, grinning happily from between your legs, wiping his mouth with his hand and sticking his fingers into his mouth to get every last little drop of you. He planted a kiss on your lower belly before helping you get into your panties again.

He got up from the floor, towering over you as you tried to catch your own breath and steady your still shaking legs. He was about to connect your lips once more when-

“Oh, here you are!” Lily interrupted you, barging into the house and stopping in her tracks on her way to the kitchen once she saw you both. “You’re really missing out on Sirius’ reenactment of Romeo and Juliet. He’s doing it all on his own, it’s very impressive.”

Remus was still pinning you against the wall, his hands on your waist, but Lily didn’t seem to pick up on that or his flushed cheeks or your ragged breathing; she just continued talking animatedly as she walked down the corridor. 

Remus sighed, knowing he would have to wait until later to get his own release, but content nonetheless now that he’d gotten what he’d been dying for the whole day. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Let’s go back, you gotta bully Sirius for that.”

═════════ ❃ ═════════

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[autumnsnuggling]

Wanker

The wonderful @gnarf had a birthday a while ago and I wrote this spot of fluff for them! Pure fluff. Thanks @rockmarina for the beta!

“You’re a wanker.”

Blinded by the hazy grey light of early morning, Draco squinted and groaned, begging the Blast-Ended Skrewts that had crawled into his brain overnight to stop exploding.

“Well good morning to you too, Potter,” he muttered. “I thought ‘wanker’ was a skill you highly desired, or did I imagine last night?”

The mess of untamable hair, dark skin, and emerald eyes huffed.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” he grumbled, looking for all the world like a kitten trying to be a lion as he prodded at his ribs. “You’re a wanker!”

“Ow!” Draco hissed, slapping him away as he jabbed sharply again. “Alright! I know I can be a wanker, Potter! But last I checked, you quite liked it, so please enlighten me as to what heinous crime I’ve committed, despite not having even insulted your hair this morning?”

Potter pouted—pouted—and then blurted, “You stole all the pillows!”

Draco blinked. “I—what?”

“You stole all the pillows—and the duvet!”

“Oh. Well,” Draco drawled, fighting to keep a straight face. “Were you cold?”

“Was I—?! That’s not the point, you bastard! You robbed me! In my own bed! You thieved my things like the thiefing wanker you are, and wouldn’t give them back—you have a death-grip, did you know that?—which is just wrong! You go on at me all the time about me being a ‘heathen’ or ‘uncouth’ but do you know what you are? You’re a pillow-thieving, duvet-stealing, stupid wankering wanker—why are you laughing, you prick?!”

As he collapsed into sniggers, a feral Potter flew at him, and with a yelp of laughter, Draco burrowed under the covers. But as insults and tickles rained down upon him, he was soon squirming helplessly.

“Okay!” he gasped. “T—t—truce!”

“Wanker,” Potter sulked, niggling at his hip once more for good measure.

“Maybe,” Draco smirked. “But I think you like having me around as your wanker.”

Potter squinted, hovering above him, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Hmm, I’ve not quite decided on that yet.”

Arching up to capture his lips, Draco hummed, revelling Potter's gasp, his warmth, the way he melted into him.

“Now who’s the wanker.”

#drarry #aprilwrites #my writing #drarry squad #domestic drarry

[topaziraphale]

Love to imagine that there were a few close calls with Gabriel where aziraphale had to pretend to smite crowley, which involved a lot of aziraphale pinning him down and a lot of sword bearing. Crowley very quickly finds out he has one hell of a kink ;)

    “Of course I’m letting you win,” Crowley answers, banishing the dirt and wrinkles from both his and Aziraphale’s clothes with a snap of his fingers. Then, on a whim, he clears off any lingering sweat beading on his skin. He can’t do anything about the flush on his face and neck, or the way his legs are still wobbling. “Can’t have you losing in front of your own lot, can we? They might try and help you out, y’know. Might be worse for me in the long run, ‘s only selfish.”

    Aziraphale’s frown deepens at the implication. “Oh. I assume this means I’ll have to let you overtake me when your people show up, then?”

    “Er, you won’t. Have to. Do that, I mean.” Crowley stammers. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “They won’t crawl all the way up here to talk to me,” he elaborates, “they’ve got the radio and telly for that.”

    “Oh,” Aziraphale says again, fumbling with the lowest button on his waistcoat for a moment. “Yes, quite right.” He smiles nervously. “Erm...” Crowley pretends he doesn’t notice the blush subtly rising on Aziraphale’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Well, knowing that, I must say that is very—”

    “—no—” Crowley groans in annoyance, knowing exactly where that sentence is going, throwing his head back and grimacing.

    “—kind of you to do, to let me win even though it’s all a ruse,” Aziraphale continues, his smile changing from nervous to irritatingly fond and knowing. “Rather considerate.”

    “Fantastic,” Crowley grumbles, his face burning brighter for a different reason now. “Really made my day with that one, you did.”

     In the short silence that follows, Crowley sniffs and looks down at his shoes, pretending to inspect them for any clumps of dirt. He realizes, belatedly, that neither of them cared to fix the messy state of the greenery and soil beneath them. It clashes with the rest of the neat, freshly mown blades of grass in this conveniently empty section of the park — a stark reminder of what just happened. The sight of it makes Crowley shiver. Suddenly his resolve to stay cool and collected vanishes into thin air. He hastily looks back up to find Aziraphale fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch, and he gulps.

    “Er,” he starts awkwardly, nearly freezing when Aziraphale makes eye contact with him. “Right, anyway, I just remembered I have something to do. It’s important. I’ll pick you up later, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins on his heel, turning his back on Aziraphale and shoving his hands in his pockets, making his smoothest attempt at nonchalance as he starts walking away. “I’ll meet you in the front of the bookshop.”

    “What? Wait,” Aziraphale calls. “You’re leaving already?”

    Crowley stops in his tracks, shock still, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn’t have been found out. He wasn’t that loud, was he? Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t know. If he knew…

    “Won’t be long,” says Crowley, gritting his teeth, hoping he doesn’t have to outright lie, hoping Aziraphale doesn’t push. “An hour, at most. We won’t miss our reservation.”

   “I… er, very well,” Aziraphale eventually says, sounding confused and a little hurt. “But, before you go, I need to ask you about… just now.”

    There’s a brief moment of silence, and Crowley holds his breath, chills cold as ice sliding from the back of his neck down along the knobs of his spine as fear builds in his lower gut. When Aziraphale speaks up again, his voice is slightly deeper than normal.

     “I hurt you this time, didn’t I?”    

      Crowley blesses under his breath. It takes all he has in him not to react outwardly, to lose his carefully constructed neutrality right then and there. Instantly, his mind plays back the stunt Aziraphale pulled only minutes ago.

    It’s practically routine for them at this point, really; it’s a way for them to get out of a damning situation in a pinch. If someone from work unexpectedly shows up, they pretend to be mortal enemies, doing what mortal enemies are obliged to do should they ever cross paths: fighting to the death. (Discorporation, in these cases — and even then, they only need to make the viewer think that a discorporation has taken place, should it ever go that far.) It’ll be seen as two adversaries busy with work, and whoever it was that checked in will usually leave within a minute or two to let them get back to it.

    They were taking a leisurely walk and having a (slightly heated, in the angel’s case) conversation about some of the menu changes at the Criterion, when Aziraphale suddenly kicked Crowley’s feet out from under him, pinning him face-down into the ground with his knee pressed onto his back. He had yanked his hair, forcing his head up, and swiftly brought the edge of a sword — having manifested the weapon from thin air — onto Crowley’s exposed neck. Crowley was hard in his trousers before he even realized what was happening, before he could even guess that Gabriel or any other one of those wankers was probably nearby, watching, and that Aziraphale was faking the attack like he had done many times before to keep them both safe.

    But for a moment, Crowley didn’t know that.

     As Crowley had grabbed fistfuls of dirt and grass and writhed under the perfect weight of Aziraphale’s body, he had thought it was real, and that Aziraphale really was going to smite him this time, and that he was truly at his mercy, finally getting everything he wanted. It was too much, the ringing in his head from falling to the ground, the pain in his spine, the white-hot burn in his scalp. Crowley couldn’t move and the sword was cold and sharp on the delicate skin of his neck and Aziraphale put his lips to his ear to whisper something and it sounded harsh and commanding and he whimpered—

    “Crowley?”

    Crowley blinks back to himself, his eyes wide behind dark lenses. He hears Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching him, the soft crunching of the grass beneath two Oxfords deafening amongst the low rumble of blood rushing through his ears.

     “No,” he blurts out, his voice thin. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

    The footsteps stop. His entire body is trembling now, every inch of skin charged as if with electricity, surely to go off at the slightest touch. He clears his throat, vaguely wondering how much of a disaster it would be if he had to look Aziraphale in the face during all of this.

    “I’m fine,” he repeats in a more natural tone. “Don’t make a fuss over it, you didn’t hurt me.” You did. “Same as always, nothing different about it this time.” Hurt me again. And again and again, until my throat is raw from screaming, until my face is wet with tears. Make me beg for it.

    “It most certainly was not the same, you had no idea I was even going to attack you,” Aziraphale comments, sounding just this side of stern. Crowley’s stomach curls with something too close to pleasure from the tone of voice. Aziraphale sighs. “Are you quite sure I did not hurt you by accident?” he asks gently, because it’s just like him to have concern for Crowley’s well-being, even at the worst possible times. He takes one step closer, the space separating their bodies no bigger than an arm’s-length. Crowley can feel his stare burning right through his soul, can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “I only ask because, ah, when you cried out, just then, you seemed…”

    Alarms blare in Crowley’s racing mind.

     Cried out, cried out.

    Aziraphale did hear him.

    And now he’s asking about it.

    Crowley goes from half-hard to fully erect so quickly that it makes him dizzy, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Aziraphale only has to take a couple steps toward him and circle around to his front, and then he’ll have full view of the state Crowley is in. Then Crowley would have to explain himself, and he would be mortified, he’d be so humiliated, and the fear of it only makes his cock harder. There’s just not enough self-preservation in his current, lust-crazed state of mind to not want anything more than that.

     “— truly distressed,” Aziraphale continues, pronouncing the words with the same caution one would use when walking on a tightrope. Crowley hears the faintest of wavers in his voice only because he’s known the bastard for too long. “I was afraid I used too much force this time.”

     You could have used more. Used all of it. Put me in my place. Burned me with your light until I’m nothing, until I’m dust at your feet. Please, angel…

     Crowley holds his breath again, the muscles in his neck tightening and his jaw aching with the effort it takes to kill the moan forcing its way up into his throat. His legs feel like jelly. The temptation to fall on his knees and admit it is palpable. He might as well come clean. Even if nothing happens now, Aziraphale will bring it up again later. That’s just how he is. Better to get it over with…

    “No,” he croaks. He’s blushing so hard that the skin on his face and scalp itches furiously. “I wasn’t, I didn’t…”

    “You’re sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Truly?”

    “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, I told you I’m alright,” Crowley snaps. More than alright. Crowley knows he’s going to revel in the ache for days, but he also knows, acutely, that he’s only jeopardizing himself more the longer he stays in this blasted park. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of questions; he can already feel his admittedly weak resolve slipping in the face of those warm, seaglass eyes, beckoning him to spill his guts and spew the awful, contemptible fantasies of being taken right there in the dirt, like he deserves, with a sword trained on his back and the angel’s name in his mouth. The only thing keeping him from doing it is his knowing how said angel would react — with an upturned nose and a look of disgust only reserved for the lowest of scum. He can’t do that to him, can’t be that to him.

“Oh, right then, that’s good,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie, sounding disappointed, “that’s a relief.”

Crowley then hears the telltale rustle of clothes as Aziraphale fidgets, probably adjusting his waistcoat, before he calls out, “Well then, don’t let me keep you, dear fellow. Do mind how you go.”

    “Same to you,” he says back, feeling moderately guilty.

     He snaps his fingers, bringing himself to his flat. He lands on his back on his luxurious bed. The cool satin sheets do nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the lick of shame that follows as he claws at his belt, the zip’s teeth not daring to catch as he shoves his trousers down and takes himself in hand. The guilt instantly melts away, but the shame stays, however it only proves to spur him on even more.

    Aziraphale will forgive him by the time they meet back up for dinner.

------------------

((I originally meant to use a couple lines of dialogue as an answer to this ask but then it turned into a small little fic, thingy, yeah. Huge thanks to @divinehedonism for beta reading this for me!!))

#SURPRISE I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME #hiiiiii anon your ask has been in my drafts for months but i never forgot about you!!!! i was just nervous to post a little fic lol! #good omens nsft #nsft #bottom crowley #top aziraphale #derpy answers #derpy writes #high chance of me posting this on ao3 later #it literally took me 3 months building up courage to post this now i see why a/c took 6k years to hold hands lol #minors dni #don't think in my absence i won't check new followers i got for ages in bios #if ur a minor here might as well leave and save me the trouble of blocking you if you'd be so kind

[lilyofthevalleywrites]

An Autumn Heartbreak

CW: Angst Leaves of crimson and gold flitted by in a chilly wind. The ground was littered with them, something that couldn’t escape Arthur’s notice as he sat on a bench in a local park. Leaf after leaf fell onto a nearly catatonic Arthur.

“It’s all meaningless, pointless, an eternity and abyss of despair…. Without her. My writing is gone, even Sherlock. Simply…. Nothing comes out. I stare at the page and all I think of is her voice, the touch of her skin, her luminous smile. It all just fades away into the bleakness and darkness of the night.”

……

Several days earlier…

He was waiting for her, as he usually was. Dressed to the nines; he was going to take her out and spoil her rotten this evening. When she arrived, he handed her flowers. She smiled and all felt right with the world, that is, till it all came crashing down.

“Arthur, darling…. I,” She handed him back the flowers and shook her head. “I just can’t take this anymore. Your nightmares, waking me up in the middle of the night. Your fights with Sherlock, your depression and outright fear of sleep. I want a husband, not a child I have to take care of! It’s getting in the way of my work and you’re just…. Holding me back from doing all the things I want to do.”

Glass shattered and the man fell to his knees, taking her hands in his. “Please… I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me. I love you!”

“I wish I could feel the same, Arthur. But I just can’t anymore.” She let his hands go and walked away.

Eyes watered, time slowed, her walking away took a painful eternity. His heart stood still in this moment, as did his pen.

……

Arthur wandered, dazed and confused for who knows how long. When he finally made it back to the mansion he simply fell into his bed, not bothering to take his shoes or coat off. There he lay, tears streaming down his face, till Sebastian came in. What the man wanted, Arthur cared not. He ignored him, simply rolling over into his bed and groaning.

“Sir Arthur? Are you ill? Is something the matter?” Sebastian inquired.

Silence.

Sebastian would wait, well till he heard footsteps that is.

Loud sigh along with a cross brow intruded.

“Poor Zakkenwasser got his heart ripped out and stomped on today at the park. Source of mine said he saw the whole thing. The lady was off with a new man not ten minutes later. Good riddance.”

“Thank you Master Theo. However…. What do we do about him?” Sebastian motioned at Arthur.

“Do? Nothing. He’ll snap out of it eventually.”

Theo, though ever observant he was, apparently had no idea just how smitten with her Arthur had been, nor just how broken and shattered his heart was.

……

Weeks passed with Arthur mainly staying in his room in bed or sitting at his desk doing nothing. Sleeping was almost nonexistent. Another week passed and Arthur attempted to write.

He stared at the blank paper with his pen in his hand.

Nothing.

Scribbles of nonsense followed by the page being ripped out violently, wadded up and discarded on the floor behind him.

“Bollocks. Let’s try that again.”

He began to write. ‘Sherlock looked over the crime scene……’

“Blast it all! Why can’t I get this scene down?” Another angrily wadded up paper discarded.

‘FECK, WANKER, PRAT, KNOB’ He wrote before again tearing the paper out and discarding it on the floor.

……

“Comte, I haven’t been teased about apples in I don’t know how long.” Isaac complained.

“Comte, I haven’t been run over in the middle of the night in ages” Leonardo joined in.

“Comte, my music has slumped due to a creative vacuum in the mansion.” Mozart chimed in.

“Theo, you know Arthur best. My talks with him never go the way I plan. Please, get him out of here and fix the problem.” A worried Comte implored.

A gruff huff and a nod later, Theo had a plan.

……

“Alright, Alright, I’ll have a seat. By Jove what’s gotten into you that you needed me at this particular bar? We never come here.” Arthur asked

“That’s the point, klootzak. A change of scenery.” Theo took a seat next to him and ordered them drinks.

A few rounds later and Arthur was staring into his glass dejectedly. “Theo, it’s just not the same without her….”

“Without who, handsome?” A woman’s voice queried.

His head shot up and eyes widened. By Jove this woman was a beauty.

“Well?” She asked.

“N-No one, gorgeous. Name’s Arthur. Might I have the name of the angel next to me?”

She giggled, her eyes sparkling. “Lily.”

The barkeep put glasses down for both of them. Arthur reached for one and felt a warm hand instead. Sparks of electricity flew through him, seeming to restart his heart.

From then on, all Theo ever heard Arthur talk about was Lily. He’d complain, but deep down, he was happy to see his dear friend happy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34802638

#angst with a happy ending #cybird ikemen #ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikevemp theo

[spiltscribbles]

this night seems so long!

~Notes: I’m reposting this and i’m still not happy with it :S rip XS

SEND ME A PROMPT  |  A REBLOG MEANS THE WORLD!

.-

It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts

with the mild pheasants' song ...

but now I feel the northern wind's blast—

its severe weather strong. 

Alas! Alas! This night seems so long!

And I, because of my momentous wrong

now grieve, mourn and fast.

TS Eliot

.-

The late summer chill seeps through the creeping windows into the flat that they once called home— the feebly standing, slowly disintegrating haven that was painted with laughter before lies, with hopeful kisses before hesitant touches. The cold burrows itself into Sirius’s bones and coats his every thought and  nests deep inside of him until he’s more frost than man.

But then he sees Remus— beautiful and golden and perfect Remus— padding out their bedroom clad in Sirius’s oversized jumper that swallows his hands whole, and that familiarly gentle smile that makes his eyes glitter  once his soft gaze rests on Sirius, and his sleep supple  skin tastes like the things too beautiful to name. He tastes like Remus— like sunlight and parchment and whispered laughter and raspy groans and that’s all Sirius ever wants, has ever wanted.

“It’s September first.” He says once Sirius finally unlatches from his neck, red faced and pleased, and Sirius swears that Ganymede has nothing on him. That if he could he’d restructure every celestial star from above to follow the precise slope of his nose, and the pedal soft curve of his cheek, and the path of his jawline to temple. For everyone to worship him in ways he’s always deserved.

“We’ve made it another month,” Sirius retorts, mixes the splash of milk with the sugar in Remus’s Earl Gray, which is a travesty and a point of teasing throughout their whole relationship since they were nothing but lads. Sirius blames Remus’s beverage faux pas— including his preferential nature to black coffee—to being raised by a Frenchman for a mother, and Remus always counters that if Sirius was any more bloody English he’d be afraid that Queen Elizabeth would poach him for her next husband. Which of course always ended the argument because then Lily would laugh from besides him, and Sirius would glare along with James— both hating it when Remus and Lily’s Muggle references go over their heads like a second language they couldn’t speak.

But Lily’s not here, and neither is James. They’re tucked away in another safe house— the fourth in a calendar year, and they’re both going a bit mad if the letter Lily sent him only a few weeks ago is anything to go by. And Sirius aches for the both of them, aches for baby Harry— his one year old God son who he loves like nothing else. And how could he not? He’s Lily’s bright eyes set into James’s open face, has James’s warm, brown complexion but inherited Lily’s freckles too. He’s Sirius’s God son, and there’s a mad man after him, and sometimes it feels like Sirius’s brain is a mushy, muddled stew melting out of his scalp when he’s forced to contemplate on it for too long— to contemplate on how little Harry seems incapable of escaping the danger— because it goes back to the same name over and over again. The name of someone Sirius refuses to ever let himself contemplate for longer than a breath.

“Aye,” Remus says in that lilting, Welsh bread accent of his before he takes a slow sip and Sirius is left to study the sweep of his long lashes against his fine bones and how less than a fortnight ago that face Sirius adores so endlessly  came home caked in mud and blood that was only partially  Remus’s own and Sirius wasn’t allowed to ask what happened while he cleaned the cuts and kissed the healed pink skin with gentle reverence. “Maybe 82 will be our year Paddy.” Remus says with such raw yearning that it blows the wind out of Sirius like he’s  just taken a bludger to the gut. And he feels so stupid and thankful all at once. Because of course those idl contemplations are nothing but ridiculous fodder. Of course Remus would never— could never.

“Yeah moony,” he says quietly. “Maybe it will.”

Sirius steps forwards, and he kisses him and Remus breathes out like he’s been holding it for a long while, and then his fingers slide into Sirius’s overgrown hair and tugs,  and they’re lost in one another for the rest of the morning.

.-

Three days later Remus leaves again under demands that he won’t ever disclose to Sirius— penance for the trust Sirius broke as a schoolboy with a prank that proved near deadly— and a week after that the Order gets news that the Prewettss were compromised, that it took five of those Death Eater bastards to finish them off, and that their older sister with seven kids of her own can’t bare to hold a public wake.

The cold gets worse, and Sirius doesn’t know where to step to avoid another avalanche; is afraid that with every move he takes, a landmine is waiting to blast.

.-

The bare branches of the elderly tree outside their flat knocks against the partition that once bathed them  in spilt sunlight and stolen serenity and careful comfort. It scrapes against the glass like the fingers of an inferi, accentuated by the sound of the whistling wind, crooning like the menacing melody by a milky eyed, haggard looking banshee. And everything is unmoving, everything is still— petrified for a moment in frozen history.

And Sirius feels his insides collapse when he remembers that he’ll never hear Gideon’s laughter or see Fabian sat next to Benjy again. It’s a generation lost, Sirius thinks morbidly, the way he always gets when Remus isn’t home and he’s tossing back shots of Fire-Whiskey like it’s what keeps his veins pumping life. A generation  of them that’s being killed off one by one, a generation of Hogwarts graduates being obliterated and there’s not an end in sight and Sirius wants to scream. He wants to fight them with his bare hands. He wants to ravage each of their hideouts and use them as target practice for his unforgivables and he wants to run, God he wants to run. He wants James and Lily and Harry to come with him, wants to steel Remus in the middle of the night before he knows what’s even happening. He wants to escape it all and hold onto his family with a iron grip that can only be severed through death.

Sirius wants it so much that it begins to ache, to twist in his stomach and weep within the hollows of his bones.

But then the branches knock against the window once more, and he’s brought back to a reality the makes even idyllic daydreams like that something treacherous and awful. So he pours himself another finger and raises the glass to fallen friends and pretends that the throbbing in his heart is something that can be spelled away if he only works hard enough.

.-

Remus comes home a week later and Sirius feigns that the sight of his lover doesn’t make Sirius picture Marlene’s twisted face of agony and Dorcas’s limp body at the feet of this dark wizard that has destroyed everything Sirius has ever known and tainted everything he has ever loved.

.-

The safe house is sparsely decorated, save for the candle Lily’s always got burning and the succulent she keeps on a shelf besides a small portrait of Harry, tucked between one of her and James on their wedding day, and another of the five of them at their Hogwarts graduation. 

It’s no home, especially not one for a baby that’s as curious and boisterous as little Harry. It’s a prison at best. still packed boxes strewn about the ground, and  a tension permeating the air and it’s awful. But Sirius manages to forget about it when he glances to his right and sees a giggling Harry bouncing happily on Remus’s lap, and Remus is glowing in a way Sirius hasn’t seen for edging on a year. The stiffness threaded through his shoulders has dissipated and his smile is wide and he’s dotingly kissing Harry’s chocolate splattered cheek while James and Lily roll their eyes fondly from across the breakfast spread. And Sirius thinks that if this is all he sees for the rest of his life he would thank every God and every spirit above.

“Uncle Moony, you better be convincing Harry that if he doesn’t eat his berries that the boogie man will come and munch on his toes tonight,” Lily scolds half heartedly, which makes James drop a kiss to the crown of her head before topping off her tea.

“No toes, mommy! No toes!” Harry babbles in that in-between state of gargling and speech that is as precious as it is incomprehensible.

“Saucy boy,” Sirius chuckles, tousling Harry’s already hopelessly disheveled hair and kissing the corner of Remus’s lips that taste like hazelnut and blueberries and a bit like sunlight too. And he thinks that this is what happiness feels like— He’s nearly forgot.

“I’ll get’m washed up, shall I?” Remus says as he rises swiftly from his seat, Harry clapping excitedly. 

“Good man,” James winks and Lily blows him a kiss. Remus looks down at Sirius, a brow cocked slightly.

“I’ll be up in a minute, yeah? Just wanted to help these plonkers with the dishes.”

Remus grins brightly and nods, and then, he stilts— like in hesitation— before kissing Sirius’s temple, promptly shuffling off and humming Harry an old French lullaby that he knows Hope once sang him when he was a boy.

And Sirius’s heart feels so full, so fragile, And Sirius hates that he didn’t tell him I love you, is afraid that the space of time that they’ll get to say that to one another is rapidly dwindling.

“We’re finishing up all the kinks in the plan,” James says, saddling up besides  Sirius, handing him a sponge and keeping the dishcloth in his own. “You still want to act as secret keeper?”

“Course you daft wanker,” Sirius bristles. “I’d do anything for you lot.”

“I know,” James says unflinchingly.  “You and Moony are the best friends a bloke can ask for.”

And God that hurts like nothing else, so Sirius doesn’t even try to retort in any meaningful sort of way.  “Don’t forget Wormyy.”

James laughs. “Would never dare.”

And then silence drops over them like a heavy quilt threatening to smother them to death. And Sirius scrapes off the grime from the dishes and pretends that the plate isn’t still scratched and battered even once the debris is gone. And he swallows down the lump in his throat when he remembers that Remus is leaving again in a matter of hours.

.-

Remus is still curved around Sirius like a blessing stroked to life  with heavenly colors the morning after he gets back. Sirius wraps his arms around him, squeezes tightly and berries his head into his neck, wanting to feel him, to smell him all over. And as they lie down in that heap in the bed Sirius has always called theirs, but Remus has only ever referred to as Sirius’s, he sobs.

“Don’t go Remus, don’t leave me anymore. Just stay here, stay with me. I love you so much that I’m afraid I’ll crack with it and I know you don’t— that you can’t feel the exact same way— but please, just don’t leave us. Stay here, stay and love me too.”

Remus’s even breaths never falter, and he never flutters his eyes open, but Sirius has known him for nearly half his life, and he knows it like he knows his own name that Remus is awake and simply doesn’t answer him. 

What Sirius doesn’t know is what that means.

.-

They’re sitting on either end of the couch now. 

Sirius is pretending to fill out a crossword but is actually trying to decode a letter they had been able to intercept between McNair and a lower ranking Death Eater about some assignation that was meant to be held in the wee hours of October seventh. But every few minutes his eyes wander to Remus, to how he’s curled up with a book of poetry in one hand and his blanket swathed around him. His fringe is hanging in limp curls and the circles beneath his eyes are only that much more prominent, that much more sickly. And his gaze is large and fragile in a way Sirius has never seen. And he wants to slide the novel out of Remus’s hands and he wants to kiss away his frown, and he wants to lock his fingers through the holes in his green sweater and he wants Remus in every way imaginable, to tell him I love you and I love you and I love you so much its like I’m dying. He wants to kiss the inside of his elbow and the knot of his ankle and beneath his naval too. He wants him and knows that he’ll never stop wanting him, and is sure that this— this love— will prove his Achilles’ Heal, and Remus is Patroclus destined to leave him  first and Sirius is destined to wallow in ruin.

Sirius wants to beg him to stay here, to stay with him, to love him like he knows he does.

But Sirius simply does not— Does not tell him any of that.

They haven’t spoken to one another with words for days now, and it feels pathetic and hopeless— the way they only regard one another with stiff lips and cautious glances in the daylight, but that doesn’t stop them still clutching for one another once the sun dips into the  horizon. Like if they can convince themselves that the sex is still miraculous that they still love each other too. As if their bodies aren’t just vessels, aren’t just sacks of skin and bone. And it feels like they’re both giving up on one another and holding on to each other with equal fervency. And Sirius doesn’t know anything any more.

It’s pathetic and it’s painful and it’s pointless. It’s so obviously over, it’s been over for nearly half a year, but they’ve always been cowards when it came to one another. And Sirius doesn’t think that will ever change.

So he only settles deeper into the couch, and he keeps the Shakespeare in Remus’s grasp, and he moves his free hand to deftly clutch around one of Remus’s cold feet, and he squeezes and Remus freezes, and they both breathe for the first time in far too long. But then Remus pulls away, and Sirius lets go before he can feel the sting of rejection and they go back to pretending to go on.

.-

Remus is gone the next morning for a council with Dumbledore, so Sirius wanders the flat like a ghost with no direction, no idea what’s next.

He decides to tidy up the space, like it matters, like anything is normal. And when he reaches for the empty mug on Remus’s nightstand, he sees that his book of poetry is still open, and he lifts it to glance at the sonnet written their in black and white…

When my love swears that she is made of truth

I do believe her, though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutor’d youth,

Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.

And Sirius throws it hard against the wall before he can read another word.

.-

Remus is preparing for another mission for reconnaissance, tells Sirius that night over their curry take away. And it feels like the world is dissolving right in front of Sirius’s eyes, like his lungs have forgotten how to breathe during those interludes where Remus leaves without a trace— only starting up again when he returns smelling of blood and fear and the outdoors. And Sirius hates everything so much— Is afraid that he hates Remus most of all some days, even if he’s the one person he can’t fathom existing without. 

.-

The sky breaks open that night and rain pellets down like the bullets from the Muggle films that Remus loved showing him, before the war, and before his disappearing act, and before it felt like a knife was plunged into Sirius’s chest every time he looked at him— and the only worst thing than this would  be if he stopped seeing Remus all together, because he knows it like the innate way he knew how to move his lips against Remus’s on that feted day towards the start of seventh year— that the knife would simply be pulled out and he’d bleed to death bit by bit. 

It hurts like nothing else loving him, but Sirius can’t fathom a world where he does not. Where he doesn’t get to trace the consolation of freckles dusting his high cheekbones, where he doesn’t get to kiss the singular mole at the nape of his neck that’s ordinarily covered up by his thick jumpers. A world where they don’t intwine in the ways that lovers are want to do.

Sirius loves Remus even if he knows it’s fruitless because there’s a war destroying the world and there’s a spy in the order and Remus is the only one who’s brilliant in a reserved way  and cunning when he wants to be and the only one who knows how to properly keep a secret from his friends like it’s a second skin that he wears as effortlessly as a cloak.

And God.

Remus is sitting besides him now, a pinky’s breath away from his perch on the sofa.

There are words that writhe in Sirius’s throat, clacking against his teeth, begging to spill out. He wants to tell Remus he loves him, that he’d forgive him anything. He wants to tell him that Remus can Avada Kedavra him in the cold morning light and Sirius would still only see him bathed in an etherial  glow, but can’t see him doing that to their dearest friends, to Harry who is sacred and should always be protected. He wants to beg him to just speak, to tell Sirius the truth, to tell Sirius he still loves him. Beg Remus to run away with him. To go off to Prague or Cordova or maybe even the states, to say sod it to the whole damn war and just spend their days and nights tangled up with naked limbs and sweaty sheets.

And he thinks he will, thinks that the burning sensation of want within him is too furious to tempt down anymore.

But then the dying sun shimmers through the window, unspools in Remus’s honey curls and twinkles in his butterscotch eyes that were once always dancing with a quiet humor that enthralled Sirius to him like a drifter to a prophet. And it’s not healthy, this vigil he’s always held for him— especially now, especially with his suspicions that James begrudgingly agrees with and Lily fumingly does not— but Sirius’s never been one for self preservation, has never known how to let a scab heal over naturally. He has to poke and prod until it scars, until it becomes a indelible part of him. 

They stay there like that for either a minute or hour more, and when Sirius sees that Remus finally has enough of their staring match, he begins to move away, and it is Sirius— with a quick hand and desperate need— who presses him back down to the cushions with a hot mouth and wandering palms and he pretends that all he feels at the sound of the whimper Remus lets out is pleasure and not pain from his heart chipping that much more.

And this is vacant of words too. This is just instincts and moans and intuition of knowing another’s body and pleasure points and wants  for half a decade now.

They make it to the bedroom and Sirius refuses to be gentle, refuses to deprive himself of anything, and Remus is matching him with every thrust.

When they kiss its wet, and Sirius knows its the tears leaking out their eyes, and he knows in that unspoken, understanding way that this is the final time. That when Remus leaves later tonight, he’ll stay gone, that he won’t ever sleep besides Sirius again, won’t ever hold him like this. Sirius will never get to see him in the splendid, golden hours of morning and never get to run away with him after all. So Sirius blunders Remus’s mouth with his hard tongue, and he relishes the way Remus bites on his bottom lip until he tastes blood. And he throws them onto the mattress and they wrestle together in the sheets, scratching and pulling and canting obscenely. And when Sirius kisses his protruding collar bone it’s I’m saying I love you, and when Remus sucks on the hinge of Sirius’s jaw it feels like an apology. And when Sirius squeezes the scar on his inner thigh where the very first bite mark lies mangled and knotted in his skin, he’s begging him one last time to stay, and when Remus tells him in a voice that’s tenuous and tender and filled with sorrow, “Fuck me” the syllables slot together in a different formation that sound like “I’m already gone.”

They’re having parallel conversations and they’re not speaking and it’s the end.

So Sirius bucks against him and Remus wraps his long, long legs around Sirius’s narrow waste, and Sirius codes his fingers with the lube they’ve always kept in his nightstand and is fast when he plunges them into that ring of tight, tight muscle, when he stretches and scissors  and slicks him open, spurred on  by Remus’s gargled words begging him. “Now Sirius, now, now. Do it now.”

So he doesn’t bother with any of the rest of it. He barely sheaths himself half way before he has to stop, has to catch his breath, to re acclimate himself to the pressure. But then he hears Remus whimper and he surges forwards and doesn’t let up this vicious rhythm that he hears pulsing in his fucking ears. And it’s graceless and it’s hard and it’s a bit rushed but it’s what they need. And when Remus tosses back his head— features twisted up with emotion— Sirius berries his face into his neck and he feels his tears intermingling with Remus’s own and Remus’s loud pleads for him to go rougher, to stay longer, to keep fucking into him. So Sirius listens because there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Remus— even now— and he focusses on his hand circling Remus’s length, on pumping it with a tight fist and a bit of a twist, the way Remus has always preferred it. And he hears Remus croaking out an “I’ve always loved you,” and even if those words are too late, too little, too hollow, they still work to bring him off the edge, and Sirius thrusts deeper only twice more before he’s releasing himself into him— into the love of his life— quickly followed by Remus’s own cock whimpering out it’s own climax. And it feels like the ending to the story Sirius never wanted to stop being told.

But before he can pull out his overstimulated prick from Remus’s arse, Remus just squeezes him with his legs,  eyes fluttering shut while he rests his arms around Sirius’s broad shoulders. “Just stay.” he asks. “Stay until I have to go.”

And the sound of him— so desperate so pliant so tired— breaks the rest of his heart so much so that Sirius feels the remains splintering in his lungs and shattering open his ribcage with a sob he never lets out until Remus is gone.

“Anything you want Moony. Whatever you ask.”

And Remus’s lips twitch up into the best approximation of a smile that he’s given Sirius in far too long, and Sirius rests his head against Remus’s chest, and kisses the freckles that he was so elated to find their the first time they had done this. And he takes in deep the scent of  cinnamon and citrus and sunlight that’s always clung to his skin, and he thinks that this is the first time they’re letting each other feel hopeless together.

.-

The cold has turned over to a blizzard, and it seizes the flat once more the next morning.

Remus is gone and Sirius is left alone and nothing is right.

So he grabs the floo powder from the beautiful, ceramic container Hope had gifted Remus when he first moved into the flat the summer after their seventh year, and he finds James waiting for him on the other side, and he’s never taken in just how exhausted and terrified and sad his brother is looking these days.

“Wotcher, Pads.” James says, sipping on his tea with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and nothing is alright, nothing will probably ever be alright again.

“Hiya, Prongsie,” Sirius says, hearing just how threadbare his voice sounds in the quiet of the Potter cottage.

“So just a morning call? Or would you like me to fetch Haz for you?”

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat and forces himself to speak.  “James I love you more than life, love Lily and the sprog just as much— But—“ he chokes up right then before ramming forwards. “I can’t— I can’t be the—“

“I know,” James interrupts, a thin, forgiving smile on his face. “Pete’ll have to do, but I’d still rather it you.”

“I’m so sorry James.”

“Me too.”

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #SPILT INK #DELETE LATER #TBH #LOL

[fandom-junkie2020]

Unbreakable

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary- Y/N, sister of Cedric Diggory, once hated Draco Malfoy with a burning passion. Well, that changed and when tragedy strikes the Diggory family, Draco is there to comfort her. 

Unedited

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Hogwarts had always been a dream come true. Every day was filled with magic, friendship, and best of all conflict. It was never a dull year at Hogwarts, which meant that some catastrophic event had to occur. Although nothing damaging had happened so far, there was still one thing that made this year different than most. 

The Triwizard Tournament. 

Y/N sat at her house table, the Slytherin table. Being in Slytherin was something to be proud of--being in any of the houses was something to be proud of--yet most looked down upon Slytherins because of the stereotype that came with the house. The pure hatred that most had for the Slytherins made it difficult for those who were in the house to make friends beyond their group.  

Not one had expected Y/N to be in the Slytherin house. It wasn't because of her unusually bubbly attitude or her determination. It was because of her brother. 

Cedric Diggory. 

Cedric was a year older than Y/N and belonged to the Hufflepuff house. Everyone, including the Diggory family, had expected Y/N to follow in Cedric's footsteps. However, she unexpectedly was chosen to be in the Slytherin house. Even though her family was disappointed by this outcome, they supported her nonetheless. Making friends was more difficult than earning her family acceptance. 

At the start of the year Y/N was subject to bullying. She stood by her brother's side and often chatted amongst his friends instead of trying to make her own. This worked out nicely for a while, but like any older sibling would, Cedric got annoyed. Why did she have to always hang out with his friends? She was in first year for God sake, making her old enough to find her own friends. She didn't need to latch onto his life just so she didn't feel lonely. 

Although this was somewhat harsh thinking on Cedric's part, this benefitted Y/N.

The astronomy tower was dark. The moon was shining and there was a light drizzle outside. The air nipped at Y/N skin as she sat against the cool metal floor. She sat there with her knees tugged toward her chest. Her hands clung together, desperate to hold onto something. Tears slowly streaming down her face. 

Her brother had turned her away. Her only friend, the one person that is supposed to be there for her, told her to leave. She didn't know where else to go. She didn't want to go back to her dorm. The other girls continually picked on her, stole her robes, and even poured water on her bed so she couldn't sleep in it. She could head back to the common room, however that might be worse then the dorms. Most likely, the Slytherin prince himself, would be sitting in one of the armchairs, his goons close by to defend him. If she went to the common room she would be subjecting herself to an even worse fate than that of the girls dorms.  

Malfoy was always good at tormenting every student he deemed necessary. Y/N was someone that Malfoy deemed inferior, worthy of torment. Although their paths had barley crossed, the boy still decided to pick on the poor girl. She was an easy target. He got all the information he needed from the gossip smothering the school halls. Anything he didn't know, or needed to know, could be easily at his fingertips with one order to Crabbe and Goyle. 

Going to the common room wasn't an option.

Going to the dorms wasn't an option. 

Going to her brother wasn't an option. 

Going to the astronomy tower, however, was an option. 

She had been sitting there for quite some time. Alone, wondering if her time at Hogwarts would get any better. How could it? Everyday she was tormented. How could the life she was living possibly get any better? Life always disappoints doesn't it? Everyone says life is going to get better. That one day, you won't be sad anymore. How can that be? There are always going to be people who want to destroy you, to rip apart your happiness. 

"It sucks here," Y/N said to the stars. The stars, of course, remained silent. 

"Yeah for you."

Y/N whipped her head toward the stairs that entered the astronomy tower. 

There appeared the Slytherin prince. He stood at the entrance and leaned up against the railing of the stairs. His arms crossed and his eyebrows were tilted downward, forming a frown. Y/N looked and took in Malfoy's appearance. He was in his night clothes--not the ones provided by the school of course. These looked to be of a soft material and the stitching was done tightly and neatly. On his left breast was an embroidered Malfoy family crest. The details were delicate and precise. 

"Easy for you to say, Malfoy," Y/N sneered. Normally she wouldn't dare to speak to Prince Draco in such a negative tone, for this would cause her to be in more trouble then she normally was in. But tonight, exceptions were made. 

Malfoy scoffed, "Well maybe if you weren't such a baby about everything then you'd actually understand the importance of the Slytherin house and embrace who you were meant to be, a Slytherin. Then--and only then--will you actually have some here at Hogwarts."

As Y/N sat, looking over at Malfoy, she pondered why she didn't stand up for herself. Cedric always stood up for her no problem. Why did she have such a hard time with it? What does she have to lose?

She rose from her seated position, took a few steps towards Malfoy, clenched her fists, and spoke. 

"Well, Malfoy, if you weren't such an outright wanker then I wouldn't be alienated by my own house!" Y/N yelled. 

Malfoy thought tactically about his text words. He paused, looked Y/N up and down and said, "If you weren't such a disappointment to Slytherin then maybe I wouldn't have to be a twat all the time."

 Much time had passed since that awful night and Draco had gotten over his irrational bullying. Now things were much different. As the years progressed so did Y/N and Draco's relationship. Instead of being enemies, the two had grown closer than anyone had ever imagined. No one expected Y/N Diggory, sister of Cedric Diggory, to start dating Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince. Even though the two had become good friends before they started their relationship, no one could understand why a Malfoy would date a Diggory. The two of them were good at ignoring everyone else because at the end of the day all the pair cared about was 

However, after the start of the Triwizard Tournament, there was more attention on the couple than there ever had before--Rita Skeeter was a lovely help with that. Cedric was consumed in the “celebrity life.” He was being showered with attention from dozens of girls from multiple different houses. His friends were the epitome of the name “Chad.” Altogether, Cedric time was being consumed with studying for the torment and trying to catch the perfect date for the Yule Ball that was scheduled for the winter time. Since Cedric was dragged into the spotlight, his sister was as well. The usual great hall buzz shifted from that evening's outlandish happenings to Y/N and her relationship with Draco. 

“Such things are unnatural. No Slytherin should be seen with the like of a--a Diggory.”

“I can’t believe that he chose her. Did you see what she was wearing last week.”

“Diggory and Malfoy? Ugh that whole relationship is disgusting. At least they’re both pure bloods right?

“He’s gorgeous. Maybe slippin’ him a love potion or two will make him forget about Miss Y/N Diggory.”

To say that their comments were rude would be an understatement. Despite the harsh tone fluttering about the Great Hall, Draco and Y/N were able to discount the murmurings. They would sit quietly chatting with each other while Crabbe and Goyle sat across from them, engulfing their time with the freshly baked pastries. While those around them would be projecting hate onto their relationship, they would be avowing their love for one another. 

“You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re so pretty.” 

“You’re amazingly smart.”

“You are everything I’ve always wanted.”

“You are worth everything in my life and more.”

While the two were together, everyone around them disappeared. No one else mattered. It was them and only them. They could spend hours defying the expectations of their fellow classmates. While they were together, nothing could touch them. They were unbreakable. 

 The final task, the most important task out of the three. The area was filled with hundreds of students, staff, and family members of those who were entered in the tournament. There were dozens of flags representing that of whom the individual wanted to win. Trumpet blasted its music through the area as the crowd cheered for the entering contestants. 

Out of a doorway, hidden beneath the audience, appeared Cedric, Fleur, Victor, and finally Harry. Cedric, accompanied by his father, looked into the stands in search for his sister. They had been growing apart in recent years, however, he wanted to know that she was there. That she cared. His eyes weaved through the Slytherin crowd. The search didn’t last very long. All he needed to do was find the boy with the platinum blonde hair. His sister, Cedric knew, would be right next to the boy. 

Once he locked eyes on his sister, he smiled and waved. For half a second Cedric would have sworn that she wasn’t going to wave back. Then he saw his sister’s eyes light up. She stretched her arm high up into the air and shook her arm back and forth. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. Then she turned to Draco, excitement flooding her expression. They exchanged a few sentences with each other before she turned back to continue waving at her brother. 

In that moment, hope filled Cedric’s heart. Maybe--just maybe--he could mend the relationship he broke long ago. Maybe he could talk to her and tell her how much he loved her. Maybe they could forget the countless arguments between them. Then Cedric began to wonder if his sister had meant to react with such excitement. Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. She was obviously having her fun with Draco. Surely she didn’t mean to acknowledge him with such energy. 

Regardless, I’ll talk with her later, he thought. 

 Y/N sat next to Draco, her hand intertwined with his. Fleur and Victor had already been illuminated from the tournament. Surely, Cedric and Harry would be done soon? 

“I’m worried,” Y/N looked towards Draco. 

He looked back at her, his eyes crinkling downwards, “Why?”

“Well,” Y/N paused as she gazed at the center of the arena, “they should be back by now. The task couldn’t take that long.” 

Draco rubbed his thumb along the top of Y/N’s hand, “Probably working extra hard to ensure Potter doesn’t win the cup.”

Y/N let out a puff of air, “Ya you’re probably right.”

Just then, out of thin air, Harry and Cedric appear in the center of the arena. The crowd cheers, the trumpets let out load notes of upbeat, champion music, and everyone stands. Including Y/N and Draco. At first she cheers, glad that her brother made it out of the maze with the cup, even though he and Harry were together. Then she looks closer (as close as she can from the distance she’s at). Harry lays on top of Cedric, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. Cedric, positioned on his back was unmoving.

“Draco,” she reached over to her boyfriend who, like the others, was immersed in cheering.

He glanced over at her, continued to clap, and asked, “What?”

“Draco.” 

Then someone let out a strangled cry.

Dumbledore ran towards Harry, pulling him away from Cedric.

“No! No!” Harry cried as he continued to latch onto Cedric’s body. 

Everything stopped. 

The music. 

The cheering. 

Everything. 

“Draco,” Y/N whispered, her eyes grew watery. Cedric hadn’t moved from his supine position. 

Y/N like many of the professors pushed past the crowd of people, attempting to reach her brother. A hand grabbed hers but she yanked it out of the grasp that was trying to keep her from moving forwards. She reached the bottom of the stairs.

“He’s back! He’s back! Voldemort’s back! Cedric, he asked me to bring his body back! I couldn’t leave him, not there!” Harry yelled frantically as Dumbledore attempted to console the distressed boy. 

Y/N paused, listening to what Harry said. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look, saw Draco, and continued walking forward. Her feet carried her faster the closer she got. Everything moved in slow motion. The sounds around her were barely audible. She could only focus on her brother laying in the grass, lifeless. 

She reached Cedric’s body just as Harry was being pulled away. She kneeled down, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Ced--Cedric,” she said forcefully.

This must have been another one of his stupid pranks. He was no Fred or George but he loved to pull a quick joke on his sister, no matter how cruel. 

“Cedric, this isn’t a joke, come on,” she insisted. She shook his shoulder. 

Nothing. 

She shook harder. 

Nothing. 

“Y/N,” a voice behind her said softly, “Y/N.”

She turned around slightly, her eyes still trained on her brother. 

“Y/N,” a hand was placed on her shoulder. She whipped her head around, her watery eyes overflowing. Draco stood above her. His blonde hair glistened against the light from the torches. His eyes were filled with sadness. He knelt down, grabbed the hand that she had placed on her brother's shoulder, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. 

“Y/N, come on, we should go.”

She looked at her brother then back to her boyfriend, “But, Draco, he--we can’t leave him here, Draco. He--he--I need him--we have to--” Draco looked sadly at his girlfriend as her voice began to crack. The tears that were streaming down her face were getting heavier. 

“Come on, love. Let’s go somewhere else, ya?” he suggested, voice slow and carefully punctuated, almost as if he were talking to a child. 

He carefully grabbed her upper arms, lifted her from her knelt position, and engulfed her in a hug. Her arms quickly found themselves around his waist, her head tucked downwards in his shoulder. The tears seemed to be forever flowing as they soaked into Draco’s robes. 

“Let me through--that’s my son! That’s my boy! My boy!” Y/N’s father’s agonizing screams burst through the crowd as he too pushed through the sea of people. He reached his son, sobbing as he kneeled down. His screams penetrated the ears of everyone in the arena. 

Y/N moved her arms from around Draco and placed her hands over her ears, eyes shut tight. Draco squeezed her shoulder with one arm and raised his other hand to cradle the back of Y/N’s head. Her sobs, much like her fathers, were cut off by harsh breaths. 

“He’s dead, Draco. He’s dead,” she whispered continually into Draco’s chest. 

Draco pulled away momentarily, cupped Y/N’s cheeks, and brought his forehead to hers.

“It’s going to be okay, love. I promise.”

One thing was for sure, she was broken, 

but they were unbreakable. 

#draco #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Ron Weasley #draco x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #cedric diggory #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader