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nik-the-bik · 3 years ago

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Henriel Week Day 4: Fireside

“Perhaps It’s the Wine”

Summary: Jekyll is super attracted to Gabriel and Gabriel is oblivious

CW: Alcohol, sex mention, and enough sexual tension to take out a priest, but nothing that veers too NSFW.

Gotta thank @corvidayyy for the awesome prompt because I'm surprisingly proud of this one?

****

It was a bitterly windy evening in January, but the guests at Dr. Jekyll’s home were none the wiser. That night he hosted an extravagant dinner for many of his friends and colleagues, sparing no expense for the endless array of hors d’oeuvres, hearty meats, and assortment of rare wines and spirits. Most everyone left the dinner party warmed with a good meal and head fuzzy from drink. As the evening crawled on into the deepest hours of the night, all that remained in Dr. Jekyll’s parlor were himself and his two oldest friends, Dr. Lanyon and Mr. Utterson.

The three sat around a roaring fire reminiscing about their boyhood follies, having animated discussions as they corrected each other’s memories and laughed at long forgotten stories. Some of the last of the wine was passing from hand to hand as they all sank comfortably into its stupor.

Henry opened the final bottle he had bought for the occasion and poured himself and Utterson another glass as Lanyon finally rose from his chair and stretched.

“What’s the matter, Hastie? We’ve got just a bit more wine left! Surely you can stay for one more drink?” Henry asked.

“As tempting an offer as that is, I’ve had more than my fair share,” said Lanyon, straightening his appearance as he prepared to bid his goodbyes. “I feel that any more would be too dangerous—I’m not as avid a drinker as I used to be, and I’ll lose my head entirely.”

“Suit yourself,” Henry chuckled. He and Gabriel Utterson shook his hand goodnight as Lanyon made his way out the door, but not without a few more jabs at his friends. The three were left with laughter ringing in their ears as he left them, Henry and Gabriel relaxing into the plush armchairs closest to the warm fireplace.

The two sat in silence for some time, feeling quite at ease with each other. The situation was not new to either of them—many a dinner party had ended with these two being left alone at the end of the night, softly whispering philosophy with each other or simply dwelling on memories while nursing one last drink before turning in for the night. These quiet, intimate moments were perhaps the ones that Henry Jekyll looked forward to most out of these evenings. Jekyll put down his empty glass and turned himself to face his best friend.

Gabriel Utterson looked beautifully relaxed. He had sunken into his own armchair, one arm around the back while the other lazily twirled the little remaining wine in his glass. He had one leg up on the ottoman, and a rare, small smile of sheer contentment rested on his face, as his eyes hungrily watched the roaring fire before them, cheeks rosy from the wine. Jekyll was captivated – warmed both by the glow of the fire and the soft glow of hedonistic bliss radiating from this man before him, a man who had always lingered in the back of his mind as the example of moral perfection. Yes, Gabriel Utterson was beautiful, and finding him in this tiny moment of domestic pleasure, Jekyll felt that old secret yearning ignite within him once more.

His attraction to Utterson was not something Jekyll let himself dwell on frequently, but on instances where the pangs of desire struck, they often were crippling in their intensity. Tonight was no exception.

Henry suddenly regretted that he never learned to be a painter, wishing that he had the talent needed to capture Gabriel Utterson in this moment. When he felt brave enough to confess as much out loud, Utterson let out a soft chuckle, and his eyes twinkled as his smile became broader across his face.

“Whatever would you want to paint ME for?” he asked, turning his attention away from the fire for the first time, and looking directly into Jekyll’s eyes. Jekyll’s heart stopped for the briefest of moments before his insides turned to butter under Gabriel’s warm, affectionate gaze.

“Well,” Henry started, averting his own eyes as he felt the heat rise to his face. “I guess it’s because you look so…effortlessly happy. It certainly suits you.”

Gabriel laughed again, a cozy, inviting laugh. “Perhaps it’s all of the wine.”

Henry Jekyll couldn’t help but grin himself and bring his eyes back to Utterson’s. He reached for the wine bottle that they had started just before Lanyon had left them and decided to refill his glass. “It certainly is good wine,” he said, scooting his chair a bit closer to Utterson’s in order to top off his glass as well.

“It is good wine,” Utterson reaffirmed, clinking their glasses together and giving him a jovial wink. Henry Jekyll nearly choked on his own drink—why was everything that Gabriel did suddenly so captivating, so…seductive? He was grateful that Utterson had turned his attention back to the fire as he dried his lips with a handkerchief, heart beating loudly in his ears. He had been secretly attracted by Utterson plenty of times before, but somehow tonight, somehow this was more than Henry Jekyll was able to take, and perhaps most maddening of all was how the seduction seemed entirely unintentional on Gabriel’s part.

Yes, this entire evening had been near perfect. Great food, plenty of alcohol, engaging conversation—the pièce de resistance for the night would be great sex, and the primal part of Henry Jekyll was suddenly roaring for it.

Another sip of wine as he stared into the open flame of the fireplace, and suddenly his heart was braced and tongue was loosened just enough to do something a bit foolish.

“You should stay the night, Gabriel.”

“Mmm?” Gabriel lazily hummed, turning his attention back to Henry. God was he gorgeous.

“It’s so late, and the weather tonight…I would prefer to know you were here, safe.”

“Thank you, Harry, but I couldn’t possibly intrude for much longer,” Gabriel said, suddenly shifting in his seat.

Jekyll leaned forward, putting a hand on Gabriel’s knee to stop him. “But I insist! It’s no intrusion, none at all, not when I have so many empty beds—”

“I still have my carriage waiting…”

“Send them home for tonight, and tomorrow you can take mine.”

Gabriel was quiet, only just now noticing that Henry’s hand was still resting on his knee.

“Henry, it would be lovely, but I really shouldn’t stay much later, not when I have so much work waiting for me tomorrow,” he said, turning his face back to the fire.

Jekyll brought the last of his glass of wine to his lips and downed it in one swallow, setting the glass aside and leaning still closer to his companion.

“I am requesting the honor of being hospitable to my dearest friend,” Henry said, voice lilting. He decided to give him the most sultry stare that he could muster. “I do so enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

Gabriel turned his bright, beaming face back to Henry’s, a sweet, naïve giggle escaping him. “I have really enjoyed our visit too.”

Beautiful, innocent, oblivious Gabriel! He had no idea what Henry was getting at!

This wouldn’t do, this wouldn’t do at all. The primal monster inside Henry was hungry, demanding he be sated. He bit down on his lower lip as he pictured himself losing control and yanking Gabriel’s face forward into a deep, passionate kiss, arms encircling his waist, Gabriel’s fingers trailing along his spine... But no, as tempting as the fantasy was, that couldn’t happen either. Not yet.

“It would certainly break my heart to have to spend tonight alone,” Henry said, slowly moving the hand from Gabriel’s knee upwards, rubbing up and down his thigh. “If you were here, well, I could imagine we could make it worth both of our trouble…” he trailed off, delighting in the feeling of Gabriel’s warm, firm thigh in his hand, unconsciously tightening his grip, tongue just starting to touch his lip as he continued rubbing, letting his hand wander ever closer to--

Gabriel’s hand snatched Henry’s away. Henry looked up at Gabriel, who was blushing furiously.

Oh. Gabriel finally understood.

Oh God, he finally understood that Henry--!!

“We shouldn’t,” was all he said.

Henry Jekyll’s heart was racing faster than it ever had before, his face hot with shame, or was it just the fire? Why had he allowed himself to indulge in this secret want of his?

But the foolish, drunken part of Henry’s brain began to chime in. He said WE shouldn’t! Emphasis on the WE!

He didn’t seem offended or angry or ashamed, did he? Just…flustered? Could that possibly mean…?

Jekyll realized that Utterson was still holding his hand. Casting off any sense of caution, he drew Gabriel’s hand towards him, clasped in both of his, desperate to salvage the moment.

“Forgive me, Gabriel, I sometimes forget myself and…”

“It’s alright,” Gabriel said, unable to meet his eyes. His breathing seemed a bit more shallow than usual.

“I'm so sorry if I was inappropriate--I want you to know,” Henry continued, drawing Gabriel’s hand towards his own heart. “That you mean the world to me, and that I would hate to completely jeopardize—”

“It’s alright,” Gabriel insisted again. “You don’t need to apologize. You haven’t done anything.”

“I’m a weak man,” Henry said. “A slave to my most base, sensual urges, many of which, I must humbly confess, center around you.” With that, Henry drew Gabriel’s hand towards his lips, kissing it tenderly. When Gabriel didn’t pull away, Henry continued to plant kisses all over his hand, losing all sense of hesitation as he began to dip into the frenzy of his own desire.

Gabriel finally retracted his hand from Henry’s greedy lips, his whole face red. “Perhaps it’s just the wine making you feel this way,” Gabriel said, pulling his own chair a little further away from Jekyll. “I know I can definitely feel it enacting a certain…influence…”

Henry straightened himself up, running a hand through his hair as he tried to regain his composure after his brief slip into blind ecstasy. “Perhaps it is the wine,” he confessed. He grabbed the bottle, nearly empty now, and decided to pour one small, final glass for himself.

“It’s very, very good wine,” Gabriel said, offering his glass for the remainder. He had his hand half covering his face, still brilliantly pink, eyes sparkling slightly as they peered at him between his fingers.

Henry smiled as he raised a silent toast to his companion, a thrill in his heart as it foolishly began to harbor the belief that maybe, just maybe, this overwhelming desire wasn’t entirely his alone.

#henriel week 2021 #henriel #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde #doctor jekyll #henry jekyll #mr utterson #gabriel utterson #jekyll/utterson #jekyll and hyde fanfic #nikki tries to be a writer #this feels unbearably raunchy to my little ace self #like...hands??? on thighs??? i better call the church!#maybe it's the catholicism talking idk #also for anyone under the legal drinking age: sometimes wine makes you feel like being slutty stay safe out there

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lilxberry · 4 years ago

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Lost Then Found - Bofur

Requested By: @prestongoodplayisbabey

Could I have a Bofur x reader where the reader gets lost (she’s part of the company) and when Bofur and the rest find her she’s eating a bear she caught with her own hands? I loved ur fic for @iwazoomingouttahere 💕

It’s probably a little different to what you were expecting but who doesn’t love a surprise amiright?! Also, I’m really glad that you liked the other fic so much that you wanted to request something for yourself so I hope that you like it

Warnings: A lil bit sad, wouldn’t say angsty though. Fluff. Mentions of death (animal). Mentions of blood. Mentions Bofur without his hat lmao. I think that’s it, don’t quote me on that.

Words: 2,713

Pairings: Bofur x Reader (female reader)

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It was definitely NOT your fault when you had become separated from the company. Everyone takes a wrong turn occasionally and loses the entire group they were travelling with. Right? It’s not like you heard a strange noise a bit away and went to investigate and when you returned, you found that they pressed on without you. If anything, it’s THEIR fault you were now separated from you. The big knuckleheads are completely oblivious sometimes. Anywho, that isn’t the point. It most certainly, definitely, absolutely WASN’T your fault.

Honestly, you actually had no clue in which direction they took off in but nevertheless, you followed your gut. They’re quite the noisy bunch so it shouldn’t be too hard to find them if you were on the right track. So, when you hear no rowdy group of 13 dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard, you deducted that you either went the wrong way of they finally learnt the meaning of the word silence.

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You huffed as you sat down on the damp ground as you were surrounded by forestry. The towering trees and shrubbery provided great cover for when you slept alone at night. You brought your knapsack that contained your bedroll over to your side where you rested against the mossy tree. You wrestle your bedroll from its confinement within your sack and roll it out, ready for when you rest when it gets darker.

As you finish up sorting your sleeping arrangement, you turned and looked at the slight clearing which you’ve chosen to set up camp before groaning slightly and setting out ready to find whatever you could for kindling the fire you plan to build. You set out slightly away from where you’ve set up your bedroll and knapsack and begin searching the ground for anything that isn’t to damp and will burn.

All you can think about as you collect fuel for your campfire is of the company, more specifically, a certain dwarf who had captured your heart with his whittling, singing and goofy hat that never leaves his head. You sigh, wondering if he even cared that you had disappeared, if any of them cared really. You had been separated for almost a week, surely, they noticed at least.

You shake your head. ‘Of course, they care.’ You groaned as you realised you practically came to a standstill as your mind wandered instead of doing what you intended on doing so. You look at the singular stick within your hand and huff. “It’s gonna be a long night…”

_______________

Bofur’s mood had been off lately, everyone could tell, especially his brother and cousin. They all dearly missed Y/N and were concerned about where she is now and whether she is safe, but it’s Bofur who’s losing his mind over his missing One.

Bofur knew the moment he first laid on the girl that she was his One, he almost instantly confided in his brother and cousin about the subject. He even asked Balins’ ear off over what he should do. He loved how Y/N’s smile always happened to brighten up his day, or how her laugh could lure any man for it was easily mistakable for a sirens call.

He even loved how she was the only person to truly make him flush a deep red. She matched him perfectly when it came to humour, making him flush when a sarcastic, dirty joke passed her lips.

The dwarf sighed as he sat himself down on a log beside his cousin and the young princes’. The three all shared a concerned look towards each other then turned their gaze towards the love stricken, hat wearing whittler.

“Don’t worry Bofur, we’ll find her.” Fíli spoke, placing a comforting hand atop his companions’ shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah. She’s probably right on our ass knowing her.” Kíli joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Bofur could only offer a solemn shrug and a smile that couldn’t meet his eyes. The brothers turned to Bifur, hoping he would know what to say.

Bifur shook his head and shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly before looking towards his cousin and offering him the most comforting of smiles he could muster up. “We will find her soon. I promise cousin. We will find your One.”

Bofurs’ smile a tad bit more genuine at his cousins’ words. He sat up that little bit straighter before standing and facing towards Bombur who stood near the campfire. “I’m gonna see if Bombur needs help lads, thanks.” And with that, he slugged his way over, looking down towards the ground and sighing out deeply.

“Where the bloody hell are ya, lass…”

_______________

You head away from your camp and towards the deeper parts of the woods, ready to hunt for your meal. Crouching low to the ground, you spot small tracks, a rabbit most likely. You slowly and quietly followed the small tracks, hoping to come across meat for your food.

A small crackle within the bushes before you forced you to snap your head up. You smiled victoriously as you raised your bow and arrow, steadying your breathing, bringing your elbow back past your ear, forcing you to stare down the length of the piercing wood with a steel pointed head. ‘Got you, ya bastard.’

Just before you released your arrow to send the arrow piercing through the air, the small rabbit emerged from behind the bush, standing on its hind legs, revealing itself as not a small rabbit like you intended to find but a large, burly bear covered in a dark, fur coat.

You fell backwards from your crouched position on to your behind, clamping a hand over your mouth, your breathing becoming increasingly heavier, almost hyperventilating. Your eyes were wide with fear as the bear raised its snout into the air and sniffs, almost as if it were searching for you. You slowly crawled away backwards, putting some distance between you and the beast.

Your efforts had practically been futile.

The bear whipped its head towards you in a flash, staring at you for moment, a moment where you could only hold your breath and pray to whatever God could hear you. The beast released a loud, ground shaking roar, a heavy growl underlining it before it burst out into a run towards you. You scrambled to stand quickly and take lengthy steps back as you drew your sword, unsheathing it from its position at your hip, your bow and arrow long forgotten on the dirt ground.

It lunges towards you and you let a piercing scream tear its way through your throat. You drove your sword up into the chest cavity of the beast as it fell down from the force of its attack, impaling the beast on to your weapon.

It bawled out and whimpered in pain as it laid dying atop of your smaller form. You struggled to worm yourself out from underneath the beast and laid yourself beside it, sprawled out like a starfish and chest heaving heavily as your tried to catch your breath. “I’m sorry…” you whispered to the bear, a tear escaping from the corner of your eye.

You rolled on to your side and slowly came to a stand. You retrieved your dagger from your belt and stepped closer to the corpse. Embedding the blade into the bear, you began to skin and salvage any possible meat from the beast, your body quickly being covered in the luke-warm crimson liquid.

“I’m so, so sorry…”

_______________

The company had sat around the fire, eating whatever Bombur had been able to form into an appetising broth when they heard the loud roar of a beast. They all momentarily paused, all either halting their chewing or stilling the movement of the spoon coming closer to their mouths.

Their eyes travelled along each other as they sat a few moments in silence, some slowly lowering their bowls down, cautious if any over the few decibels they were making would draw whatever it was to them. But once they heard the feminine scream moments after, they jumped up and raced towards whatever they hoped to find.

Everyone was hopeful that it was their missing lass, all the while they wished it weren’t. The scream could never be a good sign. Bofur was the first to spring to action and burst through the treelines to head deeper into the woodland. All he could think is that his One could be in danger and he isn’t with her to protect her.

The others followed suit, rushing towards whatever it was. They dodged and weaved through trees and climbed over and under branched and roots. They ran and ran until they came across the carcass of a bear, a large one at that. It was partially missing some fur along with most of the meat that once encased its bones.

They searched the area, high and low. As Kíli crouched low towards the ground, he noticed the strange disturbances the ground had gone through. He assumed it was that of someone shuffling backwards in a vulnerable state. He brought the scuffle evident in the dirt to Thorins’ and the companies attention.

They backtracked the marks in the dirt and found where they had started, near a bush. They continued to search but one discovery had sent everyone into a state of panic and fear. Your bow and a singular arrow.

“She must’ve been here. You cannot deny it is hers!”

Finding your own tracks that came from your boots hadn’t been difficult to do. So, with that, they hastily followed your footprints, double and triple checking they were on the right track. A million thoughts whirled through their heads. What had happened? Were you alright? Had you been injured?

Bofur felt an array of emotions as he tailed the company, perplexed about what he had hoped to find. He so desperately hoped it was you, but what if they found you in a condition they so desperately didn’t want to come across. What he didn’t want to come across. He would never forgive himself if you had been injured or worse, never forgiving himself for not being able to protect you. His woman, his One.

He prayed to Mahal all throughout their search for you and soon, he found his prayer answered. There you were, sat beside a small campfire atop a thick coat of black fur, turning large chunks of meat over the fire, roasting it for your meal, all the while you were still covered nearly head to toe in nearly crisp dry blood.

Bofur dropped his weapon to the floor and rushed over to you, causing you to jump near enough a foot off the ground. “Mahal, Y/N, I’ve been worried sick!” He enveloped you in a bone crushing hug, dis-concerned about the blood, your shocked face and the other members who watched on. He pulled back ever so slightly and cup your face in between his hands, staring at you intensely. “Where did you run off to?!”

You swallowed down the dry lump that had formed into your throat and looked into his eyes, the other members of the company momentarily forgotten. “I uh-I heard a noise, so I went to check it out and when I came back, you guys weren’t there…” you trailed off, tears forming in your (E/C) orbs, threatening to spill at a moments notice. “I…I thought you guys didn’t care…”

The dam had broken and you now openly sobbed, tears had begun to stream down your face like salty waterfalls. Bofur had reacted quickly, bringing you into yet another hug, seeming more desperate than the last. You clung on to him like a scared child would cling on to their mother as you wept and wept into his chest. The other members all watched with saddened eyes, their hearts breaking the slightest at the thought of you thinking they hadn’t cared that you had disappeared.

“We’re right here lass, I’m right here. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Bofur whispered sweet, soothing words in your ear as he laid a gentle kiss upon your forehead. “I ain’t ever letting you out of my sight ever again, ya hear?” You sniffled and even released the faintest of giggles as you lifted your head up to look Bofur in the eye. He smiled down at you and you could do nothing but return it with a tiny one of your own. “Aye, there’s my lass and that beautiful smile. Not as beautiful as mine though.” He spoke to you with such love and care.

You had laughed once more, always thankful for Bofur and his attempt at making others smile. “I missed you.” You whispered, leaning your forehead against his own.

He beamed towards you as the words passed your lips. “I missed you more, amrálíme.” He spoke not even a decibel louder than you before planting his lips firmly against your own. You froze, shocked by what was happening, but before you knew it, you melted into the kiss and matched his passion and love, raising your arms to wrap loosely around his neck.

The company all had smiles etched across their faces, some of them cheering and realising high pitched wolf whistles. You two broke the kiss as if remembering you were surrounded by others. You flushed a deep red whilst Bofur only seemed to beam towards you once more.

“I would like it if you would allow me to court ya and braid your hair, lass.” He spoke with such confidence that it almost made you neglect the pink tint his cheeks adorned. All you could do was nod and smile sheepishly as your blush intensified. He grinned from ear to ear and kissed you once more, one you happily returned.

Parting, he stood and extended his hand down towards you. You placed your smaller hand into his own before his encased yours and pulled you gently to stand beside him. As soon as you gained your balance, Bombur had rushed towards you and crushed you in his own embrace, him clearly missing you a lot just like his brother. You chuckled as you hugged him back, the company also finding Bomburs affection amusing. It even elicited a deep, throaty chuckle from the ever-brooding Thorin.

You all headed back towards the camp the company had set up, not without grabbing your belonging along with the meat and fur you obtained for the bear you had the misfortune of running into. Bofur had a protective arm around you the entire time, not even removing himself from your side once you had reached the camp.

Bombur and Bifur had taken it upon themselves to cook yet another meal for the company, seeing as you had salvaged much meat from the beast. You all sat and ate, they barraged you with questions about the week you had been separated from them. They even asked about the bear you had taken down and how you lugged so much its meat back towards your makeshift sleeping area.

As you talked and talked with the company on how you had no clue if you were even heading in the right direction towards them, Bofur stared at you lovingly, afraid that if he were to blink, you would become separated once again.

He thanked Mahal a million times over in his head, thankful that they had found you again, that he had found you again. He smiled, removing his hat which he then proceeded to place atop of yours. It fell past your eye, obstructing your vision, causing you to push it up whilst you giggled.

Bofur released a chuckled of his own as he brough you further into his side and rest his head on top of yours. “Amrálíme?”

You smiled as you hear his hushed use of the affectionate name. “Yes Bofur?”

“I love you.”

You turned and looked up at him through your eyelashes, that hat of his threatening to fall over your eyes once again and smiled. “I love you.” You snuggled further into his warm, loving embrace and you both sighed in happiness and contentment.

He’ll be damned if he ever got separated from his One ever again. And Mahal help whoever stands in his way.

_______________

First fic uploaded in 2021, lets gooooo!

It’s a little different to what the requester probably envisioned but the overall plot is still there so all I can hope is that they like it

BRO I HATED THAT I HAD TO WRITE ABOUT KILLING A BEAR, THAT SHIT SAD BRUH lmao

I hope you all enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

#bofur #bofur x #bofur x reader #bofur the dwarf #x reader #x female reader #x fem reader #x fem!reader #the hobbit #the hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x #the hobbit x reader #fluff #thorin's company #thorin's company x reader

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 4 years ago

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In the Heat of the Fire....

Fireman!Poe Dameron x Female Reader

Warnings: description of fire, brief mention of hospitals, mention of depressive feelings, angst, fluff mention of smut and mention of pregnancy. NSFW 18+

Word count: 2585

Summary: Your flat catches fire and you’re saved by a dashing young Fireman who then takes you under his wing when you have nothing left.

You coughed, your eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed. You frowned, unable to take a deep breath you coughed again, this time it wracked your body violently and you finally opened your eyes. At first you couldn't see anything as it was dark, but as your eyes adjusted and you woke up you could see and smell the smoke. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to water, you got out of bed, finally seeing the orange glow under your bedroom door, you grabbed a top and held it over your mouth before opening the door. You cried out as pain flared from your palm, the door handle was so hot it made your skin blister but you didn’t have time to even register it as the fire surged towards you, licking into your bedroom like it had been starved of air.

Panic began to bubble up inside you as you backed away in horror from the roaring inferno. You opened your window coughing and spluttering the more intense smoke, you could see the blue lights below you from the fire engines and the group of people from your building. You tried to call out but your throat was so sore you could barely form words let alone shout over the noise. You saw someone break away from the crowd and grabbed a firefighter, they pointed at you vigorously as you slid down the wall and out of sight. Your chest was tight, you could feel yourself becoming light headed and the smell assaulting your nostrils was making you feel sick. The fire was making its way round your bedroom and tears began to track their way down your face as you shook with fear. You thought of your parents, your friends even your work colleagues as you felt the heat roil around you.

Is this what the desert feels like? You felt a giggle try to erupt from you but all you could was cough, each time you did your head swam and your body ached as you slouched even more. The fire was close now, the blistering heat making your turn away as it consumed your bed, billowing more smoke into the room obscuring everything from sight.

You tried to gasp as hands reached out of the smoke and grabbed you, placing a mask hurriedly over your face. You gripped onto the rough coat of the firefighter as he lifted you up in his arms.

‘Cover your face.’ You pulled the top you had completely over your face tucking yourself as close to him as you could. ‘I’ve got you.’ Pain blossomed from your burnt hand but you tried to ignore it knowing you didn’t want your grip to fail. You tensed as the heat increased, surrounding you with a blazing intensity as he carried you bravely through your burning flat. You could feel him heading down the stairs and finally the cool air of the night kissed your skin. More hands grabbed you putting you on a stretcher, asking you questions, shining lights in your sore eyes but you didn’t let go of the firefighter who had pulled you from the building. Your vision swam as he took his mask off, he was talking to someone and then suddenly he was getting in the ambulance with you. Your body started tensing all over as you convulsed on the stretcher and the last thing you heard was a paramedic shouting.

The beeping noise was annoying. It cut through your grogginess waking you up with a start as the sounds of flames roaring echoed in your mind.

‘Hey, it’s ok.’ You turned to the voice beside you as saw a guy, he had a firefighters coat on and his helmet was sat on the table next to you, his face was still dirty with soot and all you could smell was smoke. You tried to speak but you ended up coughing into your mask, you winced at the ache from your chest and you settled back down against the pillows. He cast a look over the screens around you before resting his deep brown eyes on you again. ‘The doctors will be round to talk to you soon, they’re pleased with how well you’re doing considering the amount of smoke exposure you had.’ You found yourself relaxing at the sound of his voice as you gazed at him, this was the man who saved you. You owed him your life. The door opened to your room and some doctors came in, the nurse took some blood and they spouted some information at you but you couldn’t really take it in as you searched for the firefighters for reassurance. He smiled a lopsided smile and nodded slightly letting you know he was still there and you smiled slightly back, hoping he wouldn’t leave anytime soon.

After a few days the hospital released you, the fireman, who’s name you learnt was Poe, he visited as often as he could and now he was picking you up and taking you back to the flat to see if you could salvage anything. He had warned you it wasn’t pretty and he was right. You stood outside the building, your bandaged hand aching just at the sight of the block, black soot was smeared on the brickwork from all the windows and you could see your bedroom window. Poe put a hand on your back as he surveyed the damaged building with you.

‘You don’t have to go in.’ You lent into his touch slightly as you looked at his handsome face. You’d only known him a few days but he had saved your life and was offering emotional support so you weren’t on your own. You didn’t have anyone else really, your parents lived far away, your friends were great but you mostly kept to yourself immersing yourself in work all the time.

‘I need to.’ You walked towards the door, ignoring the panic crawling over your skin making you want to run in the opposite direction. You finally made it to your flat, the smell burnt your nose as you walked around. Smoke, melted plastic and dampness all mingled into a hideous musty aroma that made you feel slightly ill. One look around told you nothing could be saved, your kitchen cupboards hung off the wall in a haphazard way, everything was burnt or smeared with soot and you knew the smell would never come out of whatever you took away. You stopped at the doorway of your bedroom, your bed was just a mass of twisted blackness and you could see the path the flames had taken. The echo of flames made you tense but suddenly Poe was there, his comforting presence washing over you as he closely watched your reaction.

‘Do you have somewhere to stay?’ He asked softly.

‘Er, no. I haven’t really thought about it. I could ask a friend I guess.’ Tears threatened to well up in your eyes and you blinked them away, not wanting to fall apart right now.

‘You’re not going to find anything here, why don’t you come back to my place? I’ve got to go to work soon so you can have the run of my flat.’

‘I barely know you.’ You said and he smiled.

‘True, but I did save your life. The least you could do is cook a meal for me,’ he said with amusement in his tone.

‘Are you being serious? Right now?’

‘Yes, perfectly serious.’ You looked at him as you stood in the ruined tatters of your life and you felt a rush of gratefulness that however roughly he’d been shoved into your life, he’d still been shoved into your life for a reason.

‘Sure. Ok. I need to go shopping though, I need clothes.’

‘Come on,’ he put an arm around your shoulders as he led you out of the burnt flat. ‘I’ll take you shopping.’

*******************

And so the days turned into weeks and Poe had given you his spare room, you had gone back to work as you waited for the insurance money to come in and he had long shifts at the station so you didn’t see each other very often but when you did you’d watch a film and have a home cooked meal. The longer you stayed with him you could feel your affection grown for him, he was good looking, funny, cocky but kind as well. Being with him made you realise how lonely you actually were.

You were standing in the kitchen frying some chicken and peppers, the wraps warming in the oven as you grated the cheese, tonight was fajita night. The door slammed shut announcing his arrival but he didn’t stop and greet you like he usually did. He walked past you without a word and you instantly knew something was wrong, you cleaned your hands off before approaching his bedroom door.

‘Poe?’ You knocked gently but you got no response. ‘Poe? What happened?’ You steeled yourself, feeling bold you opened his door to find him kneeling on the floor, his arms wrapped around him as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He looked up at you a desperate look on his face and you knew today had been a bad day. Without thinking you got down on the floor with him, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he embraced you just as roughly. His entire body shook and the words started tumbling out of him, his voice wavering as still he tried not to cry.

‘I tried, I couldn’t get to her. The fire was too much. I could hear her screaming for me and I couldn’t get to her, I couldn’t get to her,’ a sob finally choked its way out of him and you could feel wetness on your neck as his soft curls brushed against your face.

‘It’s not your fault,’ you whispered as you held him. You looked back at the door painfully aware the frying pan was on. ‘Come into the kitchen with me or dinner will be burnt.’ He got up with you and you noticed as you finished cooking he tried to stay as close to you as possible, a dark haunted look in his eyes as he watched you prepare the food. You led him to the sofa as he looked at the food on the plate but he didn’t pick it up. ‘Poe,’ he looked up at you worrying his bottom lip.

‘Can we, can you….would you sleep with me tonight?’ His eyes widened as he realised what it sounded like and he began to try and stammer his way out of it. ‘I mean...I just… comfort….just hugs….’

‘Poe. Yes I will.’ He sighed with relief and finally he started eating.

You cleared up not letting him help and he stood by the hallway as he waited for you, once you’d turned the dishwasher on he reached for you. His touch tentative as your fingertips brushed his, you studied his face and gently brushed his curls off his forehead.

‘You ready?’ He nodded and tugged you with him leading you to his bedroom. He pulled his top off but left his joggers on as he slipped into bed, you were already in loungewear so you slipped in next to him. Without hesitating he grabbed you, pulling you flush against him as his warm breath fanned over the skin of your neck. You buried your hands in his curls as you sighed softly enjoying the feel of being close to someone. You thought he was asleep at one point until his hand moved lightly down your back and causing you to arch against him. His face pulled away from you and you saw the dark look in his eyes in the dim light, your heart hammered inside your chest as you traced the lines of his face. His hand slid up your arm and traced the line of your neck burying his fingers on your hair. Your body reacted instantly, desire racing through you as the heat of his body melded with yours. His lips pressed gently against you and you couldn’t help but groan into him. The desperate need for comfort took you both over as you striped quickly, coming together in a clash of limbs, unspoken words and heated craving. You took what you needed from each other hard and fast, just lost in the feel of one another until you were both spent finally drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

******************

And so your relationship blossomed, some days it was amazing, until the arguments started. His job took a lot out of him, having lost his own mother in a fire he seemed to have this need to save everyone he came across, more than his colleagues. He would take unnecessary risks, putting his own life on the line more than anyone else everyday. You began to fear you were losing him, and even though you respected what he did and understood why he did it you couldn’t accept the risks he was taking. You had a massive row the worst you’d ever had leaving you crying on the floor as he left for work not coming back until the next day. You stayed up all night going over the argument thinking what you could have said instead, wondering if you were being unreasonable or if he was just a reckless person with no regard for himself. The sun rose warming your legs as you sat rigid on the sofa when the front door opened. He closed it quietly and you turned to see him in his uniform.

‘I couldn’t leave it like that. I’m sorry.’ You nodded and got off the sofa, his eyes watched you wearily as you approached him.

‘I’m sorry too.’ He pulled you into a tight embrace, crushing his lips to you trying to get across how sorry he really was when a radio crackled.

‘Dameron get down here we’ve had a call.’

‘Go, just be careful.’ He smiled at you, that devilish lip sided smile you’d grown to love so much.

‘I promise I’ll be careful because now I have something to live for.’ The door shut behind him, his words still lingering in the air around you.

‘I love you,’ you whispered to the empty room.

*******************

Rain beat down on your umbrella as you stared down at the ground, the echo of your memories tormenting you everyday. You placed a hand on your swollen belly feeling the life stirring inside you as you read the words on the stone before you, your eyes tracing them like they had a million times before. Grief gripped you tightly as tears threatened to fall, it had been 8 months without him by your side. 8 months of coming home to an empty flat. 8 months of crying yourself to sleep as you hugged his favourite clothes. And now a whole new chapter of your life yawned before you with promises of life and giggles, tiny hands and feet gripping your clothes and a little person loving you with their whole heart. But you had to do it alone.

‘I miss you Poe,’ your voice cracked as you put a hand on the headstone wishing with all your might he was still here at your side. You hated leaving him alone in the cold ground and you swore your child would know what a brave man her father was.

He’d never be forgotten.

#poe dameron au #fireman!poe #fireman!poe dameron #poe dameron #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fluff #CW:pregnancy #CW:panic #CW:fire

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aidanchaser · 3 years ago

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Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute @somebodyswatson

Chapter Fifteen The Heist

Luna Lovegood hated Hogwarts. Yes, she was in Ravenclaw, and yes, she loved learning, but school? School was where curiosity went to die in a long, slow, stretched out sentence.

For Luna, the transition from her family home, where her father had encouraged her explorations and experiments, to a place of high stone walls and demanding bells had been terrible for her, and she’d nearly quit after her first year.

Now she was glad that she had persisted, because school had one thing worthwhile: Ginny Weasley.

When Ginny had hexed those boys for calling her Loony, the stars in the dark night had burst into existence, and school had become not just bearable, but pleasant. Luna had skipped everywhere for the rest of the that week.

This year, however, there was no skipping. Even Herbology, one of Luna’s favourite subjects, was overcast by the horrid cloud that Snape and the Carrows left on the school.

At least Ginny and Neville were in Herbology with her. N.E.W.T.-level courses often combined sixth and seventh years, and Luna was glad to have her closest friends with her at least once a week.

They were currently repotting Venomous Tentacula, which involved lots of soothing whispers and gentle strokes to the stem and vines. Neville worked easily, and Luna did too, even humming a lullaby to her knot of vines as she transferred the plant into a larger pot and carefully aerated the soil.

“Ow!” Ginny hissed, drawing her hand away from her plant.

Luna patted one of her vines and paused her melody. “Did it bite you, Ginny?”

Ginny pressed her wounded hand to her mouth. “Just got me with its leaves. Bloody bastard hates me.”

“You have to be gentle,” she sang, and reached for a watering can.

“I am gentle!”

Luna giggled. Ginny could be gentle, but it was not her natural state by any stretch.

Once Luna had finished repotting her Tentacula, she moved to Ginny’s station to help her work.

“You have to be kind and patient.” Luna ran her fingers along one of the vines. “It’s a sensitive plant.”

Beneath Luna’s hands, the vines no longer lashed out with sharp, sudden outbursts of movement, but instead swayed in time to her humming.

“See?” Luna paused her song. “Now put your fertilizer in that pot.”

Professor Sprout praised them all for their hard work, and congratulated them for finishing the lesson without any bite accidents. “There’s usually at least one of you turned bright purple and on your way up to the hospital wing, but you all did excellent work today,” she beamed at them.

“Hospital wing’s full up anyway,” Hannah Abbott mumbled, just out of Sprout’s earshot, as she cleaned up her work station.

Hannah looked unusually wild today. Her thick plaits were uncharacteristically loose, and dirt streaked her cheeks. She wrestled her book into her bag with the sort of determination one might use when salvaging Snargaluff pods.

Neville reached across his station to hers and picked up her shovel and trowel. “Ernie will be fine,” he murmured, and returned her tools to the greenhouse shed.

Hannah tried and failed to regain control of her trembling lip, then hurried out of the greenhouse before Neville could come back.

It wasn’t just Ernie, who was recovering from a detention after he had called the Daily Prophet “rubbish” and added that he hoped Harry would show up at Hogwarts so he could “put Snape in his place.”

It was Parvati and Padma Patil, who had refused to attend Muggle Studies. Each night that they refused earned them a night of detention, until after three weeks both girls had become too ill to attend any of their classes.

It was Hugh Ward, who had defiantly announced to the boys in his Slytherin dormitory that he was a half-blood.

Luna didn’t know what curses the boys had used to try to punish Hugh for being so proud of his Muggle lineage, but he had been in the hospital wing all week. Luna had visited him, and the Patil twins. She made a point to visit anyone who had been in Dumbledore’s Army, because they were her friends.

On these visits, it was not uncommon for her to find Hannah, helping Madam Pomfrey change linens and administer medicine to those who needed it. Though Hannah never did any of the Charm work in the hospital wing, she watched closely each time Madam Pomfrey cast a spell.

Luna knew that Hannah wanted to become a Healer. Each time Luna visited the hospital wing, she thought about becoming a Healer, too. She liked caring for people, and she was taking enough N.E.W.T.s for it. But so much of Healing was urgent, and Luna had never done well with urgent.

“Must you always move so slowly?” Ginny snapped.

Luna frowned at her gloves as she packed them away. She much preferred the greenhouse to the castle and couldn’t understand why Ginny was so eager to get back. She’d much rather be down here with the fresh air than back with the Carrows.

“Come on,” Ginny whined, “I’m starved.”

Luna squeezed her Herbology textbook between her personal field guide and the thick tome for Transfiguration. With those three texts and her scaly Care of Magical Creatures book, her bag was nearly bursting at the seams.

“Why didn’t you eat breakfast?” Luna shouldered her heavy bag and hurried to the door where Ginny and Neville were waiting.

“I wasn’t hungry at breakfast.”

“Helen said she was sulking in the Owlery after a row with Harry,” Neville whispered, but not as quietly as he should have.

“We didn’t have a row! And anyway, don’t use his name. Someone might hear you.”

“Should we just call him You-Know-Who?” Neville asked with a grin.

Ginny shoved him, none too gently, and picked up her pace, leaving Neville and Luna trailing behind her.

Luna pursed her lips and looked up at Neville. There was something different about him this year, but Luna couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Did you grow taller over the summer?” she asked, and tried to gauge if she was looking up more than she had looked up last year.

“What? Oh — yeah, I did. Gran sent out for a whole new wardrobe.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was only like, an inch I think, but she insisted. I think it was her way of apologising that Mum and Dad were gone most of the summer.”

Luna tilted her head. “I suppose they work quite a lot.”

Neville laughed. “I haven’t seen much of them since… well, I guess since Voldemort came back. I mean, a meal here and there, but usually only one at a time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not bad.” He adjusted his bag. “Their work’s important. And I’ve always had Gran around.”

Luna looked down at her hands. There was dirt under her nails, and she supposed she ought to clean up before lunch, but she liked when her hands were dirty. It reminded her of her mother, who had always smelled like earth and soot. It also reminded her of her father, whose fingers were often stained with ink.

“But you miss them.”

It wasn’t a question. Luna didn’t ask questions she already knew the answers to. There were plenty of other questions to be concerned with.

“What do you think we should call Harry?” she asked. “And I suppose we’ll need names for Ron and Hermione as well. Should we all have secret names? Like cats, perhaps? I should like to be Turnip.”

When she and Neville reached the castle, Ginny was waiting impatiently at the door.

“You both walk slow,” she complained, and stormed inside.

“My,” Luna said, “it must have been quite a bad fight with Parsnip.”

Neville frowned. “No, I don’t like that one.”

“Butterscotch?”

“Hmm…”

“Pickled Herring?”

“Must it be food?”

“I like Pickled Herring, because it sounds like him, but backwards.”

“I suppose.”

Luna waved goodbye to Neville and joined the Ravenclaw table. She sat next to a girl named Kim Sheringham, who Luna did not consider a friend, exactly, but they had lived together for the better part of six years, which might count for something to other people. It just didn’t count very much to Luna.

“Hi, Luna,” said Kim.

“Hello,” Luna said, but remained focused on her lunch

“How was Herbology?”

Luna hummed. “Warm. Pleasant.” She reached for the pitcher and poured herself a glass of water.

“Sounds nice. Listen, do you think you could do me a favour?”

Luna stared at Kim and took a sip from her cup. She waited for Kim to ask for what she really wanted.

Kim faltered, but she’d always been more keen on small talk than Luna. Finally, she said, “Could you tell Flitwick I’m not well? I need to review for the Muggle Studies exam tonight. Please, I just can’t keep all the Sacred Twenty-Eight straight. Just tell Flitwick I fell ill after lunch or something. Any excuse will do.”

Ravenclaws, as a rule, did not skip lessons — unless they had an exam to prepare for.

“I could review with you,” Luna offered, and pretended not to notice the way Kim’s brow furrowed.

“That’s alright, thanks. Just tell him I’m not well. He’ll believe whatever you say, you know.”

Now it was Luna’s turn to frown. She didn’t understand what Kim meant, but she didn’t get to ask because Kim was already leaving.

Luna finished her meal alone, still puzzling over Kim’s comment, and wandered to Charms by herself. She apologised to Flitwick for Kim’s absence, and promised to take notes for two. Flitwick readily accepted her vague excuse, and this only puzzled Luna more. How had Kim known that Flitwick would not press her?

She was distracted throughout class, but her notes were no less for it. She was not sure that they would help Kim — no one ever asked to borrow Luna’s colourful, pictographic notes — but Luna would not mind explaining them.

After Charms, Luna had a free period, while the Gryffindors took their Charms lesson. She passed Ginny and Neville outside Flitwick’s classroom door and smiled. Ginny grinned back, which worried Luna. It was not the sort of grin that suggested Ginny was truly in a better mood; it was Ginny’s mischievous grin.

Luna waited until she was in the library to check the Galleon in her pocket. She had not noticed it grow warm during her Charms lesson, but it must have, for there was a new date and time inscribed where the identification number would be. Tonight, an hour before Muggle Studies.

Whatever Ginny had planned would get them all into trouble, certainly, but Luna at least knew that it would be fun, and fun was in such short supply these days.

There was plenty of time between now and then, so Luna set about working on their personalised field guides for Herbology. She had started adding to it, not just for Herbology, but also for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was sweet, but Luna did not find him an adept professor. She could appreciate the practicality of his lessons, at least, but had started recording what she learned from their field experiments into her Herbology project. She enjoyed this sort of work, collecting information and organising it. And decorating it.

Professor Flitwick had suggested a career studying magical plants and animals, doing field work, exploring, traveling and notetaking, making discoveries. Luna liked the idea of it, but the way he had presented it sounded tedious. He had mentioned the Ministry and paperwork, almost as if he had been trying to put her off from the job. He had even suggested that she spend her summer reaching out to people at the Ministry to try some job-shadowing, but Luna had a hard time finding people in the Ministry that were not involved with either the Death Eaters, the Rotfang Conspiracy, or the Heliopath Army.

Was it not enough to simply wander?

Luna had never been good at purpose. It was one of the many things she had always admired about Ginny. Ginny had always known who she was and what she wanted. Luna, for all her appearances of self-assurance, wondered and doubted far more than anyone knew.

Luna finished her note about Fire Crabs in preparation for tomorrow’s lesson and waited for the ink to dry. She swung her legs back and forth and stared out of the large window. Neither of her parents had ever made a living on the things they were passionate about. They did things that were uninteresting to fund their curiosities. She wondered if she would end up doing the same.

With a sigh, Luna closed her field guide and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. Again, she ate alone, but she watched Ginny talk with one of the girls from her dorm. Ginny’s smile was wide but empty, and she tapped her fork anxiously against her plate.

Neville sat alone, picking at his food, and Seamus and Lavender sat together, but they had more interest in the professors’ table than in each other.

Luna shook her head. Gryffindors were always so obvious. If the Carrows were even a little bit smarter, they might have known to be suspicious.

Neville left dinner first, and after an exact count of thirty, Ginny followed. The rest of the D.A. made their way out of the Great Hall in staggered exits. Some relied on a count of their own choosing. Some relied on waiting until a certain number of people had exited before they made their way to the seventh floor.

If Umbridge had taught them anything, it was how to avoid getting caught.

Luna waited until Michael Corner loudly announced that he was going to check on Padma, and trailed after him at her usual aimless pace. When he headed for the hospital wing, Luna went all the way back to Ravenclaw Tower, but instead of climbing the stairs, she slipped down another corridor to the Room of Requirement.

The Room no longer looked as it had for D.A. meetings. In fact, Luna thought it looked rather like a proper classroom. There were even stacks of reference books on some of the desks.

“I thought if anyone did walk in on us, it would look like we were studying,” Neville said, when he saw Luna’s curious glance.

She hummed thoughtfully. “You should ask it not to let anyone walk in on us.”

Neville looked surprised, then frowned and sank into one of the desks. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully.

Luna always appreciated the way Neville took her ideas seriously, rather than laughed at them, or dismissed them instantly, the way so many of her peers and professors did.

Padma and Parvati returned from the hospital wing with Michael, and a small crowd surrounded them, asking if they were alright. Hannah and Susan were notable outliers, clustered by themselves and whispering quietly. Ginny, too, stood alone, trying to count heads, and another girl in a green headscarf, someone Luna had not spoken to since those early days of the D.A., sat by herself.

Luna slipped into the desk beside Atalanta Shafiq. She smiled pleasantly.

“Hello. It’s Atalanta, isn’t it?”

The girl stared at her with large brown eyes. Luna thought she was in fourth year, the same Dennis Creevey would have been in.

“You’re Luna.”

Luna’s smile widened. “How did you know?”

“Everyone knows you. You’re one of the people who went to the Ministry with Potter two summers ago.”

“Oh, you mean Pickled Herring.”

Atalanta stared at Luna as if she had lost her mind, a look Luna was used to, though she hadn’t seen it in a while. She hadn’t spent much time with new people recently.

“You’re friends with Hugh, aren’t you?” Luna asked her.

Atalanta nodded. “I know you visit him. How is he?”

“Oh — he’s well. Don’t you see him yourself?”

The girl turned to stare straight ahead. Her face was hard and her voice tight. “He asked me to stop coming. As if everyone doesn’t already know we’re friends — as if he has anyone else to bring him notes —” She broke off abruptly and her nostrils flared. “Everyone knows we were friends with the Creeveys anyway. My lineage doesn’t protect me as much as he thinks it does.”

“It sounds like he cares about you.” Luna hummed. “But you seem like someone who can take care of yourself. It’s okay for both of those things to be true, you know.”

Atalanta did not say anything. Luna appreciated the way the girl considered her words. It was like watching someone put together a puzzle, and Luna loved puzzles.

The door opened and closed one last time for Pearl Lais and Ginny announced, “I think that’s everyone. Let’s get started.”

All conversations ceased as she spoke. Ginny commanded a room with more ease than Harry had. Luna could not help but smile dreamily.

“So as you all know, tonight we have an exam for Muggle Studies.”

“I won’t take it,” Zacharias Smith announced loudly.

“And we fully plan to resume our protest,” Parvati added, voice defiant. Padma looked less confident, but she nodded when Parvati looked at her.

“Standing outside the Muggle Studies classroom is great,” Neville said, “but if we could do something more coordinated and subversive, we might be able to get more students on our side, and you wouldn’t have to go to detention.”

Padma raised an eyebrow. “You have something planned that won’t get us in trouble?”

“As long as we don’t get caught,” Ginny grinned. “I heard Snape threatened to take your Prefect badge. Your protest has been great, but it’s not worth that. We need people like you in charge as much as possible. Let me show you what we have in mind. It’s so easy, even Neville could do it.”

Neville did not look upset by the remark in the least, and pulled a stack of loose parchment from the desk at the front of the classroom. He began passing it out.

“It’s partly a Muggle-trick,” he said, “so it’s perfect for Muggle Studies.”

“There’s a bit of Charm, of course,” Ginny said, “to make it more interesting.”

Ginny and Neville explained the procedure of the prank to the members of Dumbledore’s Army. Everyone had several sheets to practice with, but Luna took to it right away. She found it a rather endearing bit of spellwork, but she knew that Alecto Carrow would hate it. Still, it was a harmless and funny prank. Even if they did get caught, the punishment couldn’t be too severe.

As Luna finished folding her third sheet of parchment, just for something to do with her hands, Ginny slid into the desk next to her.

“Hey,” she said, “I have a special job for you.”

Luna looked up from her parchment as Ginny pressed a small bottle into her hands.

“Neville got that from Herbology today. Can you smear it into Carrow’s book before the exam?”

Luna held up the colourless vial. “Should I wear dragonhide gloves?”

“No, it has to be ingested. Just the corners of the pages will do.”

“How will I get the book?”

“Just ask her for it. Say you need to check your notes or something. She’ll believe whatever you tell her.”

Luna stared into Ginny’s deep brown eyes. “Why?”

“You have an honest face. If I ask, she’ll know something’s up.”

Luna wasn’t sure what it meant that she had an, “honest face,” but it was the nicest compliment Ginny had given her all year, so she took it and pressed it into her memory like she pressed flowers into her field guide.

“I should go now, then,” she said. “So I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about getting caught,” Ginny said. “I’ve got something else planned and she’ll probably single me out for the whole thing.”

Luna didn’t mean to smile, but she did. “I would be honoured to have detention with you,” and she punctuated her statement with a curtsy. Ginny laughed, and it made whatever punishments Luna might receive for smearing poison into Alecto Carrow’s book worth it.

As Ginny had predicted, Professor Carrow did not suspect anything was amiss when Luna arrived at her office early and asked to check her notes against the enormous tome that she read out of during their lessons. She muttered something about Ravenclaws and perfectionism, then left Luna at a desk with her notes and the book.

Carefully, Luna dabbed some of the poison onto her finger and smeared it onto the upper right corners of each page. She pretended to skim some of the pages, and even made a few marks into her own notes to sell the lie, but she wondered if she even needed to. Professor Carrow hardly paid her any mind.

When she had finished, she thanked Professor Carrow, and waited until she was alone in the hallway to wipe her hands clean.

All students were required to take Muggle Studies, and the curriculum was entirely new, so everyone, from first year to seventh, took it together in the Great Hall three evenings a week. Luna found it slightly more entertaining than History of Magic, because while Professor Carrow could drone on much like Professor Binns, Carrow at least took questions, and Luna loved when her friends asked questions.

In their very first class, Neville had challenged every line of Professor Carrow’s reading. She had snappishly asked for his lineage not twenty minutes into class. With a wide grin, Neville had said, “Longbottom and Fawley.”

The other day, Ginny had asked Professor Carrow why they weren’t going to evaluate the Carrow family tree the way they had the Bones family. Professor Carrow had turned red and Luna had expected her to hex Ginny then and there.

Luna had not asked any questions yet, though she had, at one point, raised her hand to point out that it was unfair to accuse Muggles of being liars and cheats when Thicknesse was a continuation of Scrimgeour’s evil plot to bring down the Ministry through the horrors of gum disease. The other students had laughed, and Professor Carrow had given her a condescending smile.

“How could the Ministry allow such plots to happen right under their nose?” Professor Carrow had asked with a sickly smile.

“Same way they allowed Death Eaters to infiltrate and Voldemort to take over,” Neville had said loudly, and he’d gotten a week of detention.

The dining tables were removed from the Great Hall each night of Muggle Studies and were replaced with rows of desks. Students sat by year and by house, so Luna took a seat near the back of one of the Ravenclaw aisles. She thought it was a good thing that the D.A. was largely composed of upper-years. Professor Carrow would be less likely to notice them folding up their exams.

The Great Hall was quiet as students worked on their exams. Quills scratched against parchment and occasionally Luna heard the sound of a page turning as Professor Carrow licked her finger and turned the page of her heavy tome.

As she folded up her exam just like they had practiced in the Room of Requirement, Luna watched Professor Carrow closely. The woman coughed after five pages and reached for her tea. After ten pages, she rubbed her throat and finished her drink. By the fifteenth page, her cheeks were already flushed purple and she looked uncomfortable.

“Professor!” Ginny shouted. She didn’t need to shout, since the hall was as silent as O.W.L.s had been, but as her voice echoed, every head turned to her.

She had her hand stretched as high as she could and she bounced anxiously. “Professor!”

Professor Carrow stood from her desk and frowned down at Ginny. “This is an exam, girl. Be quiet.”

“It’s an emergency, Professor. Can I go? I’ll only be a minute.”

Professor Carrow’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “No.”

“Please, Professor? I mean, I’ll use my exam if I have to, but —”

Laughter rippled across the hall and Ginny grinned.

“Make it quick!” Carrow snapped at her, and Ginny sprinted from the hall.

She really was gone only a minute — both Luna and Professor Carrow counted — and Luna wondered what she possibly could have accomplished during that time.

Ginny maintained an appearance of studiousness as she returned to her exam, and Professor Carrow returned to her book. She rubbed her throat again and looked at her empty tea cup. She snapped her fingers impatiently. A house-elf appeared with a pop and poured her a fresh cup, then vanished just as quickly.

Luna forgot all about the clusters of parchment that decorated her desk. Her focus was wholly on Professor Carrow as the woman inspected the cup of tea. She sniffed it, tapped her wand against it, took a small sip, and seemed satisfied. She finished the cup and went back to her book.

Luna kept watching, and it was another seven pages before Professor Carrow licked her finger and paused. She looked at her hand, at the book, and then directly at Luna. Luna tried to shrink into her seat.

Carrow got to her feet and started down the aisle of Ravenclaw desks with a look of fury that might have cowed a dragon. Luna, however, was spared immediate consequences by a squeak that began on the Gryffindor side of the room, followed closely by a squeak from the Hufflepuff aisle.

Hastily, Luna Animated the collection of parchment mice that she had so carefully constructed during the exam. They joined the chorus of mice that now filled the hall, leaping off of desks and scampering towards Professor Carrow.

Luna didn’t think Professor Carrow was a woman who feared mice, but it at least startled her, and it certainly upset several of the other students, who screamed as the parchment creations scurried over their feet and onto their desks. Students leapt up onto chairs and desks, and the entire hall descended into chaos.

It was impossible to tell, as Ginny and Neville had probably planned, where the mice had come from. Carrow pointed her wand at the ones nearest to her, and they went up in flames, but they were quickly replaced with more. Some tried to climb her skirt while others scampered across the room, nibbling on exams and tearing every piece of parchment to shreds.

“Everyone out!” Carrow snapped, crushing one of the mice under her heel. “Orderly!” she added as a few of the more skittish students bolted for the door.

But even those that ran reached a wall of students who had, for some reason, stalled in the doorway of the Great Hall.

“What now?” Carrow elbowed her way to the front, and Luna stood on her tiptoes to peer over Draco Malfoy’s shoulder. She saw a message painted on the floor of the entrance hall in bright red, impossible to miss.

DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY: NOW RECRUITING

Professor Carrow tried to vanish the mess, but it sparked with fireworks and she leapt backwards. A pair of first years stared in awe. A few upper years laughed.

“Weasley!” Carrow snapped, and a few of the older students waited for the inevitable joke of, “Which one?” before realising that Ginny was the only Weasley left at Hogwarts.

Ginny leaned against the pillar that framed the door into the Great Hall. She smiled at Carrow. “Yes, Professor?”

Professor Carrow lifted her wand. “You’ll get more than detention, brat —”

“Say, Professor,” Ginny said, “you’ve got a little something on your —” Ginny gestured to her face, then paused and gestured to Carrow’s hands, “well — everywhere.”

Professor Carrow looked down at her hands, now bright purple.

“That looks like Venomous Tentacula poison,” said Neville. “You ought to be careful around the greenhouses, Professor.”

Carrow whipped around and aimed her wand at Neville, then searched the crowd for Luna. “You,” she snapped.

Luna raised her eyebrows.

“What’s your name?”

“Lovegood,” Luna said, before it had even occurred to her to lie.

Carrow ran her tongue across her teeth. “Lovegood? Your father runs The Quibbler?”

“Er — yes, Professor.”

“You and Weasley, to the Headmaster Snape’s office immediately.”

Luna started for the stairs, but Ginny folded her arms over her chest and refused to move.

“Weasley!”

“Snape isn’t Headmaster.”

“I’ve had just about enough of you. Pureblooded or not —”

“Last week you called me a blood traitor, but this week you’re suddenly all concerned with —”

“Imperio.”

Luna watched, horrified, as Ginny’s posture relaxed and her dark eyes widened.

“Stop!” Luna cried, which, futile as it was, at least provided cover as Neville drew his wand.

“Stupefy!” Neville shouted, and Professor Carrow fell backwards, sprawled over Ginny’s message on the floor.

A few of the students cheered and footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Amycus Carrow and Argus Filch shoved their way through the crowd of students. They took in the mess of paint on the floor, the unconscious and purple professor, and Neville with his wand drawn.

“What did you do, you filthy brat!” Amycus snarled.

“She was only Stunned,” Seamus Finnigan shouted. “Seemed fair since she was using a bloody Unforgivable!”

“Another week of detention then?” Neville asked, with more bravery than Luna thought anyone should have, considering how many detentions had landed students in the infirmary.

“No, I think your punishment should be a bit more public and swift —”

“Professor?” Malfoy interrupted. He grabbed Luna’s arm and pulled her forward. His Head Boy badge glinted in the candlelight. “Professor Carrow was just about to take Lovegood and Weasley up to the Headmaster’s office. Shall I help you escort them?”

Amycus Carrow did not do well with being interrupted. It was a challenge for him to hold so many thoughts in his head at once.

“Lovegood and Weasley?”

“Yes, sir. They’re responsible for this mess, too. Pansy can help Professor Carrow, here, and I’ll help you get this lot to Professor Snape.”

Luna did not fight Malfoy’s tight grip on her arm as he took her to Snape’s office, not the way Ginny pushed and pulled on Amycus as he dragged her up the stairs. Neville, too, was more docile in Filch’s grip, and he eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

Carrow announced the password, “Asphodel,” and the gargoyle that guarded the stairs to the Headmaster’s office parted with ease.

Luna was so rarely angry. Anger was a concept, something she witnessed in others, and maybe glimpsed in herself the way she could glimpse the edge of the Black Lake on a clear day. She did not feel true anger very often, but as she was pulled up to the Headmaster’s office, it rose in her chest with each step.

It was horribly unfair of Hogwarts, who had denied Umbridge access to the Headmaster’s office, to allow Snape control over it, when Snape was the very one who had killed Dumbledore.

Luna tried to swallow down her anger, but it refused to budge. She hated Hogwarts.

Carrow pounded his fist on the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs and pushed it open.

The Headmaster’s office was different from what Luna remembered. She’d only seen it once before, but she had adored it. There had been so many trinkets bobbing and whizzing about; it had been full of noise and life. It had reminded her of her mother’s office.

Now, however, it was cold and empty, with nothing but a Pensieve in a corner and a desk stacked with parchment. Fawkes’ perch remained, but was empty, and behind the Headmaster’s desk were the frames of all the previous Headmasters, including Dumbledore, fast asleep. She looked away, and settled on Snape’s face. As much as she disliked Snape, looking at him hurt less than looking at Dumbledore’s portrait.

Snape, seated at the Headmaster’s desk, kept his eyes on what looked to Luna like a letter.

“No, please, come right in,” he drawled. “I’m not busy or anything.”

“These students cursed Alecto,” Amycus said. “Stunned her right in the entrance hall.”

“They had nothing to do with it!” Neville snapped. “I Stunned her because she used an Unforgivable on Ginny! It was just me!”

With an eerie amount of care, Snape set the letter aside and finally looked at the group that had invaded his office. His face had no more displeasure than it usually did as he looked at each of them.

“Then give Longbottom a detention,” he finally said to Carrow. “Five feet of lines reading, ‘I will not hex my professors’ ought to do it.”

Luna could not tell if Snape was serious. Amycus appeared to be having the same problem. His jaw worked fruitlessly before he finally sputtered, “That’s it?”

Snape stood. “What would you like me to do? Expel him and send him back to his Dumbledore-fanatic parents? You’re in charge of discipline, Carrow. So discipline them. Can’t you control a few children?” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a cloak. “I have business off of the grounds tonight. I expect that this will be dealt with by the time I return.”

Snape held the door open for them, and Carrow reluctantly led them back down to the corridor. Snape swept past them, dark cloak billowing the way it had as he had paced the aisles during his Potions lessons, and disappeared down the stairs.

Carrow watched him go, a hard look on his face. “Are the dungeons ready, Filch?”

“Oiled the hinges this morning, sir,” Filch said. “Haven’t put the chains back in yet —”

“It’ll do for now.”

Ginny’s thrashing did not hinder Carrow in the slightest as he, Filch, and Malfoy took the three of them downstairs into the dungeons. Their wands were set on a nearby shelf, tauntingly visible but well out of reach, and then the three were left alone until Carrow could come up with something more creative.

“Did you see it?” Neville’s voice was steady, and he leaned almost comfortably against the stone wall.

The iron-wrought bars rattled as Ginny kicked them, but they did not budge. “Of course I saw it. We ought to go for it now, while Snape’s gone.”

Luna eyed a trickle of water that slid from the ceiling and into a small puddle on the floor. She wondered if it came from the Black Lake or a leaky pipe. “What did you notice?” she asked.

“The Sword of Godric Gryffindor,” Ginny said. “Didn’t you see it hanging under Dumbledore’s portrait?”

“Oh. Is it important?”

“Dumbledore left it to Harry,” Neville said. “He needs it. I don’t know how we could get it to him, though.”

“I can talk to him,” Ginny said. “If we could just get out of here —” She kicked again, but the bars did not budge under her assault.

“We aren’t getting out of here.” Neville retrieved a worn piece of parchment and a golden feather from his pocket. He searched for a dry spot on the floor and unfolded the old parchment. “But we can make a plan. Halloween would be good, when everyone’s at the feast.”

Ginny gave the bars one more kick for good measure, then joined Neville on the floor.

Neville pressed the tip of the feather to the parchment like a quill and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Ginny was forced to scrub the entrance hall clean until there was no trace of her graffiti, and students could see their reflection in the polished floor. It took her the better part of three full weeks and her hands were blistered and cracked when she was finished.

Luna spent every night reading out loud from Alecto Carrow’s horrible book, and if she faltered or hesitated in any way, she earned a welt and had to start over. It went on for two weeks.

Neville was left in the dungeons for a week, and did not appear for lessons nor meals. He said nothing about what happened to him, but he flinched when Seamus clapped him on the shoulder at his first meal back.

It wasn’t even an hour later that Susan approached Neville and asked what the revenge plan was. Neville told her to keep her head down until the Halloween feast.

To an outsider, it might have appeared that the Carrows had won. Muggle Studies lessons passed without incident. There were small protests in Dark Arts, but nothing more dramatic than civil disobedience. It was quiet at Hogwarts, until Halloween.

They started small. Seamus and Parvati slipped some of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Exploding Whizz-Bangs into the eggs at breakfast with a Switching Spell. After the chaos of breakfast, Alecto Carrow promised to hold the entire school for an extra hour of Muggle Studies that evening if no one confessed or gave up the perpetrator.

No one said a word.

Lavender took the leaflets from the Daily Prophet with Harry’s face and the bounty and modified them. Instead of “Undesirable No 1” the leaflet read, “Desirable Chosen 1” which was enough of a change to get their point across. She lamented that Dean could have done better, but the rest of the D.A. praised her work.

The leaflets were blown up to twice their size and pasted into windows all across the castle, with the help of everyone in the D.A. Every common room, from Gryffindor to Slytherin, was plastered with Harry’s face.

By lunch, the Carrows were scorching walls left and right, and Atalanta Shafiq told everyone that the Carrows had accidentally blasted a hole through the Slytherin Common room right into the Black Lake and flooded the dormitories.

Neville’s job was an unfortunate one, but he took it with grace. He waited until lunch was nearly over, then shouted at Crabbe and asked, “I know you said you’re a pureblood, but isn’t there a bit of troll in your tree? Was it on your mother or father’s side?”

Crabbe threw a hex that sent Neville flying five feet backwards and when he got up, he was puking up something slimy. Hannah escorted him to the hospital wing.

Ginny’s role for the day revolved around being as suspicious as possible without getting into real trouble. She ducked through hidden corridors. She paused to fiddle with her bag or her shoes. Luna stayed close with her for most of it, until after Transfiguration, they ducked out of Amycus’ careful watch by slipping into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Demelza was waiting for them. “Ready?” she asked.

Ginny nodded and plucked out a strand of her hair.

Luna left the bathroom with Demelza, but Amycus Carrow saw exactly what he expected to see: Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley heading down to the Halloween feast.

Luna watched Demelza sit next to Helen Donoghue and engage Helen as easily as if she really were Ginny. Amycus stood at the door, eyes intent on Ginny. Luna could not help but smile, despite her trepidation at her own task.

She ate slowly, unsure how full her stomach ought to be. She looked at the professors and bit her tongue when she noticed that Snape was missing. Their plan hinged on Snape being out of his office.

Well, it was too late for them to change course now. Neville was waiting for her in the hospital wing, and Ginny was probably already hiding out by the Headmaster’s office.

Luna took a deep breath, pulled the bright yellow half of a Fainting Fancy from her pocket, and swallowed.

She woke with a headache in a corridor not far from the hospital wing with Neville and Michael Corner leaning over her. She licked her lips and tried to swallow down the spiced pepper flavour that seemed stuck to her tongue. She decided that she didn’t care for the second half of those Fainting Fancies.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked her.

Luna sat up and rubbed her throbbing head. “I fell,” she said.

“I tried to catch you. You should have warned me when you were going to do it.”

“It’s alright,” Neville said.

Luna gagged. His breath smelled like Porlock dung.

“You’d better get back to the feast,” Neville told Michael. “The less time you’re with us, the better it’ll look for you.”

“Are you alright?” Luna asked Neville as Michael hurried back to the Great Hall.

Neville grimaced. “I was hoping for boils. Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be tasting acid for a week, but she was at least able to stop the puking, so we can go ahead with the plan. Everything seems to be going well so far.”

“Oh… there is one thing…”

Luna told him that she had not seen Snape at the feast. Neville checked the map while they walked.

“I don’t see him at all,” Neville frowned. He ran his finger across the Marauder’s Map. “Oh — he’s just arrived at the gates. What do you think he left for?”

“Perhaps he’s joined a league of vampires. Halloween is a special holiday for them.”

“Then I guess we’d better hurry up before he finds us and drinks our blood.” Neville squinted at the map. “You catch up with Ginny. I have an idea. Peeves is just around the corner and if he can stall…”

Neville was still talking as he disappeared behind a tapestry of Mordicus Egg cooking over an open fire. Luna paused to watch the heavy tapestry resettle in Neville’s wake. The threads of the flames seemed alive as they rippled back and forth, until finally the tapestry stilled.

She skipped on ahead to the gargoyle at the end of the corridor. She spun around once in a circle, and did not see Ginny. So she spun again, and this time Ginny stepped out from behind a suit of armor.

“How’s Demelza doing?” Ginny asked.

“She’s very good at being you,” Luna said, then said, “Asphodel,” to the statue. It stepped aside easily and Luna hummed. “I really thought he would have changed it.”

“It’s a good thing he didn’t. Where’s Neville?”

“He said to go on without him.”

Ginny was already halfway up the stairs. “Alohomora,” she said, and the lock on the office door clicked open. She shoved the heavy door with her shoulder.

Ginny ran in for the sword, and Luna listened at the door. While she listened, her eyes roved over the portraits. Their oily eyes were fixed on Ginny as she lifted the Sword of Godric Gryffindor from its display.

“Breaking and entering!” one portrait shouted. “In the Headmaster’s office!”

“Put that sword back, child,” Dilys Derwent said in a kinder voice. “I’m sure you mean well, but —”

“Thievery!” Phineas Nigellus Black shrieked at her. “Unheard of! In my time —”

“Treachery!” one woman with a thick wand shouted.

“You’re the traitors!” Ginny shouted back at them. “Letting Snape in here — helping him — and after what he did to Dumbledore!”

She broke off and stared at Dumbledore’s portrait. It’s gold frame glistened, and the impression of Dumbledore stared back at her, as still and as unmoving as any Muggle portrait.

Luna abandoned her post at the door and came to Ginny’s side. She stared at Dumbledore’s portrait and felt her heart grow heavy, the way it did each time she passed her mother’s office in the basement of their family home.

“Ginny,” she whispered, “we should go. You can’t argue with what’s been done.”

“It isn’t fair.” Ginny turned her fierce glare on all the portraits, then back onto Dumbledore’s still portrait. “You know what the sword is for, what it can do. Tell them.”

The portrait did not so much as blink at her.

“Ginny.” Luna tugged on her arm.

Ginny’s lower lip trembled, and she turned away from Dumbledore’s portrait. Luna pulled her towards the door, but froze on the first step.

Ginny heard it too — footsteps coming up for them.

They backed into the office, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run as Snape and the Carrows burst into the office. Ginny brandished the sword as she might a wand for a duel. Luna did not have time to reach for her wand as Amycus Carrow thrust Neville at her. He fell into her and she staggered under his weight.

“You two,” Alecto Carrow sneered, “are supposed to be in the hospital wing.”

“Oh, but I feel much better,” Luna said. Neville only groaned.

“How’d you find us?” Ginny snapped.

“Hogwarts is a castle filled with portraits, Miss Weasley. I think you can figure out the rest.” Snape waved his wand and Ginny jumped as if the sword had burned her. It clattered to the ground and she clutched her hand to her chest.

“I thought,” Snape drawled, “I asked you two to control these children.”

“We did —” Amycus protested. “We have — she was just in the Hall, I swear.”

“I think a detention in the Forbidden Forest ought to teach them a lesson or two. Every night for the next week. From sundown to midnight.”

Luna tipped her head to one side. “But —”

Ginny squeezed her wrist and she stopped talking.

But that meant they would be with Hagrid instead of at Muggle Studies lessons. She wondered if Snape just didn’t realise when Muggle Studies lessons were. Did he think they were during normal lesson hours?

“And what if they try it again?” the Carrows asked.

Snape removed his cloak and pulled out a smudged piece of parchment from his pocket. “I expect you’ll prevent them from trying again.” He glanced at the sword on the floor. “I’ll have it removed from Hogwarts, then this will no longer be a problem.”

As he tucked the parchment into a book on his desk, Luna was certain that the smudge of ink was actually a small black pawprint. She supposed if Snape was a vampire, he must have a familiar by now.

Snape took a seat at his desk and surveyed the small crowd in his office. “Well? Is there a reason you’re all still here?”

The Carrows shoved Ginny towards the door, and Luna helped Neville limp down the stairs.

“Yes, I know,” she heard Snape say as the door closed. “I can have a duplicate ready in days.”

And as the latch on the door clicked, Luna thought that she heard the familiar rumble of Dumbledore’s voice.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

It was midnight, but no one was keen on heading back to the castle just yet. Ginny sat down in the grass and leaned against one of the trees on the edge of the forest, still in view of Hagrid’s hut, but away from where Neville was helping Hagrid pick Moondew for Madam Rosmerta’s Butterbeer.

Luna crouched down beside her.

“Do you think the Carrows will come and collect us?” Ginny asked. “Or could we stay out here all night?”

Luna ran her hand over the trunk of the tree. She loved the transition from the soft moss to the rough bark and back again.

“It’s just so empty in the common room,” Ginny said. “Is it like that in Ravenclaw?”

Luna crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She thought for a moment. “A bit. Terry Boot never came back. Mandy checks for his name in the paper every day. Anthony Goldstein wasn’t a Muggle-born, but his family left for Canada after Dumbledore’s funeral, and they don’t plan to come back any time soon.” She plucked a small dandelion flower from the grass by her knee. “I expect it’s worst in Hufflepuff.”

Ginny folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the stars over Hagrid’s hut. “I miss him, Luna. I miss him so much, but when we talk it’s like he isn’t there. And I — I know you probably don’t want to hear it — I’m sorry — but I don’t know that I have anyone else —”

Luna reached for another dandelion and folded the stems into the beginning of a flower chain. “I will never take half of you,” Luna said, “and I don’t believe that you are one to give halves.”

Ginny’s laugh was sad. It made Luna’s chest ache. She leaned against Ginny and continued working on her flower chain.

They sat in silence, until nearly two, when Hagrid insisted they return to their bunks.

“I’ll walk yeh ter the castle,” he said, “but don’ let Filch catch you on your way up.”

Neville waved the map. “We’ll be alright. As long as any portraits don’t get involved.”

Luna tied off the flower chain into a crown and stood. She spun in a circle and dropped the circlet on Ginny’s head. “Up we go,” she said, holding her hand out to Ginny.

Ginny took it. “Thanks, Luna.”

Luna smiled. She pulled Ginny along and hurried to catch up with Neville. She took his hand as well.

Luna hated Hogwarts, and she had no desire to go back behind those high stone walls, but at least she did not have to go alone. At least she could go with friends.

#luna lovegood #hp fic #hp everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #harry potter #hp #dh

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remys-lucky-franc · 4 years ago

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Kissing Promts Request - Remy x MC (QOT)

#40 - A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

Written from MC POV

~1300 words

Again, it’s not totally nsfw, but these kissing prompts are lending themselves to somewhat racier writing than I usually post - so, that was your warning if that’s not your fic preference, folks 💕

[MORE] [[MORE]]

The Poppy’s latest heist has just finished: relieving an undeserving London-based oligarch of his extensive art collection. As Nikolai said when we toasted in celebration last night, ‘it’s been a somewhat protracted endeavour, but all really very satisfying and worthwhile’. It’s taken several months to complete and has been a particularly challenging and tiring escapade, so we’ve all decided that some downtime to rest and recharge before the next heist begins would do us some good.

Remy and I decided to head back to France as soon as we could, to the chocolate-box cottage we bought outside the city dubbed by Remy as ‘Château Chevalier’ - our little love nest: where we escape to when we want to spend some time alone - just us - secluded from the world in our perfect domestic bliss. It’s not as large or grand a space as the moniker suggests, but it fits us so wonderfully: a modern open plan kitchen and living area, a beautiful master bedroom and a smaller one where I can paint, a bathroom, and a small private garden lined by hedges that basks in sunshine most of the day. From the first time we set foot inside, I felt at home and could picture us happy here - croissants for breakfast on the terrace, relaxing on the sofa watching movies, tangled together as moonlight spills through the bedroom windows. Our home; our castle.

Remy’s cooking dinner for us, as has become our little routine in our château. He loves to cook and it’s a joy to watch him. Music plays in the background as I perch at the end of the small breakfast bar with an intoxicating glass of red wine that we only ever have here. We chatter and laugh about the heists gone by, his brother’s new romance, our friends and dozens of other topics as they flit through our minds. Remy glides effortlessly around the kitchen and makes even the most complex of tasks look like child’s play. I observe with admiring eyes: everything my husband does, he does it with flair - from the way he rapidly chops ingredients and tosses them into the pan, to how he decants wine directly from the bottle into our food with never a measurement taken. I offer to help and my assistance is swiftly declined,

“Everything is under control, ma cherie”, he assures me, shooting me that bright signature smile that makes my heart skip every time, “Sit. Relax. Enjoy the wine with your Remy.” Normally, I simply nod, sit back and enjoy the show, but tonight I choose to pout and fix my saddest brown eyes on him - the ones I know that he just can’t say ‘no’ to, “Please? Let me help you?”

Remy opens his mouth to object, but quickly closes it again before silently agreeing with a flourish of his hands. He would do anything to make me happy and I love him for that. I bounce down from the bar stool, wine glass still in hand, beaming at him, “Yey! What do you want me to do?” He passes me a knife and asks me to julienne some veg, so I wash my hands and get to work slicing as I sing along the music. Before too long I have a bundle of matchstick vegetables and can feel Remy’s eyes on me. One arm snakes around my waist, a whisk in the other hand. He appraises the quality and quantity of my veg - satisfied, he rewards me with a sweet kiss on my cheek, making me blush before returning to his saucepan.

My first task successfully completed, I lean back against the cabinets, sip my wine and watch as he tosses ingredients into one of the simmering pans on the stove, “What can I do next?”, I ask him. Remy gestures to the pantry and requests some flour for his roux so I place my glass down, steal a kiss and playfully squeeze his behind as I pass him. A sound of feigned offence follows me into the pantry and makes me giggle.

After a little searching I locate the packet of flour on the top shelf and as I stretch overhead to bring it down I realise the bag isn’t tightly closed. A little plume of white powder sprinkles to the floor and I dance to avoid it’s path: I do reasonably well as it only dusts my hands leaving my black clothing unharmed! Biting back a mischievous little chuckle as an idea pops into my head, I head back into the kitchen and hand Remy the flour packet, before booping his button nose with my other flour-covered hand. Taken by surprise, he splutters and tries to wipe it away before pulling me close to him. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, laughing but fearful of a flour-filled revenge - but he grips me firmly and his green eyes are glittering as his lips meet mine. A kiss, like so many of ours, that begins in a grin - joy-filled and gentle.

“I’m sorry-“ I mumble against his mouth, “I couldn’t resist...”

His hands settle on my sides, thumbs skimming over the waistline of my jeans grazing the bare skin of my hip bones. A series of soft kisses nuzzle my lips peppered with the words, “And I. Can’t. Resist you. Cherie.” I smirk, as I run my fingers through his hair, teasing him, “Hmmm. I am pretty irresistible.”

The lighthearted humour between us evaporates and everything slows down as Remy closes the little space remaining between us. My stomach stirs recognising the growing hunger in his eyes as they lock with mine. There’s a tinge of dark, rich Merlot on his warm breath as my lips yield and I melt into his touch. Within seconds our kiss has deepened, tongues tangle and my hands rake over the expanse of his toned back, shoulders and rear - my pulse racing. We gravitate clumsily back toward the cool granite top and I groan as I make contact; the hard lines of Remy’s body crush against mine while deft fingers burn beneath my shirt roaming over my curves. Remy hoists me up to sit on the counter effortlessly and instinctively my limbs wrap around him drawing him ever closer to me - every kiss more frenetic than the last, every subtle shift of his hips electrifying me. Just two thin layers of clothing between me and all that I ache for, with every touch stoking the flame between us and making my head spin.

As addled by lust as my brain is, I’m vaguely aware that the saucepans on the stove bubble away furiously now neglected - and that dinner is probably ruined. If Remy has noticed he is as far past caring as I am. Kisses sear across my collarbone as I feebly mouth, “Remy... The sauce is burning...”

His teeth drag slowly from the hollow of my throat to my ear and he rasps, “So am I, ma rêveuse,” he breaks away from me momentarily to turn off the stove, grinning wickedly, “and only one of us can be saved.” Helping me down from the countertop our lips collide once more and our passion overtakes; discarded clothing, declarations of love and scandalous intentions litter the path to our bedroom. As we sink into the soft mattress together a little voice far in the back of my head briefly considers that we can perhaps try to salvage our dinner later but I know from the look in my Remy’s eyes that very soon I’ll have forgotten my own name, never mind the ability to think about what state our meal is in. I laugh to myself as I decide ‘there’s always pizza’ - and that’s the last thought in my head before my brain short-circuits and I’m losing myself to something infinitely better and more satisfying.

#lovestruck #remy chevalier #kissing prompts

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takingcourage · 4 years ago

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Family Ties

A Miscalculations one-shot

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC

Word Count: 3,400

Summary: Having Cassian back in her life means meeting his family too.

Note: This story is set somewhere between the final chapters and the epilogue of Miscalculations. It’s dedicated to my Cassian Nonnies and the now-inactive secretsaladbouquet, who once asked to see Kellen and Owen meet Cassian’s family.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“She’s going to love you, Kellen.”

“You don’t know that.” Rolling her lips flat, she stared past the sidewalk and up the stoop to the front door. Unassuming as it was, she couldn’t help imagining a critical woman peering through the diamond of frosted glass. A woman she had the sense that she’d already wronged despite never meeting her -- perhaps because she'd never met her.

Shifting the car into park, Cassian removed his hand from the gear and used it to cradle Kellen’s knee. “I know my Ma. She loves anything that makes me happy, and you’re at the top of the list.”

With a deep exhale, she felt a small portion of her worry melt away at his words.

“Besides,” he went on, “look who we’ve got in the backseat. You make a good impression on everyone, don’t you, Owen?”

“Uh-huh!”

Kellen giggled in spite of herself. Their son had almost-irritating tendency to agree with everything his father said, as long as it wasn’t related to vegetables or bedtime. “He’s like our secret weapon,” she agreed, punching her thumb on the seatbelt release.

“Show me your smile,” Cassian prompted, catching his son's eyes in the rearview mirror. The boy obliged, then resumed his efforts to pry apart the clip at his chest. “And yours?” Cassian continued, turning to the woman beside him.

Her lips curved instinctively at the question. Eyes dancing, he leaned into the passenger seat for a quick kiss. “Let’s go.”

Plucking up her courage, she tossed the strap off her shoulder and reached for her bag.

Kellen knew how to exude confidence. Between her flirtatious nature and her ability to stand up for herself against the naysayers in her line of work, she was used to taking the world by storm. Yet, she was at a loss as she mounted the doorstep, waiting to meet Cassian’s mother.

This wasn't a place to make an impression with double entendres or by bringing up her MBA. She didn’t even know how to get her own parents' attention, and they were the ones who’d raised her. What hope did she have of impressing the woman responsible for the incredible man standing next to her?

Hearing the click of the latch on the other side of the door, she shivered and held Owen’s hand a little bit tighter. The hair at her temple swayed as Cassian leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You’ve got this.”

“Thanks,” she mouthed, focus still cemented on the door as it opened to reveal a dark-haired woman.

Though she’d seen pictures, Cassian’s mother was shorter than she’d imagined. She bit back a newfound sense of awe that this was the woman who’d brought eight children to a new country all on her own. But any threat of intimidation evaporated at the sight of the woman’s smile. Like her son and grandson, Teresa Keane had an incredibly ready grin.

“Hello, hello! Welcome.” The older woman’s thick brogue made Cassian’s accent sound weak by comparison.

“Ma, this is Kellen.”

“Hi, Mrs. Keane,” she greeted, stretching out her free hand.

“Hello, dear. Call me Teresa,” the older woman urged, pulling her in for a hug instead. Arms pressed awkwardly to her sides, Kellen tried to focus on the moment instead of berating herself. The attempt was only partially successful.

Ten seconds in, and I’ve already made a fool of myself. The thought sent a tremor of unease through her bones as Teresa pulled away.

“And this must be Owen?” She bent at the knees for a closer look. “How are you, young man? You’re very handsome, aren’t you?”

Feeding off the woman’s enthusiasm, Owen’s mouth cracked into a smile.

“He’s like a vision of the past, isn’t he?” she asked, straightening back to her full height to embrace her son.

“It’s uncanny,” he agreed.

Kellen warmed at the pride in his voice. They were fine -- this was fine. In spite of her misstep with the hug, things were still going relatively well.

“C’mon in,” Teresa beckoned. “It’s nearly winter and you’re still standing out here on my porch. It’s like you want this lovely family of yours to freeze, Cassian -- it really is. Let’s get inside.”

Gathering Owen into her arms, Kellen followed the other woman into the house, grateful when Cassian’s hand found the small of her back. Even if she and Kellen didn't get along right away, at least Teresa would see how attentive Cassian was toward them both.

“Is that apple cake I smell?” He asked, and Kellen breathed a chuckle at the question. Between the strong fragrance as they approached the kitchen the number of times it had come up in conversation, she could practically already taste it.

“Don’t sound so surprised. You know I make it any time there’s family over.”

Family. Was that how Teresa thought of them?

She means Cassian, you idiot, she corrected. And maybe Owen. They are related, after all. Whatever Teresa meant, Kellen was fairly certain she wasn’t part of it. But maybe someday...

Hoisting Owen a little higher, she tried to focus back on Teresa's voice.

“... told Cal not to cut into it until we got back, but I had to post Grainne in the kitchen to keep him in check. I’ve been watching him like a hawk all morning.

Kellen’s ears perked at the familiar names and tried to conjure up the images that matched them. Even with pictures to help, there were so many people to keep track of that it had taken nearly an hour for her to get the names and birth order of his siblings straight. With a flash of panic, she remembered how many members of his family she’d have left to meet after today.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Kellen. Today is about Teresa. The fact that she was meeting two of his siblings was fairly incidental. As the youngest, Callahan was living at home while he attended university. Grainne -- Cassian’s eldest sister and the one he was closest to -- had devised an excuse to join them at her older brother’s insistence.

“I can hardly blame him. It smells delicious.” Kellen tried to gather the threads of conversation she still remembered, hoping there was still time to salvage the afternoon. “I assume you’re who I have to thank for Cassian being such a wonderful cook?”

The sound that came out of Teresa’s mouth was inarticulate, but it struck Kellen as vaguely disparaging. “I saw to it that no child of mine would ever have to rely on takeaway. They’ve all been cooking since they were old enough to reach the stove.”

Kellen bit her tongue to silence the curse that was hovering at the tip. She'd have a fit if she knew her grandson was subsisting on my repertoire of frozen bag meals and grilled cheese sandwiches. Maybe Cassian can give me some lessons before the next time we come over

“Mama, I thirsty.”

Shifting Owen’s weight to her hip, she dug into her deep leather tote for his bottle. Their eyes locked as he clicked the button to release the cap and sucked the straw. As she trailed Teresa into the kitchen, she stroked the boy’s curls fondly. Trivial as the interaction had been, she couldn’t help her sense of relief at the small reminder that her son’s needs were still being met.

Still shielding the cake as they entered, Grainne was the first to speak. “Cass! Good to see you.” If Cassian's stories hadn't left her with such a favorable impression of his sister, the woman's sparkling eyes and bubbly affect might have given cause for alarm. “And Kellen?” Abandoning her post, she slipped an arm around the other woman's shoulders.

This time, Kellen was more prepared. Though her hands were still occupied with Owen and her bag, she managed to lean into the embrace instead of standing still. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Cassian talks about you all the time,” she shared as Grainne pulled away.

From his place at the breakfast table, Callahan lifted a hand in salute.

Once the adults had finished introductions, Grainne’s attention turned to the only child in the room. “Hey there, buddy. Can you tell me your name?”

Holding his cup close to his chest, the boy replied with serious eyes. “Owen.”

“Owen, huh? I like that name.”

He gave her a toothy smile and wriggled to be let down. Releasing him to the floor, Kellen stretched out a hand to keep him from venturing too close to the stove where Teresa was finishing up the custard.

“He’s so sweet,” Grainne crooned in Kellen’s direction. “I can’t believe how much he looks like you, Cass.”

“Poor kid.” Cal quipped, tilting his chair to balance on the back two legs. “Pity you’re such an ugly ba--”

Spoon in hand, Teresa turned on her youngest before he could even think of adding a second syllable. “Callahan Arthur Keane! There are young ears in this room. You should be ashamed."

“Yes, Ma.” All four legs of his chair smacked the tile floor.

Kellen squatted down to retrieve Owen’s cup before it could roll under the table. Out of sight, her brows furrowed in concern. Was Cassian on such bad terms with Cal? She knew he’d asked Grainne to come in order to help temper his youngest sibling’s dubious charms, but it had never occurred to her that the two brothers might not get along.

Schooling her features before she rose, she wondered vaguely if she needed to come to Cassian’s defense.

Goodness knew she and her own brother weren’t close enough to have any kinds of disagreements. They didn’t know one another well enough to offer meaningful insults. But her parents certainly did. She considered it a miracle if the three of them made it more than five minutes without trading barbs. If the situation had somehow been reversed, would she have wanted Cassian to defend her against their criticisms?

She couldn’t say for certain, but the question was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach.

“You’re just bitter, Cal. We all know there weren’t any good genes left by the time it came to you.”

Recognizing the teasing edge in Cassian’s tone, she realized she’d been misreading the entire interaction. Blood rushed to her cheeks along with the certainty of her mistake. His family isn’t like that, Kellen. They don’t have those fights.

Noticing her distraction, Cassian raised a brow in concern. She quickly shrugged it away before he resumed the conversation.

“He’s only like me when it comes to looks. He’s already better with numbers than I am. Should we show your Uncle Cal, Owen?”

“Uh-huh!”

Still exploring the floor, Owen probably wasn’t even certain what he’d agreed to, but he always had plenty of uh-huhs for his father. Most of his nun-uhs and noes were, unfortunately, reserved for her. She smirked as her son turned his attention to Cassian. Come to think of it, she couldn’t blame him for the preferential treatment. His father had a tendency to get all of her yeses as well.

“C’mere,” Cassian prompted, and the boy who’d been squirming in her arms no more than two minutes before happily climbed up on his father’s knee. With the ease of practice, the man held out his hand, fingers stretched. Owen took them in turn, counting off in a lilting rhythm.

“One... two.... three...four....”

Of the two of them, Cassian was by far the more accommodating teacher. Kellen was always slow to provide answers when the boy faltered, intent on learning exactly how far his memorization skills had progressed. Cassian mouthed everything along with him, sometimes whispering hints with pretend secrecy. She hadn’t determined which approach was the most pedagogically sound, but there was no question which one was more fun to watch.

Teresa had turned from her place at the stove, positively beaming as she saw the two of them interact. Even Cal had slipped his phone into his pocket and adopted a courteous expression.

“Seven...eight...”

Owen’s brow furrowed, and he launched himself toward Cassian’s ear in concern. Even though Kellen didn’t catch all of the words he whispered, all signs pointed to a call of nature.

“Excuse us,” Cassian offered, pushing back his chair so that Owen could hop down from his knee. “We’ll be back shortly.”

Kellen breathed a quiet laugh as they passed into the hall, all at once aware of the tension now that the one person who connected them was gone. Feeling an uncustomary loss for words, she tried to recall what she knew about the room’s other occupants. Grainne was in sales, Cal was finishing pre-requisites and hadn’t declared a major, Teresa did administrative work for one of Cassian’s brothers-in-law... that didn’t give her a lot of ideas for sparking conversations.

“Mona?”

“Hmm?” It took a beat for Kellen to comprehend that the word was a question.

“Your lipstick,” Grainne clarified. “It’s Mona, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m impressed! Cassian told me you were into fashion, but...”

“My roommate is a beauty vlogger. You see enough swatches, some of it just starts to stick. It’s a great shade with that outfit, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Suddenly self conscious about the rest of her makeup, Kellen’s eyes flicked to the semi-reflective door of the microwave, but it was no use. The image was too dark to reveal anything about the application, though she was sure it had been passable when she’d left her apartment some hour before.

“It’s nice not to be the odd one out in the family anymore,” Grainne continued, leveling luminous brown eyes at Kellen. “My sisters have been refusing makeovers for years. At least Ma lets me pick her nail polish from time to time.”

Kellen’s lips crept into a smile as Teresa pshawed the statement. “Don’t speak ill of those who aren’t here to defend themselves.”

“You sound like the girls who sit in front of me in psych class,” Cal complained, phone in hand again. “They’re always carrying on about makeup and shoes. It’s moronic.”

Grainne cocked a conspiratorial brow across the table. Kellen met her grin, bracing her elbows on the table as they listened to Cal's continued complaints.

“I’m sorry you lead such a rough existence, Cal,” Grainne offered sarcastically when he paused to check a notification. “I’ll say an extra prayer for you tonight.”

“Plates?” Teresa cut in, her implied command rousing her youngest from his seat.

Kellen had to hide her giggle after the glance she shared with Cassian’s sister. No wonder he was so fond of the woman. She didn't want to get ahead of herself, but it was easy to see the two of them becoming friends. Making light conversation as Cal set the table, she hardly had opportunity to miss her boyfriend and son.

By the time Owen and Cassian returned, the cake and been cut and was ready to serve. His needs met, Owen returned his father’s knee while Teresa passed out the slices.

Kellen leaned over to straighten the buttons on the boy’s shirt. “Maybe you should share a piece, at least until we know he likes it? There’s a lot of cinnamon on top.” Catching herself, she glanced toward Teresa, “I can’t wait to dig in. Owen’s just a wild card when it comes to spices.”

“He’ll like custard.” Cassian poured a measure onto his cake and slipped his son a bite, beaming with glee at the boy’s enthusiastic response.

“More, please?”

With a hearty laugh, Cassian obliged. “Save some for the rest of us, a stór.”

“I’ll get him a dish,” Teresa insisted, returning to the cupboard for a toddler-sized bowl.

Like his affinity for sisters, Cassian’s taste in desserts was unassailable. The apple cake was, indeed, one of the best things Kellen had ever tasted. With the sharp tang of stewed apple, warm blend of spices, and rich, velvety cream, she was starting to feel like she never wanted to leave Teresa’s kitchen.

They finished eating some twenty minutes later, and Grainne stepped into the other room to take a phone call. Increasingly sleepy, Owen was preparing for a second attempt at counting. Exchanging a polite smile with Teresa, Kellen gathered up the dishes from their side of the table and followed the older woman to the sink.

She’s lovely and kind, and she seems to like you so far. Make conversation, her subconscious urged as she set the plates on the tile countertop. “Cassian’s told me about his nephew and nieces -- your other grandchildren?”

“I have four. Well, five now,” she adjusted, watching Owen tug on Cassian’s fingers. “Jack’s going to be so excited to finally have a boy cousin. He was so disappointed when Ciara’s last one was another girl.”

Kellen nodded with a faint smile, feeling heavy with the reminder of how extensive the Keane family was. Even with Cassian’s many assurances that they were loving and supportive, she was still an outsider. Perhaps she always would be.

“I have to tell you, Kellen, you’re not at all like I imagined.”

Panic pierced through like a knife to the gut.

Kellen expelled a shallow breath, feeling like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. For the past hour, she’d been lulling herself into a sense of security. Sure, there had been some missteps, but they'd started to find their footing -- or so she’d thought. But really, Kellen, she chastised, Cassian’s incredible. Is it any wonder you don’t measure up?

This was her worst nightmare. She could deal with their judgment, but if they didn’t accept her? She couldn’t ask Cassian to choose between her and his family.

“Oh, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Teresa reached for Kellen’s arm, grasping it just above the wrist. “You know how he is: he’s got this constant need to swoop in and be a hero. I always worried he’d end up with a woman who was afraid of the world and needed rescuing all the time. That’s not what I see when I look at you, Kellen.”

For the second time that afternoon, Kellen bit back the words that came on impulse. Despite her frequent insistence to the contrary, she had been the kind of woman who’d needed rescuing. But with Cassian -- in many ways, because of Cassian -- that wasn’t the case anymore.

Lost to her thoughts, it took a few minutes to realize that Teresa had continued speaking. “You keep up with him. You challenge him.” A bony elbow prodded her side softly. “And you make him the happiest I’ve seen in ages. I’m glad he has you.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled in response, wondering how tentative that gratitude must be. For a mother, it would be all too easy to see her as the woman who’d broken her son’s heart. With a shiver, she considered how she would react when face to face with someone who’d hurt Owen in the same way.

She certainly wouldn’t be this civil.

“I’m really grateful to have him in my life again.” Glancing back to the man at the table, she couldn’t help the impulsive compliment. ”You must have been an amazing mother.”

“I did what I could," she agreed, nonchalantly. "Cassian said you don’t see your own parents very often?”

“Maybe once or twice a year. We’re hardly close.”

Turning back to the sink, Kellen expected to see judgment. She found only a genuine smile: a reflection of one she’d seen countless times before. “I’m sorry for that. I hope you know you’re always welcome here with us. Cassian knows this already, but we'll be getting together for dinner for Jack's birthday next week -- we'd love for you and Owen to join us if you'd like."

“I’d like that very much,” she assured, hardly giving the question a moment’s thought. She didn’t need time to consider; her eager anticipation was already proving that it was the right answer. Her eyes swung back to the table, imagining how much Owen was going to enjoy getting to know his cousins.

When they’d decided to go all in, to jump headfirst into this relationship without looking back, she’d thought that the family she had with Owen and Cassian would be all she ever wanted. But this afternoon was reminding her of something she been learning time and again since Cassian came into her life: what a delight it was to be proven wrong.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #witness: a bodyguard romance #cassian keane #cassian x mc

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zephyrofalltrades · 4 years ago

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Day 4: Vampire

CW: Death, blood, gore, prostitution (Youtube recommended Jack-the-Ripper documentaries, so here we are)

Crowley stamped her foot on the cobbles, the cold running up her soles. She frowned. The crowds were thinning this time of year. The weather was running them all indoors. She herself wished for a fire to sit by, lamenting at having not even a bonnet to keep her red head warm. She curled further into herself, indulging one last shiver before taking her post at her corner. Perhaps a soldier would walk by and offer her a few pennies for her services. It would barely give her a proper meal, not that she’ll eat. She needs the doss money for the coming winter nights.

“Pardon me,” she heard a soft voice behind her, interrupting her thoughts. She whipped around in shock. She hadn’t heard his steps nearing. “You seem lost, my dear.”

“No, guv’ner,” she replied, taking in the vision of the man before her. He was dressed impeccably in creams and tans, pairing well with his white-blonde head. The worn, fitted suit meant merchant. A possible customer. She grinned. “I know perfectly well where I am, but you can take me somewhere else if you’d like.”

The blonde smiled. “Not tonight, dear girl. I have somewhere to be, but here,” he pressed a few coins into her hand. “The nights are merciless, I’d rather you get yourself home and out of danger.” She watched his eyes darken, feeling them roam from her face to settle at the joint just beneath her jaw. She felt warmed by it, predatory as it may seem. She supposed she wouldn’t mind this gentleman have her properly if he would.

“I can tolerate the cold if you’re willing to take a gander,” she stepped in closer, letting her hands rest on the man’s firm chest, barely feeling the heat beneath the layers. “Seems you’re in need of a nice fire, yerself.” She leaned closer to him, watching in satisfaction as how his lips parted in anticipation…

A shrill shriek sounded from somewhere to their left, making them jump. The blonde swiftly ran to the source of the commotion, she trailing behind him. They stopped at the mouth of a darkened alleyway. She heard labored pants from within the shadows and despite the fear coursing through her, stopped her advance. It wasn’t unusual to hear those sounds, she’d had her fair time as a three-penny-upright when needs required. The man however shuffled forward.

She reached to stall him but stilled, when from the alleyway came a low growl.

“Best stay behind me,” the blonde whispered and brandished the umbrella he had with him. She didn’t think twice and followed his instructions. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Crowley gasped at what she found revealed to her.

One of girls she shared the lodging houses with was sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath her, clothing ripped to shreds. Her arms were covered in deep scratches and a bloody gash where her throat had once been. She averted her eyes but had to stifle her own scream when she beheld the creature beside it.

It’s nails were turned into sharpened claws, blood still dripping from their tips. It mouth, lathered with the same black-red liquid, was held in a menacing sneer - it’s fangs in shown in sharp relief. And it’s eyes. It’s eyes were red, glowing as bright as Hell’s own flames.

It pounced on them, but the blonde stood firm, whacking it soundly in the head and making it whimper from the contact. He turned, one arm reaching behind him and maneuvering her with him. The creature shook itself to rights and tried once more. With a little more force as it leaped. The blonde grabbed her arm and dragged her down to duck.

The thing sailed over them and its proximity had her knees trembling. The blonde leapt to his feet and into a fighting stance, situating himself once more between her and the monster. It snarled as it ran back for another attack.

“Stand up quick, and brace your weight against my back,” the gentleman ushered. She felt fatigued but did as told. The blonde swung the umbrella once, twice - parrying with the monster’s clawed hands. He leaned back and sent a booted foot in contact with its midriff. It staggered back. He took the opportunity and flung himself forward, umbrella tip aimed at the creature’s heart.

The point found its mark and the blonde pushed it further in, the creature screeching in pain. Crowley slammed herself against the man’s back to help drive their weapon through its chest. The momentum brought the monster slamming against the alley’s wall and they held it in position. The umbrella was long enough to keep them out of reach from its flailing arms. The cries died out soon enough and the thing’s body gave one final shudder before going still.

Clattering steps sounded nearby, all the noise must have reached the officers in their rounds. Crowley felt herself swathed in warmth and pulled into the embrace of strong, capable arms. She knew very little of the interactions thereafter. She felt numb, yet her consciousness dragged her out enough to hear the words vampire, dead and safe.

When next she surfaced from the muddled dregs of her thoughts, she found herself sitting on a comfortable sofa in what looked to be a bookshop. She craned her neck at the impossible stacks of prints. She heard a hum from behind a shelf and the blonde appeared holding a tray of tea and biscuits.

He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but smile back in relief. She may have wished for the horrific encounter to be a dream, but she had hoped the blonde man had not been. “Feeling better?” he asked, taking a seat in an armchair in front of her.

“Yes,” she croaked, and gratefully took the warm drink offered. Feeling suddenly shy, she let her eyes fall to her lap, and to the man’s coat still draped about her. She cried, “Your coat!” The fabrics had specs of red, blood, of course. An inevitable consequence, she knew, but still lamented over.

“It’s alright. I have kept it in tip-top shape this past fifteen years, but I consider it an honorable send off for its services,” he said lightly, amused at her concern.

“Let me clean it. I’m a capable maid. I can salvage it, I swear. Or whatever you wished me to take care of, I’d do.” she clung to the fabric with both hands. “A thank you seems to low for all that’s gone on tonight.”

“If you put it that way,” he smiled at her once more. “Perhaps you can refer someone? I would be needing to hire help soon, the shop’s getting a bit dusty.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She gaped at him and the implications of his words. The man’s - nay, angel’s - eyes twinkled at her expression, knowing full well what he was offering.

“I know a person,” she croaked out, tears streaming from her eyes. “She can start this very minute if you’d be amenable.”

#racket's 13 days of halloween #I may or may not have imagined Aziraphale as a Van Helsing #I didn't kill them off this time #and gave them tea and biscuits #vampire #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction

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a-funny-little-sunflower · 4 years ago

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Playing in the snow with Ghastly Bespoke at Christmas time.

You and Ghastly have been dating for about 9 months and he finally decided to allow the dead men to meet you. You and Ghastly travel up to a resort in the woods for Christmas. Everyone is excited by the snow, so you go out to play and a snowball fight ends up breaking out. You and Ghastly fall asleep in the snow while being cuddled up to each other and you somehow manage to fall asleep.] grá mo chroí – means My beloved in Irish

It was a beautiful December day in Ireland. The snow was fluttering all around the windows of the car and the freshly fallen snow was only broken by the wheels of the black Bentley as it rushed through the snowy forest. You were on your way to a cabin resort that had been rented out for you, Ghastly and the rest of the Dead Men. You were so happy to be celebrating Christmas with Ghastly. It would be your first Christmas together and you couldn’t wait to meet the rest of the dead men. You had only been introduced to one other dead man so far and that was the suave skeleton detective currently driving you to this resort, Skulduggery Pleasant

It was a funny story of how you and Skulduggery had first met. You and Ghastly had just started dating and Skulduggery decided to see what kind of person you were. You had just gotten home from working in your art studio and as you walked in the front door, you spotted a well-dressed skeleton sitting on your favourite chair.

After staring at it for about a minute, you walked over to it and began inspecting it. Especially the suit. As you were about to touch the hat the skeleton wore, the skeleton suddenly spoke.“Don’t touch the hat.” You jumped back in surprise and let out a small squeal.

The skeleton seemed to be unfazed by this and continued. “Skulduggery Pleasant. I’m here to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Ghastly Bespoke.” You nodded dimly and shakily sat down opposite him. It took you a moment to reply, but you managed. “A-ask anything you like.”

After about an hour of talking to Skulduggery, you started warming up to him. He spoke kindly to you and you relaxed as the conversation continued. Eventually, Ghastly arrived for the date you had arranged. As soon as he laid eyes on Skulduggery, he looked like he was about to punch him. “Skulduggery…” Ghastly growled. A beat of silence passed as Skulduggery’s gaze locked with Ghastly’s before he jumped out the window, leaving you and Ghastly to your date.

After this incident, a glorious friendship had blossomed between you and Skulduggery, hence the reason you were sitting in his car. You were pulled from your reminiscing by someone gently touching your shoulder. You turned your head to see your beloved Ghastly staring at you. “Hey, we’re almost there, how are you feeling?” You smiled over at him and squeezed his hand. “I’m fine Ghastly, just a bit nervous about meeting the rest of the dead men I suppose,” you said.“You have no need be nervous, everyone will love you”. Ghastly said. Skulduggery decided to pitch into the conversation with his usual wit.

“Exactly. I like you so that means that you are a woman of a high standard.” You laughed at his comment before once again staring outside to the snow fluttering all around you. “We’re about 20 minutes away from the resort, so it won’t be long until you can stretch your legs. “You nodded in silent confirmation before continuing to stare mindlessly out the window. Your mindless stare became intrigued when the resort came into view. It was large, and its roof was covered in snow. Smoke was billowing out of its chimney and as you got out of the car, you could see the distinct outline of a Christmas tree through the window. You felt Ghastly put his arm around your waist as he led you towards the resort.

As you walked through the door of the resort, the smell of burning Christmas cookies filled your nostrils and a few seconds later the insistent beep of a fire alarm sounded from the kitchen. You and Ghastly shared an amused look before a man with well-toned muscles sprinted out of the kitchen waving a towel over his head like a maniac. “Good God Vex can’t you make one meal at Christmas time without burning it?” Ghastly said in a teasing tone.

The man known as Vex had his back to you as he continued waving the towel and soon enough, the smoke disappeared from the room. After the atmosphere was cleared, Dexter turned to you two. His eyes landed on Ghastly first and he had an annoyed expression on his face. However, when his eyes landed on you, his face had surprise and confusion written all over it. “Who the hell is that?” he asked. A tall man with a knowing look in his eyes entered the room “That is Ghastly girlfriend, so I wouldn’t be too rude to her in case you scare her off.” The man walked towards you and offered his hand. “Sacrean Rue, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said with a smile. Skulduggery voice echoed from behind you. “If Vex isn’t allowed to use rudeness to drive her away, you aren’t to flirt with her, that’ll have her sprinting away in fear.” Sacrean rolled his eyes and said, “I know she’s already spoken for, even if I tried to flirt with her, I’m pretty sure Ghastly here would have my teeth knocked out before I could even finish a decent pick-up line.”

“None of your pickup lines are decent, Sacrean.” Ghastly quipped before turning to you. “Sweetheart you wanna go get settled in now? If you unpack fast enough, I’m fairly sure we could get out to the snow before it gets dark.” That brought a smile to your face and as you turned to retrieve your bags, you saw that Skulduggery was already holding them out for you. You take your bags from him and he says, “You’re upstairs, at the end of the hall, call if you need help. Ghastly and I are going to intimidate the rest of the group into not bugging you with questions about your relationship.”

You look at Ghastly with raised eyebrows, but his only reply is a shrug of his muscular shoulders before walking off, Skulduggery at his heels. Vex lets out a sigh. “The worst thing is that they aren’t even joking about the whole intimidation thing.” He shakes his head. “C’mon Sacrean, you’re gonna help me try to salvage whatever is left of those Christmas cookies.” Sacrean gives him an exasperated look before saying, “The only thing left of those cookies is ash”. Regardless, he still follows Vex into the kitchen.

You turn to your bags. Although you did try to pack light, you know you’re gonna have trouble getting them up the stairs. Against your better judgement, you decide to try and carry everything up the stairs in the one go, and by some Christmas miracle, you managed to get to the top of the staircase without collapsing. You let your bags fall from your shoulders before moaning with pain.

That was difficult.

“Are you alright? You turn your head to the soft voice coming from your left. It’s a tall man with dark hair and you must admit, he looks like a mixture between a funeral director and a vampire. You give him a tired but kind smile. “I’m alright, these bags are just a tad too heavy for me, but I only have to get to the bottom of the hall so no point complaining. The man glances at your luggage before striding toward you and lifting your bags with practised ease. “Allow me to help you.” You are surprised by this sudden act of hospitality but none the less you thank him and begin walking toward your room. “So does the staircase maiden have a name?” He asks. “Oh! Where are my manners, I’m Y/N.” He nods before saying, “Anton Shudder. I believe you are Ghastly’s partner then?”

You give a little nod before arriving at your door. “This is me! Thank you so much for your help, Anton.” You smile at him before taking your bags from him and stepping inside your room, remembering to half-close the door behind you for privacy. The room had a comfy looking king size bed with curtains around it, a desk, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, but the most elegant thing in the room would have to be the fireplace. It was made expertly from marble and it was just begging to be lit. You were too entranced in inspecting the room that you didn’t notice Ghastly stealthily enter. You only noticed him when he wrapped his arms wrapped around your waist and put his face was in the crook of your neck.

“Enjoying yourself darling?” His sudden appearance had made you jump and the bag in your hand dropped to the floor on instinct. “Easy on sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said softly. You turned around to face him and couldn’t help smiling when you saw his face and his soft expression. “You could never scare me.” You said as you wrapped your arms lovingly around his neck. This made him laugh before saying, “Well clearly I just did.” You smiled at him as you pressed your foreheads together. You stayed like that for a while. Holding each other. Staring into each other’s eyes. It was as if time had stopped. However, this peacefulness was interrupted by a banging at the door and a voice shouting, “Where’s the lucky lady!?” Ghastly’s reaction to this was to shut his eyes and groan in annoyance. “Go away, Larkin. It’s not the time.” The voice replied, “Why? Are you doing the mattress mambo? If you are, make yourselves decent cause I’m coming in!”

The door burst open and two men burst in. One man had beautiful golden eyes and the other had a large comedic smile on his face. The man with the cheeky grin stepped forward to introduce himself first. He offered his hand, saying “Hello, I’m Larkin!” You decided to take the man’s offer of a handshake and when you did, the sound of a whoopee cushion deflating filled the room, and Larkin's smile grew impossibly wider. “Whoopee cushion in the hand trick never gets old.” The man second man rolled his eyes at Larkin's behaviour, before stepping forward to introduce himself. He took your hand and kissed it. “Erskine Ravel my dear. A pleasure to finally meet you.” He said as he glanced up at you with those gorgeous golden eyes. From behind you, you heard Ghastly growl and you felt him put his arms around you from behind.

“Ravel, I thought we already had a conversation about this behaviour?” Ghastly said through gritted teeth. Ravel’s eyes met Ghastly’s and there was a standoff for a few moments. A standoff that Ghastly won. Ravel shook his head and said, “No need to turn all alpha male on me Ghastly, I’m dating Hopeless remember?” This didn’t convince Ghastly of anything and he pulled you to his chest.

“Hasn’t stopped you from flirting with every living thing to cross your path though has it?” Ghastly said his tone challenging. You sensed a fight coming and it seemed that Larkin did too because he was quick to jump into action. Larkin took hold of Ravel’s shoulder and began leading him out of the room. “It was nice seeing you two. Dinner will be in about an hour.” After Larkin managed to drag Ravel out, he shut the door and all that could be heard was the sound of retreating footsteps.

You turned to look at Ghastly whose muscles were still tense from bracing himself to throw a punch. You took his hand and turned his face to look at you. “Hey there gorgeous, we’ve got an hour to spare before dinner, what do you fancy doing?” He looked at you for a moment before a playful grin appeared on his face. “To be honest, I’m exhausted, and I fancy a nap.” A soft smile appeared on your face before saying, “Fancy some kisses with that? It would be a reward for not punching Ravel in the face.” He pretended to think about your offer for a few seconds before saying “That seems fair enough, and if you were wondering, I would have aimed to break his jaw.” You couldn’t help but laugh at this as you pulled him toward the bed. You kicked off your shoes and got under the covers for cuddles and kisses.

---------------------------

You were roused from sleep by Skulduggery softly shaking your shoulder. You rubbed your eyes and attempted to stretch but couldn’t because of Ghastly’s muscular arms keeping you in an embrace. When you looked up at Skulduggery questioningly it prompted him to say, “Dinner’s ready.” You nodded in confirmation and watched him walk out of the room. You turned to Ghastly to wake him up but hesitated. You longed to just lay here with him all day, but you knew that he would be disappointed if he wasted the day sleeping. To soften the blow of having to end cuddle time, you decided to give him his favourite wake up call. Butterfly kisses. You leaned forward and started placing soft kisses on his eyes. Eventually, he was roused from sleep and when he saw your face, he gave you a soft sleepy smile. He stared into your eyes for a moment before saying, “What did I deserve to get such a wonderful wake-up call?” You couldn’t help but laugh at him, every time you woke up beside him, he looked at you like you could create galaxies with a wave of your hand.

“Dinner’s ready my dear, we have to get up.” Ghastly groaned at this before rolling onto his side and put his arm over his face. “Do we have to? I just wanna stay here and sleep.” You rolled your eyes at him and decided that maybe you could tempt him. “Well if you don’t wanna come down I guess that I’ll have to play in the snow all by myself.” This caused him to take his arm away from his face and turn to you. “You wouldn’t dare…” A small smile appeared on your face. “Oh, but I would my dear.”Ghastly let out a breathy laugh before saying, “Alright, alright, I’m up.” He stretched out fully before pushing himself off the bed. You watched him for a moment before getting up and combing your hands through your hair in an attempt to make it look it presentable. You grabbed Ghastly’s hand and started walking down to the kitchen.

When you got downstairs, you were met with Sacrean eating mince pies in the living room while scrolling on his phone. You give a little knock to the doorframe to let him know about your presence and he looks at you like a deer in the headlights. He gulps down the rest of his pie and lets out a guilty chuckle. “Eh…. Nice nap…?” Ghastly shook his head at him and as he opened his mouth to speak, a snowball hit him right at the back of his head. You both span around to see Skulduggery standing there. There was a silent standoff for a moment before Skulduggery turned on his heel and sprinted out of the front door.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as Ghastly tore outside after Skulduggery and Sacrean let out what sounded like a war cry before darting outside after them. The war cries that Sacrean had uttered had everyone in the house responding to it because, in a matter of moments, every dead man was hastily pulling on coats and darting outside. You stood there in a state of shock and awe at the pure speed at which the dead men had run out of the house. You could hear the sounds of an all-out snowball war being waged. You could see snowballs being launched at fantastic speeds, then you heard it. Ghastly’s voice. “Y/N! Get out here! They’re pairing up out here and I need to have the best-looking partner!” Vex’s voice rang out, “Ghastly I don’t want to be your partner!” A chorus of laughter rang out as you sprinted out of the resort to meet Ghastly.

As soon as you got outside, you saw a scene of utter chaos unfolding. It seemed that people were already starting to form alliances. Larkin, Hopeless and Ravel were all on the one team, Anton, Vex and Sacrean were on another and Skulduggery was standing in the middle of it all. He looked to be on a team that consisted only of himself. But…. Where was Ghastly…? Out of nowhere, you felt someone grab your waist and haul your body backwords. At first, you thrashed and fought out of instinct but when you managed to crane your neck enough to see the face of whoever it was that had grabbed you, you saw a familiar scarred face. You locked eyes and you immediately relaxed in his arms. You allowed him to drag you back as you watched the chaotic scene of the snowball war unfold. Eventually, you felt Ghastly to bring you both to a stop and he pulled you behind a wall of snow that he had created. You both crouched behind it and began to create a game plan.

After a few minutes, you had a plan of attack. Ghastly run out and use his elemental power to manipulate the snow and air around him, and you would use your shield discipline to protect him. You pressed a kiss to his lips for a moment before he sprinted out and raised utter havoc, you kept your shield eyes on him as he caused snowballs to destroy every other dead man. Ravel was the first to get a face full. Probably revenge from earlier. The next two to go were Hopeless and Sacrean. Hopeless’ was thrown onto his back after Ghastly manipulated the snow from underneath him.

Ghastly’s next target was Larkin, who sensed he was next, and shape-shifted into you and begged for mercy. Ghastly took great pleasure in pelting him with snow. The remaining dead men – Anton and Vex- were doing their best to defend themselves but your shield held strong. Ghastly showed an evil grin and made a wave of snowballs appear behind. The look of utter terror on their faces would have you howling with laughter for weeks. You were mentally celebrating Ghastly’s victory before you realised. Someone was missing…. Skulduggery…

“Don’t move an inch.” Said a silky voice from behind you. You shuddered involuntarily. “Take down the shield protecting him…or else.” It was quite scary to hear Skulduggery talk like this, but you refused to show fear. “Never. This is my grá mo chroí we’re talking about.” There was a deadly silence between the pair of you as you stared out across the snowy ground. “If that’s how it is…” Suddenly his voice turned from a silky whisper to a powerful booming tone that could rival thunder. “GHASTLY BESPOKE OF THE DEAD MEN” He spoke as if he were addressing an enemy on the battlefield. “SURRENDER NOW AND I MAY STILL GRANT MERCY UPON THOSE WHO ARE AT MY FEET” Ghastly looked confused, what did he mean, at his feet? He was nowhere near him, then it hit him. You. He caught sight of your hair, just barely in view behind the snow barrier.

“Let her go Skulduggery!” Ghastly seemed to be leaning into this role of heroic knight about attempting to defeat the dark lord, and from how it seemed, you were the unwilling damsel in distress. “NOT UNTIL YOU SURRENDER! THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE BEFORE SHE DIES!” Shouts of “Don’t do it!” and “He’s bluffing!”, were made by the dead men, you even thought you heard Larkin shout “Wouldn’t someone think of the children?” Skulduggery raised a gloved hand threateningly. “Last chance, your love or your life. Decide now.” You and Ghastly shared a look, and you could see in his eyes that he was readying himself for an attack, the last stand of a dead man. In a sudden flurry of movement, Ghastly lunged forward with his elemental discipline flaring and ready to protect you, but in that same moment, Skulduggery pressed down on the back of your neck and hit a pressure point.

This pressure on your neck caused your entire body to feel weak, and for the shield around Ghastly to cave in, leaving him without your protection. You desperately tried to warn him, but your voice had abandoned you, and there was stopping him or warning him of the incoming snowball from the left. You watch, almost in slow motion, as the snowball hit him square in the jaw, with enough force to knock him flat. For a moment, there was a shocked silence from everyone, before a chorus of empathetic groans echoed from the rest of the dead men. In all the excitement, Skulduggery had loosened his grip on you, and you immediately seized the moment and lunged for your fallen protector.

You turned him onto his back, placed your hands on his face, and began to tenderly rub your thumbs across his scarred cheeks. “Ghastly, my darling, are you alright?” You were genuinely concerned as the snowball had hit him with great force, and for a moment, you thought he had been too hard. But you were soon relieved of any worries when his eyelids fluttered open and you were greeted by his loving smile. “I’m just wondering now that you’re here.” You couldn’t help the loving smile from breaking out on your face, you could never stay angry at your love for long.

“Alright fellas let’s get inside and leave these love birds to themselves, I don’t wanna know what they do in their spare time.” There was a trickle of laughter that floated around in the air for a moment as the dead men made their way inside to the warm cabin, but neither you nor Ghastly made a move to join them. Instead, you flopped onto your back beside him and cuddled up against him, closing your eyes as you rest your head on his chest, and to your surprise, it was surprisingly comfortable. So comfortable, that you barely felt the first snowflakes descending from the sky onto your embracing forms as you drifted off to the land of dreams, with Ghastly not far behind. ---------------------- When you awoke once again for the second time that day, the sky was dark, the stars were shining and both you and Ghastly were still in an unmoving embrace, but now you were also enveloped by a thick coating of snow, so thick you could barely move, and the flurrying snowflakes all around made it difficult to see the cabin. As you turned your head, you saw that Ghastly was still sleeping. And from the looks of it, he wasn’t going to budge by his own accord unless you put a stop to this madness.

So, with a herculean effort, you managed to shove away the snow that had previously entrapped you, and although your entire body felt brittle and stiff, still you persevered. You managed to get onto your knees and get some leverage against the cold ground. You allowed yourself a moment to stare lovingly at Ghastly before you placed your freezing hand on his shoulder and started to shake him awake. “Ghastly. Ghastly! Ghastly Bespoke! Wake up! Wake up!”

He awoke with a startled breath and a panicked look on his face. His eyes darted around, look for any sign of danger that could have warranted such a frightening wake-up call. “Wha- What's wrong?” You felt a pang of guilt for waking him so rudely, but it was necessary, there was no time for butterfly kisses now. “Ghastly, we’ve been out in the snow for hours! Just look how dark it is already, we need to get inside!” Your tone must have been urgent enough for Ghastly to take heed because before you knew it, you on your feet and walking towards the cabin.“I can’t believe we slept out there” he chuckled, he seemed to be amazed at the fact that you both managed to ignore the cold in favour of finishing your nap from earlier. “Well to be fair, we were wrapped up in each other’s arms, so that explains how we stayed in the one spot for so long.”

“Hmmm” Ghastly replied, “Well if anybody in that cabin has got any sense, they will have lit a fire for us.” You shivered in anticipation at the thought of sitting by a warm fire, heaven knows you needed it after that little snowy stunt back there. “Oh God, Ghastly don’t get my hopes up.” Ghastly let out his signature sweet laugh at this, it sounded smooth and warm like melted chocolate, and you shuddered at the sound of it.

“Sorry darling, didn’t mean to be cruel.” Ghastly pushed open the cabin door and stood to the side, waiting for you to enter first. “Beauty before bravery, darling” You flushed a tad at his remark and cheeky smile but entered first none the less. He shut the door after you and followed your lead to the bedroom. As you walked, you prayed to every deity you could think of that the fire would be lit, and fortunately for you, your prayers had been answered.

Waiting for you in your bedroom was a crackling fire, as well as some thick woollen blankets that were sitting at bottom of the bed. You quickly lunged for them, alongside some pillows, and brought them to the front of the fireplace, where you began creating a nest that would be large enough for both Ghastly and you. Ghastly managed to coax you to get changed before you settled yourself, and you were sure you had never gotten changed faster because before you knew it, the pair of you were cuddled in front of the fire.

The fire crackled like a sweet melody and you could feel yourself drifting off, but you were fighting it valiantly because you wanted to appreciate this moment with your sweetheart. Ghastly seemed to sense this and cuddled into it, almost as if he were trying to envelop you.

Ghastly gently nuzzled his head into your neck softly, and you could feel his gentle breath fanning your neck, it was a comforting feeling. “Darling close your eyes. Enjoy the fire and relax. I’ll be here when you wake up.” You couldn’t stop your eyelids from starting to slide closed. “There we go sweetheart, shut your eyes and sleep.”Your eyes shut completely and the last thing you remember before drifting off completely was the warmth of the fire and Ghastly pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

#ghastly bespoke #Ghastly Bespoke x reader #skulduggary pleasant

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years ago

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The Other You - 7

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

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Chapter by Maerynn

The first morning Marinette woke up in Chat Noir's mother's apartment, the most accurate word to describe how she was feeling would be "awkward".

Chat had carefully wiped the apartment of any hints of his mother's identity before bringing her here, but Marinette still felt as if she was invading this faceless woman's privacy. Sleeping in her sheets, showering in her bathroom, cooking with her appliances, leafing through her books. And yet, she couldn't help but love it. Marinette knew it was wrong, that she was playing with fire and jeopardizing her own identity, but by living in his late mother's apartment, she felt closer to her partner.

Laying on her back in that wide bed, Marinette found herself wondering what kind of child her partner had been. Had he crawled into his mother's bed at night, claiming to have nightmares to be allowed to sleep in that very same bed? Was he a picky eater, forcing his mother to deploy ingenuity to have him eat his broccoli? Was he the kind of little boy to get into trouble every day or, on the contrary, was he a little angel?

As she stretched out on the comfortable mattress, his ridiculous rent fee came back to her mind—a meal. It was kind of cute, in a way. Yet that obnoxious kitty had to go and ask for the single thing she didn't have to spare: time. Luckily though, being a daughter of two bakers, Marinette had a few quick but tasty recipes up her sleeve, and would probably be able to cater to her partner's culinary needs.

Reluctantly tearing herself from the sheets, she ventured into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Chat Noir was definitely a really thoughtful man. Even though the apartment hadn't been inhabited for the past few years, the fridge was fully stocked with everything she could ever possibly need to cook delicious meals for both of them. Various fresh meat and fish, vegetables, multiple kinds of fruit, and seasonings were waiting for her. The pantry hadn't been forgotten, bursting with spices, crackers, and every possible type of oil, flour, and sugar she would ever wish to use.

With a fond smile dancing on her lips, Marinette wrote a quick list of the supplies she would need to feed her silly kitty over the course of the next week, marveling once again at the apparent infinite kindness of her partner. Why would he go out of his way like this for a girl he hadn't seen in years?

The idea that he was ready to go to such lengths for a long-lost friend made her heart clench painfully in her chest out of longing. Because if she was entirely honest with herself, Marinette wanted more out of their relationship. Way more. She was done hiding behind masks, done playing games. Yet, this recent development had thrown some sand in the gears. How could she reveal herself to him now? He would know what a complete failure she was, would know she had kissed him out of sheer selfishness, would know she had been on the receiving end of his kindness without offering anything back.

No. Keeping her identity to herself, at least up until she could manage to look in the mirror again, was a safer bargain.

She was almost done with her grocery list when her phone chimed on the countertop beside her.

Alya: Please. Let's just talk. Nothing else, I promise. No questions. I just need to see you to make sure you're alright.

Marinette groaned. One would think that if someone wasn't answering your calls and texts for a week, one would give up until that person is ready to reach back. Not Alya. She kept trying, again and again, all while Marinette hesitated. On one hand, she really wanted to avoid revisiting all the issues they had, much less having to explain her new living arrangement. But another part of her, the one that was currently lonely and lost, wanted her best friend back, no matter the cost.

So she shook her head and grabbed her phone before she could change her mind.

Marinette: I'm free around noon.

Alya: Works for me. Usual spot?

That was how Marinette found herself sitting in the café they liked to frequent, nervously sipping on a vanilla latte.

Alya came in right on time, taking a seat in front of her best friend without even bothering to order a drink but not before wrapping her arms around Marinette in a tight hug.

"Okay," Alya said in a soft voice, "I know we have a bunch of things to talk through, and we'll come to it, but first I wanna know if you're safe. A little birdie told me you were sleeping in your office, and I won't let—"

"I was," Marinette cut her rambling short. She knew she had worried Alya sick, that her famous mama bear instincts had kicked in the second Marinette had walked out the apartment. "But I'm not anymore."

"What?" Alya squealed. "Are you homeless? Where is all your stuff? Hang on, I'm going to call Nino and—"

"Alya, stop." Marinette smiled softly to herself, her heart warming up despite herself thinking of her current living arrangements. "I'm staying at a friend's place, that's all you need to know for the time being."

Her best friend eyed her critically, from head to toe. "Who? I know for a fact that you aren't staying with Rose and Juleka or Mylene. Who else could you stay with?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you more than that right now," Marinette sighed. "But it's not someone you know personally, and I really can't say anything."

"Are you sure you can trust this new roommate of yours? How come I have never heard of them before? This whole 'can't tell' sounds a bit fishy, don't you think?"

Marinette sipped on her latte, a fond smile spread on her lips. "I trust him with my life, Al. And he's not living with me, he just lent me somewhere to stay until I get back on my feet."

"So this mysterious friend is a he. Mari, you can't possibly be that naive. He'll expect something in return."

"No. Don't worry, Alya. Not him. He already has someone in his life, anyway."

Marinette could almost picture Tikki rolling her eyes in her purse upon hearing those words, and she had to repress a giggle. In front of her, Alya merely frowned, looking at her friend intently.

At last, seemingly reaching a decision, Alya sighed, "Look, I'm sorry, Mari. I should've realized you were stressed out much more than you let on, and instead of supporting you like a best friend should, I just yelled at you and kept putting pressure on you."

"You've had stuff going on too, with the wedding and everything," Marinette said softly.

Her best friend huffed, looking down at her clasped hands in her lap. "That's no excuse. You clearly needed someone to lean on, and I failed you. Marinette, please come back to the apartment, it's yours as much as it's mine."

The young woman couldn't help the smile that spread on her lips. This was the Alya she knew and loved. The one taking charge of everything, making sure everything was alright, caring for her friends more than herself.

"I can't, Al. You and Nino are gonna be married in a few months, I'm not gonna third-wheel you guys forever. I'm going to be fine."

The frown still lingering on Alya's face was eloquent on its own. She was still worried sick about her friend, worries that had been growing for quite a long time now. "Why don't you quit that sinking job then? Everyone's quitting; it's all over the newspapers."

"I can't quit." Marinette tried to ignore the knot tying her throat up, focusing on explaining herself, at last giving some sort of sense to her actions. "I didn't complete my degree at ESMOD, if you recall. Gabriel pulled me out of school midway, said it was a waste of time and money, that he'd show me everything I'd need to know. And without a degree, I don't really have a bright future unless I prove myself with this new collection—"

"And with him gone that's your only option," Alya ended for her. "Okay. So there's a dude at work that owes me a big favour for conveniently forgetting to mention to his wife he lost his wedding band. I might be able to score you a four-page spread covering the next Gabriel fashion show. Do you think there might be a way to have the months you spent working for Gabriel recognized by ESMOD? I mean, you have paychecks to prove your experience, and definitely the skills to own up to it. Whose ass do I have to kick or kiss to get you your degree?"

Marinette lifted wet eyes toward her friend. Alya had always had her back, through thick and thin, and for a minute, she wondered how she could have let herself forget that. At a loss for words, she ultimately mumbled weakly, "Why would you even help me?"

Alya scoffed, looking at her best friend disbelievingly. "You're my best friend, Mari, and I love you to pieces. Obviously I'm gonna help you tear yourself out of that dump."

***

That same day Marinette stood outside of Adrien's office, sighing softly to herself.

After her talk with Alya, she had devised a bunch of things she had to take care of right away to salvage what was left of her name.

And Gabriel's women's line was among them.

Clutching the heavy folder to her chest, Marinette raised her fist and landed two sharp knocks on the door, her heart beating heavily within her ribcage.

"Come in," Adrien's familiar voice compelled her, tossing all of her worries aside. No matter how she felt, no matter how hurt and lost she was, Gabriel Agreste was gone and there was no one who could help her right now but herself. She had to carry on his legacy and in the process help herself even if it meant dealing with a man she'd rather not even see right now. All that was needed was to be a professional, and that she was.

Taking in a hefty breath, she pushed the heavy door. "Good evening, M Agreste."

"Marinette?" Adrien blinked. He seemed a bit tired. "What can I help you with?"

"I have a favour to ask of you."

Adrien straightened up in his chair, staring at her curiously. He seemed to search his words for a few seconds, before replying disbelievingly, "A favour from me?"

If they were still friends Marinette would almost certainly have giggled, seeing his dumbstruck face, how his hand was still clutching the pen that had halted its course on the paper. But as of now, they weren't, so her face remained emotionless. Yet, for the first time since crossing paths with him again, she really paid attention to him. Saw the dark circles underlining his familiar green eyes behind his glasses. Saw how his hair was wildly swept back, sticking out in every direction. Saw how wrinkled his shirt was, saw how poorly his tie knot had been done.

He looked exhausted, at his wits' end.

He looked broken. Just like her.

Immediately Marinette shook those thoughts away. She was here on a mission, and couldn't let wandering thoughts distract her.

"I need some papers from your father's office in order to proceed with some of the designs. Would you be kind enough to retrieve them for me?"

If he looked surprised a minute before, now Adrien was looking completely dumbfounded. "You have full access to his office at any given time, why would you need me for something like this?"

Shaking her head, Marinette pushed the heavy file on his desk. She couldn't help but notice physics exams scattered through legal documents in front of him. "The designs I need are most likely kept in his personal office at the mansion. I scoured his entire office here without any success."

"The mansion?" Adrien's eyes widened. For a moment he remained silent before quietly adding. "I'm sorry, Marinette, ask me anything but this. I haven't been there since I moved out."

"Maybe you could send someone trustworthy on your behalf then?" She sighed. This conversation wasn't going in the direction she would've liked. "Listen, I understand that going back there might be hard for you emotionally, but those last few designs were the best pieces of the line. If I want to succeed, I need them."

Adrien stared at her for what felt like an eternity. "You need them that much?"

"Desperately."

Raking his hands through his hair, Adrien dropped his pen on the desk beside him and pulled the file she had given him closer. "So, those are the designs you need?" he asked quietly, the traces of uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.

"Yes, those are only preliminary sketches I drew for him in a creative meeting. He should have the final designs with all the specs in his personal files. If I want to meet the deadlines, I need those files. I can't start over from scratch on time."

"Alright," Adrien sighed softly, "I'll get them for you. If they're really in that office, you'll have your designs first thing Monday morning."

A sigh of relief escaped Marinette's lips as his lips twitched into a tiny smile. At that moment she clearly understood that this was an olive branch, offered to her to try and make peace between them after years of a feud that had lasted way too long. She wasn't sure, though, if she was ready to accept it yet.

As she reached forward, shaking his hand firmly while thanking him as professionally as she could, Marinette couldn't help but suddenly wonder if a teenager's mistake was worth ostracizing an adult who had just suffered the loss of his last relative and had had a withering fashion empire thrust upon him without warning, an empire he neither asked for nor wanted to deal with. Walking out of that office, she also found herself thinking that even if she wasn't quite ready to forgive him his past cruel actions, maybe, just maybe, Adrien Agreste wasn't as horrible as she thought he was.

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #marichat #aged up #ml fanfiction #the other you #myart #my art

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lesetoilesfous · 4 years ago

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"you obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you." with fenhawke or hawke/isabela please!

AH I am currently romancing fenris for the first time so, I gotta

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenris/Garrett Hawke

Characters: Fenris, Garrett Hawke

Tags: Hawke is an idiot, Fenris survived three years on the run by himself somehow, who let Hawke near a cooking pot, Fenris is exasperated and in love and exasperated by the fact he’s in love, post All That Remains

Rating: Mature

“You obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you.”

Garrett scowls, crossing his arms defensively across his chest and not moving away from the charred remains of what was meant to be a honey-roasted bronto haunch. “I can look after myself, Fenris.”

Fenris raises his eyebrow. Hawke unfolds his arms and resolutely does not look at the blackened chunk of what could no longer, even charitably, be called meat. Between them, Dog watches with interest, transparently waiting for an opportunity to salvage the haunch. Fenris steps back, and gestures for her to take it. Then he looks up at Garrett, who is in turn watching somewhat mournfully as Dog smears grease and ash across the red rug spread over his floor.

When Fenris speaks, he does so in a deliberate drawl. “Clearly.” He narrows his eyes as he looks at Hawke, noting the creases around his mouth and eyes and the thinness to his cheeks, the way his tunic hangs lighter than it usually would. His skin is pale, too, even in the bronze light of the fire. “When did you last eat?” Hawke opens his mouth, and Fenris scowls at him. “What passes for ale at The Hanged Man doesn’t count.” Hawke shuts his mouth.

Fenris tries very hard to resist the urge to sigh. Of all the men in Thedas, why did it have to be this one?

Then he marches briskly out of the main hall and towards Garrett’s kitchen. He doesn’t wait to see if Hawke will follow. After six years, Fenris has come to learn that despite his better judgement and all sensible social norms, Garrett Hawke will follow him without question, anywhere. Fenris tries not to be overwhelmed by the enormity of that.

“Fenris, you’re not seriously planning to cook for me.” Hawke’s voice is loud, and bounces off the empty stone walls of his family home. Not for the first time, Fenris wonders how well he is truly acclimatising to the sudden emptiness of the Amell Estate. It was clearly not built for solitude.

Dismissing his concerns for now, Fenris throws his comment back over his shoulder as he swings open the door to the library and steps through it. “That depends, were you seriously planning not to eat?”

He crosses the library quickly - unable to resist throwing a brief, hungry glance at the shelves. (”They’re yours, you know. All of them. Take as long as you need.” Hawke’s chin had rested lightly on his head as he’d said the words, arms wrapping loosely around his belly. Fenris had wanted to call him out on his magnanimity - to point out that he could not possibly mean such a generous promise. But too much of him had been seized by the sudden, powerful hope that he meant it, and the unwillingness to risk the possibility that he didn’t. So instead he’d said nothing - only reached out, reverently, and brushed his fingers along the soft red leather spines of the Amell family library.)

“How do you know where the kitchen is, anyway?” Hawke asks, mildly, taking the door when Fenris holds it open for him, and stepping back to let Dog come bounding through, her claws skittering on the stone.

Fenris resists the urge to sigh - choosing not to resurrect the old argument of whether Garrett should hire servants as he clears away the dusty surfaces and begins to search the pantry for something edible. Garrett would not have purchased something, but Leandra was a sensible woman. She would have bought stores to last. The connection between Leandra’s death and Garrett’s sudden inability to feed himself is one Fenris is unsure how to examine yet. But he knows he will be there for Hawke, when he is ready to discuss it. It is the best, and the least, that he can do.

Fenris’ hand tightens around the pan in his hand.

It is, at least, not the only thing he can do.

As he prepares the meal, he looks up to see Hawke watching him, curiously, still waiting for an answer. Fenris carefully begins dicing onions. “You are aware that poisoning is a popular method of assassination.”

“Yes?” Hawke drags out his answer as he props his hip against the counter. Fenris tries not to sigh again, and resists the childish urge to laugh at his lover as he mixes the onion and garlic with olive oil in the pot and lights the stove beneath it.

“Understanding a building’s layout is fairly standard procedure when securing it from possible assassins. The kitchen -” Fenris manages to light the fire and steps back as it rises with a huff, carefully closing the clay door to the oven, “- is crucial.”

When he looks up, Hawke is frowning at him, one hand resting on Dog’s head. “Fenris...” Hawke’s voice holds a note of warning that Fenris has come to appreciate and resent in equal measure. He resists the urge to cross his arms.

“What?”

Hawke’s eyes tighten. “It’s just. All this...The security, cooking for me. You’re not...” Hawke trails off, biting the inside of his cheek, and impatience quickly wins the battle over affection in Fenris’ chest, hastened on by a strange kind of anxiety.

“Not what?”

Hawke meets his eyes then, lifting his chin. “I’m not another Danarius to you, am I?”

Fenris blinks. Then he raises his hands. “Oh no, dread magister, I live in fear of your terrible magics.” He snorts, then, and lowers his arms - feeling a stupid bubble of affection rising through his chest at the fact Hawke had thought of such a thing at all. It drives him in a sudden wave of boldness to kiss the unhappy frown on Hawke’s brow, though his lover doesn’t smile when Fenris comes down from his tiptoes, so he chooses instead to flick his nose lightly with his finger and thumb. That does elicit a small laugh from Garrett, and it’s only when it does that Fenris realises how much he’d missed it, these past weeks.

Having successfully discovered stock, water, white wine and dried peas, Fenris returns to his meal, dumping the ingredients into the pan unceremoniously and shifting it into the centre of the hot plate until the mixture begins to simmer. The smell of cooking onions and oil fills the kitchen, mixing with the light, heady scent of cooking wine and the salty, moreish taste of the stock.

Fenris stirs it a few times before turning back to his lover. “No, Hawke, you are not another Danarius. For one thing, i do not fear you.” It as true now as it had been the first time he’d come to Hawke’s bed, three years ago. It still seems like the most impossible gift.

Fenris is afraid of intimacy, certainly. He is afraid of trust. He is afraid of losing this man who holds so much of his heart to death or worse, and he knows too well the shape of the many fates worse than death the world might hold for a man like Garrett Hawke. But Fenris is not afraid of the man himself, and it is that, he has found, that has made all the difference.

Garrett, for his part, gestures to his broad chest with a look of mock affront. “Not afraid? Of me? I’ll have you know I’m the Champion of Kirkwall, serrah.” Fenris snorts, and Garrett warms to his part, shifting away from the counter whilst the risotto bubbles wetly next to Fenris. Dog begins to bark, excited, tail wagging as she does so. Hawke raises his hands into the air. “I defeated the Arishok himself in single combat. The Arishok. He’s twenty feet tall.”

Fenris smirks at him. “I hear he shoots fire out of his eyes.”

Garrett gasps. “He does! His roar is enough to make a grown man soil himself. But not I! My loins are girded with iron!” Fenris raises his eyebrows and Hawke falters, arms falling from where they’d been raised as he flushes. “Alright, that one got away from me.”

Fenris shakes his head and steps forward, running his fingers over the cool silk of Hawke’s tunic. “No, no. Tell me about your iron loins.” He grins up at his lover then, teasing, and Garrett grins back.

“You’ certainly keep me humble, love.”

Garrett bends and kisses him, then, and his beard scratches against Fenris’ chin, soft and familiar. Fenris sighs and lets him, and resists the urge to answer that he doesn’t. Garrett does that well enough himself. He always has. It’s one of the things Fenris loves about him.

Between them, Dog whines, and they break apart breathless as teenagers. Fenris feels his face flush and returns quickly to the meal, checking on it before searching the cupboard for any kind of hard cheese.

A little later it’s ready, and Fenris spoons the mixture into a fine silver bowl for Hawke, who takes it gratefully as he leans against the counter. “Where’d you learn to cook?” Hawke pauses to eat a spoonful of risotto before groaning in a way that is positively obscene and, Fenris thinks, only a little exaggerated. “Maker, that’s good.” With sudden, honest gusto Hawke begins to wolf down the rest of the mix. Fenris stops worrying about what he’ll do with the excess.

Instead, he leans against the counter opposite Hawke, stepping back and away from the heat of the oven and poking at his own rice. “I taught myself. After I left Danarius.”

Hawke grunts, and swallows, gesturing with his spoon. “What is this? It’s so good.”

Fenris ducks his head, and tries to stifle the stupidly shy smile pulling at his lips even as heat burns its way up into the tips of his ears. “It’s...nothing. A Tevene peasant recipe.” Hawke watches him, patiently, and Fenris feels his cheeks burn, tossing the words between them like an embarassed kind of offering. “Risi e bisi.”

Fenris quickly shoves a spoonful of the rice into his mouth before he can do anything worse. The mixture is salty and sweet, rounded out by the stock and cheese. He lets it warm him, and takes a moment to appreciate the simple pleasure of having access to hot food as and when he needs it.

Hawke, meanwhile sets down his empty bowl with a satisfied sigh. “Risi e bisi.” His Fereldan accent butchers the language. Fenris doesn’t care. “I’ll have to remember that.”

There’s a little more colour in Hawke’s cheeks now - brought up by the warmth of food, laughter and flirtation. It paints him ruddy and warm, and there’s a smile lingering around his lips as he bends to scratch Dog’s great sandy head. Fenris feels a small coil of satisfaction curl in his gut as he watches him.

He is safe. He is well. He is happy.

Fenris did that.

Carefully, Fenris sets down his own bowl and steps forward, reaching up to touch Hawke’s cheek. Garrett’s hand catches his gingerly. He always stares at him with such poorly hidden wonder, when Fenris touches him. Fenris smiles at him, and is struck for a moment by the image of a raven chick, fluffy and awkward and fragile, cradled in his hands. Hesitantly, Hawke smiles back.

Fenris gets up on tiptoes, and presses a long, slow, chaste kiss to Hawke’s lips.

“Let me take care of you.” He smiles at Garrett, and runs a thumb over his tanned, weather-beaten cheek. “That is what lovers do, isn’t it?”

#dadwc #fenhawke #fenris #hawke #da2 #tevivinter

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atths--twice · 4 years ago

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Rm9.... was an episode I really liked. I know a lot of people didn’t like it because of the lack of dialogue, but I liked the fact that they don’t NEED to speak to be out and about. It was different, but it was good. Them out on a date was so adorable. Her laughing at his blobfish meal and taking a picture of it... God, I love flirty and fun Scully so much. She’s just so adorbs.

Here we go...

Chapter Thirty Seven

All a Buzz

After the catastrophe in Rm9.... Scully and Mulder take care of things at the house before heading to breakfast. Discussions are had, temporary decisions are made, and things begin to move forward.

February 2018

The water was warm as Scully washed her hands in the diner bathroom. She looked in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. This night had been … well, to say insane was an understatement. A car ride from hell, a possessed room vacuum, her bedroom exploding, being chased by drones, and being shot at by printed 3-D bullets.

All because of a tip, or lack of one, she thought, shaking her head as she dried her hands and left the bathroom. Mulder was still sitting at the bar, looking at his phone when she returned. As she walked up, he turned to her with a smile, standing as he slipped his phone in his back pocket and drank down the last bit of his coffee.

“You ready?” he asked, and she nodded her head. Heading out of the diner, he held the door open for her as they walked to his car. She was tired, but oddly incredibly happy and unable to stop smiling, even after all that had happened.

Late last night, after they walked out of that warehouse, they trudged back to her place to inspect the damage the explosion caused. Not too surprisingly, no emergency services were present. The calls they tried to place before fleeing had not gone through, and the alarm system was operating with a mind of its own. None of her neighbors had appeared to be bothered enough to call it in either. More evidence that the world was slowly shrinking into its own worries and concerns.

Glass was everywhere, and they both sighed as they looked at it. Black scorch marks and areas of still smoldering smoke from the explosive ball of fire were on the carpet, walls, her bed, and dresser. There was even some damage in the bathroom, making the entire space unlivable. She was, however, thankful that the damage had at least been contained to that area versus the entire house.

Mulder looked at her, and she sighed again. Walking past the smoldering piece of metal that was once the floor vacuum, Scully walked into the kitchen and grabbed the fire extinguisher. She handed it to Mulder when she heard him behind her, and she began searching for the broom she could not find earlier.

When she finally found it on the back porch, she and Mulder worked to clean up the glass, putting it directly into one of her outdoor trash cans. The whole process took a lot longer than they had anticipated since glass had found its way into the small crevices and areas they would not normally have looked, but they eventually got it done. They even boxed the vacuum back up after they sprayed it with the fire extinguisher.

By the time they finished, the sun was coming up, making it easier for Scully to take pictures to document the damage for insurance purposes. She looked at Mulder as he stood outside, looking at the hole the shattered window left behind.

“So, what do we do about this?” he asked, opening his hands wide, gesturing to it. “Do you have any large pieces of plywood to cover this? Big pieces of plastic or anything like that?”

“Yeah, I have plywood in the garage,” she said, rolling her eyes, taking the last picture and putting her phone away.

“Well, this house is super fancy, who knows what you’ve got hidden away here,” he said stepping through the frame and back into the house. “Ooh, I’m not going to run into a Jabberwock, am I?” He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes again.

“That’s what you might find going through the looking glass, Mulder, not a broken window pane frame,” she said, shaking her head.

“Points awarded for not insisting, incorrectly, that it’s called a Jabberwocky,” he said dryly.

“‘The Jabberwocky’ is a poem written by Lewis Carroll, Mulder, about the Jabberwock. ‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch! ’” She quoted and he stared at her in fascinated amazement.

“God, Scully,” he stated, shaking his head and stepping past her. “How do you make a children’s poem so fucking hot? Between your device you had on you earlier and this … how’s a guy supposed to not be aroused? Jesus Christ …”

She laughed as she watched him walk out of the room and out of sight. He obviously needed a minute, and she would give it to him. She heard him sighing loudly, causing her to giggle quietly. After a few minutes had passed he walked back into the bedroom and stared at her.

“So, what do we do about the window? Have you called someone?” he asked, and she nodded.

“He’ll be here by 7, so less than an hour from now,” she said as he sighed and nodded his head, looking around the room.

“When he gets here, do you wanna go get something to eat?” he asked. “From a real restaurant with real chefs. No more of this automation bullshit. I’m starving.”

“Starving?” she teased him, and he shrugged.

“Unlike you, Scully, I wasn’t able to eat my dinner. All I’ve had since then is cold toaster pastries, and seeing as how you’ve offered no refreshments, I’m ready for some breakfast. Eggs and toast, some bacon. Mmm …” he moaned, closing his eyes.

“I have fruit in the fridge and there are some crackers in the kitchen cabinet next to the microwave. They have rosemary in them,” she offered, and he gave her a look of disgust. She rolled her eyes and smiled, shrugging her shoulders at him.

He grabbed two dining room chairs and brought them into the hallway to keep an eye on the place as they waited for the guy to arrive. She touched his shoulder as she went to the kitchen to cut up the strawberries she had in the fridge. She knew he would not refuse them if she offered them to him. Coming back a few minutes later, she handed him the bowl and sat down. Just as she suspected, he began to shovel them in his mouth.

She sat next to him and he offered her the bowl and she took one, eating it slowly. “Christ, Scully, come on …” he groaned, shaking his head. She laughed and took the next strawberry, eating it normally, his eyes cautiously turned away from her.

Twenty minutes later the guy showed up and Scully explained to him what happened. He whistled at the sight of the burnt room and shook his head, commenting that she was lucky to have gotten out unscathed. She nodded and thought how lucky she truly was, how close it was once again. They left for breakfast shortly after, another truck pulling up to help with the job at hand.

Now, finished with their meal prepared by real people, they were headed back to her place to check how things were progressing and to see what else needed doing. She still needed to call Alan and let him know what happened. Thinking about it made her sigh and hang her head. Mulder glanced over at her, and she sighed again.

“Not looking forward to explaining to Alan what happened,” she said, looking at him and he nodded.

“So, you’ll need to replace the carpet, fix the walls, replace items, check for any internal damage to that house,” he said, unlocking the doors so they could get in the car. They buckled their seat belts, and he put his hand on the back of her seat as he backed out of their parking spot. Putting both hands on the wheel, he headed toward her place. “So, you have all that to deal with, and you can’t possibly stay there of course. What’s your plan?”

She looked at him, smiling at what he was not saying. He shrugged, glancing at her before turning his eyes back to the road. “Once I know exactly what needs to be done at the house, I’ll make a decision,” she told him and he nodded.

“Well, just know that-”

“I know, Mulder,” she said covering his hand with her own. He grasped her hand and nodded again.

At the house, they found men pulling up carpet, the furniture placed outside in order to get the job done. Scully sighed as she began to go through the drawers of the dresser to see if anything was salvageable. Mulder asked where her suitcase was and went to get it for her when she said the guest room.

He came back with the suitcase and trash bags. “Just in case you need it,” he said. “I’m going to check the room some more.” She nodded, and he walked away.

Some of her clothing was fine and some had been singed through the wood. She put the clothes she would keep in the suitcase while with a heavy heart she tossed out her other things. Everything she packed would need a wash, but at least she had some clothing.

Mulder came back with a bag full of her toiletries and she smiled her thanks. “Do you have another bag? I’ll start loading up shoes,” he said and she stopped him briefly with a squeeze of his hand. He nodded and went to find the other bags in the guest room.

An hour and a half later, they had loaded up her car with items she would need. Some clothes, shoes, coats, toiletries, electronics, and other items. She called Alan and left a message to get in touch with her as soon as possible. Part of her was grateful she missed him, while the other part dreaded his return phone call.

The foreman in charge, Gary, said it would be a few weeks of work, at least, as they needed to check for major damage. Scully nodded and sighed, afraid that was going to be the answer.

“We’ll do what we can today and then board up the window. That glass has to be specially ordered,” Gary said with a sympathetic smile.

“Of course it does,” Scully sighed and then smiled slightly at him. “Thank you, Gary.” He nodded and headed back inside.

“Well, this seems fitting,” she said, putting her hands in her pockets. “Honestly, I’m surprised one of our places never blew up at some point in the past.” She laughed and he smiled.

“So many other things happened, just not that,” he nodded and put his hands in his pockets too, his eyes asking questions his mouth was not voicing.

“Mulder,” she began, but he cut her off.

“Scully,” he shook his head at her with a small smile. “It’s … you do what you want, whatever makes you most comfortable. I … it’s your decision and … the room is there if you want it, but I understand.”

She smiled and stepped closer to him, searching his face. “Thank you, Mulder,” she said quietly, her hands moving to hold his face. He leaned in and kissed her softly, his hands moving to her waist. She pulled back and sighed. “I’m going to go to a hotel. I … I think that would be best.” He stared at her and nodded, a small sad smile on his face.

Stepping back, he put his hands in his pockets again. “You want me to follow you? Help you unload the car?”

“No,” she answered. “I’ll be okay.”

He nodded and shuffled his feet around. “Well … then I should probably head home, make sure the onslaught of drones didn’t destroy the house. Maybe get some sleep,” he said with a shrug and smiled again, but she knew it was forced. She sighed, and he touched her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

Stepping back, he smiled again and this time it almost reached his eyes. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Next time, I get to pick the restaurant, and maybe we can avoid this kind of fiasco.”

“Oh, this was my fault?” she asked, waving her arm toward the house, her eyebrows raised.

“You suggested the sushi place,” he responded with a shrug.

“And you didn’t tip, which set off this whole chain reaction.”

“Tip a place that gave me a disgusting smelling blobfish?!” he said taking his hands from his pockets and raising his arms in an exasperated stance. “How was I to know those goddamn robots were going to freak the fuck out?”

“And damn near kill me?” she said with a pointed look, causing him to hang his head. Lifting his head, he sighed, and she began to laugh. He shook his head, and she laughed harder.

“It’s a strange thing to laugh about, Scully,” he said and she laughed harder, the night finally catching up to her making her feel punch-drunk. “Go get some sleep.” He nodded, and she tried to sober up enough to say goodbye to him, but she failed. He waved to her as he got in his car, and she waved back.

Standing there alone, she looked around at the house again and sighed. Staying there had been fun, and she loved the comforts it afforded. Now she was going to be in a hotel for who knew how long. She easily could have gone back to the house with Mulder, stayed in the guest room again, but she knew how that would end. No chance would she be able to resist joining him in their bed this time. No chance.

She sighed as she looked at her burnt bedroom furniture sitting outside before getting in her car. The past couple of months had been wonderful, but even the amount of amazing sex they were having did not make a relationship. They were, and always would be, friends before everything else and right now, that was how it felt … kind of. Not ‘friends with benefits’ because that would never be who they were. Their attraction and desire for one another was far too strong for that. But right now … it felt like they were treading water, standing still, and waiting for something to happen.

Her phone beeped and she picked it up, finding a message from Mulder.

Hope purple is okay. Also, I thought you could do with an upgrade.

She frowned as she read it and then her cheeks flamed as the screenshot of an order he placed popped up. A new personal massager had been ordered and would be sent to the house. His house … their house. God, she hated the uncertainty she felt about it.

In no way am I trying to persuade you to change your mind, but just letting you know it will be here. Fully charged and ready for any activities you wish to use it for. ; )

Her pulse raced as she thought of the last time her old one was used, before it had been tossed away. She remembered the feel of it against her aroused flesh, the way it was dragged across her hot skin, the vibrations of it making her moan and shake, when it was placed exactly where she wanted and needed it.

“I love watching you come,” Mulder had whispered to her as he turned it up higher and she broke with a cry, clutching at his arm, spots dancing in front of her eyes.

The scent of chlorine from their tryst in the hot tub, had invaded her senses as she came down and pulled his hand away from her, the sensations too intense. In the fumble of limbs, it must have gotten knocked from his hand and fallen under the bed. There it had remained, forgotten, as she had not been in need of it recently.

Looking at her messages again, she zoomed in more closely at the order form, mainly the timestamp on it. He ordered it when they were in the diner, while she was in the bathroom it seemed, but he said nothing until now. God, she loved him.

Shaking her head, she typed out a response, her cheeks flushed and a huge smile on her face.

Purple will be most welcome. And an upgrade with a couple new speed settings? Keep it charged up, and I’ll be sure to stop by and find out what all the BUZZ is about.

Sending it to him, she set the phone in the cup holder and put the keys in the ignition and started the car. Glancing down when she heard a beep, she grinned at the three words she saw as she put the car in drive.

Jesus Christ, Scully …

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #X Files Novel #Rm9......#Flirty dates and happiness #That handhold at the end though... sigh #I love the MSR in this episode #Even without speaking much you can see how they love each other #They invented eye sex #Its the truth

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 5 years ago

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Hi, TK anon here. Just gotta say that I'm at episode 18 of his season 1 and ASFADSFAFSFDASD I am DECEASED by this dude, he's wicked hot and stupid cute and I just want to give him the biggest hug 🤗🤗🤗🤗💞💞💞😂. Best investment I've made (if you can call this an investment 😂😂) While I'm waiting for my ticket, could I get something smutty for TK?? Maybe a quickie following the ep 16 heart scene? Thanks !!

I’m glad that you liked his route, TK anon (I’m assuming you’re referring to the anon who asked about whether or not to read TK’s route lol), and I severely agree with you; TK deserves a big ol’ hug! So yes, I’ll gladly write this for you! Thanks for your request and I hope you sincerely enjoy!

Summary: MC’s offered kiss to TK for helping her cook their dinner evolves for the best in just the swift span of five minutes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t a heinous task to maintain focus at first, until TK began flirting harder with more daring tactics. Like now, with the way he purposefully breathed against her neck with his arm wrapped tight around her waist, an anchor that kept her grounded but also ascended at the same time--a vertiginous feeling. She blushes at the heat of his breath and the small “it’s looking good so far” that he murmurs into her ear, though she had a sneaking suspicion that the rice cooking on the stove was the last thing he was referencing. MC tried to keep a firm grasp on her composure but then he’d do or say something that made her want to put their objective on the back burner and take him aside and-! She shakes her head as his flirting begins to swallow her from the inside out and become the main thing on her mind. MC wishes that he didn’t have that suffocating effect on her; things would be much easier for her heart if he didn’t. Still, his infuriating reverberation persists no matter how many times she wishes the contrary.

But to her credit there were moments where she had her vengeance and shared a brief glow of satisfaction, like when TK attempted to pry the kiss out of her early by blocking her path to a spice she needed to add to their dinner. Smirking, MC rose onto her tiptoes and neared his mouth as if she was going to indulge his desires… then sneakily snags the bottle of spice from behind him and returns to her cooking, leaving a flustered and very disappointed TK in her wake. Too soon came the moment to cave and sate him, putting an end to their flirting Olympics. “Alright,” she pardons their dinner to allow it time to cook, her arms coming to wrap around TK’s neck, “I think you’ve earned your reward now.” MC tugs him into a kiss that is sweet and gentle, warming her thundering heart, but that chastity quickly withers away as TK yearns for more. He presses her against his body hard, his teeth catching on her bottom lip as he deepens their kiss. TK and his blissfully questing tongue was all she could comprehend in this moment, the rice cooking beside them a lost thought in the face of their passion. Heat bloomed in them like a fire sparking to life--a minuscule flame resuscitated into a towering blaze. TK growls low and unfairly guttural against her mouth as he backs her into the nearby counter, his lithe body firmly pinning her against the decrepit granite. MC loses herself in that moment and hikes her skirt up, her hand grasping his wrist and redirects him from her to between her parted thighs--an invitation.

TK takes the opportunity eagerly, his fingertips feather light as they transcend under the hem of her floral skirt. Hungrily they slip into black lace and move with purpose, devoted enough to make MC clench him closer and gasp against him. His opposite hand busies itself with unbuckling his belt, trying to hastily undo his pants enough to take MC against the counter. MC pants as the fingers that were dancing in her panties withdraw and hook around her waistband, haphazardly yanking them down her legs. One of her hands fist his hair roguely as the air--much colder compared to her malnourished heat--whispers under her skirt pleasantly. TK shuffles closer to join them together and when they do, they both in turn groan as their rhythm starts. The pace is anything but gentle; fast and hard, meant to satisfy their desperation for release more than anything else. The photographer kept his touch soft when he felt the extensis of her body even as his hips moved to the tune of a different motive. MC reciprocates every touch, every kiss… everything TK offered she made an exchange for. His mouth departs from her for the first time since they had meandered to a corner of the kitchen, exploring the gentle curvature of her jaw and the tenderness of her neck with a softness she hadn’t felt from him ever before. The kisses linger and are swollen with benevolence--worshiping in the way he speckles them unstintingly. She tosses her head backwards, giving him more access to more skin, and gasps. It was surreal for the both of them to be this intimate; it was like passing the threshold of a boundary that had longed to be crossed for a while, voluptuating the territory they had already covered.

As the hot tension between them sizzled and bent under the pressure they thrust into it, the two of them became detached from the hands that tasted and sampled one another’s bodies. TK reproaches MC by kissing her hard as she moans loud enough to combat the ambient hiss of their dinner, stewing away. MC clutches him close, seeking his warmth and wanting as much of the coupling between the two of them as possible--she was hungry for more, her appetite stretched beyond what was on the stove. She wanted this to never end. To never know what it felt like to be without his arms around her, his length learning her passionately. But as empyrean as her desires were, MC was still hurtling towards the release she so desperately yearned for. Her heart flutters as much as it storms with the essence of him--of TK--given to her… openly. TK’s hips lose their staccato as he grunts, relenting his pent up pleasure just as MC does. For a moment, there is nothing else but them; entangled and breathless as they float through their simultaneous satisfaction.

Then it’s all over as their minds slowly descend from their private paradise.

TK withdraws from her wetness--stealing away a fraction of the warmth that enticed her--and looks into her glazed eyes studiously. MC, still furled in the thrill of his intimacy, pulls him into another kiss. She retains a more gentler approach this time and just relishes in the flower of love and affection that blossoms in her chest. He does the same until the sound of an aggressive hiss sounds behind them, which acts as an alarm to wake them up and alert their dinner blackening. Almost simultaneously, MC and TK break away from their stupor and hurriedly adjust themselves to tend to the food cooking--er, burning--on the stove. “The rice!” TK breathlessly exclaims. He snags the wooden spoon from the pot with one hand while the other blindly attempts to latch his belt. “I-is it still edible?!” MC mirrors TK’s frantic-ness as she grapples for her underwear, pulling the lace up back up her legs with haste. She peers into the pot to find that the rice hadn’t experienced anything terminally bad except for a couple spots where a couple had darkened. TK nods as he snuffs out the stove’s heat, his face still dyed rouge. “It barely even burned, it’s definitely still salvageable.” Bashfully, MC curses under her breath. What would the others think if they found out the food burned while TK and MC were cooking it? Surely the first resolution they’d jump to is exactly what me and TK had jumped to just moments before: an episode of excruciating passion put to rest through a quickie? ...now I don’t want to go back into the dining room. TK shrugs the occurrence off as if it was nothing, his expression stoic and not illustrating any of his thoughts. “Hopefully the others will be too hungry to notice anything.” It seemed like the two of them were going to treat this just as they did their first kiss; pretend it never even happened. The revelation makes MC’s heart sink as she helps TK prepare the food to be served.

The two of them file out into the dining room to serve their compadres and dinner flows thoroughly smooth without a single complaint about the food, thankfully. The only out-of-place thing MC could notice recurring throughout their meal is the quick glances TK sneaks at her whenever he thinks she’s unaware. Whenever his gaze lands on her, his eyes are gentle but alight--passion leashed by something fond. MC could almost sense the essay of feelings that was stashed away in his expression. Her heart flipped each and every time she caught his glance.

Apparently forgetting about the ordeal with TK Yoon would be anything but a quickie of its own.

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Thank you again for your request, TK anon! I really loved writing this for you and I hope you don’t mind the wait; my allergies have been persistent in putting me out of commission lol!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

#tk yoon #castaway loves adventure

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graybeards · 6 years ago

Text

The Other Mr. Brewer

“Mr. and Mr. Jonathan Brewer,” the invitation read. A shiver ran down my spine.

He didn’t make me take his name. He didn’t urge or pressure me, but I knew he wanted it. When he asked, I just smiled and answered, “I’d love to, Jon.”

His grin—lips curling over rows of shining white teeth at the center of his handsome face—had been worth it. He’d leaned in and kissed me, holding my head tight in his weathered hands as I admiringly ran my fingers through his thick, gray hair. We tore at each other’s clothes until he was buried inside me, whispering hotly against my neck, “Emery Brewer has a nice ring to it.” I nodded, voice lost to moans.

It was a pleasant memory. And just a few months later, I’d shrunk from ‘Mr. Emery Evans’ down to a spare ‘Mr.’ beside my husband’s. He was the sort of man who always felt larger than life to begin with, but it was unsettling to see the difference between us in print. He was a husband to me, but I belonged to him, changed as surely as a Ms. becomes a Mrs.

My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Jon Brewer: What’s for dinner tonight? Me: Want to order a pizza? Jon Brewer: Aww, I could use a home-cooked meal Me: Oh. Rough day? Jon Brewer: Yes Jon Brewer: Settlement falling apart, may have to fly to NY tomorrow Me: Poor baby 😭 Jon Brewer: I know! Grill some steaks for dinner Me: I don’t think we have any Jon Brewer: Then go get some, husband 😉 Me: Lol, ok Jon Brewer: Good boy 😘I’ll try to be home by 7:30. Be ready… Me: Ok, love you Jon Brewer: Love you too

When I put the phone down, my face was still flushed tomato red. I tended to cook for us, and for a long time I told myself it was just because I got home earlier—As a therapist, I usually scheduled appointments between 8:00 am and 4:00 pm with a break for lunch, whereas Jon was frequently stuck at the firm late into the evening—but even on weekends he’d kick back with a beer and grin while I prepared his lunch for him.

Back when we were dating, he’d encouraged me to take classes and offered to pay for them. Frankly, I enjoyed cooking and Jon’s generous compliments when I made something delicious. But he’d never been demanding about it before.

He was just teasing, I told myself over and over as I drove to the store. Yet I knew he wasn’t. Along with the steak, I picked up some sweet potatoes and asparagus, some of Jon’s favorites to round out the meal. I timed it out so dinner would be ready at 7:30 on the dot, but he walked in the door a few minutes early.

“Hello,” he said, in his trademark booming voice, from the entryway as he shifted off his jacket and hat, dropping his keys in the bowl.

“Hey,” I raised my quiet voice, “did you survive the rest of the day?”

“Barely,” he huffed as he walked into the kitchen, where I stood over the sizzling stove. I smiled, deftly adjusting the asparagus in the skillet. He came up behind, wrapping his burly arms around me as his broad chest and slight gut pressed to my back through his suit. “I’m starving,” he breathed into my ear, teasing, “I thought I said to be ready when I got home.”

“You said 7:30,” I laughed, easing my slender body back against him as his strong fingers grasped at my chest through my buttoned shirt.

He chuckled, took a deep breath through his nose, and purred, “Mmmmm. What would I do without you?” Against my ass, I felt him stiffening and I couldn’t help but rub back against it. “Oh,” he sighed, “you’re such a tease.” He lowered his hands to my hips and pushed his bulge against me. “Let me have a taste.”

I carefully lifted a slice of sweet potato up on the spatula and tipped it onto his waiting tongue. He chewed loudly before a gulp and a satisfied sigh as he humped against me. “My husband is the best cook in the world,” Jon declared as he unbuckled my belt. “But I think I’d like you to start cooking naked.”

“Is that so?” I giggled as my jeans dropped down around my ankles, struggling to reach the steak as he pushed my briefs down.

“Yes,” Jon growled, “I don’t want anything between me and this ass.” He pushed a finger between my smooth butt cheeks and made me squirm in his embrace. “It’s mine now, after all.”

“Yours?” I asked, smirking back at him.

He grinned and nodded, “You like that?”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, babe,” he insisted, pushing his thick index finger past my sphincter to make me gasp. “I need this.” I moaned when he pushed deeper, which he took as agreement. “Yeah, give me that tight ass, Emery. The smell of that steak is making me so horny.”

“I have to finish it,” I whispered the excuse, not certain I wanted him to listen as he spat down on his fingers and shoved another one inside me.

He pressed tight against me and rasped in my ear, “You vowed to obey me.” It had just been part of the vows, one sentence among many, but I remembered it clearly. He said, “And you have been. I tell you to keep the house clean, and you do. I tell you to rub my feet, and you do. I tell you to cook me a steak, and you do. And now, I tell you to give me that ass…”

His fingers slid out and pulled down his zipper, freeing his rigid, thick cock for just a moment before it sank between my cheeks and made me howl. I cried out, “Oh god, Jon,” planting my hands on the edge of the stove.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “you’re my obedient little husband, aren’t you?” His fingers tore at my shirt, popping off buttons as he pulled it off and threw it aside so I was naked before him. He held my hips and pushed forward, sinking eight inches of flesh into me until the fabric of his suit pants pressed to my smooth cheeks. “Daddy’s gonna breed you, boy.”

I moaned and howled as he pummeled his body against mine. With a struggle, I managed to turn down the burners to salvage dinner. Jon pressed his lips to my neck and kissed my sensitive skin, squeezing it between his teeth as he rutted at my surrendering hole.

He felt different that night, but not unfamiliar, like a man who had been living just beneath the Jon I knew and slowly surfacing. But I couldn’t bring myself to deny that I liked him. He pounded me fiercely, slamming deep into my insides, without touching my own rigid, dripping dick. And when I tried to reach a hand down, Jon snarled and grabbed my wrist to stop me.

“None of that, Emery,” he scolded breathlessly, “you’ll cum from daddy’s cock or nothing.” I obeyed, squeezing my fingers into the steel stove as my husband’s cock plowed through the tightness of my hole and forced me open. He put a hand on the back of my neck and bent me forward as he pulled my hips back, steadying himself as he hastened his thrusts.

“Jon,” I whined as he eagerly rubbed his thick knob to my prostate, “I’m gonna—” My arms and legs trembled as I squirmed in his grasp. A stream of thin precum drizzled from my dick onto the floor, milked by my husband’s meaty member. I leaned my head back against his hand and let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Jon grinned, sensing victory near, and pummeled my insides in a frenzy until I spewed all over the oven door to his delight.

“Fuck yeah,” Jon rasped behind me. “Daddy’s big dick made you cum. Didn’t it, slut?” He squeezed my neck roughly in his coarse fingers and leaned forward to press his lips to my ear. As he did, his cock sank to the hilt inside me and my orgasming body squeezed his shaft wildly. Buried deep, he growled against me and began a series of hasty, shallow thrusts until he practically roared in my ear.

“Here it comes, boy,” my husband exclaimed as his balls tightened. He pumped his hips forward one last time as his shaft swelled and burst deep inside me. His thick cum sprayed in ropes against the walls of my ass until it was threatening to drip out if it weren’t for the tight grasp of my sphincter around the base of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he gasped, sucking in deep, steady breaths as his warm, rumpled suit rubbed against my bare skin. His stomach growled impatiently and he laughed, “It’s way past 7:30 now, boy. Why don’t you finish up while I get undressed?” He kissed the back of my neck and said, “I’m so glad you’re mine, Emery Brewer.”

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royal-writer · 5 years ago

Text

In vain, I have struggled.

It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

---

It had to be well past midnight by the time the celebration wound down. In nightfall, the citizens of the small town hiccuped and swayed back to their homes. Drunk of meads, ales, and every liquor they could scrounge up from storage, they toppled over each other and grinned like madmen.

The smell of sweat and intoxicated fluids both sweet and bitter stung the air, and burned Essätha’s eyes. Or perhaps it was the smoke from the various bonfires, or the stench of some of the local delicacies (how on earth someone could find goblin gallbladders a delicacy was beyond her).

She couldn’t blame their glee, having had the efreeti terrorizing their village finally destroyed. It had been a hard battle fought; as proof of her companions scorched battlegear, but it was nice to enjoy the fruits of their labor. A drink here and there, a hearty meal to fill a growling stomach, and plenty of company and laughter. She tried not to indulge too much in their kindness and offerings, but the pies and cakes had been exceptionally scrumptious.

From the outline of the flames, she could make out Ravamora sleeping beside Pri’cha as they spoke to Sulhadur. She still had a sun-burnt complexion, but was at least resting peacefully after nearly becoming elven barbecue. Only the poof of her singed-dark hair was visible wrapped up behind the duo.

And the groups tallest and smallest talked the twilight stars away, Penimra was smooching up to the latest grateful lad who expressed his intent quite clearly with his filthy mouth. Everywhere. On everything the high-elf wore. Or, rather, where he didn’t.

She stood from her chair; unable to take another second of watching the young man suck on the warlock’s chest through the keyhole slot, to pace the lengthy shadows across the village. Between houses with lights still on and boastful laughter swept like a summer storm, Essie followed the strings of music playing idly from the distance. Other instruments began to join in to the new song. It sounded sad; almost melancholy, as the hum and slurred words of the bards and poets tried to recite a song she’d never heard about dwarves in the mountains reclaiming their home.

Her eyes spotted Amon situated among some of the townsfolk then. They appeared to be invested in good conversation, as she spotted his smile and quiet chuckle of his laughter. His hand expressed in gestures here and there and a flutter echoed beneath her breast upon the sight of his ease around these strangers. He appeared so naturally comfortable around them; and wearing relaxed attire, it was hard to look at him and see an aristocrat. It was not, however, difficult to see the noble man in him as he’d reach out, steadying a rather sloshed gentleman so he didn’t fall over in a stupor.

Essätha snorted to see Abe supporting a rather tipsy Adela as she teetered past her then, the Tiefling expressing her love for the town and its people. She fished into her pocket to pull out a few pieces of gold, and toss them over to the band as they passed.

“Can ya’ boys play an’thin’ less depressin’?” Adela tutted, waggling a finger at them as her expression soured. “This ‘suppose ta’be a paaaaa-rty.”

“I’m so sorry,” Abe coughed with embarrassment, wheeling her in a different direction. “She’s had a bit too much to drink.”

“I haven’t!” Adela declared furiously. “Someone defend me! Essa’ over yonder, don’t you think these-” a hiccup, “-fellas could play somethin’ a bit brighter?”

Humiliated to have the attention cast upon her, the Yuan-Ti gave a timid smile to the eyes cast upon her. “I- I suppose-?”

Muttering, the jeweler allowed Abe to sit her down in the nearest available chair. While he asked for some water from the nearest resident, Essie slipped around them to slide by the wandering eyes and locked-stares. The long-dormant dread that sat inside of her reignited like kindling to a match, fearing the judgment of too many upon her scaly features.

The attention was isolating. She suffocated on the hazy ghosts in her memory, scorning her appearance and what she was.

A curious sound of someone’s gasp followed her. She picked up her feet a bit more as her frayed nerves trembled.

“Essätha?”

She paused, but not at her name. Rather, the tone using it. Compelling and amazed; it varied in shades of gilded sun-shafts and floating clouds pushed by a gentle breeze.

Casting a small crooked smile over her shoulder, she gazed back at Amon as he picked his way from the crowd developed around where he’d sat to follow her into darkness.

“Headed to bed?”

“For some privacy, actually,” she acknowledged. “A spot of peace and quiet.”

His face fell. “Ah,” he murmured. Shifting his shoulders nervously as he approached, Amon stalled with the shuffle of his feet before he offered, “Would one more be too much company?”

An untamed grin pressed against her lips. “Depends on with whom you speak.”

His brow rose at her tease, and the Illiad responded with a handsome wild grin of his own. “Myself. Unless you would rather I dis-invite?”

She giggled, grateful that the darkness swallowed her. It would hide the flush of her cheeks burning in answer to his mischief. Her insides quivered restlessly from her own self-inflicted embarrassment.

“No, your company is perfectly welcome.”

Amon sighed gratefully; the sound an airy breath. Her eyes felt conflicted, unsure if it was truly the affects of the fire reflecting in his gaze making them appear so glistening and warm, or if it was just himself as the light bathed against his backside like an ethereal glow. It added to the encouraging softness of his smile as he offered a hand, which she took. Hard calluses, but a careful touch.

Darkness. The stars illuminating in his black gaze.

Gods, she could drown in his eyes.

She moved, turning to lead them away from the traffic of footsteps and noisy chatter. The first footsteps felt unsteady, still floating on a high, feeling lifted by the nobleman’s calming presence.

He remained silent. The texture of his hand moved against hers as he squeezed upon her palm, and traced his digits along hers. His wrist’s pulse touched hers, and her sweaty hands reacted with a leap of from her already racing heartbeat.

She’d sell all she had to have him touch her so fondly once more.

The music began to fade into the background. The aroma of churned soil from farmland fields filled her nostrils, and she breathed it in deeply, staring out on the outskirts of civilization. The twinkling of stars and holy sight of the universe stared back at her from its distance. Hundreds of lights. The brightest yet beside her.

Amon gave her a few moments to absorb the sound of crickets chirping and the distant cry of an owl, before he broke the spell, flexing his fingers against hers.

“Do you like it here?”

She kept her eyes fixated on the farmhouses and nearby wooded area, mulling over his question.

“I appreciate the freedom of the open air,” she relented, not sure if it was an answer to the right question. “It’s nice, just to observe sometimes. Be a passing stranger rather than the focus.”

Amon moved his boots restlessly through the dewy grass. “… Would it bother you, being someone’s focus?” he rasped in a distant, quiet voice.

She dared to turn her head to look up at him. The hues of his hair melted into the black of the sky. He appeared paler than usual, like he was afraid, as he turned his gaze to face hers as well.

He swallowed. “I apologize. I would hate for you to feel strangled by my presence.”

Quirking a small smile, Essätha shyly twirled a lock of hair back out of her face, glancing away. “Don’t worry, I don’t. Actually I feel…”

She licked her lips, moving to search his face. Intense, vulnerable, awaiting her with breathless anticipation.

“… quite liberated, when you’re around.”

The nobleman exhaled, and she breathed in. The tense feverishness in the air evaporated as their gazes tore apart

A few seconds ticked by. She leaned closer to the heat of his body.

“I don’t mind being the center of attention,” she breathed timidly. “When I’m the center of your attention.”

“That’s… good,” Amon strained. “You are the center of my attention frequently.”

“Am I?” she whispered, glancing up at him.

“Yes.”

The hoarse want didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the searing way he looked at her, scorching new burns into her. Not surface burns; blistering skin as the efreeti had done. These were different kinds of engravings. Scribbled on her soul, he traced her face with her eyes, and the flush ink of red within it.

Whose thumb started moving first? His, or hers? They both moved, drawing symbols into each others hands as their sights got lost each other.

“I think about you a lot, too,” she mumbled, and immediately regretted it. Stupid. She couldn’t make that sound any less foolish if she’d tried.

But he smiled, nonetheless. There was a glimmer of understanding in the shine of his gaze, and the creases of amusement by his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” Essie continued, hoping to salvage her image. “You make every day brighter and better than the last. I… I don’t like to think of where life could have taken me without you in it.”

“You taught me that my story matters, and that I have a voice to tell it. Being around you has given me the chance to see the world differently, and I’ve learned so much about myself and about how the world can be forgiven. You’ve given me courage. I just needed to listen to the individual, rather than judge what I’ve heard before.”

“You’ve made my life more genuine,” she expressed in a hush. “You’ve made every adventure more unbelievable. I’ve learned the impact of how a small gesture of kindness can shape someone’s beliefs. I’ve learned that not all strength is the kind people use to flex their muscles. You’ve given me a lot to think about and grow on. Your passion to put your heart into all your endeavors and surpass any goal is admirable. Your best intentions and brilliant ideas have challenged me to work harder to improve myself in the best ways.”

“And I thank you, for being there. For trying to understand, and never judging me. You accepted me with open-mindedness. You listened with a compassionate heart, and never wavered from words.”

“I’m really grateful that you’re here,” Essätha finished, feeling her throat tighten as she smiled up into his beautiful face. “I’m grateful that you stayed.”

He turned to face her fully. Taking her free hand, he smothered her fingers beneath hers as he raised them. Cradled against his chest; nestled just below his collarbone.

“I stayed for you,” he reminded her hoarsely. “I stayed because of you.”

Her heart ruptured as Amon raised her hands, gracing the back of her skin with his lips as he spoke in a thick voice: “Have you any idea, how precious you are to me? Your beautiful heart, your kind soul, your thoughtful actions- you are saintly. Divine.”

“The world should not be granted someone so gentle and sweet, yet here you are. I’ve been reminded the act of kindness and its power witnessing you. You’re a gift, and you keep on giving without fail to everyone you meet. You offer that adoring smile, a patient ear, a place of comfort to be heard and held. How could I not be inspired by such generosity? You are woman only deserving of only the best things in life; the trust and loyalty you give returned, your kindness returned tenfold.”

“I feel braver now, with you, then I’ve felt in all my life. I feel sure of direction when I had none before. I know I can speak my mind, and that even if I am clumsy or my ideas rash or filled with fault, that you will be considerate, and that you will only improve upon and build what I have to say. You haven’t turned away a single thing I’ve done or said as dismissive, but rather, showed your character in your perseverance.”

“I’ve never felt more safe with someone, then I do when I’m around you,” Amon gently admitted, tracing his lips along her fingers. “I would do anything to protect you, and your heart, in the same ways you have mine. You’ve put up such a hard fight for so long, Essätha. I’m humbled you’re willing to believe in me enough to be open. I’m honored to have witnessed your selfless mercy. I will never take you, or your goodness, for granted.”

She swallowed, but the lump in her throat did not dissolve. Wiggling her hands free, she grazed her fingers along his cheeks. His palms stroked over the back of her hands, weaving his digits along hers as she held his face.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” he choked. “Anywhere at all.”

She gave a breathless gasp. “What about Briarton?”

“What about it?”

“That is your home. You are its Lord-”

“Amelie can take my place,” Amon reminded her. It was deja vu. Similar words said a lifetime ago, when he’d been so determined to throw his life away to go to the dungeons.

“I want to be where you are. I want to go where you go. Where ever you go, wherever you want to stay, that is where I want to be, too.”

“Briarton, the Emerald Expanse, they can continue on without me,” he whispered, clutching her hands desperately. “But I can not go on without you.”

The soft hope lighting his expression melted her. Essätha urged him a little closer, beads of liquid clinging to her lashes.

“Take me with you. I can live in Briarton. I can live anywhere, as long as you’re there.”

He was close. Intermingling breathes. Only a short lean on her toes. His eyes half-closed, slightly parted lips, the stutter of his heartbeat as her hands ghosted down to grip his jerkin, and he lowered his hands to reach for her waist.

“I could settle for mistress-”

“Mistress?” Amon practically growled, pulling her closer. “I would throw out anyone who dare use the term.”

“Really?” she whispered, pressing against the outline of his chest slowly. “What would you call me, then?”

He exhaled shakily, following the curve of her back with his hands. “My darling Essätha.”

A rush of heat spilled into her face, and she glanced away. Her pulse was all-too aware how incredibly close he was. The warmth of his breath was against her temple, the curve of his smile hovering just before her. The slightest glimpse, and their lips nearly brushed. She could almost taste his joy.

“Do you hear that?”

Her ears rang beneath the sound of racing heartbeat. She shook her head.

“I enjoy this song,” Amon breathed, cradling her closer. “Would you care for a dance?”

Barely able to fill her lungs, she slid her trembling arms around his neck in wordless agreement. He pulled her closer, cradling the small of her back and beneath her shoulder blades. With a tilt of his face, his forehead rested lightly against her own.

He had the most enchantingly beautiful smile she’d ever seen.

The tune from the band drifted clearly in their direction, and as they swayed slowly from side to side, Amon pulled her closer. Plucking of strings, the brush of a drumsticks gently across a surface, ivory keys tapped with careful fingers. It was pure magic, filling space with art itself.

Investing herself in a great sigh, Essie allowed all the tension in her body to dissipate. He was warm and steady against her. Her heart clawing to the surface, catching the bouquet of flowers from the blooming garden in his own that he offered. He felt strongly of home, in his arms.

A delicate hum echoed in the nobleman’s throat, following the melody. Then, softly, he began to sing.

“Wise men say: only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you.”

She gasped weakly, digging her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck for security.

“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can’t help falling in love with you?”

She quivered. It started from the top of her head, and made her shudder all the way down to her toes.

He continued to hum, running his hands down the slope of her spine, catching her shivers and with every stroke. She dared herself to catch his eyes, and they were smoldering beneath the half-lided veils. Moonlight catching, dancing off the depths of the sea.

Amon leaned in, breathing softly against her ear, tickling her hair, “Take my hand, take my whole life too; for I can’t help falling in love with you.”

She tugged his hair by the roots gently, barely catching her breath. “M’lord Amon.” A plea. A wish. A sigh of longing, his name filled the very definition of love.

The faint impression of his mouth moved from her earlobe, skimmed her cheek, and brushed her lips.

“Promise you’ll stay,” Essätha barely murmured. “Promise me you’ll love me, for I give to you my heart, and all the love it contains for you with it.”

The shape of his smile against her lips made her heart flutter.

“I promise.”

And he sealed his vow with the a tender kiss. The most beautiful, gentle, loving, committed kiss. The kind you could never forget. For some things, simply, were just meant to be.

#royal writes #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #ammy come cry with me gd it

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jinris · 6 years ago

Text

where you don’t see me

(wip)

a/n: well, i started writing this after season 6 and never got around to finishing it before season 7. this was supposed to be canon-compliant but now it’s...not lol and i have very mixed feelings about s7 so i’m impulsively deciding to dump some writing. i had about 7k words but i’m sharing only 2k here. k/a is still one of my fav vld ships so i might finish this eventually or it might go in my vault of abandoned wips who knows

---

Morning arrives on the barren moon in pale green. The crisp air bites her exposed face as Allura wakes with exhaustion weighing on her at the break of dawn. Her weary eyes, not yet ready for the new day, refuse to open. Enviously so, no one else seems to stir. Next to her, Pidge and Romelle are still asleep, and Allura decides to indulge in the comfort of her blanketed cot for a little while longer.

She tells herself not to think. Not about Voltron, not about Olkarion, not about Lotor. She builds herself a wall. Soon, her breathing slows. Her senses drift farther and farther away. Just as sleep begins to salvage its lost victim back into its trenches, warm fur tickles her back and nudges her leg. Easily guessing the culprit, Allura curls deeper under her blanket, but curiosity persuades her to turn around and confront the wolf.

Allura meets the cool surface of her pillow and comes face-to-face with Keith’s bright-eyed wolf, watching her attentively. Smiling tiredly, she reaches out and gently pets the wolf on its head, who responds obediently by leaning in to the touch.

“Keith trained you well, didn’t he?” she asks the wolf quietly, so as to not wake the others around them.

It seems to understand her and nods proudly. Hearing noise outside, its ears perk up and its head turns in the direction of the source. Light footsteps tread from beyond the shielded canopy, and Allura sits up from her cot, her messy, white hair cascading down to her waist. She scans the rest of the makeshift sleeping quarters and discovers only one cot empty.

The wolf scampers from Allura’s side, exiting the tent, and Allura feels compelled to follow. Climbing out of her cot, Allura smooths out her nightgown and soundlessly slips into her Paladin boots. She heads outside, and when she lifts the entrance of the tent, a strong gust of wind blows into her. Allura grimaces and clutches her nightgown tighter. She ventures further out and finds Keith with his back facing her, kneeling down and feeding his wolf a small snack before breakfast.

Hesitantly, she walks forward, until her heavy boots reach Keith’s crouched shadow and Keith’s wolf turns to look at her. In the back of her mind, Allura wonders if she’s allowed to interrupt them at all. Since their last interaction, Keith hasn’t even looked at her, let alone talked to her. It chips at her pride. She doesn’t know what she has done wrong.

Moondust grazes past her cheeks, lands in her tangled, unbrushed hair. Keith glances over his shoulder, and his eyes widen when he sees her. It suddenly occurs to Allura that she hardly looks presentable and mild horror shocks through her system.

“Princess, you’re awake,” he says, standing up to greet her.

“Good morning, Keith,” she responds. She tugs at the hem of her sleeve nervously and resists the urge to fix her atrociously improper hair.

“Is everybody else…?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just us.”

Keith takes a moment to process the information before he flashes her a smile. He’s more expressive since finding his mother and returning from the quantum abyss. Right now, he seems almost cautious, Allura thinks, and the mere suggestion of a growing distance between them stings her chest.

“That’s fine,” Keith finally assures.

Allura replies with a shy smile of her own. She notices the revealing dampness of his skin and the ends of his hair, drying in clumps against the back of his neck.

“Were you training?” she asks.

“Not for long. I didn’t want to do anything that would wake someone up.”

“That’s quite considerate.”

For a moment, neither speaks. It’s Keith who breaks the silence.

“We should leave in a few hours. That way, we reach Olkarion before the end of the day.”

“Right. Good idea,” says Allura, sounding more disappointed than intended.

“We could leave earlier –” Keith starts to suggest, but Allura rushes to explain herself.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it that way! Nothing like that. I’m just…” Allura trails off, causing Keith to frown in concern.

“Allura,” he asks, “Is something wrong?”

Keith’s tone is remarkably gentle, leaving space for Allura to breathe. She bites her lip and exhales slowly, unsure whether or not to proceed. Searching for affirmation, she anxiously glances at Keith, who stands in front of her waiting patiently for her response. Warily, she decides to tell him.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Allura doesn’t want to mention how her thoughts have tormented her for movements, how they have persisted despite opening up to Lance back in the Castle. Irritating locks of her hair fly wildly as the wind rises again.

“Like what?”

“I…”

She can’t breathe. If Keith finds out what she had done with Lotor, how she had let something so fleeting like infatuation blind her to the truth, he would probably never forgive her.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit down.”

Allura nods. She doesn’t miss how he almost extends his hand to her but decides against it at the last tick, like he already knows that her hands and her lips have been tainted.

---

They sit next to each other at one of the tables they use to eat meals and speak in hushed tones. Allura can feel its cool, steel surface through the thin layers of her nightgown and sleeping garments as she presses her crossed forearms into the sharp edge.

Her fingers clench tightly around Keith’s dark blue blanket, draped delicately over her shoulders. Keith had snuck in past Shiro and Hunk’s sleeping figures to retrieve it when a sudden blast of wind had nearly blown Allura’s nightgown off her body earlier.

“…I liked him so much, Keith,” Allura confesses in a horrified whisper, her walls finally crashing into dust and ashes. She can’t read the expression on Keith’s face. He’s not angry. He’s not jealous. Part of Allura wants him to be. She desperately needs to know what he thinks. Instead, he just listens. So she continues.

“He said all the right things. We were so alike. I…I thought he was my soulmate. It all happened so fast, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I helped create a monster.”

Suddenly understanding, Keith’s face falls and he leans back, contemplating the right words to say. He’s not good at giving advice, but memories of Shiro’s lectures and all the times he had gotten himself into fights, ruined second chances, let his own emotions control him, flood into his mind. Keith studies the anguish and heartbreak in Allura’s eyes, and as much as it makes him want to touch her, dry out her tears before they fall, tuck loose strands of wispy, silver hair behind her ear, he doesn’t.

“It already happened. You can’t blame yourself forever,” Keith says quietly, carefully. “Emotions are a part of you. They tell you things that words can’t. I was so angry for so long. But you learn how to control them.”

Allura manages a halfhearted smile.

“Shiro used to tell me ‘patience yields focus.’ Acknowledge my emotions. Be patient. I wasn’t always good about it, but it helped.”

“Patience…” Allura muses out loud.

“…Yields focus,” Keith finishes for her, grinning.

Wordlessly imagining the retired Black Paladin reciting his mantra, Keith and Allura share a reserved laugh.

Allura sighs, relaxing her shoulders.

“What happens if he comes back? He has access to unlimited quintessence.”

“Voltron will defeat him,” Keith responds squarely.

“How can you be so sure?”

Keith pauses while he stares at her and Allura’s breath catches in her throat. He averts his gaze for a moment before looking directly in her eyes.

“We have you.”

It’s uncanny how Keith is always there to catch her when she stumbles, both figuratively and…literally. Allura tries to hide her amused smile as she recalls the time Keith had caught her trying to sneak out of the Castle. When Keith looks at her curiously, Allura blushes and sheepishly waves off his concern.

They fall into a comfortable silence at the table, and like the calming wind, Allura feels so much lighter. Wrapping herself tightly in Keith’s blanket, she leans in against the table and stares out at the morning horizon. When she pulls the blanket up to her rosy, wind-chilled cheeks, the addictive fragrance of juniberry soap laced with a scent so distinctly Keith drowns her senses. The pale green sky is brighter now, delineating the evident passage of time of which they had lost track. Allura supposes that the others should be waking soon.

She feigns indifference, but she watches Keith quietly take out his Marmora blade from the corner of her eye. In stark contrast to his usually aggressive demeanor, he gently runs his thumb over the glowing jagged insignia, and Allura bites her lip, inadvertently wondering about how it would feel to be the recipient of that soft touch, to be the object of Keith’s warm affections. Whoever Keith falls in love with would be lucky, she thinks.

With piercing sharp focus, Keith begins to practice gripping techniques, slashing the air in small, controlled movements. Allura has always found Keith’s dedication endearing, his natural talent intimidating. Without realizing, she gravitates closer to him to observe his extraordinary skill in fascination.

When Keith finally notices her watching, he stops and looks at her, completely unaffected.

“Do you want to try?” he asks her plainly.

Taken aback by the blunt nature of his invitation, Allura’s eyes widen.

“I…May I?”

Her eagerness reveals itself in her tone and Keith smirks.

“All yours, Princess.” He flips the handle and offers it to her.

Allura casually leans in and her hand coyly reaches out to grab his Marmora blade, still warm from Keith’s tight grip. She studies the combat knife in its entirety, acknowledging the exceptional craftsmanship and admiring the quintessence-infused luxite. It dawns on her then that this knife, very much like her own crown, had been passed down by his mother in his infancy, and a momentary rush of sadness overcomes her. She can easily imagine how treasured and important this rebel blade must be to Keith.

Sentimental but resolute, she demonstrates her proficiency with a basic forward grip, slicing in a clean, diagonal motion.

“Not bad,” Keith remarks.

“Show me a reverse grip,” she orders, nearly shoving the blade in Keith’s face.

Keith smiles apprehensively but his eyes dance with childlike excitement. His hand catches her slim wrist and decidedly lowers the blade from his face.

“Not if you’re going to stab me,” says Keith, quirking his eyebrow.

Allura blushes.

“Sorry.”

“I’m kidding,” Keith replies, cracking a teasing grin and causing Allura to blush harder. “You want to hold it like this.”

Without a second thought, he moves next to her to adjust the blade and position her hand. Now distressingly aware of their pressed shoulders, Allura stops breathing and stares as Keith smoothly slides his hand from her wrist to clasp hers, leaving behind a scorching field. She refuses to look up. She can’t face him.

Sensing her stiffness, Keith turns to her.

“Allura,” he starts, and Allura jerks her head toward him at the sound of her name. “You have to –”

Their eyes meet, inches apart. Keith forgets what he intends to say.

“Oh! Allura! Keith! You’re both awake!”

They jump and separate at the loud, startling interruption. Allura gasps and both let go of the blade at the same time, but before it can hit and clatter on the table, Keith quickly swipes his blade back onto his belt. Like deer in headlights, they turn to meet their maker.

Coran emerges fresh-faced from under the canopy, cheerfully stretching out his legs. He walks over to the pair, thinking nothing of the obvious heat steaming from their ears.

“I hope you’re not too hungry, Princess! I’ll get to breakfast right away!”

Keith promptly and dramatically springs up from the table.

“I’ll help.”

“Gladly appreciated, Keith! How do you feel about cracking some kotka eggs?”

“Sounds great, Coran,” Keith grimaces, hurriedly following Coran and leaving Allura behind at the table without a second glance.

When she’s sure neither of them are looking, Allura collapses and buries her face in her arms. She can’t shake the image of his warm, calloused hand over hers from her mind. Inhaling sharply and holding her breath, Allura pleads her heart to stop pounding so furiously. Patience, she tells herself. Be patient. She breathes out slowly and takes another deep breath. Closing her eyes, all she sees is dark, shining violet.

#keith #allura #kallura #voltron #f: voltron #c: keith kogane #c: allura #p: kallura #i already wrote the ending to this and i'm so proud of it but who knows if i'll ever finish writing the middle #i'm gonna go focus on my other fandoms now bye

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