#rated t

[itsmyfix]

Hallowed Ground

@drarrymicrofic | words: 55 | prompt: ground

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH— What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Err— pulling weeds?”

Harry gasped, affronted. “This is hallowed ground. We planted seeds of love here— do you even care?!”

“Harry—”

“Everything that grows here is natural— sacred. Not to be desecrated by… humanistic aesthetics!”

Draco sighed, exasperated. “I fucked you in the garden ONE TIME.”

[aziraphales-hidden-gems]

Aid and Comfort

by TurnSpitDog

Rated T,  12,693 words

Status: Complete

Summary: 

Cut off from access to Earth, the hosts of Hell find other ways to torment Crowley. Aziraphale provides a refuge.

Why We Love It: 

A story that sticks to canon, in this Book Omens fic Aziraphale and Crowley don’t live in each other’s pockets, and Aziraphale is actually rather snippy and somewhat protective of his private space. But when Crowley starts having a problem with Hell, Aziraphale immediately steps up to help him. 

With funny, clever dialogue, we’re treated to multiple scenes of how Hell is slowly driving Crowley mad, until the final, crucial scene where it seems all is lost. In the end, our angel and demon pair have to admit that they’re better off together than apart.  Obviously. 

Tags: Book Omens, Hell is terrible, BAMF Aziraphale, Moving in together, First Kiss

Review by @spectrallydistracted

Read on AO3

[steddieunderdogfics]

never could be sweeter than with you by mseg_21

@steveseddie

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

23,356 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eddie Munson Lives, POV Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Smoking, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Getting Together, 5+1 Things

Summary:

“Good morning, Mr. Munson, is Eddie home? Um, that’s a stupid question, of course he’s home.” Steve chuckles nervously. Steve. That’s Steve at Eddie’s door. “Is he awake?” “He’s awake, son, but I gotta warn you, he’s in a pissy mood today,” Wayne’s gruff voice replies. “Wayne!” Eddie protests loudly. “Just telling it like it is,” Wayne throws over his shoulder. “You still wanna come in?” He asks Steve. “If that's okay, Mr. Munson.” God, he’s so polite. Eddie hates that he finds it endearing. “Please call me Wayne, son.” Eddie doesn’t even get a chance to try and make himself look somewhat decent. Right away, there’s the sound of the door closing and then Wayne walks back into the living space with Steve in tow, looking perfectly put together in his neat polo shirt and blue jeans. Eddie is still in his fucking pajamas, for fuck’s sake. or 5 times Steve visits Eddie and lies about why + 1 time Eddie catches him in the lie

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @steveseddie. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks!

[children-of-the-force]

Sequence 04 is online!!

Read it here.

with fancy trailer shots for you mhmm mhmm

[haveyoureadthisgravityfallsfic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Have you read by the skin of your teeth?

Yes

It's in my bookmarks/saved for later/I intend to now

No

No, and I don't read Gravity Falls fics

Remaining time: 2 days 9 hours

Summary:

In which Ford's attempt to survive entirely on caffeine and paranoia suffers some pitfalls, and things happen differently in 1982.

Author:

@apathetic-revenant

[blutopaz15]

february ficlet fest: affection

rated t for suggestive content

s5 au where rayllum were intimate at the inn

fix you (coldplay)

ao3

It’s not that Callum minds, but—

Her lips keep going lower…and this doesn’t feel like it’s just Rayla kissing it better anymore.

It’d been one thing happily letting her take the washcloth out of his hand and another when she’d just—so sweetly—brushed her lips over the cut on his cheek, but maybe—

A loose little lock of hair brushes his belly, there at his navel, while she kisses a bruised rib better, and—

Maybe this is too much?

Even considering the weird whatever-they-are they’ve had going on since the inn?

That’s why he hadn’t panicked, of course, when she’d found him half-undressed here below-deck, when she’d trailed the wet cloth behind her lips on his cuts and scrapes, when she’d kissed him—for real:

The inn.

They’d been far more intimate than this that night—and in fits and starts since—and when she’d shown up down here, offering to tend to his wounds…well, he’d couldn’t help himself.

“Five minutes?” she’d whispered, forehead against his, with gorgeous heartache shining in lantern-glow-lit eyes…

For five minutes…

Yeah, he could let her love him for five minutes, hurt and lies aside.

Both of their hurt.

Both of their lies.

After all, it’s clear as ever.

After the inn, after the Bookery, after the last couple of days—

After everything—

He loves her.

Obviously.

—but her breath there on his stomach seems like more than the five minutes they’d bargained for.

Like she knows it is too, without a word, Rayla detours to his wrists, finding the dents and cuts that rough metal cuffs had left behind, and—

A lump grows in his throat.

He loves her.

He wouldn’t have done it otherwise.

—and Callum’s stomach churns at the thought of telling her of the dark magic he’d done.

She kisses a wrist’s sensitive underside and traces her way around it—oh-so gently—and he shouldn’t let her keep on without the truth of what else had happened below-deck, but—

It’s so nice—watching her take care of him the way he only lets himself dream about, feeling her gentle warmth passing over places that ache…and—best of all—knowing that all of it is a comfort to her, too.

Rayla gives him his hands back after a long, frowning examination of his purple knuckles and he knows her eyes are back on his body in search of more aches and pains to kiss better.

He sees it.

She sees it.

The bruise lower than his ribs: at his hip, halfway hidden.

Callum watches her swallow, watches her lick her lips—

—and watches her kiss her own fingertips, then press them there over his hip, light and brief, with a breathtakingly knowing smile.

Their time is up—or it is too much, after all?—and Rayla resignedly sighs:

“Five minutes.”

She kisses him again, though, in one swift movement, and…five minutes may be up, but she stays there after, anyway, forehead pressed to his—

—and Callum doesn’t mind.

[otterandterrierwrites]

Carefully, Leia picked her way off the dirt path, bordering the little watercourse so she could peer down below. The sight that greeted her felt like a physical blow, sudden, unexpected, violent. She felt hot and then cold and then nauseous, paralyzed and shaky, hyperventilating through the sharp pain in the middle of her chest. Dimly, Leia realized she was crying out. They weren’t on Lothal anymore. They were on Alderaan.

Mother, make me a song so sweet (2026)

Summary: While exploring an ancient Jedi temple, Han and Leia follow Luke through a portal that throws them into the World Between Worlds, an extra-dimensional plane within the Force where anything can happen. For Leia, it could be her one chance to fix the past... or make her peace with it.

Rating: T | Word count: 12,313

[cow-in-the-sunset]

Sexy thought about Everlark: they’re both turned on by the other’s hands in their hair

Oh Anon, you and I are on the same wavelength about this, Everlark and hands??? They are SICK.

I know this isn't a prompt request but I am feeling... generous... this morning.

I've been reading through everyone else's horny requests in my inbox and we are going to begin low and slow.

Post that prompted this welcomed madness

Rated T but a sexy T <3

I like to keep the timing of my fics vague enough so people can make their own HCs but I think in my head this is placed somewhere between after they finish the memory book and before so, after.

A broke wrist takes 6 - 12 weeks to heal

Katniss shifted her body on the floor in front of the sofa. She had placed a pillow underneath her but the uncomfortable dull pain was settling on her lower back and travelling up to her arm. The fire was blazing low and warm. Buttercup was curled in front of the fireplace, snoozing peacefully.

‘Alright birdie, make some space,’ Peeta said, tapped her shoulder with his knee. He shimmied behind her, perching himself on the edge of the sofa, bracketing her body between his legs.

‘I know you don’t want to hear it but you need to take a break from hunting,’ he said softly before opening a small metallic case. He scooped some of the balm in his hands, warming it up between his fingers before he raked it through her hair. The clean smell of wild mint filled the space between them.

Katniss had come home early from her hunt earlier, clutching her arm to her chest. Twigs, leaves and the dirt stuck to the side of her face told Peeta that she had fallen. The purple colouring of her wrist told him the fall had been bad. Katniss fidgeted with her cast, already uncomfortable. Not being able to hunt, not being able to braid her own hair.

Great, she thought scowling, This would be a long few weeks.

The thought, however was immediately wiped from her brain. She sighed in relief as his fingers traveled from the ends of her hair to her scalp. She wouldn’t say, but the dull pain was still aching around the crown of her head. He took his time, rubbing and massaging her head as hums of relief escaped her. Tension was slowly being worked out of her. For a selfish moment she wondered why he never took care of her hair more often.

‘Good?’ he asked and she nodded against his hands. He carefully ran a brush through her hair, using the towel around her shoulder to dab any excess water. She let her eyes fall, either the painkillers were finally starting to work or this was a better alternative. Peeta took her hair into his hands, separating it into three strands and carefully starting to braid it.

The soft pull and tug of her hair; his steady fingers brushing against the nape of her neck; the feathery contact of his hands on the side of her neck. She clutched her thighs closed, forcing her breathing to slow down.

She travelled back to a few nights ago. Heated kissing – the pastry book they had been working on – now laying abandoned on the kitchen table – hunger bubbling at the pit of her stomach. Peeta’s hands, one steadily at the back of her neck and the other attempting to loosen her braid. He loved touching her hair. The soft waves cascading over her shoulders. The smell of mint and pine. He loved it, almost as much as she loved it when he accidentally tugged at her braid with more fervor than needed.

She breathed heavily as Peeta used an elastic to secure her braid, draping it over her shoulder. She wanted his hands back in her hair, down her back and on her legs.

Peeta glanced at her, the way her eyes were closed, the small gap between her lips and the trembling breaths escaping her. The way she had leaned her head completely against his hand. He pressed a feathery kiss on the side of her neck, the one now given full access to him. He smirked to himself, biting back a laugh at the soft moan that escaped her lips. She blushed, trying to get up from the floor only to wince at the pain from her lower back.

This would be a long few weeks for both of them.