I ravaged my slutty bookmarks and plucked out a few 2025 faves. Kudos to the brilliant, horny creators for sharing your brilliant, horny creations. I've been lucky enough to get to know many of you this year, so thanks to all who befriended me as I Kool-Aid-Manned my way into these glorious fandoms. <3
Drarry
Elevation by Anonymous (will tag after reveals). Vivid, immersive worldbuilding and a love story that feels like a mug of hot cocoa.
The Power of a Good Apology by @fluxweeed. My face when I think of this one is just the smirk emoji.
rational economic actors by @yellowfork. Brilliant prose, banter, humor, and smut. 10/10, many notes, all incoherent.
easier by @garagepaperback. Distinct, elegant prose and a clever take on the soulmates trope. Also hot.
Jock(ey) for Position by @smugrobotics. Written for Harry in Lingerie Fest, which really says it all.
The Sweet Spot by @toomuchplor. First-time rimming YAY.
Terminus by @greattemptation. A story told in reverse, delicately structured and as heartbreaking as you could ever wish for.
Like Falling Asleep by @draykray. Poignant, intense, and deeply satisfying.
Other HP
Irresistible | Harry/Sirius (art) by @allesfresser. The Sirry gods sent Gnawti to draw for our sins.
Flesh Memory | Harry/Teddy by @citrusses. This will break you and you'll say thanks.
Emeralds | Harry/Albus Severus by @hoko-onchi-writes. We are hashtag blessed that Hoko went full dadson here in the year of our lord.
A Wolf Devouring A Wolf Devouring A Wolf | Sirius/Harry/Teddy by @mourningliliesmorningglories. Gorgeous writing all around. The rarity of this threesome is a cardinal sin.
safe in my ashtray | Harry/Sirius by @knotsnuffles. A somno fic to end all.
Animal and Air | Harry/Teddy by @lqtraintracks. The scorching hot Heddy omegaverse we needed.
Canis | Harry/Teddy by @chiquita-3. More delicious worldbuilding + daddy kink and lingerie. I'm a simple bloke with simple needs.
Saxloch
seafoam by hellotte. The source of my infection.
don't stand a chance in these four walls by @au-palais. Don't know anyone who hasn't read it, so if that's you, get to it!
Where the Shivering Dog Rests by @unicorntearmartini. Still barking up the wall at this one.
Sugar on my Tongue by @appelwagon. The quintessential Saxloch omegevarse. Everything I ever wanted.
Like Water by @starlitmyre. A beautifully inventive take on years-post-canon.
pushing it down and praying (series) by @apfelhalm. Wouldn't be a Saxloch rec list without it.
new love (series) by bruisecest. A latecomer who arrived with a bang. Second person my beloved!
Misc
Atonement | Lochlan/Tim (White Lotus) by @galaxoshine. The sort of guilty second-person dadson that brings me to my knees.
Teeth (series) | Gray Mitchell/Zach Mitchell (Jurassic World) by @knotsnuffles. Shipping the dino bros was not in my 2025 bingo but this has carved out space in my brain that I don't imagine I'll ever get back.
can’t swim but i still dive | Connor Storrie/Hudson Williams (Heated Rivalry RPF) by magazinesoap. I unequivocally did not need a new RPF ship but these fuckers followed me home like a stray kitten. This is everything RPF should be—gritty realism, well researched and canon friendly.
You lock identical green eyes with the young man draped along your side, who squirms his body against yours as you trail lazy fingers up and down his spine.
“Hm?”
“Our hair.” He cards his fingers through your unruly locks, biting his bottom lip in thought. “Yours has grey in it now. It’s not the same colour as mine.”
You resist the urge to laugh at how put out he looks by this revelation.
“That’s called aging, Albus. And while I know wizards go through the process at a slower pace, it still happens.” You narrow your eyes at him playfully as a new thought crosses your mind. “I should think you’d be happy about that. If memory serves, you used to rue your resemblance to me every second of every day.”
Al pushes up on his elbows to face you, his lips twisted into the smirk you’ve always loved as so quintessentially his. “Let’s just say I have a newfound appreciation for our shared attributes nowadays,” he replies cheekily, one hand snaking down towards the waistband of your pyjama pants. He strokes you over the material, his smirk magnifying at your soft groan.
“Merlin, Al—how ever will I guess just which attribute you appreciate most?” you tease as he runs his hand along your semi-hard length in a maddeningly slow motion.
“It’s obviously,” he drawls, shifting as he leans up to press a soft kiss against the side of your head, “the grey hairs.”
After reading such beautiful second person halbus from @rowena-rain and @the-invisibility-bloke recently, I saw this prompt and couldn’t resist trying out the ship myself!
87 or 99, sirry or halbus or any config of timsaxloch?! 🌝
el you know the way to my heart 🙂↕️
I absolutely took this as an opportunity to finally try my hand at writing halbus (and if I slipped and fell into 2d POV person then I blame charmeuse again <3) for this drabble game
"don't look at me like that" + halbus | 1500 words
In the end, it takes two days.
You thought you’d last longer, but age has worn you out. Your guilt has silently festered like mould around your lungs, a parasite gnawing at your defences until you find yourself so helplessly bare suddenly, without warning.
What hurts, though, in the wake of your weakness, is your son’s crestfallen look. Only took him forty-eight hours and some to translate that naked yearning in your eyes, the one you so tightly locked behind a set jaw and firm eyes years ago, the one you swallowed back until it swallowed you whole.
And just like that, you’re ruining five years of work.
(Five years of constant heartstrain, five years of heavy looks, five years of cold, holidays spent apart, flimsy excuses, and a distance that did nothing to starve the rotten roots of a damned love.)
“Harry.”
“Dad,” you correct, because god knows you hate feeling so distant with him, and maybe, actually love feeling like no matter what, you’re always tied to him with that name, that blood that runs through his veins which is yours, but you pretend it’s to keep the distance, the healthy one, that it’s to make things right, but he—
He shatters.
A red flush blooms on his cheekbones, and his pupils blow out a second. You fight to keep your gaze there, but you know, because he is yours, and you’ve learned to decipher every inch of him, so you just know.
Thought he had a trouble with authority, sure, but Merlin, you’d never thought it’d turn to that. Or maybe it’s just with you. What you do to him. Fuck, your guts should not be swooping happily.
“Son, I’m—” sorry? Pathetic. Far from enough. “—glad you’re here.” When he doesn’t say anything, you clear your throat. Run a hand through that mess on top of your head. “I missed you.”
He huffs, but it’s weak, and morphs into an awkward chuckle halfway through. Look at you, like two exes meeting again, three drinks away from getting another taste of the past. “Why did you invite me here, dad?”
Dad. Feels like a win.
The smile that spreads on your lips is buttery and sweet, the first actual one you’ve cracked in months. “What, like I need an excuse to spend some time with my son?”
You hadn’t prepared yourself for him to get right into it. To leave you alone in this attempt to ignore everything, to play normal dad and son, but to stand his ground and point at the elephant in the room. A terrible, terrible oversight.
His face hardens, eyes blazing with a bravery you could never match, and with each step closer to you, he steals your breath. Instinct is a powerful thing, too strong to fight against, because how could it feel anything but natural?
That’s your boy, your boy grown into a man, but still yours, still carrying your features and your burdens save for the scar, a hint of some scruff on his jaw, sure, a new piercing over his left eyebrow, but that’s still—and always will be your son, walking towards you, now.
So, you can’t really be blamed for letting him. For not moving away, not until his toes are touching yours, and you can taste every exhale out of his mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that, then.”
For a second, you think you’re the one who said that.
You’d said that to him once. First real night out, and he was too young, too stupid, too eager, clumsily crawling in your lap after you’d held his hair back so he could puke all his reckless teenager years out in the toilets, and it had felt so natural to hold his small frame in your big arms, kiss his forehead, and stroke that cheek with a thumb too greedy, too reverent.
(You were parched for his touch. Never truly got to be a father to him, too busy when he was a kid, and when you finally decided to show up, he’d already made up his mind about you, he’d laid it out at the very moment alcohol had stripped him of his walls.)
Drowning in their abyss had felt like a sin in and of itself. Heart sinking like a dead weight because you could read what you never thought you would in your son.
Suddenly the hate, the resentment, the anger, the coldness he wielded like a blade made to hurt, it all clicked like a jagged missing piece; and the most horrible awful feeling, was realizing how you hadn’t just unlocked his secret, but yours as well.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you’d pleaded, too drunk on this new world-breaking discovery to control your tone, and instead, it had sounded too breathy with want, too hoarse with need.
It might as well have been a green light to him.
He’d surged up and claimed your lips with trembling hands clawing at your neck with a despair that made your chest twist, and a sense of urgency quickly dissolving into a broken moan you’d instinctively licked and tasted with delight. It was lavender, and smoked pines on his skin—the smell of your soap, cranberry vodka, and tobacco at the back of his molars. You’d taken way too long to stop it, overwhelmed by bliss, and then just as quickly by the guilt shredding your stomach to pieces.
By then, it was too late.
You’d have gladly walked into a courtroom, shackled your own wrists and crucified yourself if it weren’t for the sob that had suddenly ripped out of his throat and racked up his entire body like a castle crumbling. Still so small and vulnerable he was, seventeen years old and just half your size.
You had the insane thought you could fit him inside your rib cage, then. That you would in a heartbeat. To protect him for everyone, from the world, (from yourself).
So, you’d held him, held his tears, kissed him like a father, dutifully ignoring the burning mark of his mouth still slick over your lips, and in a weakened moment of meeting his watery eyes and hearing a wobbly please, allowed him to sleep into your bed. It was easy. It was natural. It was wrong.
Your precious Al, curled around your chest like innocence willingly laying in the lion’s den.
Don’t look at me like that, then.
Now, the truth slips beside your will, like you’re the eager, drunk teenager, barely able to keep it together, keep your mouth shut to hold the, “I can’t.”
“Try.”
“I’m sorry,” you say stupidly.
Guilt nearly makes you double over when you see the scorching despair twisting his features; you shut your eyes to protect him from your perversity.
Gods, he deserves so much better than you. Yet the thought that anyone could ever be worth him feels laughable. Still, you realize here that inviting him was selfish.
He’s moved on, and it’s good, it’s a good thing, you tell yourself. You’re the one with rot clogging your arteries, fangs for teeth and claws for hands, you’re the monster that should be muzzled and kept on a leash, away from him—but he’s your—that’s your boy, that’s your son, and—you missed him, hoped he’d missed you too—hoped, selfishly, that you’d both be trapped again in the same boat, still, and though the fault would always fall on you, its weight was always easier to bear upon that crystal, pure need reflected in his eyes.
You ought to flee, but your feet can’t move, your guts are in your throat, and your lips are shaking.
At once, everything stops. There’s a blissful silence over the roaring of your thoughts, a warmth on your forehead that anchors you, and it’s enough to have you open your eyes again.
A light sea green stares back at you. Clear as turquoise sea water you’d love to test, dip your toes in, taste the salt and come back for more. You want to drown in him, you want to be the ocean that inhabits his soul, that keeps him going—you want it all.
“If you don’t push me away now, you can’t push me away later,” he murmurs gently. Then, voice stronger, eyelashes fluttering, he adds, “ever.”
You can’t believe your luck. Can’t believe you’re two seconds away from celebrating the wicked joy of having him again. A trophy that doesn’t shine like it should. But wrong and twisted as it is, you can’t help but think at least, at least you’re going to treat him right—you’ll do everything—try, at least, with everything in you—give him outs, anytime—
“Promise, Harry.”
“If you promise to stop calling me that,” you manage to choke out.
Oh. You’d missed that smile. Tilted up at the corner of his mouth, and hinting at a dimple; it warms you up down to the very marrow of your bones.
“Alright, dad.” Cheeky eyeroll. “If you really want me, then—”
“Christ, how could I not, darling,” you whisper, letting your head fall pitifully against the palm of his hand. Pathetic, pathetic, and so gone for him, you are. So proud, and so grateful, for his existence. He’s worth every ache of this.
“—stop leaving me.”
“I don’t think I could do it again if I tried.”
What a horrible truth. Even more horrible to see how it brightens that face, paints it with hope. You’ve no choice but to let him bridge the gap, then—with just as much urgency as the last time, but more relief—and reunite with him in the way no father and son should, but in every way that makes this you and him. He sighs into the kiss, melts as you cup him between broad palms, and your chest unwinds.
There he is, your heart sings, racing with every beat. Your boy. You’ll never let him go again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Fic Update! (Harry/Albus Severus, Harry/Tom, E, 30k+, wip)
It felt like coming home—a loaded word for him. Like the first time he arrived at Hogwarts, maybe—terrified and exhilarated, and already falling in love. A sense of wrongness, of Otherness—mingled with a sense of undeniable belonging. The feeling that he didn’t really understand how he was meant to fit, cradled by the irrefutable knowledge rooted somewhere deep inside that this strange new world was exactly where he was meant to be, and he could no more separate himself from Albus than he could separate himself from his magic.
Midstory Line Tag Game (Or, Lines I Should Probably Talk to a Therapist About)
(10 lines from the middle of 10 fics & tagging 10 people)
Thank you so much for the tag @hoppsanwrites - amazing works here!
All the Versions of Us (Harry/Tom/Harry, Coming soon!, 21k, complete)
Because the truth is, seeing Harry snogging Tom makes you want to return the favor for almost choking you to death. Maybe you’ll even return the favor by choking him with your (his own) cock.
Two cocks, one stone. Or however the saying goes.
Kintsugi in the Void (Harry/Voldemort, Coming soon!, 2.5k, complete)
And it’s only then—when he’s gone—that you realize something changed.
You materialized. Maybe only for a minute, but you were something.
Take Any Form (Harry/Albus or Harry/Tom, depending on how you look at it, 10k, wip)
And wasn’t that a hell of a wake up call when you found yourself outdoing The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black in the incest department?
The Heir de la Mort (Harry/Voldemort, 96k, wip)
“Fuck. You,” he whispers in their secret language.
Sakura Snow (Harry/Voldemort, 10k, complete)
Really, his parents’ murderer trying to suck his soul out through his dick should have done the trick, but—
Fuck, okay, maybe not.
In the Shape of Fear, Erised (Harry/Tom, 16k, complete)
It had not, however, made him forget about the insane, stupid, crazy, reckless-even-for-him, certainly immoral and very probably illegal, ‘seriously what the fuck, Harry’ idea he’d had.
These Fragments We’ve Shored (Harry/Voldemort, 31k, wip)
The Dark Lord raised a hairless brow at him. “Why don’t you have any furniture?”
The Thing With Feathers - Alternate Ending to Hauntingly (Harry/Voldemort, 50k, complete)
He didn’t think it was possible for his face to get any hotter, and he really didn’t want to be talking about this, but he couldn’t very well just let Draco leave the conversation thinking the Dark Lord had two penises.
Kind of an interesting idea, though… just hypothetically. What sort of possibilities might that open up? he wondered.
No pressure tags: @sri-verse, @curioushabitforarivergod, @houndsofheaven @solelyseeking @telelli-writes @fundamental-blue @cindle-writes and anyone else who wants to join in <3
Okay. I'm expecting this one to not be for everyone. But, I hope some of you will join me because I have some things planned for this fic that I'm excited about :)
Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!
—Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
Voldemort is dead, but Tom Riddle's soul has been reborn. As Albus Severus Potter.
He has some of the right information, but jumps to all the wrong conclusions. Oh, and he really wants to fuck his dad.
Shout-out to my friend, the lovely and talented @cindle-writes for coming up with the idea of Tom being reincarnated as Albus Severus! Check out her fic, the dark passenger, too, if you haven't already! (Mind those tags, too, lol).
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter of Take Any Form out now - The Children of the Sun
“He’s the same age as I am!”
Al couldn’t help it. Harry’s gravitational pull tugged him in close, close enough to drink in his scent till he was dizzy with it. His voice fell to a breathy whisper. “Exactly.”
Read it from the beginning here!
Voldemort died in the war, and that should have been the end of it. Should have. But Tom Riddle’s soul couldn’t be parted from Harry’s that easily, and he was reborn... as someone dangerously close to Harry:
His own son.
A tale of obsession, forbidden love, and subverted soulmates.
Director's cut of A fire they can't put out, please? 🥺 Seeing as this fic changed my life trajectory over the last however many months since I read it the first time loll
THAT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME! baby's first halbus. :)
the prompt had been tugging at my incesty heartstrings from the beginning of cestfest, but i'd already claimed a heddy prompt so what's a bloke to do? claim a second one 3 days before the deadline, apparently. XD
@kis00kis (who is currently sending me drunk vids, say hi) and i had been collabing on other ships, so when i told her about the prompt, she said "let's do it" because she's amazing. art and fic in 3 days, woven around full-time jobs. the power of incest.
confession: i mostly gave al tattoos and piercings to see them in the artwork. :D (fun fact, she gave me a painted canvas of the art from charmeuse in person. will never recover.)
i only wish i could've done more with it! with more time i'd have amped up the prose, slowburned the buildup, padded the backstory, drawn out the smut. would've loved to explore what led to that kiss in the flashback and how they navigated each other afterwards, before al left for the states. would've loved to see harry suffer for three years, pulling al lookalikes from the club and hating himself more every time. MOST OF ALL I WANT TO READ THREE YEARS' WORTH OF LETTERS AND TEXTS!!! i imagine they started off rather stilted, given their fragility at the time al left, but grew increasingly more intense, more intimate, always skating the line of impropriety. FUCK now i really wanna write some.
hmm, what else? my favorite line is "we can't / what if we can?" but i'm pretty sure i stole it from something and i have no idea what!
my favorite thing overall is the position they fucked in, lol. less common but incredibly intimate, i wanted harry wrapped around him in the most protective way.
i think this was also my first daddy kink? diving right into the deep end there!
thanks for asking! i genuinely did enjoy writing this one and i’m so happy you’re writing them tooooo :D
