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shanastoryteller · 1 month

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ROSES ARE RED, AND THIS IS BEDONKS CAN I PRETTY PLEASE HAVE SOME PERCY AND TONKS 🌹💖

“What’s going on with Percy?”

Kingsley looks ups from his paperwork to find Amelia looming over him. Not exactly a common occurrence, since he’s well over a foot taller than her. “Brooks?”

“Merlin, don’t speak to me about Percy Brooks,” she says, pulling a face. She’s the one who brought him up! “Weasley.”

He blinks several times, rolling through Arthur’s children until he lands on the appropriate redhead. A bit uptight, considering his parentage, but Molly can fret with the best of them up until she gets fed up and settles matters with her wand. “I could get Tonks in here, if you want.”

“Do they know each other?” she asks in interest. “They were in different houses, and a couple years apart.”

How does she know that? He knew that, but it was against his will. “Tonks is dating him. Or trying? I’m not totally clear on the specifics despite her best efforts.”

He hadn’t anticipated how much work it would take for him to dodge a trainee determined to complain to him about her love life. It speaks well of her future in the field, at least. Or poorly of his own abilities, but he’s fairly confident in those, so he’s comfortable giving her the credit here.

“Great, a harassment case waiting to happen for our department,” she says dryly.

He rolls his eyes. “The only person he’s complaining about it to is Tonks. Who takes it as encouragement. Which, considering the cause and effect, it very well might be.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Amelia says. “What’s what this kid?”

Kingsley is lost again. “Can you get a little more specific?”

“Crouch’s department has become efficient, and dare I saw, effective over the last couple months. It’s certainly got nothing to do to with Crouch, since he’s been useless for nearly a decade. The only thing that’s changed is Percy. Who attends every meeting, claiming Crouch sent him to take notes, and then memos and policy get signed and sent out of Crouch’s office when I know for a fact Crouch is too busy harassing me to do his damn job.”

He tries to avoid the obvious answer because it’s the most ridiculous. “You think it’s him?”

“Who else?” she returns.

Well. “Do you… want me to arrest him?”

“What good would that do?” she demands. “The department is operating smoothly for once. I want to know what his deal is. Is he loyal to Crouch? Plotting against us? Just really passionate about bottom thickness?”

Not according to Tonks.

Uhg.

If he was alone, he’d bang his head on his desk until he’s unable to remember what Tonks’s voice sounded like and then maybe he’d know peace.

“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” he says. “You’re noticing. Maybe that’s what he’s after.”

“I’m noticing because I notice everything. He’s taking significant steps to ensure people don’t notice. How’s he supposed to get promoted that way? Or transferred?” She shakes her head. “He’s doing it for a reason. Do me a favor and find out.”

Why can’t she ask him something simple, like hiding a body or burying evidence?

Now he has to spend his lunch break listening to Tonks talk about her not-boyfriend.

#hii!#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #lance-with-a-chance-of-anxiety #harry potter #siat #last valentines day prompt!!#DAYS before the end of the month too!!#which is so good for me

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wardingshout · 4 months

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Viridian trainers for day 5 of spesilverweek! they are my most beloved but Lance is a cursed character who is impossible to draw or portray in any way to me

#idk what's up with him but I have smth like 20 different scrapped things that contains these 3 #and yet I almost always finish my doodles of just Yellow and Silver.... sorry Lance #he's such a funny guy to me esp as part of this trio I'm sorry I always give up on you #anyway yeah no I'm so late bc I wasn't happy with this so I wanted to draw smth else but I was doing chwismas today and was too tired #so I stayed up late doing nothing...#I so badly wanted to shit on Green's dumb cape too (affectionate)#spesilverweek #pokespe #pokespe silver #my art #pokespe yellow #pokespe lance #I'm just gonna tag everyone like that I guess #anyway I feel like having a Viridian trainers prompt was a gift to my soul but I rly struggled I'm so sorry guys one day...#pokemon

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minamorsart · 2 months

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Listen I know it's been five years, but if I make jokes about Voltron it lessens the pain 🥲

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welcometosasakiworld · 10 months

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DPXDC prompt #32

They didn't keep contact a lot, with Maddie concentrating in her career and family, and Dinah with her hero work.

So imagine her surprise when she finds her sister Maddie on her doorstep begging her to protect her two children from the government that want to vivisect her son.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #jazz fenton #maddie fenton and dinah lance are sisters #sasaki prompts

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lolottes · 5 months

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Dinah Drake

I just learned that the last name of the first black canary was drake.

How is this not used in fanfics anymore?

why am I learning this so late?

Did you remember the thread where we learn that Tim is from princess dora's family? let's add dinah to the mix

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grimreapersnuisance · 6 months

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Klance Quick Sketch Comic

I need sleep…

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nico-di-genova · 1 month

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strollonso + marriage proposal.

Genuinely, thank you so much for sending this, it is such a simple request, and yet the idea of them married has now fully consumed me.

Warnings: NSFW, they are fucking nasty style.

The thing about them is that they’ve never been normal. Not when Fernando kissed Lance for the first time post Bahrain, all sweaty and roaming hands, crowding Lance against the door of his hotel room and then standing before his father the next day saying Lance was already like family. Not when Lance went down on him for the first time, choking himself on Fernando’s cock while the man sat on the phone with his engineer discussing set-up of his car. Normal was not something that came to them easily, Lance supposed their proposal wouldn’t be any different.

He just hadn’t expected Fernando to ask him right as he was bottoming out.

Right as Lance was muffling a moan into his pillow and gripping the plush material in his hands with white knuckles.

“Marry me,” Fernando grunts, and Lance hardly hears him over the blood rushing through his ears.

He moans as Fernando thrusts with practiced ease.

“Yes or no?”

Lance cannot even follow the question. He’s too busy thinking of how Fernando’s cock feels inside him, too busy arching and pushing back for more. Fernando gives it to him, leans forward so he can rest a hand on the mattress next to Lance’s face pushed into the pillow, his other hand gripping Lance’s hip tight enough to bruise.

When Fernando begins thrusting at a brutal pace Lance lets him. He lets punched out noises fall from his lips and tangle in the sweat soaked sheets beneath them.

When he comes, it’s with the shape of Fernando’s name in his mouth.

"You did not answer,” Fernando muses afterward. Lance’s head is resting on his bare chest, his fingers threading through sweat soaked strands of jet black hair.

“Answer what?” Lance mumbles, fucked out and limp against Fernando – like a sack of potatoes Fernando had once teased, boneless and immovable. He was falling asleep, his voice groggy with the promise of it.

“Marry me,” Fernando says again, a statement instead of a question.

“Later,” Lance grumbles, curling closer to Fernando.

He is rarely the little spoon, what with the size difference between them, but his thigh slots perfectly across Fernando’s hips and his head can rest nicely beneath his chin if he maneuvers enough. He can feel Fernando’s come dripping out of him, his own drying against his stomach, but the need to give into the oblivion of sleep is stronger than the need to shower.

“But yes?” Fernando asks, to which Lance makes a noise that might have been agreement, at least he aims for that.

It’s not romantic, certainly not how Lance thought his proposal would go. For one, he did not think he would be the one proposed to. In his mind there had been an expensive trip to Bali, rose petals in the sand, a girl who he’d get down on one knee for with a prenup and a ring. But the girl never had a face, nothing distinguishable about her other than the dress she wore that would flutter in the breeze and her giggle when Lance slid the expensive rock onto her finger.

This is better, half asleep against his childhood hero with his limbs still aching from how hard the man had drilled him into the mattress. Feeling warm, content, wanted – not just for his trust fund but because he was also really good at sucking dick.

Maybe it was a self-deprecating thought. He didn’t care. He falls asleep like that, with Fernando’s fingers in his hair and wrapped in the scent of him. When he wakes, it’s to the man easing him out of the bed and into the warm bath that waits with steam rising in tendrils from the water. It’s easy to let himself be taken care of, to let Fernando massage the knots from his shoulders and clean the come from his body. Easy in the same way it is to let a nameless driver cart him around Montreal or let the rotating staff dust his frequently empty loft, different in that Fernando presses kisses to his neck, his shoulders, his spine, the crown of his head and tells him how good he was.

Lance rests his cheek against the curve of Fernando’s neck while water is poured down his back, soap lathered into his hair, whispers of praise warm against his ear. Fernando uses his own shampoo, his soap, so that Lance no longer smells of sex but of citrus and sandalwood.

Fernando doesn’t mention marriage again, but he does dress Lance in a pair of his own boxers and eases him into bed with a gentleness that Lance has learned to associate with post-coital bliss.

It’s the sun that wakes him up next, and Fernando’s hand thwacking against his face when the man shifts in his sleep. He smells of Fernando and is wearing clothes are too small for his frame, and it’s familiar. At some point, it became almost normal.

A month later he gives Fernando a ring, a silver band rimmed with a strip of carbon fiber from his own car and his name engraved in Hebrew on the inside. It matches the font that’s inked across his ribs. Hurt a hell of a lot less though and cost him significantly more. His dad’s accountant questions the amount, asks Lance if he bought a new place, and Lance just shrugs it off – says he bought a snowboard or a car or a race track just to see the way the man’s lips press into a thin line as he jots something into the books.

“I’ll marry you,” he says, when he slides the ring in its velvet box to Fernando across the table of the taco place they’re at. It comes to a rest beside the chips and salsa.

Fernando stares. There’s a stray piece of cilantro sticking to the corner of his downturned mouth.

“If, uh, if you still want me to. I’ll marry you.”

“A ring?” Fernando asks, motioning at the box with the overfilled end of the taco in his grip. A stray piece of carne asada falls, plops onto the paper lined basket beneath him.

“Yeah, it’s stupid, but you know-“

“It’s not stupid,” Fernando cuts him off, annoyance lacing his tone as he sets the taco down next to the escaped piece of meat, “Don’t say that. It’s not stupid.”

Lance blushes, ducks his head, stares down at his own untouched taco and the box that Fernando still has not reached for. There’s chip crumbs sticking to the velvet. His dad would have a conniption if he saw, the same way he did when Lance would show up to events in a suit that was too big on him with an untucked button-up peeking out from beneath the oversized fabric. His dad would hate that they were even eating here, which is maybe precisely why Lance had chosen it. Something bold, something his, something that wasn’t stamped with the Stroll name and wrapped in a pretty package.

“It’s not stupid,” Fernando repeats, “But it’s for me?”

Lance feels his palms go clammy, feels suddenly like he is getting hit by a bus. His appetite leaves him with the whoosh of breath from his lungs. They hadn’t talked about it since Fernando proposed the idea when he was balls deep inside him. When Lance was moaning his name into the pillow and choking on his own tears from the pleasure. He feels suddenly stupid, hollow, the same way he feels when reporters ask him why he bottled it into the wall on the easiest part of the circuit with condescension lacing their tone. Like they could do any fucking better.

“You- fuck.”

“Lance?”

“You didn’t mean it did you? Oh, man, uh. I’m- fuck.”

Lance doesn’t cry, at least not in public. He’s become well trained in blinking back tears and biting off the quiver in his voice that gives him away. But he comes close, feels the stinging heat of them building in the corners of his eyes and has to blink violently until his vision clears. Fernando watches him, watches as he fights against the rising tide of not good enough, stupid, never enough that rises inside him suddenly and rapidly and threatens to drown him while he swallows down the bile and sour cream taste that’s building at the back of his throat.

It takes him longer than it should to stop the shaking of his hands.

“Sorry,” he says when the world settles a little beneath his feet, when he doesn’t feel like he’s going to say something spiteful just so he can see Fernando’s expression twist with the same hurt he feels. It wouldn’t work anyway, Lance has thrown nearly every well aimed bullet Fernando’s way and they land, but they never seem to hurt.

“Let’s just- let’s just forget about it, yeah? It was a dumb thing, I don’t even-,” he reaches to grab the ring box but is halted by Fernando’s hand over his own. Fernando’s fingers wrap around his wrist, strong, sturdy, unyielding.

“Stop calling it that. Let me answer, yes?”

Lance nods, braces himself for the inevitable rejection, for the floor falling out feeling and the rush of wind in his ears and the impact of his body against the pavement. It’s not a strange feeling, to be dumped by his hero and hung out to dry, doesn’t hurt any less the second time around though. He just wishes Fernando would be mean about it, the niceties hurt more, he’d rather it just be quick – it’s what he would have expected from the man anyway – a sharp dagger to the side or the bite of a blade against his throat, not the gentle press of the knife sliding between his ribs in some false semblance of mercy.

Fernando brushes his thumb along the inside of his wrist, over his pulse point, parallel to the surgical scars left from his accident. He sometimes gets phantom twinges, the memory of a snapped bone, but nothing now. Now he just feels empty.

“I did not ask you properly,” Fernando explains, sounding, strangely, sad.

“I didn’t answer properly,” Lance counters, nodding to the box that still sits between them, unopened, next to the chips and a bottle of hot sauce like it is another spare condiment. It cost him a quarter of a million, and Lance threw it down like it was the spare jalapeno sauce the waiter had left them.

“I should have,” Fernando presses, exasperated, like he’s frustrated that Lance is not understanding him, “it’s important to me. This. Us.”

Us.

Lance feels like that twelve year-old boy standing in the Ferrari garage when he says, “I don’t understand.”

Like he’s watching the race unfold with noise muffled by the earmuffs over his head and his father’s hand heavy on his shoulder. Like he can see it all, close enough to smell the rubber and the gasoline, but far enough away that it still seems unobtainable. Fernando may as well still be in that car, separated by a screen and Lance’s idolization for all the difference it makes now.

“You want to marry me, yes? Honest. This is- this is you? Your choice?”

“Who’s else would it be?” If Lance has a gun held to his head it’s one that he hasn’t spotted yet, metal pressing against his temple, and he’s somehow mistaken it for a kiss.

Fernando’s lips press into a thin line, the curl of his lips curving further downward.

“I’m sorry, Nando.”

“Stop being sorry. You do not need to be sorry. I am sorry. How I asked, when I did, it was…wrong. I should have waited. I should have asked correctly.”

Fernando’s grip on his wrist tightens, instinctively, enough that Lance winces when it shifts something beneath the skin, and he feels the hint of pain. More of a familiar ghost than anything real. Fernando pulls away anyway, sudden, leans back in his seat and tucks his hands beneath the table like his touch has somehow burned Lance.

Slowly, Lance understands.

“Wait- you- baby did you think I wanted a proposal? Like down on one knee ‘will you marry me’, proposal?”

Fernando arches an eyebrow, “You do not?”

The floor stabilizes slightly, stops feeling like it’s going to fall out beneath him. Lance breathes and when he exhales a laugh accompanies it.

“No, Fer. Fuck no. Please no, actually.”

“But you got me a ring,” Fernando points out, points at the jewelry itself, like rings and proposals must always go hand in hand. Like they’re supposed to be the blushing bride and groom. Like there’s not a seventeen year age difference between them and their first kiss wasn’t accompanied by Fernando spitting the name ‘princess’ into his mouth like it was a slur.

Lance can’t stop laughing.

Fernando still can’t seem to find the joke.

“This is not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny.”

Funny that his boyfriend became his fiancé when he was fucking him so hard Lance probably wouldn’t have even remembered his own name. Funny that he bought a ring before they’d even discussed it when their dicks weren’t out. Funny that Lance mistook Fernando’s chivalry for abandonment. It’s funny in a way that isn’t, and so he can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him in heaving breaths and spills across the table, the floor, the whole of the crowded restaurant. He knows what he must look like, wide grin and crinkling eyes, and the familiarity of his face nagging at the brains of those who turn to stare at him.

He doesn’t care if they recognize him, or, more realistically, Fernando. He doesn’t care and it’s one of the first times that he thinks it and realizes it’s probably true.

“Stop laughing.”

“I can’t,” Lance wheezes, “We’re both so fucking stupid.”

Fernando rolls his eyes, shifts in his seat, waits until Lance’s laughs fade into breathy little huffs and passes the time by picking at his now cold taco. Lance watches him, watches the twitch of his lips and knows Fernando is biting back laughter too.

Finally, he leans forward on his elbows and says, “I want to marry you. Of course I want to marry you.”

He pushes the ring box further along the table with an index finger, until it’s touching Fernando’s plate. The man looks from the velvet box to Lance’s finger and travels along his arm until there’s nothing between them, but the table and the chips and Lance’s name engraved in Hebrew on a solid gold band.

“Do you want to marry me?”

He doesn’t have to wait for Fernando’s answer, it comes in the darkening of the man’s expression, his pupils blowing wide with want and the way he hooks his foot around Lance’s ankle beneath the table.

“Come with me. I will show you how much I want to marry you, Lance Stroll.”

Three months later, Lance wears a matching gold band, Fernando’s name engraved across the inside and resting warm against his skin. When people ask if he’s married, always as a joke, always assuming the impossibility, he laughs and tells them yes. Fernando wears his on a gold chain tucked beneath his nomex. It is the last thing they take off before getting in their cars, the first thing they put back on when getting out.

“Mine,” Fernando will whisper to him at night, Lance’s fingers pressed to his lips and warm breath ghosting along the ring.

“Yours,” Lance will say when he loops Fernando’s chain around his index finger and pulls until the man comes to him, and there is no separation between them at all.

#file this under #another prompt that got away from me #this shit is 5 pages #I don't know short apparently #strollonso #formula 1 #fernando alonso #lance stroll #my fic #anyway them!!!#THEM!!!!#they're toxic and messy and in love!!!!#smut

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bluemantics · 9 months

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Lance breathed in a ragged breath.

In, out.

The soot fogged up his helmet, choking him up, but he still pushed onward. Step after step after step. In, out. His breathing was labored. His armor was dirtied. His limbs ached.

“Keith?” Pidge’s voice rang out over the comms.

Keith had come after Lance when the Galra had made the threat, when Lance dove down into that waste of a planet. At first, he’d been held back by Shiro. Keith was somewhere on this planet now, but Lance couldn’t focus on him. He had other priorities. Keith would be fine.

In, out.

Lance focused on his breathing instead, tuned out the outside sounds of the paladins calling for Keith and him. With each struggling step, his bayard illuminating the way, he dragged himself over to the cave home.

It’s curtains were drawn, and no light came from within. The only sign of life were the heat signatures his helmet picked up.

Fuck, the air was rough.

“Lance, your helmet is broken,“ Allura started.

Lance shut off the comms. Anything distracting him was preventing him from reaching /them./ He pushed his way through the curtain entrance.

There she was.

Huddling under a table in the corner was a small girl, a blue-scaled dragonling humanoid with bright red eyes. She was trembling. Lance got down on his hands and knees, crawling over to her.

In, out. His throat hurt.

“Hey,” he said softly, a rasp tickling his words. “I’m a Paladin of Voltron. I’m here to save you from the fires.”

The alien girl croaked out a whimper. She clearly didn’t recognize him, but her planet was a member of the coalition… fuck. Lance knew what he had to do.

He removed his helmet.

“See?” Her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Loverboy!” she exclaimed. Lance winced at his stage name, laughing outwardly to reassure her.

“That’s right, and I’m here to save you,” he agreed, reaching his arms out to her. Without the meager protection of his helmet, he was really starting to feel woozy. Still, that didn’t matter.

With shaking hands, he picked her up and began to walk outside the cave home and back to Blue.

This time, though, the trek was worse. He couldn’t see as well without his helmet, couldn’t recognize heat signatures or the fastest path back. Instead, he relied on lighting up his footsteps and retracing his steps.

That didn’t last long.

After 20 steps, Lance began to feel dizzy. He lurched, which caused the girl to make a series of clicks.

In, out. He patted her back and continued on.

After 50 steps, Lance started to lose the edges of his vision to blackness. He could feel the mucus in his throat fighting his inhalations. He fought back harder. He would have to reach a level of survival that went beyond what he could handle. To save her.

In, out.

Finally.

120 steps.

Lance fell to his knees.

The girl screamed.

Lance was only a football field from Blue. He had failed.

The girl scrabbled her claws at his armor, wailing, her cries embellished by the distant sound of crackling fire. Lance closed his eyes, listening to her pain, letting it soak in. He’d failed her, and this was his punishment, to lie prone and to hear her suffer. He had failed.

In, out.

He felt a tug to some hidden darkness inside of him.

“Lance!”

Oh, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Lance felt more than heard the pounding footsteps of Keith Kogane as he ran to his side, kneeling by Lance’s head and cradling it in his hands.

“Stay awake, Lance, I have an O2 mask and we can get the girl to safety—“

“Loverboy!” The girl insisted.

Keith’s head snapped up. Lance chuckled weakly, coughing at the end.

“What?” Keith asked.

“She knows… shows,” he muttered in response. Keith huffed a breath, fogging up his helmet.

“Oh.”

Lance coughed again, and Keith panicked, pulling a mask from his belt. “Stay awake.”

“Loverboy,” the girl insisted again, tugging on Keith’s shoulder.

Lance blinked slowly. The world was slow. Why was the ash now falling on his face in slow motion? Why was Keith putting the mask on so slowly?

In, out.

Lance blinked. The darkness came back. He closed his eyes.

“No, Lance, no.”

Lance wasn’t listening. It was more peaceful, here, to focus inwardly rather than on the voices out there. It was quiet and dark and cool. The fires couldn’t touch him here.

“Loverboy? Stay with me, please. Please.” The rawness in his voice made Lance’s eyes snap open.

“Keith? I’m really trying…”

Words were too difficult, though.

So Lance let his heavy eyelids fall, let the blackness rush in. He felt the mask press into his chin and nose.

“I know, Lance.”

Silence again.

In,

#open ending so u can either suffer or like desperately reach for ur happy endinv #gay suffering #the julance prompt was loverboy #im just an evil motherfucker #my bad (lying)#klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron #klance fic #klance fanfiction #lance voltron #vld #fanfiction #voltron fanfic #bluemanfics #langst #langst fic

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lanceappreciationblog · 2 months

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[Reblogs appreciated!!]

The #ChampionLanceWeek2024 prompt list is HERE!!

Spread the word!! We'll be starting from November 15th to the 21st just like every year! Come join us! 🌟🐲

#LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS AND DM FOR OUR DISCORD!! <3 #lance #lance pokemon #champion lance #elite four lance #dragonair #dragonite #art prompt #writing prompt #pokemon #mod posts #lance week

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lxndonorris · 8 months

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steamy prompts #1

So, here are the ones requested;

"Close your eyes and count to ten. I have a surprise for you." - with Dando (Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris)

"This wasn't part of the plan, but I'm not complaining." -Dando (Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris)

"Why are you looking at me like that? Are you planning to kiss me?" - with Lando Norris x Reader

"Let's skip the small talk and get straight to what we both want." - with Lestappen (Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc)

"The way you're staring is making it hard to concentrate." - Dando (Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris) - Logan Sargeant x Reader

"We should stop... but I don't want to..." - with Lando Norris x Reader

"I've been imagining this moment since the day we met." - with Lestappen (Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc)

I will add a few more tomorrow after work, but feel free to ask for one if you like. See

I am open to many different fandoms besides F1, like football, tennis, motogp etc.

If you want to request anything else, feel free to do so. I mostly do one shots, around 1k-4k words.

I will start writing them throughout the week, and I have a few others plans beforehand so keep an eye out for other stuff!

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shanastoryteller · 5 months

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN GRANDMA!! You already know what I want, nay, what I crave when the days get shorter and the only thing that brings me any solace is my favorite rarepare. Please, Tonks x Percy siat - specifically something abouth Tonks telling Percy about her powers maybe, just an incredibly intimate scene please and thank you 😩🧡

The first time Percy rushes to the St. Mungo's on the heal of a battle and bursts into Tonk's room, he doesn't understand why he'd needed to threaten his way in in the first place. She's stripped to her underwear and looks perfectly fine.

But there are three healers surrounding her and completely ignoring him. "Time?" the oldest asks, her hair pure white and her face a layer of wrinkles.

Tonks closes her eyes. "Eighty seconds."

"External first," she says briskly. "It doesn't do us any good if you bleed out."

She breathes out.

Then blood floods across her body, soaking the bed instantly as wounds big and small erupt over her skin. In some places he sees flashes of what he thinks are bone.

Tonks doesn't scream as magic starts flying, and he doesn't either, keeping himself plastered to the wall.

"Internal," the healer says.

What little of her skin he can see beneath the blood pales and they're casting more healing spells, longer and more complicated the any he's heard before.

"Head," she says. "Go slow."

Tonks swallows and then there's another rush of blood as her eyes roll and she passes out and all three of the healers are flinging spells with a speed and intensity he didn't know was possible.

He's almost grateful that he can't see what injury they're treating.

Then the other two step back and the old healer casts a diagnostic spell that Percy tries to interpret and can't. Her shoulders drop and she says, "Good," casting a scourgify to take care of the blood and pulling the blanket over her with a flick of her wand.

She turns, noticing Percy for the first time. Instead of anger, she just raises an eyebrow. "You're the boyfriend, then?"

He really hates what that implies about how often Tonks needs to be treated by healer quite this talented. "Is she going to be okay?"

His stomach had twisted itself in nots but it finally starts ease when she gives a short nod. "We'll let her get some rest and keep her overnight from observation." She tilts her head to the side. "I'd kick you out, citing the no visitors policy for this ward, but you're already here. Seems like a big of wasted effort."

"A bit," he agrees, pulling a chair next to Tonks's bedside and collapsing into it. "Thank you."

Tonks wakes up slowly, feeling the hospital sheets that she hates with the smell she can't stand and she's already trying to figure out how she can get herself released early without bringing Nanu's wrath down on her.

She pushes herself upright - or tries to. She can't mover her arm.

She looks down, alarmed, but her arm is just being used as a pillow.

By Percy, who's asleep and hunched over her bed. Percy, who needed to be coaxed and cajoled into leaving his desk for so much as a tea is here. He doesn't even have any scrolls or work spready out. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't, but he's just here, and from the way his clothing's rumpled he's been here for a while.

Tonks's heart feels so full.

She's going to marry him.

He only just accepted that they were dating, so she'll give him some time before introducing the concept of marriage, but she knows. This man is going to be her husband someday.

#hi!#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #lance-with-a-chance-of-anxiety #harry potter #siat #and that's it for halloween prompts! hooray!

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fractalkiss · 9 months

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for the mini stories, 7

prompt list

for prompt #7 "uncanny", explicit, weekend in spa 2023.

Lance expects Fernando to be fully asleep by the time he comes around to his suite. If it was any other race or sprint weekend, Lance would be eager to end the day himself.

He's already turned down the lights to one. But Fernando cracks open his eyes before Lance gets on the bed, watches blankly as Lance climbs in beside him. It should be unnerving. Maybe it would have been if this had been the beginning of the season, if he hadn't been doing this for as long.

Fernando reaches out and Lance falls forward into it right away, slides himself over to feel the warmth of him. Lance feels Fernando's knuckles drifting up over his spine through his t-shirt, the slow stroke of his fingers like he's petting something; Lance pushes his face into his neck, and Fernando turns, tells him, "You'd want to sleep," into his cheek.

"Not yet," Lance says, and Fernando's hand is hot around the back of his neck, fingers through his hair, encouraging. He shuts his eyes in the feeling of it, thinks about Fernando full and demanding in his mouth, thinks about riding his cock. His dick twitches, and he presses himself into Fernando's leg already. "Dad says you're welcome to ours in Montreal anytime. The vacation house," he says.

"Did he?" Fernando murmurs, amused, as if he hasn't already been there, or already told this years ago by Dad himself.

"If you wanted to. Like, a weekend during the summer break," Lance huffs.

"What would we do?"

"Finally fucking relax. Fuck and relax," Lance adds with a snicker and Fernando's nails scrape the base of his head, the back of his ears. He's quiet, and Lance wets his lips, trying to think. Fernando knows he's hard, can feel Lance pressed up his side. He stretches his fingers over Fernando's stomach, touching Fernando's arm resting there, where he can't see the tattoo at the moment. "Tell me about Asturias."

Fernando's fingers still for a second. "Lots of mountains. Green, beautiful forests. It would be colder there now, not much rain."

He'd taken those photos in Montreal. Lance sighs when Fernando's shifts his leg, slots it between Lance's thighs, his hand pushing down Lance's spine now. "Your place has a view?"

"Somewhat yeah. You will have to bike out to get the best views. Maybe not what you would do yet, eh?"

There's no tease or jeer in his voice but Lance frowns, mutters, "Hey, shut up, I—" I want to be good to you, he thinks.

"Plenty of places to stay indoors and relax, also," Fernando continues. He shifts on to his side to face Lance, and Lance palms at him, wants to push his hand in his shorts, but Fernando beats Lance to it, tugging down Lance's pants himself to hold him, thumb slipping over the moist head of his cock. "Lots of gardens, where you can eat outside. The sun is less hot there, I always like it better outside."

"Sunbathing?" Lance breathes, thrusting a little into Fernando's hand, fucking into it. "You could do that anytime."

"No," Fernando says, and pulls away to touch two fingers to Lance's mouth; Lance's jaw falls open automatically, licks at the rough pads of his fingers. "You will see the garden, even from indoors, and a—" he says a word in Spanish, mutters a little off-track when Lance moans around his fingers. "Balcony," he says in English, "A room with a balcony, open, outside. We do not keep doors closed in summer, usually—we can do exactly this, there," Fernando says, his voice low and hoarse, exhausted, fingers sliding in and out of Lance's mouth nonetheless, the wet noise of the movement shooting down to Lance's dick, saliva gathering in his mouth faster than anything so he's drooling soon. Grinding into Fernando's steady palm too, like a dog.

Lance had been hoping to blow him, feel him full to the back of his throat until he can't no more, taking it until his voice is wrecked for the media pen tomorrow, but Fernando isn't done talking yet.

"You will like it," Fernando says. "The weather will be perfect. And you will look good, for me, no one will see when I fuck you." Lance whimpers around his fingers, the suction sound loud and desperate when Fernando takes his hand away, the wetness on his chin cool suddenly with the absence of contact; Fernando gets his pants off, and Lance's knees fall open—"Like that, that's right. That's what you will do. No one will see how much you like what I do to you. Such a shame, you'll look so—" Fernando sighs, his voice, strangled, pained. Sounding tight and in sync with how Lance feels when Fernando works him open with a finger, palm pressed over his balls, fucking with his hand, Lance moving to it until he's coming in gentle waves, unexpected, jerking into Fernando's side. Fernando kisses him towards the end of it, other hand holding Lance's jaw tight to keep him there, anchor him, keep him together.

"Fuck," Lance laughs, shakily. He sits up to take off his shirt, still breathless. Fernando is silent now, watching him, eyes impossibly dark, and still, the lines on his face deepened with his expression; wondering, lost, almost, strangely. Lance thinks stupidly, dazed, come home with me, anywhere.

He leans back down to kiss Fernando on the mouth. His hand goes to Fernando's shorts, pushes inside it.

#strollonso #answered asks #happy 42nd birthday fernando in certain timezones #ANYWAY... time to go enjoy my sunday #good morning #my fic #this did not answer the prompt but it's ok i loved getting it #thank you anon #anon asks #1418 #fernando/lance

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