Remus opened his letter, surprised when it appeared to be a howler. The last time he’d heard one was the day before Sirius got disowned back in 5th year.
He was in the dining hall for breakfast, sitting at the staff table. He watched as Harry and Hermione plotted, looking anxious. He blew it off, as it seemed Harry was always weary.
“A howler,” Snape sneered from beside him.
“Astute observation, Severus.” Remus told him, nodding at him.
Remus disregarded Snape, and focused on the howler. There was no name on it, so it was possible it was from a student playing a prank. In good nature, for the prankingnostalgia, Remus opened it.
There was silence for a moment before a loud, booming voice started to yell. “DARLINGGGGG, GUESS WHOS BACK FROM JAIL” And it was his Sirius Black. And he knew they would find each other again.
Warnings: mentions of the end of the world. Smut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, light oral (f receiving)
I know it just came out. I know it’s new. But damnit…I needed smut with this watery eyed man let me tell you-
Authors Warnings: this was not proof read
Word Count: 1.7k
Eric’s body ached terribly. The impact from the water, swimming one handed. Running on empty for days as he carefully curled up with Frodo. Legs shaking and mouth flapping like a fish out of water, trying to form any thought as he sleepily looked around.
They’d been adrift for about six hours now, on open water and swaying with the waves. His empty stomach queasy from poorly digested stale pizza, bourbon, and fear. Looking around quietly before Frodo wriggled from his arms. Running off as Eric followed. Clamoring desperately as he weaved through bunches of people. “Excuse…excuse me…clear the way. My uh…my cat!” He squealed. Making his way through to a sight strangely comforting.
There you were, eating from your rucksack and carefully feeding Frodo pieces of beef jerky as his paws held your fingers expectantly. Eric blushing in shame as he walked over.
“I’m terribly sorry for his…behavior. He’s very curious, a risk taker.” He laughed nervously as you hummed softly in understanding. Pressing a cheese cracker to your tongue as you looked him over. “You’re from England…” you murmured as he nervously nodded. Sitting beside you and grunting as a massive bag of trail mix hit him in the chest. Gratefully opening and picking through it.
“I just got back from um…my trip across Europe. A study abroad program…didn’t expect this…” you murmured. “I was in my cab…and my parents were waiting for me…and then what looked like stars fell from the sky…then uh,” you mimicked the sound of an explosion while bubbling out your hands. “Parents gone, my little apartment in tatters and my life in shambles…” you murmured as he pursed his lips. Eyes filled with pity as he carefully placed a hand on your knee.
The two of you got to talking. Sharing names and experiences, Eric giving you the cashews from the trail mix as he frowned to himself. Carefully leaning his sleepy head on your shoulder as he hummed in thought.
“Where do you think we’re going?…” he whispered as you rubbed his scalp lightly. “Probably some sort of island or compound…somewhere safe.” You mumbled as you carefully stood. Eric’s big, wet brown eyes boring into you as you gestured for him to follow you as you entered the bottom of the ferry. Finding a storage closet as he eagerly trailed behind with Frodo in step. Watching as you piled up blankets and softer clothes from your bag into a pallet to sleep on.
“Is this um…where you’ll be sleeping?” He asked nervously as you hummed. “Yes. Yes it is…? Why…?” You murmured as he frowned to himself.
“Can…can I lie with you…?” Eric was clingy, terribly so. Thousands of miles from home. Nobody to stick by. He needed someone to keep him grounded in some way. His eyes watching you as you pushed air through your pursed lips.
“Yes but you have to take off the slacks and shoes. I don’t…I don’t think I can fathom sleeping next to someone dressed like a lawyer.” You muttered as he smiled wide. Removing his tie and kicking off his sneakers. Wriggling off his terribly stained slacks as you sighed.
Stripping of your layers, you stood in your thin tank top and your leggings. His face pink in flustered confusion as he shivered. “I um…I can see your…your um…” he gestured to your chest as you looked down.
“My…my what? Oh my nipples. I am a woman and it is cold Eric.” You insisted as he frowned. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked woman before~” you teased as he looked away. “I’ve seen magazines, and pornos! I’m not…im not completely unaware.” He insisted to himself.
He hadn’t…seen a naked woman before, or even like…a barely clothed one in real life it seemed. Pursing your lips as you sighed. “I’ll gladly put on a sweater if it’s bothering…you…” your eyes travelled downward to a very nervous, very stressed, and very hard Eric as he bit his lip harshly.
“Eric…you’re telling me you nearly died a virgin?” You whispered as he whimpered in embarrassment. “I hadn’t had time, to do things like that? For fear of like…losing my way. I came here for one reason. Law school.” He insisted. Picking at his fingers anxiously as you gently took his hands and pulled them apart.
“Well…we’re relatively safe now…and you’re not terrible looking~” you teased him lightly as he scoffed in gentle frustration. “Would you like…for me to be your first time?” You murmured softly as he bit his lip. Thinking about it as he nodded slowly. You were the only person he knew in America with the current situation. Plus you were pretty. With full lips and big batting lashes and a dusting of pink on your cheeks from the cold and-…his thoughts kept spinning in his head as he whined. He felt perverted, to acknowledge how he’d been thinking of you.
“Yes please…” he murmured as he let you lead him to sit on the soft pallet you’d made. His eyes watching you tentatively as you carefully took his hands and placed them on your hips. “You can touch me Eric…just be gentle…can’t be too loud…it’s the end of the world after all,” you teased as he carefully nodded in agreement.
“Can we um…can we have you lying down…and me on top? If that’s okay?” He whispered. Thumbs rubbing idle circles on your hips as he waited for your approval.
“Yes we can do it in missionary…and thank you for asking it’s very sweet,” you assured as you slowly lied down. Eric following as he straddled your lap and tenderly moved up to cup your face. “May I kiss you…?” He whispered as you laughed lightly. Pulling him down to kiss you.
It was clumsy and messy, his body relaxing against you as he held your face between his clammy palms. Tongue swiping across your bottom lip as you allowed him in. His whimpers desperate as he rutted against your thigh. He was *big*.
He whimpered in need as his kisses trailed along your jaw, down your throat. Slowly working up your tank top as he audibly whined at the sight of your breasts. Nipples pebbling from the cold as he continued to kiss down your collarbone. Warm hands slowly working up your sides as he shuddered.
“You’re really fit, you know?” He whispered. Left hand lightly taking hold of one of your pert breasts. Gently kneading it between his wanton fingers and panting lightly to himself. His mouth wandering lower till it lightly nipped the soft skin of your chest. His knee slotted between your plush thighs. Hands slowly working their way down as you sucked air between your teeth. His mouth needy as he left hickeys across your full chest.
“I um…im going to try something…” he whispered nervously as he carefully backed up. Pressing his nose against your soft stomach as he clumsily took the elastic of your underwear between his teeth. Pulling it down with a bit of a struggle. Getting them off as his eyes widened.
“Wow…um…you’re…you’re beautiful…” he complimented as he lifted your left leg just a bit. Pressing warm and wet kisses along your inner thigh before ending at your clit. Placing a firm and warm peck as his fingers delicately traced your lips.
“Thank you…Eric-“ you’d been holding your breath. His passionate and gentle ministrations were addictive as you watched his face dip between your legs. Moaning lightly as his fingers pressed into you. Looking up at your face to make sure he hadn’t hurt you.
His fingers were thick, and careful. Lightly pumping and curling as he fingered you. Not wanting to cause any harm as he bit his lip gently. Drawing a moan from you as he covered your mouth. “Mmmm…shhh~, we don’t want to get caught.” He insisted lightly as he gently rubbed your clit with his thumb.
His motions were calculated, eyes never leaving your face to make sure you were okay. The soft and wet sounds of your cunt the only real noise besides your muffled breathing. His big brown eyes blown up in need as he whimpered loudly.
“When we get…wherever we’re meant to be, you’ll stay with me…” he was asking, though it came out as more of a gentle demand as he wriggled his fingers a bit deeper. Starting to increase the speed of his motions as you gripped the fabric beneath you.
“Fuck-“ it barely came past his mouth as he shuddered aggressively. “I need you…” he retracted his fingers. Your body clenching around nothing as he worked himself out of his boxers.
He was thick, a nice vein along the underside of his shaft as he pumped himself with his soaked hand. Watching you desperately as he pushed between your thighs and eased himself into you.
His grip on your mouth tightened as your lashes fluttered and back arched. Groaning softly to himself as he eased each inch till he’d fully hilted himself inside you. Twitching lightly. He’d cum soon. Inexperienced and desperate.
He slowly rolled his hips. A testing motion to see if it felt as good for you as it did him. Tears pricking your eyes from overstimulated need. His lips lightly kissing them away as he began to thrust.
“So good for me…so pretty…” he whined lightly as he held you close. His thrusts short and deep as he rocked into you. The space a bit cramped as he hissed through his teeth. “Oh your cunt was made for me…” he murmured as he rocked his weight to make sure he could get as much friction as possible. “Such a pretty girl…” he crooned as he held your gaze.
His breathy moans came from between his plush lips. Nervous and needy as he grit his teeth lightly. Legs trembling as he panted loudly to himself. “So fucking good…” his words were simply repeating. Brain fried from lust and exhaustion.
“Fuck fuck fuck-“ his hips stuttered as he pressed himself deep into you. Letting himself cum as you moaned into his hand. Holding his wrist as he slowly lied on top of you. Exhausted pants leaving you both as his hand slipped from your mouth.
“Thank you…” he whispered, eyes closing. Finally able to rest.
Timulty did not look up from his workbench. "I'm the only Timulty on this ship, you don't have to specify Terran. It's not like Alex where the name shows up in other languages."
"Terran Timulty," Alendriel Alex said, ignoring that, "is this phrase --" he sounded out the writing on the blue tin, having taken human phonetic classes -- "daaaniss-huh buht-ter kook-ee-ess, this was the name of the human treats you shared because they did not contain Terran-only ingredients, yes?" He supported the container with the thumbs of one hand while the five fingers drummed on the five cookies on the front.
Timulty looked up. "Danish, the s-h is pronounced differently together. There're a couple letter pairs like that, I think it's called a dipthong or something. Yeah, that's them. I can get you more if you want?"
"No, I mean, yes, but --" Alex did want more, that's why he was sniffing around in Timulty's things in the first place, and he'd been so delighted when he'd thought he found them. (Alendriels didn't have a sense of "personal property" but by Alendriel standards Terrans didn't have a sense of "personal space" so they'd been equally frustrated with eachother. Once they'd hashed it out out loud they'd started to adapt to each other. Locks or spikes where it was important.) "-- This container does not have the treats, though it smells like it should. This container has clothing repair items in it."
Timulty giggled. Large Alendriels made high-hertz noises but large Terrans usually did not. The Terran cleared his throat. "Yeah, that's why I needed the cookies eaten, so I could put my sewing kit in."
Alex examined the tin, rolling it over and passing it from hand to hand to hand. "This shape is inefficient for storage, and it will make your kit smell of treats. If you took the materials to the recycling center, they could dispense a cleaned rectangular prism."
"No, it's fine. It's a Terran tradition. We can't smell it much anyway."
"Oh! What is the origin of this tradition?"
"Um --..." Timulty rubbed the bottom half of his face without speaking. "I don't know. I know it's super old, my grandna said 'Danish' meant where it's from, and I can't remember learning about a country called Danis, so it must've been one of the reeeally old little ones. But they had their sewing stuff in a tin like this too. My grandna, I mean, not the whole country of Danis. Or maybe they did and that's why we do it?"
Terran Alex stuck her head in the door. "Timulty, can I borrow -- Hi Alendriel Alex! Tim, do you have some tiny scissors I could borrow?"
"Smallest I have are in my sewing kit."
Terran Alex came in and beelined to Alendriel Alex, holding out her hands.
"Terran Alex, do you believe this is a sewing kit?"
She blinked and glanced back to Timulty. "Didn't we finish the cookies?" Back to Alendriel Alex. "Then yeah, what else would it be?"
The world dissolved into a roaring, formless static. The edges of Helen’s vision pulsed with a dark, shimmering haze, and the air in the room suddenly felt thin, useless. Her heart was a frantic bird beating itself against the cage of her ribs.
Not here, not now.
“Helen.” Madeline’s voice cut through the noise, a lifeline. Her hands gripped Helen’s shoulders, firm and real. “Look at me. Just me. Five things. Tell me five things you see.”
Helen dragged a ragged gasp into her burning lungs. Her eyes, wide with terror, darted over Madeline’s face, struggling to focus.
“One… your hair.” It was a mess from the windy walk over, a golden curl stuck to her damp temple. Helen’s focus narrowed, clinging to that single, wayward strand.
“Two… your eyes.” They weren’t just blue. They were the clear, steady blue of a storm-washed summer sky. They held her, unblinking, and in their depths, the static receded by a fraction.
“Three… your nose.” There was a faint dusting of freckles across the bridge, a constellation she’d traced with her fingertip just last week. The memory was a tiny, warm ember in the cold panic.
“Four… your cheeks.” They were flushed, rosy from the chill they’d escaped. She could see the fine, almost invisible downy hairs catching the soft light.
Her breathing was still too fast, a shallow pant, but the crushing weight on her chest had fissured. The exercise was becoming something else, a catalog of devotion.
“Five…” Her gaze dropped. “Your lips.”
They were slightly chapped. She’d lost her lip balm again. The bow was perfectly defined, the lower lip full. She watched as Madeline, still holding her gaze, worried that lower lip gently with her teeth. It was an unconscious, fleeting gesture that sent a jolt through Helen’s system, entirely separate from the panic.
“Good,” Madeline whispered, her voice hushed, as if in a sacred space. “Four things you can feel.”
Helen’s hands lifted, trembling. She didn’t think, she just reached.
“One… the softness of your sweater.” Her fingers brushed the worn cashmere.
“Two… your hands on me.” The solid, real pressure of Madeline’s grip.
“Three… the floor.” The hard, unyielding wood under her knees. She was aware of it, but it was background noise.
She leaned forward, her forehead almost touching Madeline’s. The space between them crackled. “Four…” she breathed, the word a sigh. “Your breath. On my skin.”
The numbers were becoming meaningless. The exercise was crumbling.
“Three things you can hear,” Madeline prompted, her own voice thick with an emotion that wasn’t pity.
Helen didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t look away from Madeline’s mouth.
“One… the clock,” she lied. She heard nothing but the pulse in her own ears.
“Two… the rain.” Another lie.
She swallowed. “Three… my heart.” That, at least, was true.
Madeline’s gaze dropped to Helen’s lips. Her hands slid from Helen’s shoulders to cup her jaw, her touch impossibly gentle. “Two things you can smell.”
This was easy. It was all her.
“One… jasmine. Your perfume.”
“Two… you.” Helen’s voice was a ragged whisper. “Just you.”
The final question came on a shared breath, Madeline’s lips so close they were almost touching.
“One thing, Helen… What's one thing you can taste?”
The metallic tang of adrenaline was still there, a ghost on her tongue. But it was being overwhelmed by a new, undeniable truth. The countdown hadn’t grounded her in the room; it had grounded her in Madeline. Every sense led back to her.
Helen didn’t answer. She surged forward and closed the distance.
The kiss was not gentle; it was desperate, driven not by panic, but by the need to anchor herself to this reality, to the soft, certain warmth of Madeline’s mouth. It was the answer to the question her panicked body had been asking. Her hands fisted in Madeline’s sweater, pulling her closer, as if she could fuse them together. Madeline met her with equal fervor, one hand tangling in Helen’s hair, the other splayed against her back, holding the shattered pieces of her together.
When they finally broke apart, gasping, the silence in the room was profound. The static was gone. The vise was gone. There was only the sound of their shared breaths, the warmth of their connected bodies, and the slow, steady thrum of a new, quiet peace.
Helen rested her forehead against Madeline’s, her eyes closed, a single, relieved tear tracing a path down her cheek.
“Your lips,” she murmured, her voice raw with wonder. “I can taste your lips.”
where isi, just after leaving velvet crowbar, needed to get ro out of her head. nothing there, she thought. the signing came soon after. she thought she’d gotten rid of the shards ro had left. but just like glass, they pierced her mind over and over again. no one night stand could fill the ro shaped hole in her life. in an episode of desperation, isi convinced herself there was something wrong with her. with no one to talk her down, she turned to the only space she felt she could. the church hadnt changed one bit; big wooden pews and stained glass and a massive jesus staring down at her sin. there was a man already waiting for her. in his hand, a flame and a cross. instinctively, she knelt to him. cried as she explained her hurt. asked him to make her better. the thrashing was normal, he explained. so she was okay. for a little while at least. she would play her shows and sing her stupid little songs that she didnt really believe in. she would catch glimpses of ro in the audience, but would still be convinced that she was fixed. she wasnt tempted anymore.
but ro was persistent. she began showing up every night, closer to the stage than the last. isi never wanted to play a show again. this feeling was supposed to be gone. she wasnt that wide-eyed dreamer anymore. she didnt believe that she and ro could kiss and make up and waltz into the sunset. so why was ro in her dressing room now, spread out on the couch in dim light? “i dont want to see you right now,” isi sighed. ro just scoffed. “seriously. its not the ti-“ isi wish she could finish her sentence, but ro had her lips pressed against hers and the words died out. a gentle, lovely kiss. one that made isi melt and hold ro in her arms like an angel. her angel. how could she have ever wanted her away? this wasn’t something to be afraid of. a pinch! and a sharp metal taste squeezed from her lips, dumping cold water on her high. obviously, she pulled away. why would ro bite her?? she opened her mouth to scold, irritated, but fell silent when she discovered she was alone. no ro in sight. she pressed her fingers to her lips, watching as blood trickled down the pads. she knew ro had been there. but a knock came at the door, and she had to mold back into her life again. there was no time to worry about ro. not even to catch a glimpse of her as she turned the corner at the end of the hallway.
"i told her, that was what I was talkin' bout. " he huffs annoyed as you crawl in his bed sitting across his hips to look down at him speak. you giggle little at his words and he looks at you funny his eyebrows knitted together and his lips in a lazy confused smile. "what? "
"talkin' bout." you smile copying the way that he speaks, quick in pace but lazy in diction as the words fall off your tongue in an unfamiliar way.
"don't do this-" he groans burying his face into a pillow.
"your accent is so silly I love it." you smile lefting his hand up to press a kiss to his palm. "I love it. I love you."
"yeah?"
"yeah." you mock him again getting a huffy whine of annoyance. you lift the pillow off his face and press a kiss to the bump in his nose. "I'm only teasing."
his hand settles against your face to stroke your cheek softly. "you like my voice, yeah?" he asks looking up at you.
"yeah." you mimic.
his thumb stops brushing against your cheek as his hand finds it's place hanging loosely around your neck to guide your face to his. you feel his finger flex tighter just slightly as he gives you a quick kiss.
"i... really um." you mutter out before he brings you in for another. "I really like your voice, Perce."
"that's good sweetheart."
you giggle despite yourself and find yourself muttering in a New York accent that sounds fun in your ears. "...sweetheart."
Percy fingers twitch around your neck, possibly in annoyance. "shut up and kiss me."
just imagine waking up next to wanda, especially in the winter time and because it’s so cold you wake up cuddled close to her, her arm holding you close
and even in the summer you find yourself very close to wanda, your sweaty hands holding hers or you holding on to her shirt
if you’re awake before her, you whisper her name and the many variations of her name/nickname and you hear a “hmph” before she brings the covers up to her face
“Riri,” Regulus whispered through a crack of the bathroom door.
Sirius, who was walking past turned to look at him. “Hey Reg, what’s up?”
“Come here” Regulus whispered. He hoped his brother would approve of him.
Sirius steps into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him softly. When he turns around his mouth drops. Regulus, who once had long flowing black hair, had cut it above his ears.
“Reg you can’t- you-“ Sirius sputtered, touching the hair carefully.
Regulus’s face dropped. “You don’t like it?” Regulus asked, frowning.
“Oh no, I love it. You look amazing but-“
“I wanted to be like you” Regulus said softly, grasping at Sirius’s hand.
Sirius, who was only 14, nodded carefully. “Okay, Reg. Shit.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Regulus asked. Sirius was turned away, Regulus trying to look into his eyes.
They heard heels click on the stairs and Sirius turned to Regulus, putting his hands on either sides of his face. “I am so so proud of you. You look amazing and you’re doing so good. I love you.” Sirius said before kicking the door open and dragging Regulus out in front of their mother. “Maman! Look what I did to Reg’s hair!”
Regulus swallowed harshly. “Maman I-“
Sirius slapped a hand over his mouth. “Doesn’t she look good!”
Walburga’s eyes narrowed as she grasped Sirius by the arm and took him to the foyer. Regulus could hear the cries of pain as he sobbed to himself in his bedroom.
