| September 16th | Prompt: Choke | Word count: 175 | @rosekillermicrofic |
-
When Evan had, earlier today, casually asked if he could borrow Barty’s practice jersey to wear to the Quidditch match, Barty had agreed readily. What he hadn’t done was afforded much thought to the potential consequences of his actions, such as the fact that Evan would indeed be wearing his, Barty Crouch Jr.’s, jersey.
But there Barty was, standing in the common room chatting to Dorcas, when Evan came sauntering down the stairs in all his green-and-silver glory. His eyes were bright blue against the dark fabric of the shirt, his hair was shining even in the dim lighting, and he was grinning wide at Barty even from across the room.
But more than that, Barty’s name was written across his back, all but proclaiming Evan as his.
Barty choked on his drink.
Beside him, Dorcas cut him an odd look.
“You alright, Bee?” she asked, a hint of worry in her voice.
“Yeah,” Barty managed, but his eyes tracked Evan’s path across the room like his life depended on it. “Never been better, really.”
@kingdonmicrofic prompt twenty seven: family | 498 words | cw: explicit content, infidelity, car sex, frank + abby’s failmarriage, let mel bite!
Abby was the one that picked the car. Or her tiktok algorithm did, anyway, her for you page a constant scroll of mommy influencers that seemed to Frank like some kind of millennial white woman Hunger Games.
It’s perfect for families, she told him, never mind that it spent half its life in the PTMC parking lot. Sometimes he felt like making him drive something his coworkers nicknamed the Mom-mobile was a punishment, her way of getting him back for ruining her stay-at-home-parenting dream with two rehab stays and an involuntary sabbatical.
He accepted the punishment with a lot more grace when he realised just how easy it was to fuck Mel in the front seat.
“Shift up a little for me,” he murmured, mouth pressed to the soft skin behind Mel’s ear. She whined in response, rising up on her knees a little higher and inching forward, thighs trapped against the straining fabric of her scrubs. He was achingly hard, the heat of her cunt like a vice, utilitarianly sexy underwear shoved aside and catching against the base of his cock with every thrust.
Frank had one hand at her back, bracing Mel against the column of the steering wheel; his other pressed fingertip bruises into her hip, guiding her into a stuttering rhythm. “C’mon sweetheart, that’s it.”
“Please,” Mel gasped out, her braid a tangled mess, cheeks and chest flushed a mottled red that disappeared beneath the neckline of her shirt. He leaned forward to lick at the sweat that collected in the hollow of her collarbone and she folded helplessly towards him, the frame of her glasses pressed into his cheek.
“Frank—” she panted. “Need you—close—”
He could feel her clenching around him, long, drugging pulses of heat that sent pleasure licking like a flame up his spine. He reached for her clit, swollen and slippery with her arousal, and the moment he touched her Mel came with a moan, open-mouthed and heady, and bit down hard on the juncture of his neck.
His orgasm ripped through him, punishing; Frank choked out a curse as he spent inside her, Mel’s teeth in his neck and her breath hot on his skin.
“Fuck,” he groaned, the last pulses of his come spilling from where their bodies were joined, soaking his scrubs; he didn’t care that he’d have to explain away the wet patch and wear high-necked shirts for weeks, not when it was because of Mel.
He wanted her to sign her name on his skin the same way that she drew hearts in the condensation of the car’s fogged-up windows, hidden from view until the car restarted but always there, lingering, something for just the two of them to share.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, after, her cheek against his chest. She kissed the bruise that was already forming on his shoulder, laved her tongue against the imprint of her teeth. “I didn’t mean to leave a mark.”
written for ‘pine’ wc: 508 | rated: T | cw: N/A | tags: fluff, established relationship (kinda)
@steddiemicrofic
✨✨✨
There are rules to the Munson Doctrine. Some are obvious. But others he keeps to himself.
Others, like:
Do not fool around with rich boys.
Do not let yourself fall for one.
Eddie’s already broken the first, so he’s not going to let himself break the second: he’s not pining. He’s not longing. He can stop this whenever.
He tells himself this even as Steve comes back into the room, even as he wipes them both clean, even as he waits for Steve to crawl back under the covers in a show of familiarity so intimate it makes Eddie’s skin crawl.
Makes him never want to leave.
And Steve’s always so pretty, here. Not that he isn’t always, but times like now, especially. When the tension is gone from his jaw, when his eyes are soft, when the smile that comes only when they’re both under the covers graces his lips.
It makes Eddie’s chest do funny things. Makes his mind dwell on impossible thoughts. But he can’t let Steve Harrington break his heart.
Steve reaches forward. Tucks a lock of hair behind Eddie’s ear. Nudges closer so they’re lying on the same pillow. Kisses him.
It’s one of Steve’s kisses that doesn’t ask for more. One of his kisses that’s just because.
“Do you have to work tomorrow?” Steve asks, his lips brushing Eddie’s as he speaks.
Eddie just shakes his head, a minute back and forth that Steve smiles into.
“Good.” Steve mumbles. “Me either.” He kisses him again. Parts his mouth and lets Eddie’s tongue inside.
Eventually they break apart, and Steve folds himself into Eddie’s chest. Breathes.
And it’s here, and only here, where Eddie will allow himself to quell his cognitive dissonance. Will admit to himself that he’s broken more than one of his rules. That Steve Harrington will break his heart. That he thinks it will be worth it, despite.
Steve plays with the rings around Eddie’s fingers. Traces the pads of his fingers around their bumpy edges. “Would you ever want to get married?” Steve whispers. And Eddie knows what he means. If people like us could.
“Yeah.” Eddie breathes. “I think so.”
Steve stops playing with his rings. Curls his fingers tight into Eddie’s. “I think so, too.”
Eddie closes his eyes. Imagines, for a moment, a night like this, maybe many years from now, where he’s wearing one more ring on his finger. Where maybe Steve is, too.
Eddie’s heart pounds when he moves. He knows Steve can feel it. Can feel his heart thudding as Eddie pulls off his smallest ring. As he places it into Steve’s empty palm.
Steve stares as the gem glimmers weakly in the low lighting. He slips it on. Flexes his hand. Stares again.
Then Steve laughs. One, disbelieving huff before bringing his nose up to Eddie’s. Steve is smiling. Is blushing. Smiles and blushes he kisses him. As he wraps the hand now adorned with Eddie’s ring along Eddie’s jaw.
Steve kisses him with acceptance. With just because. With, Eddie hopes, more.
jegulus + library microfic // 416 words // prompt by @velanavis
Regulus’ eyes droop heavily as he starts reading from the top of the page again, desperately trying to focus and finish this passage. He’s reread the same page of this textbook approximately four times already, and he’s too exhausted to even be frustrated by that.
His eyes are unfocused and he’s drifting off again when someone pulls out a chair beside him, sitting close and nudging his knee with theirs.
His heart stutters when he looks up.
James looks at him with soft eyes, concern lining his features. “What are you doing up so late, baby? The library is closing soon.”
Regulus sighs and drops his head forward into the space between James’ shoulder and neck. He grumbles inaudibly.
James’ laughter fills him with a joy so consuming he thinks he could float right up and away. James runs a hand across his back and up to his curls, gentle fingers massaging his scalp. “I can’t hear you, love. What’s wrong?”
“My exam is next week and I can’t finish this damn passage and I’m so fucking tired I can’t read anymore and I just want to crawl into a hole and wait until exam season is over. I want to hibernate,” Regulus mumbles against James’ shoulder.
James kisses the top of his head. “How about this—you can sit here and drink this tea I brought—here—” he pushes the tea across the table towards Regulus, “and I’ll read the passage out loud to you. I’ll drag you to bed right after.”
But Regulus pouts and whines and tucks his face further against James’ neck. “But you’re busy and it’s late and you’re probably tired too and you shouldn’t have to do that and—”
James lifts his head with a gentle hand and hushes him. He peppers light kisses all over Regulus’ face—he’s immediately flustered and bristles but James just continues until he melts right into him. Regulus loses himself in a giggle as James kisses him all over.
James holds him tight to his chest. “I know I don’t have to do this, but I’m here and I want to be with you. Will you let me read to you?”
Regulus sighs and picks up the tea. The warmth and comfort of the lemon and honey wash over him, and he leans back against James. “Let’s start from the top, then.”
The next week, Regulus finds James nodding off at the same table in the library. He sits and reads to him, too.
Lurking - James Potter - @taylorswiftmicrofic - Word Count: 475
James was holding his father’s hand as they went in the elevator.
“This is what muggles use to go up and down.”
The elevator was packed as they entered, a bunch of men and women with blank stares. But it was silent. You could have heard a pin drop.
Fleamont pressed number 13.
The elevator stopped at floor 10. People filed out walking aimlessly, with vacant stares.
“Father, are they zombies?” asked James.
“No, they are just muggles going about their purposeless lives,” Fleamont answered.
The people remaining in the elevator didn't even look towards them. They were so deep in their own heads.
The elevator stopped at 13. James and Fleamont got out.
They walked down the hall and stopped in front of a wooden door.
“Sleekeazy Beauty and Company” was written on a sign on the door in small gold letters.
Inside, a round man with a mustache was sitting by the front desk. ‘Ah, Mr. Potter, the man from the American Apothecary, Walgreens is ready to meet with you. He’s waiting in the conference room.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
Fleamont looked at his son, “James, why don’t you find something to do? This shouldn't be too long.”
Fleamont went towards the back of the office.
Alfred stood up to look down at James. “Young James, there's a playground down the street I can have one of the interns show you.”
“I guess so,” James replied weakly.
“It will be fun.”
“PATRICE.”
A twenty-something-year-old wearing a two-piece skirt suit walked over.
“Please bring young Potter to the park across the street.”
“I am working on a contract for Boots Apothecary.”
“Should have been faster, Patrice— Mr. Potter needs his son watched.”
Patrice sighed. “Alright. Come here James.” She took his hand. “How old are you again?”
“Eight,” James replied.
They walked towards the elevator. The elevator was empty going down.
“When you become a big, powerful, rich owner, James…”
“...try to respect the women working for you,” she finished.
They walked to the park across the street. There was a playground.
“I’ll sit here. Let me know if you need anything.” Patrice sat down on a bench.
James ran towards the swings. A girl with long auburn hair was on one of the swings, swinging up and down. James lurked on the side.
After a few minutes, she noticed James watching.
“You can use them too, without being creepy.”
James’ cheeks reddened. He hurried over to a swing that was furthest from the girls’.
“I'm not creepy, I promise.”
The girl continued, “I’m Lily!”
“I’m James,” he replied, the flush still on his face. “I don’t talk to muggles often.”
“What’s a muggle?”
Before he could respond, Fleamont entered the swing area. “James lets go.”
“Nice to meet you,” James mumbled.
Lily waved.
Fleamont took James’ hand and led him away from the playground.
“Choose,” Andrew ordered as soon as Neil walked through the door, pointing to the television with his chin. “This one?” The Bourne Identity flashed on the screen. “Or this one?” The screen changed to Dune.
Neil arched his eyebrows as he set his backpack down on the nearest pouf.
“You’re suggesting watching a movie about a guy who spends his whole life on the run.”
Andrew gave him a bored look.
“Are you deaf? I gave you two options.” He didn’t wait for Neil to answer, but put on Dune instead. “You’ve got ice-cream in the freezer.”
“From Sweetie’s?” Andrew nodded. “Did you go to Columbia just to buy me ice-cream?”
“Buy us ice-cream,” he corrected.
“Didn't you say yesterday you were getting tired of always going there?”
The annoyance in Andrew’s face was priceless.
“Ninety-five percent.”
Neil walked over to the freezer and took out the ice-cream tub inside.
“You know,” he said as he approached Andrew on the sofa, “you’re quite thoughtful for a person who claims to hate my guts.”
Andrew wrapped both arms around his waist and Neil looked down at him. His expression was still as inscrutable as ever, but Neil was used to it by now.
“Are you trying to push the limits on my hate scale?”
Neil shrugged. “I don’t know, am I?”
Andrew pressed his fingertips firmly on his hips.
“Ninety-nine.”
The hint of a faint smile flickered across Neil’s face.
“Almost there.”
He tried to move, so Andrew released him from his grip. He sat next to Andrew on the sofa, leaving enough space between their bodies to ensure Andrew felt at ease, and opened the ice-cream tub while Andrew hit play. He let out a delighted sigh as he leaned against the backrest. Other than the night’s training with Kevin, he hadn’t done any physical exertion so far that day, but the three exams he’d taken in a row had made him as tired as if he’d played in an exy match. If he fell asleep, he would be in trouble, for Andrew would get cranky when he dozed off watching a movie together. That’s when he realised he was stupid. He should have picked The Bourne Identity —all the chasing and shooting would have helped him stay awake. However, Andrew’s attention was already fixed on Dune and he didn’t want to disturb his peace. He would have to find another way to distract himself.
He didn’t register he had been watching Andrew for a while until he caught his eye.
“Don’t stare.”
Neil didn’t move an inch.
“I’m not.”
Andrew grabbed his chin and stared at him for a few seconds, the only sounds in the room coming from the television and the fridge. He then forced Neil to turn his face to look at the screen.
“Watch the fucking movie.”
“The exams fried my brain,” Neil admitted, “I’m sorry.”
Andrew let go of his chin and paused the movie. Neil guessed he would be upset, yet no trace of irritation was on his face when he closed the distance between them on the couch and faced him again.
Neil tilted his head in curiosity.
“What?”
“How did the exams go?”
Neil repressed the urge to scream and kiss him.
“I’m not sure I’ll pass Maths.”
Andrew lifted his hand to his curls and he instantly leaned into his palm, touch-starved as he always was when it came to Andrew.
“You will.”
Neil chuckled softly.
“Okay, I will.” He brushed his lips over Andrew’s hand and he noticed some emotion in his expression. “Yes or no?”
Andrew seemed to be collecting his thoughts before answering. Neil never made any new approach without his permission and Andrew’s response varied depending on the day, but he didn’t care. Andrew needed time and, fortunately, they now had all the time in the world.
“Just one.”
Neil nodded and pressed his lips on Andrew’s skin softly, who stirred on the couch slightly and watched him with the same intensity that had been in his gaze during their previous intimate encounters in the bathroom or the bedroom. There was one difference, though: this time, it was Andrew who was receiving the affection.
“C’mere,” he commanded and Neil rested his head on his shoulder, something he only did when Andrew was willing to share his living space with him. He soon felt a strong arm around his back holding him in place. “Take a nap. I’ll stay here.”
Neil placed his hands on his own lap and closed his eyes. That afternoon he dreamt of Andrew, two cats and a lovely house in the countryside.
Regulus tugs on his shoes, not bothering to tie the laces, and opens the apartment door, letting it slam shut behind him as he rushes down the hallway. The sound echoes off the walls, mocking him, a reminder of just another thing he’s failed at. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, he just knows he has to get out.
He stumbles down the stairs, taking them as fast as he can without fully tripping over his own feet, then bursts through the exit. He draws in clumsy, ragged breaths, the cold night air burning his throat on the way down. He doubles over, gripping his knees to keep himself from collapsing. He tries to focus on the way the snow is soaking into his shoes instead of the stinging behind his eyes or the reason for it.
The snow has never been beautiful to Regulus. It is cold and harsh and dangerous. It suffocates and kills. The world falls into silence when it snows. He wants to scream just to break it.
The sound of the door crashing open behind him ruins the moment before he can decide one way or the other. Regulus straightens up on reflex.
“Regulus!” James calls out.
“Leave me alone, James,” Regulus says, or at least he thinks he does. He feels frozen in place.
Regulus hears the crunch of the snow under James’ shoes as he comes to stand in front of him.
“Regulus, look at me,” James says. Regulus can’t make out his tone. He’s not sure what he will see if he looks at James’ face, or what James will see on his. He’s not sure which he’s afraid of more. Regulus’ gaze stays firmly trained on the space between their shoes.
“Come inside,” James says.
“Leave me alone,” Regulus repeats.
“Is that what you really want?” James asks. His voice is brittle, a lingering remnant from their earlier argument. Regulus wishes he could say yes and mean it.
“Why are you here?” Regulus asks instead, letting some of the same fight bleed into his words.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It would be easier with someone else. Someone who can offer you more than this.” It’s the same thought that has been on repeat in Regulus’ mind all day, and during every minor argument they’ve had over the past month.
“Yeah, maybe it would.” Regulus inhales sharply, feels the words like a punch. He looks up. Clocks the way James’ jaw is clenched tight and the fire in his eyes. Regulus prepares himself for what he knows is coming next.
“But I don’t fucking care,” James says, and Regulus feels like he skipped a step going down the stairs. James soldiers on. “Don’t you get it by now? I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
Regulus blinks, then croaks out, “Why?”
“Because it’s you. I know you, Regulus. I knew what I was getting into when I chose to be with you. And I would make the same choice again a thousand times. I do every day.”
“I hurt you,” Regulus says, trying to make it make sense. He can’t even remember what he said, too busy acting on instinct, shooting to kill. But he sees the pain in James’ expression every time he closes his eyes.
“You did,” James says evenly. “But we find the problem, and we fix it together.”
Regulus wants to shake him until James gets it through his head that Regulus is not someone worth sticking around for.
“What if I’m—”
“Don’t,” James bites out.
Regulus’ temper flares before he can tamp it down. “You don’t know—”
“I do,” James says, leaving no room for argument. “You are not the problem, and you certainly don’t get to take the easy way out of this. If you need space, fine I’ll give you space. If you need time, I’ll wait however long you say. But you don’t get to run away from this.”
Regulus wants to be able to say that that's not what he’s doing.
“You have to choose this, too,” James adds hesitantly.
“I do. I do. Of course, I do,” Regulus answers, because it’s true. Regulus has always wanted this with every part of him, and he already knows he always will.
Some of the tension melts out of James’ shoulders, from the set of his mouth. James reaches a hand out toward him. “Can I—“
“Yes,” Regulus breathes, closing the distance between them. James wraps his arms around him immediately.
“I’m sorry,” Regulus says into the fabric of James’ t-shirt.
“I know. I’m sorry, too,” James says into Regulus’ hair. “Let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing, and I know you hate being out in the snow. We can start on dinner.”
It’s a peace offering. They have a lot left to talk about, but they'll get to it later. They have time.
Regulus cuts off a lock of James’ hair and ties it with a ribbon so he can keep a piece of him forever. James laughs. He asks him if he’s making a potion, or a clone, or a doll to stick pins in when he's angry.
He says, “I’m right here. You could just keep me.”
Regulus presses a finger to his lips.
“I am keeping you.” He holds James in both of his hands and tries to memorize the human details. Unbeautiful things. The whisper of dark hair on his upper lip, the softness under his chin, the acne on the edge of his jaw... the way he looks at him. Like he loves him, like he always will. That’s ugly too. “Right here.” James kisses him. Regulus stares at James until he gets nervous. His dark eyes wander away then back again, any long silence and stillness is unbearable to James. Unwelcome thoughts seem to creep into him. Regulus can feel his heartbeat. He wants to keep his heart more than anything, even if he loses the rest of him. “Forever.”
He puts it in a locket and takes it out at night when he’s alone. He presses it to his lips.
When the inevitable happens, and James is gone, not all of him is missing. His eyes are fading from his memory like pictures bleached by sunlight. Memories of James glow too brightly for him to make out any details when he looks back. It’s all a faded, dreamlike blur.
But he has the colour of his hair.
It’s the only bit of darkness left to him in the shadowy end notes before the music finally stops. The shape of his smile, the curl of his eyelash, the scar inside his arm… all of these things he knows he remembered once, but now he has to strain to see them. It’s consoling, for Regulus, to think that he won’t live long enough to forget him completely.
(james is staring at the ceiling in the dark because the pieces he has of regulus only belong to him in dreams.
each day he mends a little, he smiles when he’s meant to smile and laughs when he’s meant to laugh, but the dreams are so vivid he wakes up with his heart in a thousand pieces again every morning. the pain is always brand new. sometimes when he moves too quickly he can hear a rattling behind his ribs, something sharp cutting him from the inside, but he doesn’t want the dreams to stop. to sleep is to have him and lose him all over again, sisyphean, but how else could he keep him? he looks at the ghostly silhouette of a living boy, dead in all the ways that matter, and turns toward the green light creeping over his bedspread. birds sing, impossibly, under the lake.
he feels his hair between his fingers, and a kiss in the palm of his hand. everything is washed in light. regulus leans into him, as solemn as a sculpture of an angel in a graveyard, and james realizes the daylight is coming from him instead of the sun.)
