#and then he grabs them by the scruff of the neck and merrily takes them along with him to help run the city more efficiently | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaskierrrrrr · 5 years

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the four times Geralt refuses to admit he and Jaskier are friends and the one time he does???? aka I have a lot of feelings about my boys?? enjoy

***

The first time they meet, Jaskier immediately opens his mouth and doesn’t shut it again for God knows how long. Geralt finds it hard to keep track of what he’s saying; the sentences pour from his mouth like wine from a pitcher. He learns his name is Jaskier, he’s a bard and his sworn enemy is someone called Valdo Marx, all in about 30 seconds, and all unprompted.

Despite his annoyance at the bard’s- Jaskier’s- incessant talking, there’s a part of him that’s actually happy that someone’s willing to treat him like a normal man. Where the other patrons of the tavern had moved as far away from him as possible, Jaskier has no issue sitting across from him, leaning forward as he gesticulates wildly, pausing only to pause for breath or to shift the strap of his lute back up onto his shoulder.

‘So,’ Jaskier says brightly, snatching a sip of ale from Geralt’s tankard and ignoring the scowl on the Witcher’s face. ‘Where are we heading off to?’

Geralt can’t help but smile in amusement as he rises from the table. ‘We?’ he asks. ‘I don’t remember inviting you.’

Jaskier jumps up, falling in step with a soft smile. ‘You didn’t need to. What kind of friend would I be if I let you go off to fight monsters alone?’

‘We just met,’ Geralt points out; they’ve reached the stables and he greets Roach with a soft pat. ‘And I’m not your friend.’

Jaskier rolls his eyes. ‘I never said you were. But I’m your friend, and I’m coming with you, so there’s no point complaining.’

Geralt has nothing to say to that, so he doesn’t bother trying. He mounts his horse and sets off towards the mountains, and if he’s going at a slower pace so that Jaskier can keep up, well, that’s between him and Roach. *** The next time, Geralt hears Jaskier before he sees him. The bard had been travelling alongside Geralt for a couple of months when he’d mysteriously informed Geralt he had business to attend to.

‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, winking as he packed up his lute, ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’

And now here he was. As Geralt rounds the corner, rolling his shoulders that ached from his latest fight, he sees Jaskier perched on Roach singing merrily. To Roach’s credit, she seems to be tolerating it remarkably well- normally anyone other than Geralt trying to approach her causes… issues.

Jaskier catches sight of Geralt and his eyes light up. ‘Geralt!’ he calls, delighted.

Geralt just rolls his eyes. ‘I thought you knew by now not to touch Roach,’ he says, but his tone is mild.

Jaskier slips from the horse, amusement sparkling in his eyes. ‘Oh, I forgot the Golden Rule!’ he laughs. ‘So, my friend, are you ready to tell me the epic tale of your latest heroic deeds? Or would you like to hear my latest ballads first?’

Geralt snorts. ‘I think I need a drink before I’m subjected to that.’

Jaskier smiles and wrinkles his nose. ‘And a bath too, by the look of it. You smell worse than Roach.’

He pats Geralt on the shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he says, leading Geralt to a nearby inn, ‘I’ve got rooms for us here.’ ‘How did you even know where to find me?’ Geralt asks.

Jaskier shrugs his shoulders. ‘Consider it as just another of my numerous talents,’ he says mysteriously, and Geralt just sighs before following him through the doorway.

***

Geralt really, really doesn’t know how Jaskier’s managed to rope him into this. It seems to be a talent of his; Geralt’s gotten into more ridiculous situations in the ten or so years he’s known Jaskier than in the rest of his life. Which is why he finds himself leaning against a pillar in a spacious banquet hall filled with the sounds of laughter and life, keeping a weather eye on the bard, who’s currently serenading the wedding party with love songs.

He’d practically begged Geralt to come as his protection.

‘It’s not my fault that I’m so desirable,’ he’d sighed, throwing himself into a chair, ‘can I help being so handsome that people want to sleep with me?’

Shaking his head in amazement, Geralt had replied, ‘Jaskier. You slept with the bride and the groom. And neither of them knows about the other’s infidelity. And you want to play at their wedding?’

Jaskier had looked up with pleading blue eyes. ‘Yes?’ he’d said, and so now Geralt was standing awkwardly in uncomfortable formal clothes that Jaskier had decided to force him into, as if him just having to be there wasn’t bad enough.

He sighed in relief when Jaskier finished his final ballad with a flourish and roguish wink to the crowd. He makes his way over to Jaskier, who rolls his eyes at the scowl on Geralt’s face.

‘Oh really, it wasn’t that bad, was it? You just had to listen to your very best friend sing for a couple of hours. Sounds like a very pleasant evening to me.’ He grins up at Geralt, but then catches sight of something behind him that causes the smile to slip from his face.

‘Ah,’ he says, ‘we should probably make a hasty exit.’

Geralt raises an eyebrow. ‘Why? Is the bride coming to kill you?’

Jaskier gulps. ‘Worse. It’s her mother.’

Geralt rests his head in his hands. ‘For fuck’s sake, Jaskier,’ he sighs, already grabbing the bard by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the exit. ‘I don’t know why I put up with you.’

Jaskier laughs. ‘Cause we’re best friends, silly!’ ‘Hmm,’ replies Geralt.

***

Oxenfurt is a bustling and lively place, bright with its brightly coloured roofs and narrow cobbled lanes filled with students and scholars, but Jaskier’s smile is the brightest thing of all. It’s been a couple of years since Geralt last saw him; Jaskier rarely accompanies him on quests any more, always blaming his age. To Geralt, he was as young as ever- the crow’s feet barely noticeable when compared to the vividness of Jaskier’s eyes, the grey in his hair nothing compared to the youth he exudes whenever he sings or talks.

He tries to visit him as often as he can, happy to sit by the fire and tell Jaskier everything he’s missed, happier still to hear Jaskier’s stories of his students and research. This time, Jaskier isn’t expecting him, so Geralt wanders the halls of the Academy, idly listening to the chatter of students, until he hears the voice he’s seeking.

‘Geralt!’ Jaskier calls over the shoulder of the random professor he’d been in deep conversation with. He strides towards him, grin stretched wide across his face, and claps Geralt on the shoulder. ‘My oldest friend, how are you doing? Have you missed me? Come, tell me what’s been keeping you so busy lately.’

Geralt smiles. ‘I’m well, Jaskier. I trust you are too?’

They make an unusual pair, especially in Oxenfurt. There are a few whispers around them, not of malice, mostly just curiosity, as they make their way down the corridor, easily falling into familiar rhythms.

‘Of course,’ Jaskier replies, ‘although I would undoubtedly be better if you would finally call me your friend.’ There’s no anger in his tone, only the fondness that came with a well-worn argument.

The corners of Geralts’s mouth tug upwards. He’d missed how easy it was to just be around Jaskier. ‘Surely after all these years you aren’t still expecting me to say it?’

Jaskier meets his eyes, and there’s something in his expression that Geralt can’t read. ‘One of these days,’ he says softly, ‘you’ll finally be able to admit it.’ He pauses, his expression almost sad for a moment before a smile returns to his face. ‘And I will never let you forget it,’ he laughs triumphantly, and Geralt can’t help but join in, both their voices bouncing off the walls.

***

It takes another decade for Jaskier’s prediction to come true. It’s been a particularly cold winter, and the wind whips through Geralt’s hair as he follows the winding path. His cheeks are smarting by the time he reaches Jaskier at the top of the mountain.

He freezes when he sees him, struggling to find the words. After several long moments, he finally opens his mouth.

‘Well, here we are,’ he says. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually about to say it.’ He pauses, frowning. ‘Actually, I can’t believe it took me so long to admit it.’

He looks away, up at the clouds swirling above them and focuses on the few white flakes that have started to float down from the sky. ‘Jaskier. You are the best companion anyone could ask for. And I hope you know-’ Geralt’s voice cracks, and he drops his head, breathing in the cold air for several long seconds before he’s able to continue. ‘And I hope that you know, that I’ve always considered you my best friend. Even if I never said it out loud until now. I hope you know.’

Geralt raises his head and sets his jaw, nodding once at his friend before turning and walking back down the path, the cold freezing the wetness on his cheeks.

And as the snow falls like dust on his best friend’s grave, Geralt doesn’t look back.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #my writing #i made myself sad #i love them so much #geraskier #fic #sorry im posting so much

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beeblebrox-be-damned · 5 years

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Drive Him Crazy (Part 7)(A bit of Christmas Fluff!!)

Dark!Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader

Christmas normally gets me really down (moreso than usual), so I wrote bit of Christmas fluff to cheer myself up. More to come later uwu

Without the lab to go to, you were at a loss of what to do. Over the next month after the incident, you spent your time trying out various hobbies.

Sewing was a bust. It seemed you fingertips were magnets for the sharp ends of needles. Knitting went in much the same way, though the needles weren’t as sharp and mostly you just got your hands tangled in yarn. It seemed that everything you tried was either too boring or too frustrating to keep up with.

As the holidays drew nearer, you made up your mind to take up cooking. You were decent, but you were sure you could improve. Surprisingly, you took to it fairly well. Steve seemed quite impressed, and the domesticity of it was quite pleasant for both of you. At times Steve almost felt like he was back in the 40’s, with a doting housewife and baby on the way. It was addicting.

The domestic bliss carried over into the rest of life too. You threw your heart into being the best Omega you could, since you couldn’t distract yourself with working outside the home. Days spent cleaning, something you used to hate, now were rather enjoyable. You could work without Steve hovering over you as though you were made of glass.

One month before Christmas, you decided you wanted to decorate. With quite a bit of cajoling, you managed to get Steve to relent to your whims. A trip to the store, with Steve accompanying you protectively of course, yielded strings of lights and classy ornaments, as well as a few other odds-and-ends. (Which included a very odd little kit that Steve insisted on getting but would not let you see yet. All you got a glimpse of was the silhouette of a very pregnant lady on the package cover.)

Of course, no homey Christmas is complete without a tree. Clutching Steve’s hand tightly in your own smaller, mitten-clad one, you trudged merrily through the snow. The Avenger’s Compound was located on many acres of woodland, which included many stands of evergreens. You had been fine with settling for a plastic tree, but Steve insisted upon having an authentic pine.

Breath clouding in front of you, you turned and looked at Steve. He was carrying an ax, sharpened and ready for whichever tree you determined to be suitable. Unbothered by the cold, he wore a plain plaid shirt covered with a thick jacket you had forced him to wear. Snow flakes settled in his hair and the scruff of a beard he’d been cultivating. You wanted to kiss him until each one melted away.

You, unfortunately, were dressed very heavily. Steve wouldn’t let you out of the compound into the bitter winter air without every stitch of winter wear you owned covering your body. You had protested, but he was every bit as stubborn as you and won out eventually. Your jacket puffed out everywhere, and he had cheerily forced a hat upon your head that even covered your ears. You swore you looked like the Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters, much to your chagrin. When you had said this, Steve only grinned and patted your belly, telling you it looked terribly cute.

The snow wasn’t too deep, thankfully, or your legs would’ve hated you. You were in good shape, you were an Avenger after all, but the layers of heavy clothing, huge snowboots, and the baby-weight you’d put on were all very hindering to your general movement. Finally tired of walking, you stopped and plopped down on a fallen tree after swiping some snow off of it.

“I’m done walking,” you huffed, “we can find a tree here, yeah?” Steve glanced around the small clearing you’d entered, nodding.

“Looks good to me, little one. See anything you like?” He gazed over the trees, taking off his jacket so he could better maneuver his ax. His muscles rippled beneath his shirt delectably as he tested the weight and swing of the tool.

Your tongue swiped over your lips as you watched him. “Well, for one, you standing right there in front of me.” It was no secret your libido had been sky-high as of late, something Steve often took advantage of.

He grinned and shook his head. “Woah there little girl, it’s too cold for that kind of talk.” He stretched one more time, just to tease you. “I meant, do you see a tree you like?”

You scanned the area, finally settling on a modest sapling. It was around six feet tall, not too big or too small to make a good Christmas tree. It was coated in snow, but the green needles peeked out at you invitingly. You lifted your hand and pointed, then realized it was probably a bit hard to see where you were pointing considering it was a bit hard to see your fingers, removed your mitten, and pointed again. “That one looks nice. What do you think?”

Steve walked over to the tree, brushing away snow. “Looks perfect to me,” he said, clearing snow away from the tree’s base.

“Are you sure it isn’t too big? We walked quite a way and I don’t want you to have to carry it so far if it’s too much,” you fretted. Steve chuckled.

“Honey, this tree is tiny. I’ll have no trouble with it.” He took a swing at the tree’s base, making a sizable dent at the first try. “Y’know,” he said as he worked, “once I carried Bucky two miles in two foot-deep snow?”

“Really? Dang. What happened?” You leaned over as a wood-chip flew past your ear.

Steve laughed, beginning to explain the story as he finished cutting the tree and the two of you trudged home. “Well, you see, Bucky had gotten a bit too tipsy the night before at the base…”

Steve made sure both you and the tree made it home in one piece. By the time you got back, all the snow had fallen from its branches, leaving it ready to be decorated. Once the two of you had wrangled it in and out of the elevator and got it into the apartment, you were buzzing with excitement. While Steve situated the tree in its water-filled base, you set to work unboxing ornaments and lights and tinsel.

The tree looked perfect. You and Steve had worked for over an hour to get it decorated just right, the display looking stunning. You grinned as you looked at your handiwork, handing the star to Steve. “One last touch.”

Steve pressed the star back into your hands, then grabbed your hips and lifted you easily. It wasn’t that far to the top, and you were light as a feather. You placed the star on the tree, connecting it to the strand of lights so that it lit up too. Steve sat you back down, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin atop your head. “Perfect, ‘Mega. Good job.”

You grinned at the praise, a chill of happiness shooting up your spine. You tilted your head backwards and planted a kiss on the underside of his scruffy chin, then wriggled out of his grasp. You reached for a strand of unused tinsel, winding it around your neck like a fancy feather boa. You shot Steve a playful look, grinning. He shook his head and laughed, then a look of excitement flashed over his face. “I’ll be right back,” he said and left the room.

He returned a moment later with an unopened shopping bag. “Sit down and close you eyes, okay?” You looked at him warily, but sat back on the couch and let your eyes fall shut. You heard the rustle of packaging and raised your eyebrow. “Just what are you up to, Rogers?”

“Hush and let me work,” he said. You could practically hear his shit-eating grin. You flinched and giggled as he pushed your shirt up over your belly. You felt something cold on your belly, and you yelped. It tickled, whatever it was. “Hold still, little one,” Steve said, concentrating.

The ticklish torture lasted several minutes. Finally, Steve sat back and let you open your eyes. You snorted as you looked down at your belly, laughing.

The kit Steve had gotten was a Christmas-themed set of skin-safe paint, intended to be used to decorate a baby-bump. Steve had done just that, painting a large green wreath with a red bow on your skin. In the center was something you couldn’t quite read all the way. Steve grinned.

“It says ‘Alpha’s Christmas present’,” he said proudly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You smiled, face burning with embarrassment and affection for the valiant Avenger.

Before you could react, Steve had whipped out his camera, snapping a photo of you. “I plan to get one of these every year,” he said, swiping his tongue over his lips. You raised your eyebrow.

“Every year?” you asked incredulously. Steve had talked like that before, but it was during coitus and you’d never thought about it seriously.

Steve smirked and nodded, standing up and pulling you to your feet. “Every year,” he said, planting a quick kiss on your nose and then a longer, more sensual kiss on your lips. “Now, how ‘bout you let alpha get a sneak peak at his present?”

You blinked, stepping back and trying to process what you’d just heard. “Steve, every year? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” You could hardly imagine it, bouncing young pups on your hips while struggling with more on the way.

Steve frowned, nudging you to sit back down on the couch. He kneeled in front of you, kissing your painted belly. “No,” he stated simply, “I don’t.” He trailed kisses down your belly, leaning you back so he could reach every bit of the skin between your navel and pelvis.

“B-but, I can’t take care of that many,” you stammered. You’d be overwhelmed, and likely never able to return to work as an Avenger.

Steve chuckled, reaching the rim of your sweatpants and tugging them down your hips, your panties traveling shortly behind. “Yes you will, Omega. And I’ll be there to help.” His lips ghosted over your folds, his breath warm against the sensitive skin.

“But you have work!” you exclaimed, shaking your head. “I can’t take care of that many kids every day, especially not if I’m pregnant. I have a hard enough time doing regular tasks as it is without having to worry about taking care of pups!” Your belly was quite a struggle to work with as it grew.

Steve smiled and placed a firm kiss over your clit before he rose and pressed a kiss to your lips. “You won’t be alone all day,” he rumbled, nipping your lower lip. “I’m going to cut back on missions.” His hands caressed your swollen breasts, teasing your sensitive, pert nipples through your shirt.

You raised your eyebrows. “What? But the team needs you. They need me too, we can’t just abandon that!” You pushed at his shoulder, trying to stave him off while you discussed this matter.

With one hand he unzipped his pants, baring his cock. He rubbed himself as he smiled at you, groaning as he spoke. “Omega, I’ve made it clear you aren’t going to be back on missions for a long, long time. I already told the team.”

Your jaw dropped. “You wha- ah..!” Your protests were cut off as he parted your legs and entered you in one swift motion. You fought back a moan as he rocked his hips.

Steve’s lips found your’s once again as he started to fuck you roughly, getting his point across. You were his. “And with all the new members, I only need to go on major missions. Maybe twice a year, or even less.” His hands locked on your hips as he rutted into you.

You whimpered as his thick, pulsing cock massaged you walls, dragging in and out of your soaked cunt with a learned precision. He knew every part of you, every place to hit in order to drive you towards your climax. “I’ll be here for you all the time,” he rumbled, his lips dragging over yours, “with all our pups. It will be perfect.”

His lips found your bond-mark, mouthing the sensitive scarred area. You shivered and whined, melting beneath him despite yourself. The sensations were clouding your head. “St-eve,” you panted, “I-”

“Shh,” he soothed, silencing you once more with a kiss. His thumb rubbed your clit. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your body jerked and your walls spasmed, milking his cock. He spilled into you with a loud groan. “Shh, it’ll be okay, ‘Mega..”

Knotted and unable to separate, Steve lifted you up and laid back on the couch, sitting you on top of him, straddling his hips. His hands kneaded your sides as he admired your painted, burgeoning belly. “It’ll be perfect, Omega,” he repeated. “A perfect family.” TAGLIST:

@stupendousshepherdloverpony @imsonick @auroussss

#dark!steve rogers #dark marvel #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o au #a/b/o marvel #christmas fluff #pregnancy #pregnant reader

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especially-in-heaven · 3 years

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HOW TO TAME AN OUTLAW - Allan A-dale/OC Fanfic

FANFICTION LINK | CHAPTER 1 |

Prologue: A Girl with a flower crown

8th September, In the year of our lord, 1183.

Wrap. Tuck. Pin. And hope for the best. Be careful not to prick your finger.

Or at least that was the advice Elaine had learnt to making a flower crown. Actually, choosing the flowers was the hard part as the colours needed to work together. Yellow daffodils for the base, Elaine Walker smiled with satisfaction, and for decoration, a bunch of lilac's threaded through. Once she tucked the last pin in place, she held it out to herself, turning and twisting to admire her work. The girls were already playing in the field. If she waited any longer, she'd miss the travelling festival through the village, going onto Knighton and with her mother's strict rules, she wasn't to leave the boundaries of Clun.

Three solid raps on the door followed. Sarah was outside. She always made the best crowns. pink roses intwined with ivy. Elaine was meant to ask where did she find such beautiful flowers inside the village?

"'Lainey, are you coming?"

"Just two seconds." She called back, firmly placing the crown on her head and twirling. Before she left, she caught her reflection in the edge of a kitchen knife. Lovely.

She was just about to leave when her sister hobbled up behind her. With sticky fingers, she grabbed the ends of Elaine's white cloak and begged in a whimper, "Can't I come?"

"That's up to mother." She dismissed.

"Mumma says I can come if you'll look after me."

"Ugh, Meghan. I just want to go to the festival. I don't have time to make another crown."

She could see Sarah waiting outside. They planned to go together; she didn't want to keep her waiting so shoved Meghan aside and fled. The festival music chiming from the hills where the cherry trees grew. In the soft wind, the air infested with a confetti of pink petals. For once, Clun Village was charmed with banners and music.

Arms wrapped between one another, her and Sarah giggled together until their legs beat their heads and they started racing to the top. Elaine won, only because Sarah's dress held her down. They joined the fray of other girls dancing merrily to the tunes. The long grass not fazing them, nor the mud already worn down on her white silk dress. Sarah was quickly dragged by the elbow, a nice man with a nice beard twirled her around. Elaine continued to clap to the beat, forgetting completely -as the band continued through the village, up past the cherry trees and into the trees - her promise to her mother.

"This is brilliant!" Sarah found her again, beaming merrily. Her face red from dancing with the stranger, and new addition of rose flowers prickled in her hair. "Why don't we have festivals every day like this."

"Because not every day is Prince Richard's birthday."

Flutes played - Oh god, how she loved flutes. Dancing to its mellow tune until she'd spun so much the world did also. Nothing felt better than the forest pines under her feet, watching as the leaves twisted in circles as she moved her body.

The trees parted and Knighton hall appeared on her left, Elaine jolted to a stop. She'd only just realised how far she'd gone.

Never had she travelled this far without her mother or father. They'd sometimes come to trade her father's crops for wool here. She recognised the market stand. The Apple tree looked familiar. And Maid Marian of course, everyone knew her. Rosy cheeked and gorgeous, merely thirteen years of age. She didn't join in with the dancing, simply observing with a smile until a young boy took her hand. Sir Edward, her father, rolled his eyes and she giggled, already swept away by the boy into the crowd.

Elaine turned her attention back to her current predicament. She hadn't meant to leave the village, but the music and dancing spun her thoughts away until it was too late.

Needling through the crowd of white, she found Sarah. Two men in either hand and spinning so fast it hurt Elaine's eyes.

"Can I steal her for a second?" She asked, fighting back the panic swirling through her head.

Sarah escaped and Elaine pulled her aside. She urged quickly, "How are we going to get back?"

"Back?" Sarah gaped, "I'm not going back, I'm staying with a friend in Nottingham once this festival ends."

"You never told me that!"

"I didn't realise you needed to know."

Elaine slammed her leg down, in a tantrum of frustration. "Well what am I going to do now? I told mother I wouldn't leave the village and I completely forgot! I don't know how to get back to Clun."

"It's easy. Just follow the path back." But the festival was already moved so far past Knighton hall that the forest edge had disappeared around the corner. "Or come to Nottingham with me and we'll travel back tomorrow with my friend's family."

"Mother won't like that."

"She'd rather you be safe," Sarah reasoned sensibly. Rather rushed, Sarah looked back at the festival. It's music and colour radiating the air, and Elaine knew she wanted to get back to it.

"I should start walking," Elaine decided. Already, she'd held Sarah back and her many suitors would be waiting to twirl her around again. The girls were moving fast into the age of trying to find husbands, and for Sarah it was paramount with her recently deceased father to secure financial safety.

"If you want to do that. Just please be careful."

Be careful. Yes – outlaws and beasts lived deep in the heart of Sherwood forest. Elaine wasn't sure what was worse. The tales of yellow eyes monsters, with fangs, leaching on the innocent. So many bedtime stories, that she didn't know if they were tales supposed to be about outlaws or animals.

Sarah was quick to dance back to the party, and Elaine turned with Clun in mind. The forest loomed closer with each step and so did the spike of her heart. Beating. Pumping. The image of outlaws with fangs and patchy skin came to mind. She was sure she saw one or two peeking around the edge of trees – no, that was just her imagination.

They hadn't turned any corners during the dance, had they? She truly couldn't remember and decided to carry on straight with each turn in the road. The forest grew in an arch above her and she couldn't even make out where the sun was to work out her direction. God. Was she lost? Breathe, breathe, breathe… the skies darkened, trees became silhouettes. The constant thought that her mother must be so worried about her, kept her moving. Every whistle of wind, rustle of leaves and owl hoot sent Elaine reeling. She surely hadn't been dancing this long, so why was she walking so far?

"Tom!" Someone hissed. A human voice. An angry human voice.

Elaine jumped. She hadn't heard anything but animal noises for the past hour. She spun, trying to work out where it had come from. She could only see trees. Green blurred around her as he eyes pricked to hear anything even slightly differently-

Something moved. Startled, Elaine stepped back. Without a plan, her body on instinct dashed to the side of path. Maybe if she got to the trees she could hide. Whatever it was, heavy footsteps followed after her. Pinching her eyes shut, preferring not to see whatever it was. Suddenly, a great weight slammed against her. She tumbled forward, head moving faster than her body. Rush of blood swam to her head. Barely managing to catch herself with her hands before she hit the mud.

Roughly, she was pulled around and something hard pushed against her throat. She wanted to scream, but a strange stillness took over her muscles, paralysing her in place.

"Give me all your money!"

"I don't – I don't have any money. Please."

The boy pushed the object harder into her neck.

"I said give over the money!"

He was only a boy, no older than Elaine. His hair ruffled and dirt smudged into his face. If he was an outlaw, he certainly didn't look like the pictures Elaine had painted in her head.

Behind him, another figure approached. I'm outnumbered, she thought in a stir of panic. Thump, thump, thump – was that the sound of another person approaching. No – Just the sound of her heart. She needed to think clearly. Scrunching her nose up to stop the pulsing, she focused on the scene in front of her.

The approaching figure looked similar to the boy, but older. Muscles more defined and beard growing through. Most noticeably, his eyes were a piercing blue. A brother, perhaps?

From the scruff of his neck, he tugged the younger boy on top of Elaine up, like a dog would their pup.

"Tom," the older one growled, "What are you playin' at?"

"What was I playing at?" The boy – Tom – echoed, "I was thinking about getting a decent bed tonight. Or do you wanna sleep on this floor again?"

"Oi, you were the one who ran away from home. I just followed."

Tom jabbed a finger at Elaine. It was then she noticed a knife hadn't been in his hand, but a very blunt stick. She'd been afraid for nothing. "Allan, we wanna live this way, we gotta steal from the people."

"I didn't want to live like this." the older one snapped, clearly irritation by his younger brothers' behaviour. "But she clearly don't have anything. Do you see a purse?"

Whilst they fought, Elaine considered crawling away. However, as the conversation turned to her on the floor, so did their eyes and soon both of them were staring back at her.

"We don't need money, maybe her cloak'll sell for something?"

"Tom, are you thick?"

"What?"

The older one groaned, his eyes popping from his skull. "She's a girl. How's it going to look if we go into Nottingham with a girl's muddy cloak and try and sell it."

Elaine clung the cloak around herself. Her mother had hand stitched this herself and was the most lavish thing she owned… but if it came to it, she'd gladly take it off and give it to them if it meant saving her life. Grabbing at the ties, she undid it and shook it from her shoulders. With trembling hands, she offered it to them.

Neither of them noticed for a minute, still bickering amongst themselves the way siblings do. Then, slowly Tom frowned and took note of the cloak offered to him. Viciously, he snatched it from her grip.

"Ah, see, the girls got some sense. She knows we'll kill 'er otherwise."

The older one snatched it back. "With what? A stick… here, take it." He offered it back kindly, his voice smoothing out as he spoke to her. "We don't want your cloak."

"Allan. That's good money there!"

Elaine shivered, "You're – You're not going to kill me?"

"No," Allan puffed a laugh as if the very idea was ridiculous and was now crouched in front of her. "My brother's the biggest wuss I know, I doubt he'd be able to hurt you."

Tom heaved a huff, "Shut up will you."

"Maybe don't go around, tackling teenage girls then, you idiot."

I just want to go home. Her father's warm embrace was waiting for her, as was her mother's carrot soup. She promised she'd keep it steaming for her. Edging up, she felt confident enough that they wouldn't harm her again, at least while the older brother was there. She made sure to keep him in between them as she rose from her knees.

But as she went to stand, her heel caught the back of her dress and she tripped again. Expecting the hard thud of the forest floor, Allan's arms instead caught her wrists and she remained standing.

"Uh – thank you."

"Look, I'm sorry about my brother. He's a right pain in the arse." Tom rolled his eyes and sulked off into the darkness of the trees. Elaine hoped to never see him again. "Just – uh, please don't tell anyone about this."

If she got out of here without getting killed, she'd be thanking them. Instead of saying this pathetic line, she simply nodded.

Allan mumbled a quite thanks and turned off the forest path to find his brother.

Almost alone again, Elaine spun in confusion. The fading light had gone now and all that was left was a shimmer of moonlight and stars seeping through the trees to guide her way. She didn't even know what way she'd come from.

"Do you…" Finding her voice, she tried again, "Do you know which way Clun is?"

Allan shrugged but looked around as if he'd find a sign that would give him the answer. "I'm sorry, I've got no clue. I'm not from around here. But there was a village just a bit down there that had these pink trees in it."

Delight sprung through her and every ounce of fear she'd just felt immediately evaporated. "Thank you so much!"

"Uh- don't mention it," Allan shrugged, his face darkening in shadow the further he backed away, "Good luck."

"You too," She sung happily. Not bothering to wait around to be attacked again, Elaine sped off, the wind ripping a thousand miles per hour across her ears. She had no intention of being attacked again.

As Clun Village sunk into her vision again, she looked to the sky and said a little prayer for Allan, the blue-eyed wanderer. His brother would surely get him in trouble if he wasn't careful.

#robin hood bbc #bbc robin hood #robin hood #allan a-dale #httao #fanfiction #myfanfic #myedits #how to tame an outlaw #elaine walker #alliene #aka my otp

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Self-Promo Sunday: Poison Ivy

Summary: A ridiculous and silly little ficlet about what happens when an OTP who can’t keep their hands off each other come in contact with poison ivy.

I was inspired to write this after my husband got into some poison oak while doing yard work. Lucky for me, I'm not at all allergic to either poison oak or poison ivy. I could roll in the stuff and not be affected. So then I thought, what if our OTP wasn't so lucky? ;)

Words: about 1,500

Rating: T for references to workplace sex

On Ao3 until Sunday, December 8th, 2019

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @xhookswenchx @teamhook @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose @distant-rose @delirious-latenight-laughs@optomisticgirl @spartanguard @profdanglaisstuff @tiganasummertree @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @snidgetsafan @branlovestowrite @scientificapricot @stahlop @hollyethecurious @shireness-says @winterbaby89

Sheriff Emma Swan made her arrival to the station so loudly known that it made Killian jump. And pirates are normally difficult to rattle. Emma stomped, kicked a chair, cursed loudly, and tossed her red leather jacket violently across the room.

"That woman," she fumed, pacing with her hands on her hips.

"I take it the weekly meeting with the mayor went well," Killian noted dryly as he sipped his coffee.

Emma rolled her eyes as she perched on the edge of Killian's desk with her arms crossed. "Do you know what she had the audacity to suggest?"

Killian raised both eyebrows. "Can't say that I do."

"She suggested that the two of us were using the station to . . . to . . . " Emma blushed uncharacteristically as she gestured vaguely with her hands. "Engage in . . . workplace sex." She turned absolutely crimson when she finally blurted it out, then got up and began pacing again. "She said we can't keep our hands off each other in public, so naturally she had to assume we’re making good use of our time alone here. Those were her exact words, Killian! Can you believe her?"

When Emma turned to her husband, she was irritated to find him smirking. One eyebrow was quirked, his chin was dipped, and his tongue slid scandalously across his bottom lip. "I'm afraid I can believe her, love. Or have you forgotten the way we used my desk just yesterday?" He then lounged back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the top of said desk.

Emma threw her head back and groaned in frustration. "That was just the one time -"

"And the time on your desk, and the time on the cot in the cell, and the time against the bars in the cell, and the time with the handcuffs -"

Emma cut him off with a hand to his lips. "You've made your point." Then she sighed, her hand still pressed to her husband's mouth. "But we're going to stop. As in right now. Got it?"

She could feel Killian's warm lips spread into a smile beneath her hand, and as she gazed into his eyes, she thought for about the hundredth time how expressive those blue eyes could be. She read them like a book in that moment - and they screamed that he didn't think she had the self control. Then he had the audacity to part his lips and swipe at her fingers with his tongue.

"Killian Jones!" she screeched as she yanked her hand away.

"Alright, Swan," he laughed merrily, "we will be nothing but business from now on."

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

Emma's side ached and her calves protested as she ran full tilt through the woods. A month of peace in Storybrooke, and she had gone completely soft. This was what she got for making sex her main source of exercise (although Killian was rather good at giving her a thorough, full body workout). She jumped over a log and winced as the shock reverberated through her legs.

"Through that brush!" Killian shouted ahead of her as he veered to the left.

Emma almost immediately heard Tootles shout in protest as Killian shoved his way through a thick cluster of bushes. Since her husband seemed to have caught the miscreant, she took a moment to breathe, bending over her knees as she clutched her side. Killian made his way through the thick undergrowth, hauling a scowling teenager by the scruff of the neck.

"What is this?" the kid screeched, swinging at Killian without making any impact. He was short for fifteen, and rather soft around the middle with a head of curly red hair.

"You were vandalizing public property," Emma panted.

Tootles sagged in Killian's grip, his expression turning suddenly repentant. "I'm sorry. I swear I won't do it again."

Emma crossed her arms and scowled at the former lost boy. "You've said that before. Your foster parents said the next time we picked you up, to let you sweat it out in the holding cell."

"What!" Tootles eyes went wide with shock.

"You heard her," Killian muttered, shoving the boy forward, "now march."

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

Later, Emma would have to admit that she had no defense for what happened next. It wasn't as if one thing just led to another. Oh no. The whole way back to the station with Tootles, she had replayed in her mind how Killian had looked racing through the woods. The way the muscles of his backside clenched in those tight jeans of his. The way he didn't even get winded. How lithely he had sped over roots and fallen logs. So by the time they had returned to the station, called Tootles parents, and got the juvenile delinquent locked up, Emma was positively hot and bothered. Which was why she followed Killian into the filing room.

And why she had locked the door behind her.

She would never hear the sound of a slamming drawer the same way again.

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

The first sign of something being amiss was Tootles. His scratching was so loud, it was distracting Emma from her paperwork. Then the boy was whining that he itched, and could he PLEASE call his mother. Killian snapped at him to shut up.

But then Killian started itching, too. Emma thought nothing of it at first; he was always itching behind that damn ear. (Honestly, it was adorable.) It was also nothing new for him to itch at his scruff occasionally, or even his chest hair. But soon he was scratching so much it drew Emma's attention.

"Killian!" she cried out.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he looked down at his good hand.

"I tried to tell you," Tootles whined from behind the bars. "Now can I call my mom?"

"No," Emma and Killian snapped simultaneously.

Emma looked sadly at the bright red rash covering Killian's hand. His clothing had protected most of his body, but the rash crept up his exposed chest, along his neck, and up around his ears. She could even see a red rash beneath the scruff on his chin and cheeks.

"Oh baby," she sighed in sympathy as she reached out to run her hand through his hair, but then she thought better of it, and gave his shoulder a squeeze instead.

"What is it?" Killian wasn't even looking at her as he asked, just staring in horror at his reddened hand as he scratched at his chest with the curve of his hook.

"Poison ivy," Emma explained. When she saw the look of horror on her husband's face, she rushed to explain, "but not really POISON, like dreamshade. It just gives people a really bad rash."

Emma bit her lip as she looked over her husband then at an equally red and splotchy Tootles. It was clear the plant wasn't something found in Neverland or the Enchanted Forest.

"And you didn't think to warn me before I went barreling through it?" Emma winced at Killian's words, but as she watched him scratching his neck carefully with the pointed end of his hook, she knew he was simply cranky and miserable with the itching.

"I'm sorry, babe. I've lived most of my life as an urbanite. I can never remember what the stuff looks like. The saying is . . . what? Leaves of three let it be? I don't even know. And does that mean three points on one leaf or three leaves on the stem?"

"Well it doesn't bloody matter now," Killian muttered, rubbing his affected hand up and down his jeans. "What am I supposed to do?"

Emma sighed and grabbed the keys to the bug. "I'll go get some Calamine lotion."

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

Dark Star Pharmacy was completely empty, so Emma asked Sneezy to tell her all that he knew about poison ivy. The dwarf was thrilled to be asked for his professional assistance, and told her more than she ever wanted to know as he rung up the Calamine lotion.

"And make sure he washes his hands - er, hand," Sneezy continued as he handed her the bag, "if he touches anyone with that ivy sap still on his hands, or other parts of his body, it will spread the rash."

Emma froze as she took the bag, the color draining from her face.

"Damn it."

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

Regina Mills stood smirking in front of a very sheepish (and very red, very blotchy, and very pink) Sheriff and Deputy of Storybrooke.

"You know, I would have expected this from the pirate. But you, Sheriff?" Regina's mouth twitched as she looked at Emma, barely containing her smile. "I would have expected more self-control from you."

"Shove it, Regina," Emma muttered as she squirmed in her seat, rubbing her jean-clad rear end against the hard leather of the booth at Granny's.

Unfortunately, there were some places you just couldn't scratch in public.

#cs ff #self promo sunday #cs future fic #cs fluff #cs humor #cs and poison ivy

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tiny-cloud-dragon · 5 years

Text

Random Bits: FF7 04 Ch2

[Setting - Zack has just had a tooth pulled, and has been handed off to Cloud, who now has to get his drugged up friend home]

[Location - Infirmary - Cloud and Zack are making their way down the hallway]

Cloud patiently lead Zack down the long corridor of exam rooms towards the Infirmary waiting room, doing his best to keep him upright, while Zack stumbled along like he had two rubber legs and was trying out for life time membership to the Ministry of Silly Walks. Zack would most likely been able to walk a semi straight line, if he hadn't been too busy giggling and staring at Cloud.

Cloud's head had turned into a balloon. It was big, and bright yellow, and it had his face drawn on it in black marker. The drawing was crude, nothing more than a collection of simple lines, yet it looked exactly like Cloud, down to the line doing duty as the mouth matching his familiar frown. The balloon bobbled and jinked as he walked, trailing a few inches behind him from the string that disappeared into the neck of his shirt. His head bounced a bit on its string as Cloud stopped to readjust his grip on Zack.

Zack stifled a laugh, reached up, and slowly batted Cloud's head, watching it drift sideways, then back.

"Please stop."

Zack sniggered and did it again. Repeatedly

"Can you..? Hey...knock it off--! Stop that...hey--!" Cloud stammered, trying to fend off the playful slaps as his head bobbed frantically. He lost his grip on Zack, who slid to the floor with a whoop.

The sketch of his face frowned down at Zack. "What was all that about?" he asked as his head slowly rotated 360 degrees on his string neck. Zack looked at him with glassy, dilated eyes and exclaimed as if sharing a private joke, "Dude, your head!"

Cloud gave him a patient look, reminding himself that Zack was still high on sedatives and anesthesia. Nothing he said was going to make any kind of sense. Cloud heaved him to his feet and continued lugging him down the hall.

Zack forgot about Cloud's balloon head as he concentrated on trying to walk. His legs had turned into rubber bands, and he was having a hard time keeping them coordinated. His left leg kept stretching out really far ahead, while his right stretched out and back in random directions every two seconds.

Navigating the waiting room was a nightmare. Zack's legs kept getting tangled in random chair legs, and trying to snap anyone who walked by. This meant that Zack was really unstable and kept almost falling on his face. It was then that he had an Idea. Unfortunately, it was one of those Ideas that only seem good because you are drunk. It was a Drunk Idea. His brain cells gathered together, still marinating in chemical bliss, and started bouncing ideas around.

Hey guys, listen...it's the legs...Yeah, the legs! It's all down to the legs!

So?

So it takes two to walk, right?

Yeah, but we keep falling.

Yeah...

so if we get rid of the legs, we won't fall?

Yeah! No! No, then we can't walk!

But we also can't fall...

True...But, wait, wait! If we keep falling with two legs, then how about we add more legs?

More? That's a stupid idea!

No, guys, listen. listen! Like what if ... What if we had four legs instead of two?

Why four?

Well, tables have four legs. Have you ever seen a table fall down?

No, but we've never seen a table walk either.

Yeah, but we've never seen one fall. And do you know why?

No.

Because...because tables are stable!

Hey, that rhymes!

Tables are stable!

Okay, four legs it is!

The Idea made perfect sense, so Zack Shifted.

Cloud abruptly found himself trying to hold on to a giant black wolf with four spaghetti legs. While four legs did lend certain amount of increased stability, it also meant that the Brain had more legs to sort out and keep coordinated.

Zack managed to stand perfectly balanced for all of five seconds, before he attempted to take a step and did a frantic, high-speed impression of Bambi on ice. Cloud tried to grab him, missed, and could only watch helplessly as Hurricane Zack stuck.

Legs went everywhere as he skittered and slipped wildly across the waiting room, crashing through rows of chairs, skidding back and forth across the room like a furry rocket, tossing furniture in all directions, obliterating the activity center, knocking over the sign reading "No Running" and doing a perfect drift through the magazine rack before his front legs went out from under him and he slid into the hallway carpet on his face.

Cloud looked at the swath of destruction, then looked at the nurse who was just a pair of terrified eyes barely peeking over the edge of her station desk. He stood absolutely still for a moment, just in case the earth was going to be kind enough to oblige and open up and swallow him.

Yeah, I'm going to have to pass.

But I saved you! Twice!

The best I can do is a little crack, maybe big enough for a foot.

Forget it. See if I ever save you again.

Cloud called down to Maintenance to come clean up as he picked his way through the rubble and grabbed Zack, who was standing in the hallway leading to the Lobby, barking at his reflection in the big glass windows.

"Hey!Hey! Hey, you!" Zack barked at the big black wolf on the other side of the window. "Hey! I see you! Hey! Hey!" Cloud's balloon head bobbed up behind the other wolf like a yellow harvest moon rising.

"Moon! Moon! Moon, moon, moon!" He turned and looked at Cloud as he grabbed a handful of his fur to stop him from running off. Zack looked at the yellow, frowning balloon and howled, "Moon, moon, moo-oooooooooonnnn!"

"Shhhhhh! Stop that!" Cloud hissed at him in ELITE. "Let's go home. Come on." He began tugging him down the hallway towards the Lobby.

Zack seemed to have gained enough coordination to allow him to walk, or at least stumble around without falling. He was quite proud of himself. The sun was shining brightly through the window, looking pretty fly in its black sunglasses as it waved merrily. It's bright rays fell on the smiling tulips lining the hallway, swaying from side to side in peppy rhythm as they sang, while birds in snappy top hats chased away rain clouds and threw confetti. Zack started prancing and singing along.

Cloud winced as one of Zack's giant doggo clod-hoppers landed on his foot. He did his best to keep his feet out of the way as Zack pranced along beside him like a drunk spider tap-dancing on a trampoline and singing 'Tiptoe through the Tulips'.

As they neared the Lobby, Cloud began to realize that there was no way he was going to drag Hecking High Zack from the Main Building, all the way to the parking lot. They made to the Lobby, and Cloud pulled Zack over to one of the clusters of comfy looking chairs. He looked at Zack and said sternly in ELITE,

"Sit!"

Years of ingrained military training planted Zack's fluffy butt on the carpet without even asking his brain for permission.

"Stay!" Cloud added as Zack rolled his head and looked at him upside down with his tongue hanging out.

"Good Moon Moon!"

Zack watched as Cloud trotted away to the Reception Desk to arrange for a car, balloon head being towed jerkily behind him. The lights in the Lobby were bright, shining down from neat rows, while the chairs in front of him were lined up, marching into the distance. He thought he heard the quiet susurration of a large crowd waiting in anticipation. More lights suddenly snapped on, and from the orchestra pit below the stage, a familiar ragtime tune began to play. Someone tossed him a top hat and fancy cane, and Zack rose to his hind legs as a hush fell over the crowd...

"The car will be here shortly, General" The receptionist said, hanging up the phone. "Lieutenant Haskins said it should be about five minutes and...um," she trailed off. Cloud looked at her for a few moments waiting for her to give him the rest of the details. She kept looking at him, then glancing at something to his left.

The skin on the back of his skull tingled, bunching up as if trying to physically turn his head itself. His other senses got in on the action and started drawing his attention to other small signs that something was off.

There were more people than usual hanging about. Sure, the Lobby was rarely empty, but the people who came in were usually just passing through, moving purposefully, not hesitantly passing by, or outright loitering alone or in groups. And they definitely didn't stand around with their phones out as if recording something. And there was a song playing, but as far as Cloud knew, there was no radio in the Lobby...

Cloud squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and steeling himself for what he might see. He turned, and was gut punched by the same feeling a parent gets when they turn around to see that their toddler has discarded their clothes and is doing a buck-naked impromptu performance of The Nutcracker in the middle of the grocery store.

Some idiot was two verses in to 'Hello! Ma Baby!' and Zack, tongue lolling in a wolf grin was Michigan J. Frogging his way back and forth across the seating area.

Cloud hid his face in his hands.

Are you sure you can't just swallow me?

Sorry, pal. No can do.

"Go about your business!" Cloud snarled at the assembly. "And you, Bill Roberts*," Cloud said pointing at PFC Eugene Perkins, the one who had been singing, "You get double Fire Watch duty for a week!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Perkins said with a disheartened salute.

"If you get that video to my desk in the next fifteen minutes, I'll knock it down to two days." Cloud said as he snatched Zack by the scruff before he could make another pass.

"Sir, yes, sir!" came the grateful reply.

"Come on, Moon Moon!" Cloud said, dragging Zack to the Lobby door just as the car pulled up.

To Be Continued.

*Bill Roberts - provided the original vocals for Michigan J. Frog in “One Froggy Evening"

#final fantasy 7 fanfic #final fantasy vii fanfic #cloud strife #zack fair #clack #if you squint #zack x cloud #ff7 fanfic #ffvii fanfic #final fantasy 7 fanfiction #final fantasy vii fanfiction

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arianakristine · 6 years

Photo

Title: Like My Mirror Years Ago AKA The Prompt That Won’t Be Written

CHAPTER 11

The next day felt strange.

She wasn’t used to this kind of town. The small kind, the one where things don’t change and everything stays the same. She sticks out in a town like this. It’s why she prefers the big cities she can disappear into.

And of course, she now had the added spotlight of being the birth mother to the mayor’s kid. After the strained yet honest conversation with the sheriff yesterday, she knew that the town must have a keen eye on the boy.

She glanced out the window, noting the morning bustle. A brown and tan vehicle affixed with telltale lights atop drove to the parking lot just beside the diner, and her spine straightened. She had a plan, after all. If she was going to feel comfortable in this town, she was going to have to spend more time with the man.

And learn to ignore the sharp mix of familiarity and desire that pricked her each time their eyes met.

A knock sounded on her door, and she jolted in surprise. She crossed to the door and opened it, expecting blue eyes but meeting dark ones and a fangy smile.

“Did you know the Honeycrisp tree is the most vigorous and hearty of all apple trees?” she says abruptly. Her voice is unnatural in its attempt at pleasantry, stilted and coarse. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, calculating and sharp. “It can survive temperatures as low as forty below and keep growing. It can weather any storm. I have one that I’ve tended to since I was a little girl. And to this day, I have yet to taste anything more delicious than the fruit it offers.”

The mayor holds out a bright, shiny red apple and she stares at it suspiciously. The monologue wasn’t exactly what she was expecting. “Thanks,” she said warily as she took it in hand.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy them on your drive home.”

Emma barely kept the knowing smirk from her face. Ah, that’s what this was about. “Actually,” she said with a sneer. “I’m going to stay for a while.”

Regina’s chin raised, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Henry has enough issues. He doesn’t need you confusing him.”

Her brow raised and her shoulders squared, though she put on an unassuming smile. “All due respect, Madam Mayor, the fact that you have now threatened me twice in the last twelve hours makes me want to stay more.”

“Since when were apples a threat?” she asked, brow arching.

She barely kept from rolling her eyes. “I can read between the lines,” she muttered. She planted her feet and tried not to glare at the woman. “Sorry. I just want to make sure Henry’s okay.”

Regina pursed her lips. “He’s fine, dear. Any problems he has are being taken care of.”

Emma looked at her suspiciously, dread prickling her spine. “What does that mean?”

Regina leaned forward. “It means I have him in therapy. It’s all under control. Take my advice, Miss Swan. Only one of us knows what’s best for Henry.”

She thought about the sheriff’s resigned gaze, the ‘I don’t think she can.’ Sure, she knows what’s best. “Yeah, I’m starting to think you’re right about that,” Emma replied coolly.

Regina glanced off as if to verify the empty hallway before she glared back at her. “It’s time for you to go.”

Emma huffed. “Or what?”

She glowered at her. “Don’t underestimate me, Miss Swan. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” She flicked her hair back and strode down the hallway after the blatant threat, taking the rest of the fruit with her.

“What the hell does the woman have about apples?” Emma muttered and set it down by the nightstand. She grabbed her jeans off the chair by the dresser and yanked them on. She needed to get out of this room if she was going to make any progress.

By the time she got down to the counter at the little diner the bed and breakfast was attached to, it was fairly busy. She had seen from the corner of her eye the man in the window booth, but was ignoring his presence for now. She needed to wait to have coffee in her system before she could begin. She needed that armor before speaking to him.

A local paper was on the counter, so she grabbed it to glance through as the waitress made her way to her. She sighed at the mugshot on the front. “Seriously?” she muttered.

“I’m sure you’re usually photogenic.”

She didn’t even have to glance up. She didn’t even have to hear his voice. She could feel his presence appear at her side. “Yeah, usually,” she replied with a sigh.

“Mugshots are always a little stark,” he said somewhat apologetically, and moved to sit next to her.

She peeked up at him and swallowed. So much for being caffeinated. “Is that speaking from experience?” she challenged.

A slow smile crossed his face, dimples apparent behind the scruff of his beard. “Well, I do tend to take them, Miss Swan.”

She couldn’t help smiling, her head ducking as she tried to cover it. He was so damn disarming. He caught her off-guard in a way that was both off-putting and alluring, and god help her she wanted more of it. She folded the paper a couple times over and flung it to the side. “Did you come here for the coffee, or was there another reason for your visit?” she asked bluntly.

He raised a brow, but took a long sip from his mug. “This is an everyday occurrence, being here,” he said, his accent light and plucky. “But yes, I suppose I could check in on you while I’m here. See what your plans are.”

She opened her mouth to answer something about not needing to clear any plans with him, when a mug was slid across the booth by the smiling waitress.

“I think you have an admirer,” the brunette said with an air of teasing, and then rested her chin on her palm as she looked between the two conspiratorially.

Emma glanced down to avoid her gaze and the idea that the instant connection and familiarity with this man might be noticed by others. She noted the swirl of whipped cream dusted with cinnamon, the smell of chocolate and spice tempting. She smirked. “Thank you, but I did not order that,” she said, and then flicked her hair back to look at him accusingly. “Though I’m impressed you guessed that I liked cinnamon on my chocolate.”

He looked amused, his dark blue eyes twinkling. “I didn’t send it.”

“I did,” a voice chirped from a booth a couple feet down. A dark head popped up, grinning merrily. The kid. “I like cinnamon, too.”

She felt herself soften as she saw him. He sounded so cautious, but his eyes were bright and his shoulders straight as he craned his neck up to better look at her, a wide, mischievous smile on his face. She could bet that she could set her younger self down next to him and find that exact expression.

Graham turned, facing the boy with a challenging look. “Henry. Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

The flare of something both envious and wistful jumped in her chest. He sounded so fatherly, stern but still soft. She needed to facilitate this, needed to have them close enough to insulate the kid from whatever indifference his mother stalked over him.

“Duh,” Henry said indelicately. He jumped out of the booth and adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, a smug grin crossing his face. That one wasn’t her, wasn’t Neal … why was it familiar? He locked eyes with her, the green bright in the fluorescence of the diner. “Walk me,” he demanded.

Graham turned to her, his face wholly amused. “You should do that,” he said simply, a grin half hidden by his cup.

She bit her lip, a memory almost on the back of her mind. “Maybe you should join,” she said. If she was to implement this, best to start now.

He hesitated, obviously not used to being invited to be with the kid. “Wouldn’t impose. You two should go,” he said.

Henry approached them, swiping a strand of messy hair back. He looked cautious, and gripped the straps a little before he nodded. “No, it’s okay. Come with us, Sheriff.”

He still seemed cautious, even as he rose to his feet. He buried his hands in his pockets and gave an uncomfortable smile before shrugging one shoulder. “I guess you could use a police escort.”

She rolled her eyes at him and placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder, guiding him to the door. The kid beamed up at her, light in his steps. She stuck her hand in her pocket and retrieved the lone apple, tossing it back and forth nervously.

Once on the street, headed for the school, she sighed. “So, what’s the deal with you and your mom?” she asked bluntly. Maybe she could catch the kid off guard, get him to reveal something.

She noticed the sheriff’s side-long glance, but ignored it for now.

Henry turned suspiciously back to them but shook his head. “It’s about not us. I told you, it’s the other thing,” he said.

“What other thing, Henry?” Graham asked softly. His hands were making tight fists at his side, the only reaction to what they were saying.

Henry stopped abruptly and turned to them both. His eyes narrowed on them and his head tilted. “Can I trust you, Sheriff?”

The man smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I would hope so, Henry,” he replied.

Henry hesitated, glancing up to Emma once before refocusing on him. “You won’t say anything to my mom?”

Graham hesitated, but finally took one finger to make an “x” over his heart.

Henry slumped in relief and turned once more, walking towards the school again. “It’s the curse,” he said, then slowed his pace enough to fit right between the both of them. He linked their arms conspiratorially and craned his neck up. “She cast a terrible curse on all of you, making you forget who you are. Emma’s the only one that can break it.”

Emma felt a little bit strange linked so close with the boy, but it was worse with the Sheriff attached to the other side. Her heart stuttered for a second when she realized how they must look, all together. She shook the notion off and forced a smile. “Everyone in the town is a fairytale character, you see, they just don’t know it,” she explained.

“Yep! And time’s been frozen -- until Emma came back.”

“Oh?” Graham said, and an eyebrow cocked. “Who am I then, Henry?”

He hummed as he thought, but shook his head. “I haven’t figured you out yet. But my mom’s the Evil Queen. And Archie? He’s Jiminy Cricket. Ruby is Red, a werewolf. And then there’s Mary Marg--“

“Where do you get these things, kid?” she mumbled under her breath.

He sighed in exasperation. “I told you, the book. You’d know if you just read it.”

“Should I read it?” Graham asked.

He looked thoughtfully. “Maybe. But Emma’s the one to break it, so she needs to first.”

“Sounds complicated,” Graham said, just the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

“Luckily, I have a plan. Step one – identification. I call it Operation Cobra.”

“Cobra?” Emma asked. “That has nothing to do with fairy tales.”

Henry nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. It’s a code name to throw the Queen off the trail.”

Emma felt herself getting uncomfortable and dug around her pockets for something to do. She found the apple and brought it to her mouth.

“Hey!”

Emma paused, looking down at the kid.

“Where did you get that?”

Emma traded a glance with Graham and then shrugged a shoulder. “Your mom.”

He snatched it from her. “Don’t eat that!” He tossed it over his shoulder, where it landed on the street with a soft thud.

“Oh, uh – all right.”

“Evil Queen, huh?” Graham murmured. “Like in Snow White?”

“Exactly! See, Emma, he gets it!” Henry exclaimed.

“Okay,” Emma said. She looked up to find the sheriff’s blue eyes again, and decided to try a little reason. “What about their past, then?”

“They don’t know,” Henry said somberly. He looked up to the sheriff sympathetically. “It’s a haze to them. Ask anyone anything, you’ll see.”

She’s about to laugh it off above the kid’s head with the man, but froze once she saw his expression. His gaze was distant, fogged, and he cleared his throat before turning his head away. She felt a nervous dip in her stomach. “So, for decades, people have been walking around in a haze, not aging, with screwed up memories, stuck in a cursed town that kept them oblivious,” she said, trying to piece through his beliefs.

Henry grinned. “I knew you’d get it. That’s why we need you. You’re the only one who can stop her curse.”

Emma grimaced and stopped, turning to the kid. “Because I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming?” she said dubiously.

Graham glanced up at her from behind Henry, and he smirked. “Is she, then?” he asked, and some of the playfulness is back. “A fairytale princess?”

Henry nods. “Exactly. She’s the one destined to break the curse, the only one who didn’t go through it back in the other world.”

Graham nodded seriously, then looked up at her. “Explains her shy, delicate sensibilities.”

She scoffed.

Henry shook his head, but kept his smile. “Right now, we have the advantage. My mom doesn’t know all this.”

Graham placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder, tilting his head to look down at him. “If she’s the Evil Queen, wouldn’t she know?” he asked.

Henry shook his head vigorously. “I took out the end. The part with Emma in it.” He reached into his bag and pivoted to her, thrusting the pages out triumphantly. “See? Your mom is Snow White.”

She glanced at the page Henry provided. A blond man crouched in front of a tree or something, blood staining the middle of his white shirt. He held out an infant tucked into a blanket, “Emma” across the side of it. She thought of her own blanket, the purple stitching that scrawled her name, but the cartoonish drawing was a long way from it. Pretty interesting coincidence, though. “Okay ….”

“That’s Prince Charming holding you,” Henry explained.

“Kid …,” she said, haltingly, hesitantly. She didn’t know how to redirect him, and she glanced a little helplessly at the other adult.

“It’s okay,” Henry said quietly. “I know the hero never believes at first. If they did, it wouldn’t be a very good story.”

She realized in that second how lonely the kid must be, if he believed everyone was in a fog. She needed to muster up something, some semblance of reassurance for the kid.

But it was Graham who rested a hand on the boy’s head, getting his attention. Henry turned to face him. “How long did it take for you to believe?” he asked gently.

Henry made a face, then his brow furrowed. “Something always felt wrong. With the town, with her. But when I got the book, it all made sense.”

Graham kneeled in front of him, brushing his hair back. In a split second, she could read the loneliness on his face as well. It was all too familiar. “You need to believe something, don’t you, Henry?” he said tenderly, his soft eyes sad.

She blinked, staring at the kid and the man together. Her heart seized at the image. Internally, she shook herself out of it. The two spent time together, it was only natural they’d pick up some mannerisms, making them look alike.

Henry blew out a breath, and finally faced Emma again. “If you need proof, take them. Read them. But whatever you do, don’t let her see these pages. They’re dangerous. If she finds out who you are, then it would be bad.”

She took the pages, making sure her hand didn’t shake. She gave a grimace more than a smile, but Henry lightened to see it.

He turned to check across the street, seeing the milling of kids behind the gates. “I got to go. But I’ll find you later and we can get started. Sheriff … do you wanna help?”

“Of course, little prince,” Graham said.

Henry grinned widely.

Emma’s shoulders squared, realizing that she was already making progress with the two. She could push this, nudge it more like. Now that Henry allowed Graham into this little group, this Operation Cobra, it would be easy. She could facilitate it, make sure that the two bonded and made a connection that could last. The kid could have someone he trusted, could learn to better deal with his mother when there was someone on his side. It would make it easier when she left in two weeks. Her hand curled around the pages, her smile growing.

Henry walked across the street, and then flipped back to catch her eye. “I knew you’d believe me!”

Emma opened her mouth, then hesitated. Affection bloomed in her heart, and she tried desperately to stamp it down. Finally she shook her head. “I never said that!”

His smile grew smug, and he walked around a woman with cropped hair. “Why else would you stay?”

Emma turned to Graham, finding him hiding a smile of his own. He reached back and scratched the back of his neck. He looked younger, carefree. Certainly not the glimpse of what she saw behind the façade a moment ago. “You look happy with yourself,” she accused.

“The lad doesn’t understand that there is another reason. Other than Operation Cobra, and certainly other than the cocoa in this town,” he answered, smiling at her.

She pressed her lips together. “Maybe not the reason you think,” she countered, but glanced toward the school and felt her heart wrench. You can’t get close, she reminded herself.

His hand hovered close but didn’t quite touch hers. “I told you – it’s a good thing, I think.”

She could feel the part of her that could get lost in him slip, and carefully pulled back.

“It’s good to see his smile back.”

She turned to the new voice, Henry’s teacher, the one with the credit card. She was a welcome distraction. She shrugged at her implication, though. “I didn’t do anything.”

Mary Margaret’s head tilted, and she shared a knowing glance with Graham before smiling warmly at her. “You stayed.”

She wanted to roll her eyes when she caught the grin the Sheriff was sporting now, but only crossed her arms. She felt uncomfortable enough was all this attention, and these two insisting that Henry might benefit from her presence was disconcerting.

“So, does the Mayor know you’re still here?” Mary Margaret asked politely.

Emma did roll her eyes at that. “Yeah, she knows. What is her deal? She’s not a great people person. How did she get elected?” she asked, directing it to them both.

Mary Margaret gave a sympathetic nod at that. “She’s been mayor for as long as I can remember. No one’s ever been brave enough to run against her. She inspires quite a bit of, well, fear.”

She turned to Graham to see his opinion on that, but he was staring at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets as he frowned. Maybe there was something she was missing.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “I’m afraid I only made that worse by giving Henry that book. Now he thinks she’s the Evil Queen.”

“Did he say who he thinks you are?” Emma asked curiously.

She looked embarrassed, giving the answer away immediately. “It’s silly,” she said.

Graham shifted. “Ah, then you did get assigned. He didn’t have one for me quite yet,” he said.

Mary Margaret laughed under her breath. “Oh, you just give it time.”

Emma shook her head. “I just got five minutes of silly, believe me, lady. Lay it on me.”

She tucked into herself, blush rising in her cheeks at the same time as her shoulders shrugged up awkwardly. “Snow White.”

Emma’s mouth parted as realization struck over her. Henry thought his teacher was her mom? His grandmother? She looked the teacher over, still unable to find a coherent sentence. This was too much.

And dammit, Graham knew, too. She looked to him, finding him just as startled.

“Who does he think you are?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma looked her over, and cursed over the fact that there was enough similar in this woman to support a poor kid’s fantasy. Well, this just got complicated. She shook her head. “I’m not in the book,” she said.

She could feel Graham’s stare at that, and she gripped the pages in her hand a little more. She wasn’t. At least, not according to Henry, once he ripped those pages out.

“I should let you go,” Emma said, still a little shaken.

Mary Margaret smiled, and nodded to Graham before following her students into the building.

“Maybe I need to talk to his therapist,” Emma said, rubbing her hands together to warm them. She felt so cold all of a sudden.

Graham nodded. “Could be an idea. His name is Archibald Hopper. He’s just off the road a ways.”

She nodded and blinked hard. At least he wasn’t teasing about the schoolteacher being her mother. “Okay. Some answers, good.”

“Perhaps I should come?” he asked.

She looked up, those stunningly soft blue eyes set on her. Slowly, she shook her head. “No. Thanks,” she said, and furrowed her brow. She needed some time to catch her breath anyway. “This one I need to do myself.”

If she needed to fight to get this kid happy, she was going to do it.

Eleven Years Ago

“I know how to fight.”

He looked up at her, amusement clear in his soft blue eyes. “Of that, I’m sure,” he said, but tossed her the stick anyway.

Indelicately, she fumbled with it, dropping it almost immediately. She huffed and looked back up with a feigned glare. “Maybe not with swords, but those aren’t so common where I’m from.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s your perspective that’s off. It was meant to look like a blade, but not a sword,” he teased.

Her lips pursed. They were at the inlet, spending the clear day just hanging around their camp. She had gotten used to him teaching her things here and there, an old request taking shape easily. This, however, was new. She wiped her hands over her jeans and then grabbed it up again. “So, you want me to pretend it’s a Swiss army knife or something?”

This time, he didn’t even manage to look baffled at what she generally knew to be an anachronism. “Or something,” he echoed, and flipped his own in hand.

She lunged forward before he could, a giggle escaping as he twisted away, missing him by inches. He darted away as she slashed out carelessly, grinning widely as he did. There was a lightness to his movements, something she’d noticed long before but took the chance to admire now.

She made a few more quick jabs, ones he easily deflected. She could hold her own at the homes she’d been in, but she had made it a preference to run before fighting, and this all was more in jest than serious instruction. Initiating the attacks felt a little unnatural nonetheless, but she soon came to anticipate his movements.

Finally she flipped the branch around and caught his forearm. His eyes snapped to hers in surprise, and his smile turned playfully feral.

He yanked an arm around her waist, dragging her close with the broken branch pressed against her back. His eyes were practically twinkling. “You should be quicker than that.”

She tried to sweep her leg to pull his out from under him, but he pitched forward instead of back. It sent them both to the ground. She let out a small squeak at the unintended fall, but he caught her before her head could topple against the dirt. They both got covered in it as the dust settled around them, wide eyes on each other.

She took a second before peals of laughter escaped her, and soon she found the answering rumble from deep inside his chest. He looked his age with the mirth in his eyes, curls tousled and sun outlining his features and again she was struck by how handsome he was. Still smiling widely, she shifted up to her elbows, pushing herself into his space. She hovered there, beats passing as they sobered.

His eyes changed as he seemed to notice how close they were. She felt his hands tighten around her hips, and a rush of something encompassed her. She felt flush, warm, slightly dizzy with it. His eyes, they were not their usual grey-blue, deep and mysterious. Instead, the pupils had blown wide across his irises, making them darker than she’d ever seen. His breath was hot against her lips. Her breathing was suddenly shallow and heavy, and just a centimeter closer would mean everything.

They had been close before, when opening eyes in early morning to find the other’s far too close. When there was a certain heat involved when accidentally brushing fingers as they passed food to one another. But this time they did not part just as quickly as they got into that state, did not jump away.

“What are you doing?” she asked, even though she was the one to come closer. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. She sounded winded, her tongue practically caressing the syllables into a seductive tone she was sure she didn’t actually mean.

His eyes flicked down her body before resting once more on hers. A fractional incline of his head almost went unnoticed, his nose barely touching hers. “I d’nno.” The callous of his fingers rode up along her skin, where it was exposed as the cloth of her straggly tee bunched up. The slight brush left a trail of stung nerves, hyperaware. But he stopped, lingering in her space and halting all movement save the bounce of his pupils to take her in.

His hesitance proved he really didn’t know. But Emma, she’d seen the movies, the tv shows, had peeked in on the older kids, had awkward moments with others. She knew what came next. Without further prompting, she bridged the distance, brushing her lips against his, feather-light, experimental.

He drew in a ragged breath, and his head lolled down. Teeth scraped her neck just barely, before he nudged his forehead along her hairline. “I—“ he began, but then his lips come back to meet hers, and the words were lost.

She sighed at the contact. The kiss was somewhere between tentative and demanding, a testament to both inexperience and sheer desire.

With the miniscule amount of experience she had, she guided him into deepening the kiss. She coaxed his mouth open, brushing her tongue against his. He responded easily, only a step behind in matching her movements and then taking the initiative to explore. They matched each other’s actions, mirroring, until she felt like they were drinking each other in. It was … heady.

She broke only briefly to suck in a deep breath, and he still sought her skin with his lips. Her nails dug into his shoulders, pressing him all the closer. One of his hands carded through her hair, the other smoothed against her bare spine to press her harder against his chest.

She thought back to the Gracey home, to Tyler, and didn’t understand how she could have possibly ever called that kissing.

This was kissing. This was intimate, warm, with an unchecked desire that thrummed with power. Somewhere teetering between balanced and uncontrolled, unfamiliar yet with a brush of rightness.

Excitement tingled down her, coupled with a heat that made her want something. She couldn’t stop touching him, and her own hands slipped under his shirt and over hard muscle, kissing and nipping at his lips as he did the same. She bent her knee, using the leverage to push herself into him and he pulled in tandem, their bodies lining up in a way that made her lightheaded.

Suddenly he stopped with his face inches from hers, blinking hard. Quickly, he extracted himself from her, shock touching his stature. Cold washed against her, eyes widening at the sudden loss of his warmth. She licked her lips, still panting as her heart raced. “Wh-what?”

His mouth was parted, breaths short and ragged. He shook his head, a brief flash of disappointment in his gaze as he licked his lips. “Footsteps,” he said simply.

She sucked in a sharp breath and pulled down the hem of her shirt; it had ridden up well past the edge of her rib cage. She listened, not yet able to hear the telltale crunching. “How far?”

He was still. “Two minutes,” he said surely. He grabbed her hand and helped her stand. His face was still flushed, eyes still dark as he looked at her. He reached out, running his thumb across her bottom lip before he shook his head, clearing it. “We have to go.”

She nodded, and bent to collect their things by the trees.

There was something heavier this time as his hand reached for hers, as the longing clicked inside her when theirs palms met. She tried desperately to ignore it again as he guided them away, carefully and gracefully dodging trees and brush as he led them to their secondary camp.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and she knew she couldn’t be sure that their routine would be the same once they reached it.

#gremma #graham humbert #emma swan #gremma ff #ouat ff #swan believer #hunted believer #hey guys I made it to 11 chapters #kinda a big deal for me #lol #the prompt that won't be written #like my mirror years ago

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shazyloren · 7 years

Text

The Room: Chapter 44 - Whacking the Face

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12710496/chapters/31154157

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Jon left Daenerys with Missandei by the food table as he was dragged forcefully into the crowd of people by Sansa. He did not particularly like that some greasy Durmstrang had gotten his hands on his baby sister and so he watched all of them around him like hawks for any sly hands trying to grab her. She was only a third year after all and all these guys were definitely seventh years. How dare they, he found himself thinking angrily.

"You look really intense, what did I say about no brooding!" Sansa warned. Jon rolled his eyes at her intense expression, she looked like Catelyn in these moments with her red hair flowing and her eyes squinting in a piecing stare. Of course she was nothing like Catelyn these days. Where her mother lacked compassion Sansa was full of it and where Catelyn lacked a sense of humour, Sansa could crack jokes better than anyone. Clean jokes though, Sansa still had the sensibilities of a lady after all.

"You literally just told me that some guys were trying to grope you how am I not suppose to looked pissed off?" Jon was right and Sansa gave in. They began to salsa across the floor along with Robb and Talisa who was swooning as if Robb was the greatest dancer she'd ever seen. It was not true of course, but Robb probably was the best dancer of all the boys in the family. Although little Rickon would give them all a run for their money, Jon once caught him spinning on his head.

"Just smile for once" Sansa moaned.

"Yes, boss" Jon pretended to salute, which while mid dance was a difficult thing to do. He nearly tripped over Sansa's feet but managed to regain composure. She scowled at him for being stupid. "Now who's got the sulking face?"

Sansa ignored him and began to lead instead, it was something Jon wasn't used to but he went along with it. Theon and Margaery were just laughing as they lazily span around, giggling and causing a scene. Theon tripped on Margaery's dress and they both tumbled to the floor where they continued to laugh as if they'd taken a laughing elixir and couldn't physically stop. "Merlin on a broom they're an embarrassment!"

"They're just having fun" Jon reasoned. "Is that such a crime?"

Jon turned to look at them as they began to make out on the floor. Jon swore he could see saliva hanging between their mouths. He felt himself have to hold down the food he'd just eaten. "Clearly it's a crime"

"Fair point" Jon nodded in agreement. They waltzed away from the love fest and began dancing over by the band near the front. "Public displays of affection in that capacity should be banned, I mean what is he even think-"

Jon stopped on his words as out of the corner of his eye he saw someone running, that someone had a dark blue dress on and a silver blonde braid flowing down there back. He felt his tongue get twisted in his mouth as his eyes followed her as she shot out the door, her hands covering her face, one of them wiping her eye as if she'd been crying.

Jon felt anger bubble in the tips of his fingers as he clamped down on Sansa's hands a bit too much. He let go off her and looked around for the cause of whatever had happened. he should've gone straight after her, asked her what had happened and comforted her. But as he saw Joffrey Baratheon and that weird Drogo guy laughing together by the food table while Missandei shouted in their faces as Grey tried to pull her back, he headed straight for them.

Sansa shouted at him wondering what on earth he was doing but he wasn't going to listen to hear, she could follow him all he liked but he wanted to know what was said and why. Jon felt the bow-tie around his neck become tight as he tried to not panic. Merlin, I hope she's alright, he thought aggressively. He swore to himself if these arseholes have said anything about her heritage he was going to sock them square in the jaw.

By the time Jon reached the food table, Daenerys plate left there and Jon's that he left before being dragged away by Sansa had been picked clean. He could hear Missandei's conversations, or shouts were more appropriate. Jon being head boy, decided it was time to act and try to be a calming factor in whatever was going on. Or at least that's what he would say to teachers after he's punched someone in the face.

"What's going on here?" He asked authoritatively. Joffrey's face turned to eye him up and with a second pause his face turned into one that he often associated with the young Baratheon. Gloating and satisfaction. He'd seen it so often. The Drogo guy on the other hand, he looked stoic and cautious, as he should. He might be bigger than Jon but Jon would put him in the ground without a second thought.

You need to stop thinking like this, whatever they said to Daenerys is not true and you know she will recover, she always does... Jon found it was a stupid wish, of course she would be affected, she always was. And it was times like these where he regretted having a part of making her life miserable. He'd been such an arse too her, the offhanded comments had been beneath him yet he'd still made them. And now, as he looked at them both, he felt all the pain and regret resurface. "Ah, Jon. Lovely to have some authority here!"

"Cut the shit, Joffrey" Jon warned. He wasn't taking any excuse tonight, he wanted the truth. "What did you say to her?"

"Now now, so easy to blame me. I never said anything that we all didn't already know" He said as he gestured to all of them stood in this group. Missandei made for him again but Greyworm easily held her back. Jon's eyes squinted and as he took a deep breath he walked towards Joffrey with more meaning than he's ever done with anyone before. He stood from him, only a foot apart before he squared up to him.

"I'm going to say this once; tell me what you said to her or I'll bury you three feet deep in the ground" Jon's voice was laced with venom. He could hear Sansa's gasp behind him but he ignored her, he meant every word of it. He was pumping with adrenaline and he was ready to take them both on and win. Joffrey just laughed, it was clear that Jon wasn't getting his message through.

In one fell motion Jon's hand was around Joffrey's throat and holding it so tightly that he was lifting him off of the ground. Joffrey's arms were trying to get Jon's wrist off of his neck, but Jon would not relent. "G-get off m-me!"

"Tell me what you said" Jon asked louder, his anger flowing through him as he expected the worst. There was a slid minute where the gasps and shocked looks of the onlookers fell on Jon's suddenly deaf ears. He was consumed by a rage over something he did not know. It wasn't until Sansa yelled at him that he was brought out of the trance and released Joffrey out of his grip. He fell to the floor gasping for air.

"You can't do that to me! I am t-the grandson of the minister!" He howled as he rubbed his neck where Jon's hand-print was bright red. Jon bent down and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and looked him directly in his eyes.

"Tell me what you said or I'll send you to the minister in a coffin with a bow on it" Jon growled.

"Tell him you shit!" Missandei shouted. Jon's eyes swung around to her, she was struggling in Greyworm's arms. He face was red with anger and her eyes darker than the usual honey they were. "Tell him how you told this Drogo guy that Daenerys is a product of incest! Tell him how you said she fucks her brothers! Tell him how you said to her face that she was a disgusting whore who loved it when her brothers fuck her, TELL HIM!"

Jon's face dropped. Disgusting whore... Incest... It was the same things that he'd said all that time ago. Well, not the whore part... but he'd definitely joked about the brother fucking before. He felt horrified, dirty and he couldn't even imagine how it made her feel. Jon's fists balled up around the cloth of Joffrey's dress shirt. He was so angry, he'd never felt this angry before. He understood, he finally understood why she'd been so mad every time a joke was made at her expense.

Feeling everything at once and hating on this piece of garbage between his hands, Jon curled his right fist up and connected with Joffrey's jawline. There was a distinct crack and for a second Jon was worried it was his fingers, but it wasn't. He'd cracked Joffrey's jawline and he knew it. One strike, one angry and riled up strike and that's all it had taken. It didn't stop him from landing a second hit despite the cowering shit that was receiving the blows was begging for him to stop. One hit, two hit. A tooth came flying out and blood splatted across the floor.

Jon felt himself being dragged off of Joffrey as teachers voices could be heard through the crowded scene. He couldn't be carted off to the headmasters office for a warning and a letter home yet, he couldn't. He needed to see how she was, to find her. Even though he was ninety five percent sure he knew where she was. The swarm off people meant he could climb under people's legs.

Joffrey was moaning and mumbling, he couldn't talk properly, clearly Jon broke his jaw. But the moans and the mumbles were still enough to make Jon's skin crawl with hate and vile thoughts. Legs parted and people moved as Jon got to the front door of the entrance hall. Everyone else looking for him was in the distance as he stood up and legged it out of the Hall and on his way to Daenerys.

The halls were empty, the music was slowly becoming quieter behind him as he tried to run in his dress shoes up the grand staircase. He kept slipping on certain stones and some disappeared that he'd usually miss altogether. He had to spend ages waiting for the third floor staircase to turn back towards the Gryffindor common room way so he could get to the seventh floor and when it finally did he cursed for minutes after.

He heard the clock chime outside, it was closer to Christmas day than he's realised. The portraits were giggling merrily and drinking mead together. On the sixth floor, not a signal portrait had anyone in, they'd all gone to the fifth floor to terrorise the portrait of Bertie Bott who was the world worst party pooper. Jon flew between corridors and finally reached the seventh floor. he had not seen a soul but he knew straight away she'd been by here.

"Head boy, do something!" One of the portraits called out to him. Jon turned to face him. "That wretched crying girl has ruin our festivities with her wailing!"

"Have you perhaps thought she was crying because she was upset?" Jon snapped.

"Boy that's the only time you do cry of course I thought of it!" The portrait sniffed. Jon just stuck his middle finger up to him causing an audible gasp before he marched to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He could see scuff marks on the floor where she'd ran. Why are you searching for clues like a detective, Jon? Get in the fucking room and make sure she's okay you idiot! Jon stood to the wall, and closed his eyes.

I need to make sure she's okay...

I need to know she's safe...

I need her to know she's loved...

It was a minute or so before the door came into view, creaking as it bolted itself into place. It seemed bigger than ever as the door creaked open and he heard cries coming from the other side. He rushed in, the same room familiar to him. The fireplace was burning brightly and heat enveloped him as he entered. She was lying face first into the bean bag, her shoulders moving as she cried.

Jon rushed over too her, nearly tripping on the rug by the fireplace. he was by her side in a second and he was putting his arms around her. She struggled away from him at first, crying becoming louder as her tears streamed from her face. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's just me"

"They s-said you didn't c-care for me" She sobs into him eventually, he hoped his embrace felt safe and secure. Jon cooed her, off course he cared for her. He'd just punched Joffrey Baratheon in the face and broke his Jaw! How could he not care for her? He was hopelessly in love with her and he wanted to show it. But how could he do such a thing? Listen, that's all he could do now. "Say you do, say you care for me"

"Daenerys I'm past the caring stage, I'm head over heels for you and would do anything to protect you, to defend you" He said honestly.

"You would?" She sobs, his dress robes becoming wet with tears.

"I would" He confirmed. It was the truth. In the tournament he'd helped save her and she him, in school he protected her from other people's harsh words and now, as she cried, he held her close in love and devotion. How could it not be the truth. "I would do anything for you"

"Jon?" She said in a tone of voice that was a question more than an simple mumbling of his name.

"Yes?" He replied, the heat warming them both as they embraced on the bean bags.

"I need to tell you something"

#jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jon x daenerys #jon x dany #jon x dany fanfic #jonerys #jonerys fanfic #got #au #game of thrones #Hogwarts AU #fanfiction #fanfic

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tastesoftamriel · 7 years

Note

how about...Markarth with Cicero? I love that jester. :)

"What is the music of life?" "Silence, my brother." Brynjolf said, and the Black Door opened into darkness. Delvin and Brynjolf strode in nonchalantly, then pulled me in after them when they realised I was still standing outside looking green around the gills. "Relax, lass. The Brotherhood are friends, and they wouldn't hurt any of us. Likewise, keep your hands to yourself while we're here, and there won't be any trouble." My second in command tried to reassure me, as we walked into the antechamber and were greeted by Astrid, the leader of the Skyrim Brotherhood. She welcomed us warmly (for a murderer) and beckoned us down to the main hall where several assassins stood waiting. There stood a Redguard named Nazir, Babette, a vampire girl, and inexplicably, a man in a jester's outfit, who was introduced as Cicero. As if I weren't nervous enough, the jester capered around and talked to himself in a sing-song voice, which everyone else ignored as if it was totally normal. Drinks and nibbles were brought out, and I mingled uneasily, wanting to get back to Riften and away from the Brotherhood lunatics as soon as possible. Alas, that was not to be.

Brynjolf was in an animated conversation with Astrid, and suddenly they turned to stare at me. Astrid beckoned me over, and I gulped, chewing my lip. "Talviel! After all the stories we finally meet. In fact, you're the only member of the Thieves Guild who hasn't done a partnership contract with the Dark Brotherhood, if I'm not mistaken." She smiled, and my heart sank to my stomach. "Yes, well, I appreciate the alliance between our groups and hope to keep it that way. I'm just uh...very busy with Guildmaster things. Yes." I choked out, trying to dodge the situation. "Ah, lass, but we were just saying we've got just the job for you! There's a family in Markarth that we've been contracted for a burglary, and it just so happens that the patriarch of said family needs to be done in as well. Someone really has it in for them. I think you'll do perfectly for the job, and you can head off as soon as you like." Brynjolf said. "Okay, fine. As long as my travelling companion doesn't get in the way, I'll get it done with. Who's coming with me?" I sighed. A high pitched voice giggled behind me. "Cicero will! Oh, such fun we'll have together!" He giggled, and I struggled to contain the expression of horror on my face. No, no, not him.

The next day, we set off to Markarth on horseback, when all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball. I didn't like the Dark Brotherhood one bit. I didn't want a team job to keep the peace. I really, really didn't want to spend a second more than I had to with Cicero. It seemed that the man was incapable of shutting up, and I wondered how his brothers and sisters hadn't already murdered him. "Such pretty hair you have, oh Mother would love it so!" He chirped, swinging his legs from the stirrups. Mother this, mother that. After hours and hours of uninterrupted chatter, I couldn't take it anymore. "Cicero, who is your mother, if you don't mind me asking?" I snapped. The jester suddenly grew serious. "Oh, Mother? Did you not say hello to her at the sanctuary? What a shame! But wait, Cicero remembers! You have met mother! Oh yes you have!" "What in Tamriel are you talking about?" "You met poor Cicero and Mother on the road with the broken cart from Cyrodiil, oh no! Do you remember?" I smiled and nodded, just to get him to stop talking to me. If the music of life was silence, the madman was definitely in the wrong job.

After what seemed like an era, we made it to Markarth. Before I could even dismount from the saddle, Cicero had run off towards the gates, cackling. "No, wait! Stop!" I shouted, but he was gone. Sighing, I made my way into the city to scout out our mark. Making my way along the narrow winding stone staircases, I reached the house, only to find that the door had been kicked in. A wet thunking sound came from within, punctuated by nonsensical singing. The jester had clearly wasted no time getting to work. I walked in, and saw not one, but four dead people strewn around the living room with their throats slit. Cicero was sitting on one of them, merrily stabbing the chest of a portly man repeatedly. I retched and threw up, unable to believe my eyes. What kind of lunatic had they sent me to work with?

Cicero heard me vomiting and looked up from the corpse. "Oh, hello friend! Cicero decided to help clear the way for you to steal all the lovely shiny things! Of course the whole family was sitting and having no fun so I decided to start the party before you arrived!" He grinned, gesturing at his handiwork. "Very...good. Good job. Okay, now please leave. Please. Talviel has work to do." I sputtered, unable to believe what a nightmare I was in. I quickly grabbed all the items I needed and threw them in my satchel, only to come back to the main room to find Cicero lying on the floor, making blood angels. "Cicero! Stop that at once! Let me find you some clean clothes, you can't leave here looking like that! Oh Talos, where's the bath in this house..." I moaned, covering my eyes before I could throw up again. "A bath? Cicero loves baths!" The jester squeaked with delight, and bolted out the front door. I dashed after him, but it was too late. The idiot had leapt from the lip of the cliff the house was on, and into the waterfall below. Part of me hoped he had broken his neck or drowned, but I ran down the stairs to the river as fast as I could.

Cicero was completely unharmed, and was doing backstrokes while whistling a merry tune. "Stop it! Get out of there right now!" I hissed, but he paid me no mind. Without a choice, I jumped into the river and tried to wrangle him to dry land, but he resisted. "The water is lovely! Lovely! Oh, yes a bath was just what Cicero needed." He smiled, splashing about as people stared. The leader of the Thieves Guild and a member of the Dark Brotherhood, attracting attention out in broad daylight, wrestling beneath a waterfall in Markarth. "What the fuck am I doing with my life?" I groaned, dragging Cicero out by the scruff of his collar as he whooped with glee. "Such fun! Oh, Cicero is so glad that we've become the best of friends!"

#Writing #Asks #Fic #fic writing #fan fic #Skyrim

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geekprincess26 · 7 years

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If the Silence Takes You, Then I Hope It Takes Me Too: Chapter 1

This fic is based on a summary prompt written by @lydiia-martins for @eliamartvll. I owe both of these wonderful ladies a debt of gratitude for both their permission to write a full-fledged story based on the prompt and their willingness to provide feedback on it. Therefore, it is my pleasure to dedicate this story to them. :-) Without further ado:

Anke hadn’t meant to do it.

She hadn’t meant to poison the Queen in the North.

She’d only intended to give Queen Sansa enough of the blue winterberries to send her into an unbreakable sleep for a night and a day, so that the big blond kneeler lord would leave Winterfell and not steal her. Kneeler women, unlike their counterparts among the Free Folk, were not wont to fight back when their men stole them at the feasts the kneelers held after their binding ceremonies. Why, Tormund Giantsbane himself had said that the Queen Sansa had had a binding ceremony with that monster Ramsay Bolton, whom any Free Folk woman would have gutted like a fish rather than allow him to steal her. But Queen Sansa had not fought the Bolton monster, and instead she had suffered cruelly for it.

So if Queen Sansa had not fought the Bolton creature, she would likely not fight any man to whom she was bound. Granted, such a man must first win his permission for the binding from the Queen’s cousin and heir, Lord Jon Snow. And Lord Jon clearly did not want to give that permission. Instead, he groused and growled worse than a hungry bear whenever a young lord visited Winterfell to seek the young Queen’s hand in marriage. That always vexed the Queen, who on such occasions seemed concerned with ensuring that her cousin did not challenge the young lords to fight than she seemed pleased to speak to any of the lords herself, or to dance with them at feasts. It was clear to anyone with eyes that Queen Sansa would rather fight them off herself than be bound to them, but she was after all a kneeler, and kneelers did have the strangest ideas about pretending to like other kneelers, even they would have loved nothing more than to fight them or drive them away. Even Lord Jon, whom Anke would have loved to see fight off those other kneeler lords, would always give in when the Queen asked him to keep from fighting anybody, although according to Tormund, he would give in only because it was the Queen who had asked, and no one else.

Anke herself, who had taken up permanent residence in Winterfell as she finished her apprenticeship with Murron, the aging Free Folk healer, had seen ample evidence to prove Tormund’s point. For one thing, Anke had passed by the council chambers on her way to the healers’ quarters from gathering herbs and roots outside prior to several of the kneeler lords’ visits and had witnessed the effectiveness of Queen Sansa’s persuasions herself. Sometimes she asked in that sweet voice of hers that had managed to charm even Anke’s ornery clan, and sometimes she yelled at him with her blue eyes flashing fiercely, but he capitulated every time. For another thing, Tormund would sometimes return from council meetings to report that the Queen had managed to talk the Lord Jon into changing his mind or at least listening to her about some matter or another about which even Tormund and Lord Davos, Lord Jon’s best friend, had despaired of moving the man’s stubborn resolve. Anke had heard some of Winterfell’s more loose-tongued servants whispering that it was as if the Queen had bewitched Lord Jon, and had snorted when she’d heard it. True bewitchment took hard work, much patience, and just the right potions, and while the Queen had shown the utmost respect for the Free Folk way of life, she would never have engaged one of them to help her bewitch anybody.

But if the Queen Sansa had managed to soften the brooding lord’s harsher edges, Lord Jon himself had done much to boost her confidence and that of the kneeler lords in her ability to be an effective ruler. After the war against the Walkers had ended and Lord Jon’s strange, dragon-riding aunt had gone back to rule the south, Lord Jon had not only refused to go with her, but had been the first of the kneeler lords to kneel before his cousin and proclaim her queen when the council had met to settle the matter of who would rule the North. He had promptly directed his fiercest glare toward those few lords who had hesitated on account of the Queen’s being a woman.

“Do you wish to forsake your oaths to House Stark?” he had growled while glaring at some lord named Cerwyn. He had looked as though he might grab the young lord by the scruff of his neck at any moment, and the other man had shrunk back under the Lord Jon’s withering glare. “Lady Sansa Stark is its trueborn heir. She ruled the North in my absence before, and she ruled it well. Let any man who believes she did not step out of this room and go home a coward.”

After that, all the lords had knelt at once to proclaim Lady Sansa as their queen, and before long, even those who had been reluctant to support her had been won over by her fairness, her generosity, and her dedication to rebuilding the shattered strongholds of the North. Night after night she had remained for long hours in the council chamber or the solar, reviewing letters and petitions and supply lists, often with the Lord Jon at her side. Morning after morning, she had awakened early to distribute bread to the orphaned children in Winterfell who had lost their parents in the war, or to take sword lessons from the Lord Jon, or to supervise the rebuilding and expansion of Winterfell. She never hesitated to perform her duties, but when Lord Jon was at her side, she seemed calmer without fail, and much more apt to smile and even joke with the people she encountered. The tension that normally tightened her body like a bowstring when surrounded by men all but disappeared. And when on occasion she rode out to visit one or another of the castles being rebuilt on her orders, the Lord Jon would always ride out at her side. He even accompanied her when she visited the godswood, and she would suffer no other to do so.

Anke had witnessed them on more than one such foray while she had been and gathering roots and herbs from the bushes by the side of the path they had traveled. She had moved as silently as a shadow, so they had never noticed her, but she had certainly noticed the ease of their conversation, the merriment in the queen’s laugh, and the abundance of Lord Jon’s usually rare smiles. On some occasions, such as the last time Anke had been in the godswood with them, they had gone into the forest’s relative seclusion to discuss some particularly weighty issue. The Queen had been particularly upset that day, and her voice had risen and trembled during their entire journey to the spring where Lord Jon was often wont to sharpen his sword, although Anke had been unable to make out her words. When the two had finally reached the spring, the queen had begun to wipe at her cheeks, and Anke had realized she must be crying. Lord Jon had taken her into his arms at once, and Anke, upon drawing nearer, had seen his face gentle as it never had before, and heard him speaking in a low voice as one hand rubbed the queen’s back in soothing circles. Eventually the queen had raised her head from his shoulder and nodded at whatever he was saying, and he had rubbed what must have been another tear from her cheek before leaning over and pressing his lips to her forehead. She had offered him a small smile, and he had kissed her cheek before releasing her and offering her his arm. Anke had had to scurry behind the bushes to keep them from seeing her as they left the clearing. They had swept to within a foot or two of her as they had departed, and Anke had seen clearly the tender look the Lord Jon had given his cousin when her eyes had been turned away from his. It was the look of a man besotted by the beauty of his woman, and Anke had half thought he would try to steal her then and there, before she had remembered that he and the queen were, after all, kneelers. She sniggered to herself after the two were safely out of earshot. No wonder Lord Jon hated it so much when the other kneeler lords paid their visits to Winterfell.

In the days after that particular excursion, however, Anke had begun to think that the young queen might change her mind about binding ceremonies if she could have one with the Lord Jon. She had smiled more readily and swept about the castle as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, and Anke had even witnessed her laughing at one or more of Tormund’s absurd jokes.

However, Queen Sansa’s happiness had not been dimmed by the arrival of yet another kneeler lord, which made Anke question whether she had read the other woman aright at all. This vexed her, for she was, after all, a Free Folk healer, trained in the art of reading the eyes and expressions of the afflicted whose wounds or illnesses had rendered them unable to speak. No, Tormund had reported that the queen had taken more calmly than usual her council’s reminder at its meeting the night before the new lord’s arrival that the sooner she married a good lord and produced heirs, the more secure the northern kneelers’ kingdom would be. She had, in fact, all but ignored Lord Jon’s customary bout of growling upon the subject. And after the meeting, she had swept about the castle ordering the preparations for the new lord’s arrival with upturned lips and an air that Anke could only describe as merry.

Merry she was before the lord’s arrival, and merrily she greeted him. Anke could forgive her for the manner of her greeting, for the young man was tall, broad, and fair, with a head full of flowing golden locks and a smile to match the queen’s own. Anke herself would have been tempted by him, had he not been a kneeler. Furthermore, she had heard it said that the queen had dreamed as a child of marrying just such a man.

However, the longer the welcome feast went on in the great hall, the less Anke liked the new lord. He laughed and talked and heaped countless courtesies upon Queen Sansa whenever she was looking at him; but his speech, when not dedicated to flattering the queen scandalously, revolved almost entirely around himself and his kingdom’s affairs. He seemed to take no particular interest in Winterfell, where, after all, he would have to live were he to wed Queen Sansa. And when the queen was training her attentions elsewhere, his gaze wandered a little too often to various other young women in attendance and lingered a bit too long to be considered innocent even among the Free Folk, let alone a gathering of kneelers. So when he finally swept the young queen into the middle of the hall for a dance, and then refused to let go of her for another two sets, Anke could not blame Lord Jon for glowering at the man over his mead goblet. She only wondered that the queen remained smiling and serene throughout the rest of the evening, especially considering that she usually only danced every other set, and usually no more than two dances with the same man.

Anke’s scowl as she swept back to the healers’ chambers that night almost rivaled Lord Jon’s. Whether or not he would ask Queen Sansa’s permission to steal her after that strange kneeler fashion was his own affair; but she had always thought the queen more intelligent than to be taken in, and so quickly, by a flatterer with a wandering eye that any Free Folk wife worth her salt would have carved out had she been unlucky enough to be bound to him.

The following morning, on her way into the forest to gather more supplies, Anke walked past the fencing grounds, where she saw the golden-haired kneeler lord sparring with one of his bannermen. Queen Sansa passed through the yard just then, and Anke noticed that she walked more slowly than usual, as if lost in thought or even daydreaming. Her eyes softened as they fluttered past the two men at their swordplay, and Anke rolled her eyes.

As soon as the queen was out of earshot, the kneeler lord disarmed his bannerman and tossed his sword to his squire. The bannerman tilted his head in the direction Queen Sansa had just gone.

“Not a bad eyeful,” he remarked, “to give up naming your sons Harwood for, if you’ll have to name them ‘Stark.’”

His lord produced a look that was more leer than grin.

“Not a bad handful, either, I’d say,” he replied. “Or two hands full, more like.” His companion guffawed, and the lord shrugged. “And cockful to boot. Bunch of nice, tight cockfuls, by the look of her.”

This time they both burst out laughing. Anke turned away and swept through the yards in disgust. If the other woman insisted on losing her wits all of a sudden, that was her own affair; but neither the North nor kind Queen Sansa, momentary idiocy notwithstanding, deserved to be suffer from the rule of such a revolting lout, and Anke knew just the means to prevent it.

Not two hours later, Anke had pounded several dozen blue winterberries into a pulp and added the remaining ingredients needed to form a draught that would put Queen Sansa to sleep for a night and a day. She hesitated a moment before she poured it into a flask, then for several more after the final course of dinner had been served before she pulled aside the serving girl tasked in charge of the royal table’s drinks and instructed her to see that the healing potion for Queen Sansa’s headache be mixed thoroughly with her wine. Anke stuttered at first, so that the serving girl had to ask her to repeat herself; but in the end the instructions were given and the medicine passed off and poured into the queen’s goblet just as Anke had wished.

Not half an hour later, Anke saw Queen Sansa yawning and speaking into the Lord Jon’s ear. He nodded and said something back before she shook her head and swept off in the company of her maidservants. Anke’s lips turned up in a thin smile.

However, that smile left Anke’s face when the queen and her servants were almost back to her apartments, for it was then that the young woman began coughing and clutching her throat. Anke had kept at a distance as she had followed them through the halls, but even from her vantage point she could see the color draining rapidly from Queen Sansa’s face. She watched in horror as that same gentle face took on a sickly purplish hue.

“Anke! Anke!” One of the maidservants was frantically pulling her arm, and Anke broke out of her brief trance and leaped to Queen Sansa’s side. The maidservants had loosened her corsets, and one was slapping her on the face and rubbing her back, but the queen responded only with sharp gasps that shook her whole body as red spots began to appear in her wide-open eyes. Anke sank to the ground and touched the young queen’s neck, wrists, and chest in rapid succession. Beneath the skin of each, she felt a weak and wildly skipping heartbeat.

Anke stopped short in terror. Any of the young queen’s symptoms by itself would have indicated some type of poisoning, but all of them appearing at once could only mean one thing.

“Get her to her room!” she shouted at the maidservants. “Gently! And set her on her back!”

They hastened to obey her, and Anke dashed through the hallways as though all the White Walkers from the war were after her. Fortunately, the healers’ quarters were not terribly far from the queen’s, and even more fortunately, Murron was in the quarters stirring a cauldron of blackberry stew. Next to the cauldron stood Anke’s own workbench, and when she opened her mouth to call out the older healer’s name, nothing came out, for what she saw confirmed her worst fears. Instead of plucking blue winterberries for the queen’s sleeping draught, she had picked several bunches of deadly white winterberries, which budded in a nearly identical shade of blue to their harmless cousins and only turned white upon maturity. Anke could feel her own face going white as the berries as Murron turned to face her.

“The Queen,” she finally managed to gasp. “It’s – she’s had white winterberries – Murron – help – ”

The older woman’s eyes widened. With a swiftness that belied her age, she grabbed her oak walking stick, which was resting against the opposite wall, and hobbled over to one of the workbenches next to the cauldron. She pulled several pieces of dried red spruce bark out of one of the drawers and handed them to Anke, whose hands were shaking.

“How much?” she asked, and Anke told her. The old woman’s eyes widened further, and she yanked open another drawer and pulled out three bunches of herbs.

“You are sure?” she asked. Anke, who had just turned toward the door, whirled back around to face the other woman and nodded. Her lower lip began to tremble, which would have shamed her at any other time.

“I – the juice is there,” she stuttered, pointing to her work table, where a few of the berries she had discarded still sat. One of the first lessons she had learned when Murron had begun teaching her about poisons was that brewing the antidote to a berry-based poison could be made much simpler if one were to add a single drop of the poison’s source. Murron narrowed her eyes into slits, which Anke knew meant the normally placid woman would boil over along with the cauldron of blackberry stew if she did not receive an explanation. She stammered out her own as quickly as she could. The older healer eyed her sharply for a moment and then brought her cane around in a whistling crack over Anke’s head.

“Get you to the queen’s quarters next moment,” she cried, and her shrill voice drowned out Anke’s startled shriek. “And best pray the Old Gods and her Seven alike be with her, or the Lord Jon kills you before I do!”

Shaking, Anke dashed out of the healers’ quarters and down the hall. She prayed the entire way to the queen’s quarters, which was just as well, for she arrived to find the younger woman’s bed surrounded by agitated maidservants. One or two were weeping; the others were undressing the queen and wiping her brow and rubbing fingers, which were now turning the color of bruises along with the her face. Anke pushed her way past them all and informed them as firmly as she could that Murron was already brewing an antidote and would be on her way shortly. She shredded a piece of red spruce bark as fast as her shaking fingers would allow her to do and began filling Queen Sansa’s mouth with the splinters. It would be best, she knew, if the queen could chew and swallow them, for then their full virtue would be released into her blood, and, while red spruce bark would not cure her, it would help to slow the spread of the poison.

But the queen’s throat had very nearly closed, and no amount of coaxing the girl, whose bloodshot eyes were blinking without any recognition of what was in front of them, could get her to chew. Therefore, the best Anke could do was to put several splinters of bark into the younger woman’s mouth and close her lips around each other. She could feel the gaze of every maidservant in the room on her as she silently begged the gods to open the queen’s throat even a little bit.

Perhaps a minute later, the queen’s eyes fluttered open, and her throat relaxed a little. Anke immediately released her lips, and a very shallow breath escaped from them. She managed to get the queen to chew and swallow a couple of the splinters before her eyes closed again and she let out another gasp. Anke swore aloud and reached to shut the queen’s lips around the bark again, but she was interrupted by the slam of the door against the wall. She turned around to face Lord Jon Snow, whose face was as pale as his cousin’s was purple.

“Sansa!” he cried, and as he leaped to her bedside, the maidservants parted around him as fast as they could. Anke herself shuffled quickly to her left to make room for the young lord, who collapsed to his knees beside the bed. He seized her right hand with both of his, and when he turned to face Anke, his eyes were wide with horror.

“What in the bloody hell happened to her?” he demanded, and though his face was white, his gray eyes had taken on the hue of molten steel. Anke drew back in spite of herself. Those were the eyes of the fiercest swordsman in the North, the eyes of the dragon rider ready to unleash his full fury on whoever had harmed the Lady of Winterfell.

Anke gulped, but she was, after all, a woman of the Free Folk and no coward. She raised her chin and told Lord Jon that the queen had ingested white winterberry poison by accident.

“I am to blame, my lord,” she said. “I made a mistake when mixing a draught for her. I am feeding her pine bark to slow the poison’s spread until Murron arrives with the antidote. She will be here the moment she has mixed it.”

The color in the young lord’s face turned from white to red in a matter of moments. Anke did not know whether he would strike her or beg her to heal the queen sooner, and perhaps he did not know himself. Nor would either of them find out, for just then the door slammed back against the wall once again, and Murron burst into the room with a steaming flask in her hand. She hobbled over to the bed at once, knocking Anke aside with one knee as she did so, and slowly poured the liquid into Queen Sansa’s mouth. Lord Jon’s eyes widened, and his grip on his cousin’s hand tightened. He blinked several times in rapid succession, and his jaw clenched.

The entire room froze as Murron finished feeding the queen her antidote. The young woman blinked a few times but did nothing else, and Anke had only to look at Murron’s face as she felt the queen’s wrists, neck, and chest that nothing else had changed.

Murron turned to face Lord Jon, and as she did so, the fire reflected the glimmer of fear in her eyes. Anke hoped to the gods that the young man could not see it.

“My lord,” the old healer said stiffly, “I have given her the strongest antidote I have, and no more will help her. Best keep her as comfortable as you can now. She will either wake between now and the morn, or she will die.”

Lord Jon snapped his head forward in acknowledgement, and his jaw clenched even tighter. Murron nodded in return and swept away from the queen’s bedside. As she did so, she reached down and hauled Anke up by the collar of her dress.

“And you – ” she muttered. “You be lucky if the Lord Jon not order your death by sunrise.”

But Lord Jon gave only one more order that night. Anke had not quite reached the threshold of the queen’s door when the sudden boom of his voice, raised to a cracking shout, nearly caused her to trip and fall on her face.

“Out!” he cried. “Everyone OUT!”

The maidservants, who had frozen to a woman, now scurried out of the bedchamber like so many rats. Anke risked one look over her shoulder at Lord Jon’s stricken face before the door slammed shut behind them. The gray fire in his eyes had diminished to barely lit embers; the mighty dragon warrior had deflated into helpless despair.

Anke did not know when Murron released her. She barely felt the chill of the stone at her back as she slumped against the corridor wall and shook like a weeping child.

#jon x sansa #jonsa fanfiction #multi chapter fics #my writing #these ladies are amazing #angst #drama #prompt based #jonxsansaff #jonsansaff #thanks to @lydiia-martins and @eliamartvll

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gooddame · 7 years

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Just My Luck

My contribution to Klaroline Arbor Day with special thanks to @lilbreck for helping me from the beginning of this idea to the last draft. With that said my mistakes are my own.

I really hope you enjoy this because it really got me writing again and I hope you love it as much as I do. Thanks and happy reading as always! :))

“Just my bloody luck,” he mutters as he looks at the ever growing list of delays on the screen noting that his flight has just appeared on it.

The storm outside the building’s windows inflicting havoc on Klaus’ plans to go home early and get a few days of silence before his siblings arrive home next week. The idea is now less likely he thinks as he reaches for his luggage getting ready to duel it out with the airport representatives for a refund. Disgruntled he moves gruffly through the throng of people going this way and that when he sees a sight that stops him in his tracks.

Klaus’ lips stretch into a smile seeing her across the airport looking rung out and defeated a look he can confess he’s never seen on her before. It almost makes Caroline seem, human. Rolling his luggage behind him he preens checking his coat and rubbing the growing scruff over his jaw. It had to have been at least four years since he saw her last. His head shakes away the memory of the last time he saw her, the last time he touched her intimately. She’s biting her lip now, a death grip on her purse and luggage as he makes his way over still unnoticed.

“Caroline,” he utters from beside her as he pulls to a stop putting his luggage in front of him just in case this was a bad idea.

She wants to throw an adult tantrum and tell the customer service rep where exactly she can put her apologies but rationally Caroline knows it’s not her fault. It’s not anyone’s except this freak storm outside that she and the airport hadn’t planned on back in October when she booked the flight. Now said storm was delaying all of the flights she can think of to try to find a way home. So instead she stands there bags in hand thinking about getting a rental and seeing just how far that goes when her mother’s voice in her head warns her about the dangers of being alone in the middle of a storm.

Caroline beams, the defeated look no longer mearing her features as her green eyes shine realizing who has just spoken her name, “Klaus?” she cries excitedly pulling him into a hug.

She shivers feeling him press against her enveloping her with his recognizable scent, so welcoming and all together so new. Caroline holds onto him pleased to see a familiar face under the circumstances she finds herself in happily noting that he’s not eager to pull away as his hands drag down her hips when she leans back. They stare into one another’s eyes disbelieving of the reality as Caroline struggles to find her voice or any words at all.

Nibbling on her lip she’s encouraged by the look of fondness he gives her, “Wow, what are you doing here?” she asks never having expected to run into him here or anywhere for that matter.

“Same as you I would think, trapped by the storm,” Klaus gives her an easy answer as her eyes drag down his front distinctly lingering a moment too long on the cluster of necklaces he has around his neck leading down his chest.

One in particular he guesses recalling that he still wore the thin black leather cord that held the remains of the cheap broken locket she found one day before their trysts. Shagging his sister’s old sorority friend had never been at the forefront of his mind until he met her. And even then, ‘shagging’ was never quite the right word for what they were doing though neither was the term ‘making love’. From the moment they met it was like spark and timber, even now he felt the blaze between them.

“Pretty much,” she replies in kind taking him back to the present as she takes a step back her hands falling from his shoulders down his arms in an easy caress, one surely an old friend wouldn’t read into.

Klaus scratches his neck, his skin flaring as he reveals why he’s there, “I’ve just flown in,” he pauses, “I was on a connecting flight to,” Caroline nods.

“New Orleans,” she finishes for him with a soft incline of her head that makes her hair dip to one side, no, she was not flirting, “I had heard you had moved out there,” she admits.

Klaus’ eyes narrow, “Rebekah,” he gathers and she nods in response at the sound of her friends name remembering to call her later.

Desperately pushing down the memory of Klaus tied to her bed as Rebekah walked in quickly made her body pulse with an old feeling of embarrassment. Her hand covers her face as it heats, she should not be thinking about how good that day had been before Rebekah had ever known about their little friends with benefits deal. She scratches her brow trying to forget how much their group of so-called friends had teased them afterwards.

She smiles unable to stop, “Well you know we were always close. Even after,” Caroline reminds him with a point of her finger in reference to their brief time together.

Klaus chuckles in spite of himself taking advantage of how close they are as he leans his whole body closer mischievously, “After you threw my shirt in my face and told me none too politely to ‘get out’ for the last time?”

Caroline’s head falls back as she bubbles with laughter recalling that specific day when she was already running late but he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Remembering every single time she tried to pull up the zipper of her dress her would only drag it down and kiss her bare skin until she gave in. That is until finally she realized she was late for work, that day had changed everything for her presently.

“Whoa, no grudges I see,” she says as her hand nudges his shoulder playfully his fingers catching her hand in a polite tangling of fingers.

Klaus smirks, “You know I love teasing you,” he mouths, his low timbre making her skin chill with awareness and warm in her belly all at once.

Another blush, she feels it as she hold her head in her hand, “I just- I don’t know how to answer that, she confesses unable to completely fight off the way he still makes her feel.

“The flush of your face says otherwise but I’ll pick my battles,” Klaus relents with a grin as his other hand cups her cheek fleetingly surprising even himself.

“Good choice,” Caroline states spotting the airport bar out of the corner of her green eyes and forming an idea, “Did you maybe want to get a drink with me?” she asks him.

Klaus’ lips purse in faux consideration, “Old times sake?” she coaxes with a winning smile as she tugs on their joining hands pulling him forward with her.

“It’d be a pleasure,” Klaus practically purrs making Caroline roll her eyes at the innuendo that was ever present in his tone relishing in the idea that he might still be enticed by her.

She laughs again looking away from him for a moment, “You think you’re cute,” she says when their eye meet again, his smile doubling in size as his dimples cut into his cheeks making her heart jump.

“Just trying to get you all worked up,” Klaus jokes watching her reaction very closely wondering if Caroline would be at all interested in him now -If she had felt anything at all for him, ever.

Her neck jerks, her eyes looking back at him as they drag their own luggage, “Seriously?” she shots back at him with a look of incredulity if not flattery.

Klaus walks just behind her, his eyes on where their hands are still joined loath to unravel them for the foreseeable future, “I always wonder how a sorority girl who says things like ‘Seriously?’ got a law degree.” He snorts.

“Elle Woods got a law degree,” Caroline tells him without a glance backwards almost to their destination and eager to get a drink inside of her empty belly to quell the fluttering of the butterflies there.

“Who?” he asks her knowing full well who Elle Woods was because he did have a sister and he because of that fact often obligated to sit down and watch the likes of ‘The Notebook”.

“Watch a movie sometime,” Caroline grumbles as she pulls her luggage to a stop in front of the hostess who is currently talking with another guest.

“I do watch movies,” Klaus rebuffs merrily as he stops right behind her, feeling her back press against his chest as he breathes in the scent of her ever familiar shampoo.

It’s Caroline’s turn to snort, “You watch documentaries about the baroque period,” she jokes remembering the time she distracted him in the nearly empty movie theatre with her, err, mouth.

The hostess, a beautiful brunette named Dana strides back to her booth in a formfitting grey uniform upon seeing them, “Two?” she asks.

Klaus’s hand wraps around Caroline’s waist hugging her to him, “Yes, please, a quiet corner, old friends” he clarifies unnecessarily making Caroline’s face scowl.

“Of course,” Dana’s eyes instantly brighten as Klaus lets go of Caroline’s waist to let Dana lead them to the booth she has in mind.

“We used to have sex,” Caroline blurts out cursing herself straight after as she looks from Dana to Klaus and then concentrating on her shoes very hard until they reach the round booth.

“Caroline?” Klaus asks unable to keep the smile in his voice as he grabs for her rolling luggage having deposited his already by the side of the booth.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that,” she squeaks as she slides into the booth with Klaus following soon after though by the time she looks up Dana is gone and their waiter is walking towards them.

Before he can get a word in however Klaus is ordering, “I’ll have bourbon, straight. And I don’t want to presume but I think the lady will have an old fashion?” he asks looking at Caroline.

“The lady will,” Caroline concedes as the gentleman nods leaving his card on the edge of the table with his name before disappearing to ready their drink orders.

His lower lip dips into his mouth his teeth sucking it in contemplation before he asks even if it’s nervously, “Were you jealous just now?” searching her face for answers.

“I wasn’t,” Caroline articulates with a deep swallow, her eyes focusing on the blemish over his neck before she can fully concentrate on his jaw slowly making her way up to his face.

Klaus restrains himself from reaching for her chin, he hasn’t earned the right to touch her yet, “Then why won’t you look at me,” he implores gently.

Her eyes widen in response, “I’m looking right at you,” she answers him needing more air in her lungs or for no air to be in her lungs at all.

“Your eyes are on my neck,” Klaus points out dipping his head so her eyes lock with his briefly before her hand flies to push back the hair framing her face.

“Well yeah, it looks like you got a new tattoo,” she replies with a smile that never reaches her eyes but her curious tone he could work with.

“I did, I think you’d approve,” he tells her delicately cajoling her out of the sour mood that has presented itself in front of them.

“Look, maybe this was a bad idea,” Caroline nearly gets up to leave when their waiter returns with their drinks smiling politely at the pair of them as he correctly deposits their drinks.

“Sweetheart,” Caroline freezes at the endearment, Klaus curses under his breath in regret, “I didn’t meant to call you that,” he utters in apology.

Letting out a breath she nods, “We’re both kind of screwing this up,” she reasons annoyed that she hadn’t realized when their hands parted ways in the middle of the booth.

“We are,” he agrees with a small smile that has her lips spreading, “So let’s just forget it and drink. Catch me up on you,” he offers sweetly.

Caroline agrees with a swift nod letting Klaus back into the bubble of her life as if she was fitting him into it by recounting all of her new adventures in the last few years. They pause and take turns, Klaus surprising her with the confession that he’s painted her more than once in recent years. That he’d love to show her around his city if ever she’s up for it. An offer she is quick to return should he ever find himself in her neck of the woods. Their easy discourse bordering on resolute flirtation as one drink turns into three and four until their just tipsy enough to admit a few things.

With light giggle Caroline leans her body closer into Klaus’ until theirs barely any room left having gradually moved closer to one another in the last few hours, “I think I fell in love with you a little bit,” she whispers her biggest secret.

Klaus’ eyes magnify not that Caroline notices because she’s still chatting away animatedly, “I can admit that now, we’re in the clear,” she nods with a sip of his drink because her glass is empty.

Klaus removes the drink from beneath her fingers, “Funnily enough,” he tells her, “At that point in my life it was all about what I could get and all I wanted was you.”

Caroline’s head leans on his shoulder feeling herself wanting to sober, “Can you imagine what are lives would be like if I hadn’t taken that job?” she sighs into his sweater, “Would we even still be friends?”

Klaus grunts, “Are we even friends now?” he asks as he wraps his arm around her back pushing her body into his chest so he can hold her properly.

“You know what I mean.” She whines without any effort at all to fight with him, “We weren’t really thinking when we were together. It could have blown up in our faces.”

“Especially after my sister and the Salvatore’s found out about us,” he once again agrees with her feeling him nod above her head as his chin rests on the side of her forehead.

“I thought about going back after a year but then I heard you had moved,” she admits finding it easier to say without actually having to look up at him.

“Rebekah,” he repeats himself in that same tone of realization as he had earlier.

“Yeah,” she breathes holding his hand to her stomach as her other hand pushes their drinks further out of reach on the table no longer wanting to drink.

“Caroline,” her name is a sentence on his tongue, “To be clear you’re never in the clear with me,” he confides in her forcing her to acknowledge that whatever they had before. It was real.

Her tongue darts out licking her dry lips, “Good to know,” she replies reaching for her phone in her purse side pocket to check the time.

“You think the airport people have a weather update?” she asks changing the subject as she tosses her phone back into her purse not bothering with the pocket in her state.

“Airport people,” Klaus teases as he releases her from his hold to check his own phone for the time surprised at what he finds.

“I’m a little tipsy, shush,” she says rising carefully from the booth finding sliding a little bit harder to do when she’s less than sober.

Klaus opens his wallet leaving more than enough to pay for their drinks making Caroline roll her eyes at how spendthrift he is most of the time.

He shrugs in response following her out of the bar with a wave at Dana and Caroline tries not to read into Klaus being uncharacteristically polite to a stranger. They walk side by side in silence noting that the storm is still rampant outside through the windows of the airport. Caroline wondering in silences how the buildings windows had not yet broken under the pressure of the storm. Klaus lost in devising a plan to keep in her company just a little bit longer as they reach the help desk finding new crew members.

Waiting a short time that seemed to linger on as the line grew longer behind them and equally their senses grew unimpaired sobering them fully. The pair makes it to the front of the line each asking after their own respective flights. Both Caroline and Klaus find disappointing news at the end of their conversations with their representative. Klaus thanks the woman who looks just as tired as the civilians sitting on the carpet and chairs behind them.

Caroline leaves the line with her shoulders slumped as she reaches the closest empty chair and sets down all of her things. All she wanted was to get out of these clothes, shower and tuck herself into her own bed. Close to tears she feels a hand on her shoulders rubbing softly in a comforting manner without hesitation Caroline wraps her hand on his knees squeezing softly in thanks before sitting up to look at him. She was southern after all -bad posture was practically a sin.

“I guess we’re here for the night,” she says somberly rubbing her cheeks with the edges of her jean jacket wishing she had dressed for the weather instead of skinny jeans, flats and a top underneath.

Klaus brightens, “Actually, I heard a rumor,” he reveals to her piquing her interest, her pretty face gaining some of its usual shine as she scoots closer to him.

“When did you hear a rumor,” she asks him feeling that much better having Klaus at her side, it was like having a sidekick as they dueled it out with the storm outside.

“When you disappeared leaving me in the clutches of the single ladies behind us that complimented my arse,” Klaus reminds her waving at the women watching them with interest across the way.

Caroline laughs in spite of herself, “Tell me more,” she prods tucking her arm into his arm holding onto him ignoring Klaus’ incredibly smug look.

“Well, one gave me her number,” he reveals reaching for the number the woman had tucked into his back pocket showing it to her.

“Not that,” Caroline cries reaching for the paper crushing it before tossing it away, “About the rumor,” she tells him with glee in her voice.

Klaus always loved that about her, she always perked up, always had a light about her that nothing and no one could diminish. It was something that drew him to her in the beginning it was something that would always call to the darkest parts of his soul. Reaching for her cheek he rubbed his thumb over it feeling her lean into his touch just the slightest bit.

A precarious notion fixing itself in his mind, an untoward idea that he was sure Caroline would agree to with coaxing, maybe even a dare. One last tryst. One last time. His mind raced with the images of her underneath him, begging, the hoarse cry of his name falling from her lips, rolling on her tongue as she came.

He broke out in sweats just thinking of it, his hands shaking as he met her eyes feeling as if she could read his thoughts. He wondered if she would agree right away of if he was being far too presumptuous. Klaus was unengaged but a woman like Caroline surely had someone she was going home too, did she not? He simply hoped she would have mentioned if she was.

“There’s a hotel nearby,” he murmured conspiringly, “The last bus is about to leave and we could be on it. Would you be willing to risk it?” he probes her.

The first thought in her mind shoots out of her mouth, “What if they no longer have rooms?” she enquired wondering if he has a solution for that.

“I have a trust fund I hardly use remember?” he tells her, jumping from his seat, “If you want to sleep in a bed tonight I can do that Caroline,” he utters the magic words.

“This is unreal,” she tells him the joy evident on her face as she stands up reaching for her luggage and purse, “Come on, wait which way?” she asks.

“This way,” Klaus points in the far end direction reaching for her hand in the process, Caroline greedily takes it as they march towards the exit.

He held her hand on the bus. It was an observation, a fact. Caroline was curious about him, about the way his thumb rubbed over her pulse. The bus shook with the wind as they were exposed down the main road, and Caroline squeezed his hand tighter when the tires skid more than once. She found however that he was scared too, not that he would ever admit it, but he always seemed to look at her when he was afraid. Wanting to gauge her reaction, Caroline made sure to keep her face neutral.

Under the shelter of the hotel’s car roof they scurried out of the bad weather into the hotel meeting the reliving sight of the front desk and an anxious looking man behind it. The group half-walked, half-ran to get in a line one Klaus quickly cut dragging Caroline along with him by the hand making her blush at the sight of the annoyed people around her. After a quick conversation with the clerk Klaus was handed keys.

Caroline all but tripped over their luggage at the speed he was going as they took the stairs up to their room as it was advised to use the elevators under the weather conditions. The stirs to the third floor of the hotel was a challenge considering she hadn’t been to the gym in ever. Caroline cursed her naturally thin frame as she fought to control her breathing while Klaus didn’t look labored at all as they reached their door.

He smirked looking behind her, “Tired, Sweetheart?” he asked, she glowered at the nickname, the only thing he ever bothered to call her when they were nothing more than Rebekah’s brother and Rebekah’s friend.

“Fine,” she grumbled as she pushed past him unlocking the door with the key card and sliding inside, her anger subsiding at the sight of one plainly made bed and no couch to sleep on.

“Klaus,” she utters with a deep breath feeling her hand let go of her luggage as she turns to look at him shrouded in light from the hallway in the dark room.

He takes a step forward the door clicking shut behind his body, “Yes, Sweetheart,” answering again with that cursed nickname.

The light flickers on at the flick of his finger as Caroline struggles with what to say, “By now there are no other rooms,” she settles on the obvious.

“It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before,” he retorts tugging on his ear as he too pushes his luggage aside turning his head to the bathroom.

His lips purse, a boyish grin forming as the light turns on in there, “Extra towels. Fantastic.” He tells her as he flounces in that direction turning on the shower head.

Caroline is left in the bedroom alone, her mind going to her only items to sleep in made of silk. Her eyes squeeze shut, not possible, she’ll have to sleep in something else. He can’t know she still has the gown he gave her, the one he nearly ripped off of her body multiple times. Why, why hadn’t she gotten rid of it? Or at least left it behind?

“Temperature is the way you like it,” Klaus says careful not to utter anything uncouth, wondering how long it would take for her to snap at him for the nickname, wondering if that was when he would have the courage to kiss her.

“You go first,” Caroline tells him nervously, Klaus peeks his head out of the bathroom concerned, all she had wanted to do a half an hour ago was shower and climb into bed. What was wrong now?

“Things will go much faster if you go first,” he insists reaching for a towel before striding in her direction handing it to her, hopefully assuring her everything is alright.

“Still taking hour long showers?” she asks seemingly coming around, her lighthearted nature appearing once again making his heart congest.

“I’m not a pubescent boy,” he counters with a smile, “But I think I will be in need of a cold shower tonight,” he confesses with a soft growl deep in his throat.

“You’ll get sick,” Caroline disagrees hugging the towel, “You should just shower with me, after me, I mean,” she stutters as his tongue licks the middle of his upper lip.

“Don’t worry Caroline, I won’t crawl into bed with you smelling foul as I do,” Klaus bolsters her making Caroline scoffs though he swears her eyes say something else.

“You smell really good for a guy who’s been stuck in an airport all day,” Caroline says off-handedly as she walks into the bathroom shutting the door before he can come up with a comment.

After she shut the door Caroline undressed quickly, folding her dirty clothes to hide her lace panties and bra shivering at the steam of the shower and the cold of the room hitting her exposed skin. Looking back at the door once more before slipping inside shutting the old glass door behind her hopeful the pressure of the shower head was enough to make her forget what awaited her outside of the bathroom. It was, at least until she started washing her body with the tiny soap having realized she left her own in the room.

Her hands went to her face her frustration coming on in small waves, her frustration at her flight, her day, her smell, and mostly about Klaus. She hadn’t wanted to admit it but he had saved her a little bit today, Caroline found it surprising how much Klaus being present today had helped. Her hands massaging the taunt muscles of her neck and shoulders as best as she could reach trying to figure out just what was making her feel this way about him, again.

She pictured him without meaning to, his lips, his genuine smile, all of his smiles finding herself grinning at the especially wicked one he would throw at her before they did something naughty. They had some spectacular memories between them involving hands and beds and trips away to stay hidden from the world. Making new ones here with him was filling her with a sense of nostalgia, her mind wondering if even Klaus knew how bewildering it was for them to be here.

Klaus, just his name elicited something within her, his significance and the love she had confessed for him only two hours ago. She wondered if she would have ever realized those feelings were still intact if she had never again. Her foot shifted as she fell into a memory of them dancing in the shower, her mindful of the wetness treading carefully as Klaus soothed her with whispers along her neck.

Her head fell back as she lost herself in the memory messaging her breasts in her hands Caroline let out a soft moan in reaction closing her eyes to enjoy it. Pinching her pert nipples just enough to have her breathing scatter as she began rolling her fingers over them and her body moving so the water ran down the valley of her breasts. Caroline pressed her thighs together knowing this was an entirely bad idea as she felt herself growing wet with desire.

She shifted from foot to foot mindful once more of the splashing sounds she might make as her thighs rubbed together while her hand slid down her stomach softly rubbing the nub of her clit making her gasp.

The glass door had fogged behind her leaving her in a safe haven as she pressed her back to the side wall of the square shower ignoring the falling river of water. She focused on herself making as little noise as possible while parting her legs bracing herself as her fingers delved over her arousal making her squirm. Klaus flashing in her mind as she puffed out a breath working her body up to the familiar lowness of his voice encouraging her.

Caroline sunk her fingers inside sliding in and out as the side of her thumb rubbed against her clit, the side of her nail scrapping her just right. Heat boiled in her blood as she came with a breathless cry of his name panting as she struggled with the nozzle to turn off the water and stay standing as she reached for the door. Her body leaned against the glass, the cool air on the other side cooling her off as her body left an imprint of her frame against the door while she slid out.

Outside of the bathroom after she had tired her towel around her entire body Caroline couldn’t look Klaus directly in the eye as he looked up, shirtless no less, from the pamphlet he was reading, “Feeling a bit more relaxed?” he asks genuinely.

Caroline squeezes her eyes shut as she answered him with a sift nod knowing that words would only damn her now, “I suppose it’s my turn,” he utters with an off look that she misses as he gathers his soap and shampoo, “I’ll leave you to dress.”

“Thanks,” she mutters out thankful her tone sounds even as she begins reaching for her luggage and dumping it on top of the window chair before unzipping the lid.

Klaus shut the door behind him locking it for good measure his mind racing with images of Caroline just outside the door bent over in a towel looking for something to cover her modesty was almost too much to consider. He scrubbed the temptation away with his hand over his eyes effectively rubbing out the image before depositing his soaps on the counter sink and pulling his shirt over his head tossing it aside. A dry laugh escaping him at the imprint of her frame over the fogged door the steam still seeping from the falls making the mirror bleed.

Opening the glass door he once again reaches for the nozzle setting the temperature to warm though his body felt ablaze in agony. He had joked about not being a mere boy but his raging hormones were telling another story at the present moment. Carefully he toed out of his boots and socks before pulling out of his jeans and boxers dropping them where he was cursing he remembers leaving his sweatpants tucked away in his luggage case.

He quickly collects his soaps stepping into the shower in favor of standing stark naked in the air conditioned room basking in the warmth of the water hitting his skin. Klaus’ hands running through the disheveled curls sticking to the sides of his own face before lathering the shampoo in and rinsing quickly. His hands worked the soap into his body only working him into a frenzied state in the enclosed space making his breath labored, his frustration grow.

Snapping Klaus shut off the water leaning his arm on the white subway tile across the wall as he regarded the draining water with disdain. Gathering himself he exited the glass door nearly tripping on his boot as he reached for his towel on the counter top drying his body off just as quickly as he washed. He made sure to unlock the door before attempting to open it, his hands tucking his towel in at his waist as he stepped back into the room.

She thought if she dressed quickly she could slip under the sheets and he wouldn’t see a thing until morning as she scurried with the towel rubbing the fluffy fabric over her sensitized body while searching for her sleeping gown. They both would just have to deal with it once they reached that bridge she told herself as she heard the water turn on again in the bathroom. Tragically her own mind automatically wonders if Klaus had settled on the cold shower option before she could stop herself.

When she had finally found it at the bottom of the bag Klaus had shut off the water and sounded as if he was toweling himself off, she shut off the light of the room noting the lamps at the beside lit up the room instead. Cursing her bad luck and the fact that men had infinitely less ground to cover in ways of the showers she quickly tossed everything but her gown back in. The door swung open before she could take her next breath and Caroline felt caught out, nothing ever going according to plan.

“I can slip back in if you like,” he offers and for a second Caroline isn’t sure if he means her of the bathroom until her mind clears and she shakes her head.

“No worries, I’ll just throw it over my head,” she says slipping her arms into the straps and pulling the gown down as she tugged off the towel from underneath. “All better.”

Klaus swallow, hard, his cock twitching from just behind the towel at the sight of Caroline undressing and redressing, at the sight of Caroline doing just about anything really. Averting his eyes he reaches for his luggage trying not to think about the silk gown obstructing his view of her perfect body. When he saw it, he had recognized it immediately, his pulse racing and even now he felt his labored breathing in the low light of the room.

“I promise. I’m not looking,” her voice resounded in his ears as he was swimming in old emotions, he heard her turn around, heard the sound of the curtain across the room be pulled open slightly.

Reaching for the first pair of anything in his bag he grabbed for it tugging on the jeans as his towel slid off of his waist. He cursed under his breath at the feel of his zipper grating along his hardened length as he turned to look at her, she was a vision. But when was she not, he thought walking slowly over to bed pulling the generic covers back.

Her head turns at the sound of the sheets, “You can’t sleep in jeans,” she insists when she gets a look at him in the soft light of the room walking toward the opposite of the bed.

Klaus doesn’t think when he answers her, “You promised never to sleep in that,” he points to the gown in question reminding them of the promise they made when he gave it to her.

“It was all I brought,” Caroline blushes, her hands skimming her thighs nervously, her fingers toying with the lace hem as she brought up a knee to the bed.

“Were you wearing it for someone else,” he asks curiously, possessively, feeling his body double in heat at the idea of her wearing that for someone other than him.

Her answer is quick to soothe him, “No, I wouldn’t do that,” she replies feeling a case of déjà vu as she catches him clutching the blue and white sheets.

“Good,” he utters but he doesn’t seem nearly as calm as his tone dictates making Caroline feel confused to no end.

“Are you jealous now,” she asks repeating back his question from hours before, she thought they had made some ground after that but apparently it was just her hormones talking.

“No,” he replied in kind to what she had uttered before in the bar with their lovely hostess Dana, Caroline practically seethed.

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” she asked crossing her arms as she set her other knee on the bed, her legs dangling off of the side as she fought to look taller than him. Angrier even.

Klaus takes a breath shaking his head, “I see where this is going but we should just get in bed,” he says disregarding his idea to seduce her entirely.

“I’m not tired,” Caroline counters with a just of her him and swerve of her head standing her ground, but for all her bravado she wondered what was happening here.

“Did the shower invigorate you?” he grumbled, his eyes flashing dark at the sight of her, feisty and eager to take on a challenge.

“Something did,” she agrees with him unable to admit to exactly what just yet because wow was her body just out trying to get her.

“Did it have to do with that little gasp in the shower?” he asks with hint of glee in his voice and his eyes making her blush.

“You heard,” she queries as she knees her way over the bed to him so their breaths intermingle while she confronts him.

“I guessed, thank you for confirming,” Klaus murmurs lifting his chin closer so their lips brush, answering her with his hands on his hips looking thoroughly satisfied at himself.

Caroline watches as his eyes drop from her eyes to her mouth even lower still to her breasts perked up in the gown by her crossed arms, “I’m surprised you could think at all with that in your pants,” she gestures to his bulge, “Was it a cold shower?”

“It was a short shower so it doesn’t matter.” He supplies vaguely with an arrogant smirk that has Caroline’s fingers reaching for the undone button of his jeans in retaliation.

His eyes were scintillating as her hand flies to his zipper riding it down the top of his bulge making Klaus hiss at the delightful pressure. His hand falls to her wrist, his thumb once again running over her pulse making her shiver under his touch.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispers into the room, the words sinking into her skin blurring all rational thought as she lets go of the metal zipper only to pull his mouth to hers.

He groans at the feeling of her skin pressing against his, the fabric of her gown silky against his still wet skin, tonight he thinks, he’ll rip it off. His hands moving into the wet strands of her hair as her lips pressed scorching kisses to his neck he pulls back eagerly taking in her form unbelieving this is real. Years of waiting, wanting, and here Caroline is in his arms, his mouth dries at the sight of her eyes wanton with desire.

Diving back in for a kiss he feels her bite his lip making him smile at how rough she can be when she knows what she wants. It makes him scratch at her gown harder yearning flooding him as he felt the fabric rip in his grasp and felt her body’s muscles clench at the feel of his skin over hers. Felt her hands running up his arms, trembling as she whispered she missed this under his lips just low enough he almost didn’t hear it.

Caroline sighed against him, her fingers itching with anticipation as she dragged his body back making him climb onto the bed to follow her. She felt the fabric of her gown slip lower, the straps floating down her arms as they kissed hungrily loving the feel of his hard chest against her pebbled breasts. His hands running down her backside squeezing roughly making her gasp into his mouth.

She scratched at the scruff over his jaw tugging out of her straps nudging out of them yet keeping him in a deep and plunging kiss that shattered her senses. She felt him grab her waist arching her back as he pressed his hardened length against her wet heat making her shiver in delight.

“Please,” she whined as he set back on the mattress his hands ripping down the center of her gown as his lips hungrily devoured every inch of exposed flesh making her writhe under his touch.

Klaus licked at her hip bone his fingers wandering her thighs riding higher as her fingers tugged at his hair pulling him as he bit her thigh her scent overwhelming him as he sought her center. He groaned at the feeling of her arousal coating his fingers just at her entrance, his eyes making sure she was watching as he sucked softly at her clit making her moan in pleasure. Her legs held him in place as he dove deeper his tongue giving her a long flat lick that had her shuddering beneath him.

“Sweet Caroline,” he murmured as he thrust his tongue deeper inside her entrance feeling her hips rock forward against him as her nails scratched his scalp.

“I need, inside, pl-” she cried in response as his fingers pumped inside of her making sure she was wet and ready for him to slide inside of her just like he’d dreamed of doing all these years.

Klaus feathered kisses on his way back up the valley of her breasts and over the column of her neck nipping at her jaw as her hands found his length and teased him. The heels of her feet pushing of the jeans that hung low on his arse still coving his thighs, the fabric delicious against her sensitive skin but needing to go right that second so she could have all of him. Kissing her mouth he helped her push him out of his jeans so their bodies rolled together as one, Caroline was alas on top of him.

Caroline sat up massaging her breasts confident under the weight of his stare as she touched herself content to have him watch as she rubbed her clit softly gyrated her hips. Her wet center rubbing perfectly against his cock making Klaus’ grips on her waist tighten a fraction as he sat up. His whole body moved under hers until his cock was just at the entrance, the tip sliding in making her keen against him.

Klaus simpered at her body’s reaction, possession feeling him at the sight of her eyes going wide, her mouth parting in a loud moan as he pushed inside of her lighting her up. Her walls squeezing around his cock holding him in place as he reveled in the ecstasy only Caroline could bring him and they hadn’t even started yet. Slowly they found their rhythm as he sucked on her nipples biting harshly and kissing the sting away just the way she liked.

The feeling was electric between them, their kisses making their breaths erratic, all teeth and tongues fighting for more, needing more than was ever offered. Touching, lips brushing and flooding desire were the only considerations they were taking in at the time. Bodies growing hotter at the sound of their lovemaking, wet and sticky shrouded by shivers of lust and teasing kisses.

Working their bodies up to the point of release only to slow down and make it last that much longer, their thrusts lingering, their bodies taunt with a need for release. Her teasing breaths against his flesh making it hard do anything but stroke her need from within her and feel her come around him her walls pulsing around his cock until he was sure he was done for. His thumb worked her clit as she arched against him trying but failing to call his name, his body reading hers like a favorite book.

“I know,” he murmured against her lips needing to hear the sound of cry as she came, holding onto him as he pumped deep inside of her drawing out her pleasure and his own. The sound gave him immense pleasure causing him to release deep inside of her as he thrust feeling her bite his shoulder at the little shocks of pleasure that lingered long after he orgasm had finished. He felt himself twitch inside of her, his need never enough even after he was spent and needed time to recover.

“I always loved seeing you covered in my marks,” he murmured hotly against her flesh still feeling her writhe against him, “Too bad I won’t get to see them bruise.” Caroline’s gasp in response was enough to want him to take her again.

She smiled against his neck as he tiredly nudged her down into the mattress tangling their legs as he held her close loving his scent over her flesh. Just for tonight, the thought loitered on his mind causing a deep from he hid from her by kissing her shoulder as her hands dug into his hair still touching. Still unable to get enough of one another even as the hours had passed sleeping only to wake up and have another go.

Morning came along with a quick hot shower that ran cold as they kissed under the river of the showerhead longing for more time together. Escaping the confines of the bathroom they gathered their things back into their respective luggage laughing and teasing the whole way. It was when their nearly dead phones beeped that the pair separated to check on their messages.

“Flights are back up,” she sighed as she looked from her phone to Klaus who stood a good distance away looking absolutely fucked from her ministrations, she imagined she looked no better.

“Same message,” he replied with a look in his eye Caroline couldn’t quite put her finger on as she walked into his space clutching at the lapels of his jacket.

His lips was soft, searching, for what she was uncertain of but Caroline melted into him either way letting herself be taken with the man whom she knew she would always belong to -Even if it was in the smallest of ways. She smiled against his mouth knowing they should hurry along and figure out which plane was what or something along those lines but she didn’t. She stayed put and let Klaus mangle her brain with his screwy kisses and love bites that made warmth pool in her belly.

Her kisses armed him with courage as he peppered hot ones along her lips, his hands roaming her hips and back, “I was thinking if you had the time,” he began softly.

“I have time,” she inserted without a second thought or even an embarrassing thought making him chuckle softly against her cheek before he continued.

His lips grazed her ear as his scruff rubbed deliciously over her cheek, “You could come visit me, in New Orleans,” he requested hoping she would say yes.

Caroline’s teeth tugged at the lobe of his ear before answering, “I could do that,” she told him and as her answer rung in his ears she kissed him so profoundly he felt her touch all the way home.

“Good,” he said in reply meaning to continue on by saying they could do this, they could be long distance or he would move or visit anytime but her dexterous lips made him incoherent.

#Klaroline #klaroline arbor day #klaus x caroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #tvd #KCFamily #kc ship #kc coven #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #kcmoments #kc fandom #lilbreck #gooddame #just my luck

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saessenach · 8 years

Text

in the dark of the night

HERE’S TO @propshophannah my trash-mate when it comes to shipping. I did tell you I would finish this. Like, 3 months ago. WELL HERE IT IS. (shameless pwp, yes.)

Brandy, near-death experiences and witches are by no means things Fenrys should ever mix in good conscience.

The reality of it is slightly different though, as he finds himself sitting on the stairway of a full inn, the warriors downstairs just as battle-worn as him, just as aching for relief, for safety, for certainty, either in each other’s arms, or at the bottom of a brandy glass.

Still, emptying bottles with an Ironteeth witch in the wee hours of the night after a bloody battle is not the smartest thing he has ever done.

Not that the grin plastered on Asterin Blackbeak’s flushed face would make him struggle to act smartly.

In fact, the heat gathering in his belly is the exact opposite of “smart”.

But what do smarts mean when the witch snorts warmly, her breath fanning against his cheek as he speaks and drinks.

“What is it with you and wanting, fae?” she croons, her voice deep with drink and warm with something that sears his insides, “you’d say you were born starving.”

He chuckles, finding her gaze and holding it, before reaching for the brandy bottle in her hand.

“Pots and kettles, Blackbeak, that’s pots and kettles coming from you,” he dares.

“Oh?” she challenges, her smile turning feral. Man-eater.

Later, he would like to tell himself it had been a calculated risk he was taking, but really, it was no such thing, no. It was rather akin to plunging blindly into a sea and hoping to heaven and hell the sharks won’t bite.

Rather the sharks than those gleaming iron teeth of hers, enticing as they may be.

Fenrys is not calculated, not now, not in the way that should count. He is calculated in the faint touch up her hand, tracing a blue vein, calculated in the gaze he drops to her mouth and the hoarse whisper of his voice

“You want nothing more than I do,” a secret sort of smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Freedom to roam and fight and fuck your way through immortality.”

His voice is rough and almost silent in comparison to the rowdy hollering in the tavern below.

“How can you know what I want?” she says breathlessly, and yet it sounds less like a question, and more like an invitation. “You don’t know me.”

“True, I don’t.” he allows, answering her grin with one of his own, “I’d like to, though.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” she whispers wickedly. May it be him, may it be the brandy, but is she closer, yes, she seems to be closer, gods, he could count the freckles on the bridge of her nose, a tiny scar on the side of her face, a splatter of blood on her ear from the day’s battle, and it all makes her a dozen times more tempting.

“Keep telling that to yourself at night, witch.”

She is closer, gods damn him, she comes closer and whispers

“Is there anything else I should whisper in my pillow in the wee hours of the morning, pup?”

“My name,” he answers, bumping his nose to hers playfully, “and mayhaps a sweet plea or two.”

A snarl curls her nose and bares her teeth as she looks up at him. Sharp iron and soft flesh all make up a mouth Fenrys doesn’t even try looking away from.

“Oh, I like you,” he breathes against her lips, the tip of her pink tongue wetting her raw lower lip. His eyes come up to hers, black and black and black, with specks of gold here and there, like little shards of stars in a moonless night.

A smirk tugs at his lips when he notices that a sort of darkness engulfs the gold in her eyes, her warm breath close enough to smell, sweet like cinnamon and honey, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from hers as he ducks his head and pulls that raw lip between his teeth.

Asterin Blackbeak hisses in return, her hands fisting in his doublet, pointed nails scratching against his abdomen. She angles her neck, raising her face to his and deepens their kiss, her tongue sliding past his teeth and meeting his.

The corridor on the first level of their little inn is narrow and cozy, so it’s not much strength Asterin needs to push him off her so that his back slams in the opposite wall. Fenrys opens his eyes in confusion. Gods. His chest is heaving, and his pants are suddenly feeling tight. His mouth opens and closes like a fish’s, but the witch doesn’t fare much better, hair wild in its braided coils and eyes bright.

He has little time to wonder about them before she pounces him, the force she puts into it enough to make the wooden wall creek painfully at his back.

Her hands are around his throat, then up, scratching the shadow of scruff on his jaw, or tangled in his hair. The witch’s hips pin his and instinctively, Fenrys glides his palms down her torso, feeling full curves and hard flesh through her shirts, around her waist and to the small of her back.

She arches when his tongue enters her mouth and his hands finally find purchase, sprawled against the generous slope of her arse. His chuckles are swallowed up by her mouth, they maybe turn into a moan. Particularly loud laughter makes the inn nearly tremble in its hinges and the collective tremour downstairs only makes the hushed sounds escaping the witch’s round mouth that much sweeter.

Fenrys reaches down, grabbing the backs of the thighs and pulls her flush to him, her padded flying leathers smooth against the scratchy wool of his coat. Daggers clang and he nearly cuts his fingers on one strapped to her inner thigh in a hidden pocket. Nevertheless, he lifts her up and her legs come instinctively around his hips, their grip like a vice, and he turns them around, smashing her against the nearest door, the wood groaning.

Her fingers find purchase on the open neck of his coat, pulling, ripping at it, with no care whatsoever to buttons or strings.

“Inside,” she whispers hoarsely to his lips, and Fenrys takes the advantage to press warm, open kisses to the fine line of her jaw until he reaches the shell of her ear and nibbles on it.

“We’re getting there alright, pet,” he says in her ear, hands dancing merrily on her torso, untangling the laces holding her jacket, open at the neck, much like his.

“No, you fool,” she throws her head back when he finds a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, “the door. Open the door. It’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” he teases, fumbling for the door knob while simultaneously grinding against her heat, the witch’s legs wide open around him, enveloping him tightly.

She moans when he pushes against her once more, and he snakes a hand underneath her coat, finding a warm breast and palming it.

Gods, they’re rutting against each other like a pair of hares, he can’t help but think when he does indeed manage to open the damn door. Of course they are, and there’s not much to complain about, in Fenrys’s humble opinion, especially not when the witch breathes a particularly low moan, which goes straight to his cock.

Once they go past the door, Fenrys presses her flat against it, keeping her in place with his body. Not relenting his assault on her mouth -gods, that mouth should be illegal, the grins and smiles and sounds she makes are all so not good for his brain - he reaches behind him, where her ankles cross at the small of his back, and mindlessly tugs on the laces of her boots, intent on properly undressing her. This is probably the fault of the ample amount of brandy he’s consumed tonight, and now that he thinks of it, her hair does look a bit like brandy in the fire light. A tiny bit.

He’s nipping the tendons of her neck, drunk on the feeling of her nails scraping against his scalp, groaning in her ear and goading a response from her. The motion of her hips is divine, and he rolls his hips into her as an answer when he finally succeeds in divesting her of her boots. Her feet are cold, but her toes curl and her heels dig into his backside as he drags his hands along the length of her legs: the curve of her calves and the sinful flesh of her thighs, and of course, the heat between them.

He finds the buckle of her belt at the same time she pushes his doublet off his shoulders, one of her nails ripping his shirt in the haste.

Fenrys tugs with mindless abandon at her pants, a voice in the back of his mind urging him to be careful of whatever weapons she has hidden there. Nonetheless, he is painfully hard and her moans as he bites on the soft shell of her ear do not help at all, and why the everloving fuck is he still dressed- and finally, the damned pants are off and he slides a hand between her legs, feeling for the heat and wetness of her and she arches off the door when he curls his fingers inside her.

By the time he kicks off his own boots as well, the nifty witch has already stripped him of his shirt and the hunting knife strapped under it, and she is raking her nails, blessedly not the iron ones, but still sharp enough by normal standards, down his abdomen, definitely not helping relieving the tension inside him.

Locking her feet around him, Asterin bounces off the door, and Fenrys struggles to keep his balance in front of her assault.

A groan tears off his lips when the backs of his legs hit the bed and he falls in the sheets and the furs on it, basking in her intoxicating scent.

He tugs her shirt over her head and she is exquisite, golden skin and golden hair, curling around her ears and falling in her eyes as she bends to take his mouth. His hands play on her ribs and spine, taut flesh and strong bone, until they reach her arse and hips, wide and becoming and soft.

He shimmies his hips enough for her to pull his breeches off, and she brushes against his length, and gods, the moan he lets out is positively wanton.

The effect it has on the witch is painfully obvious, the flush spreads beyond her cheeks, down her neck and to her full breasts, and Fenrys can’t help but rise up and press his mouth to one of them, all teeth and tongue, while he cups the other, and the witch lets her head fall back, her dark eyes rolling into the back of it.

The scars on her abdomen are large and broad, the cursed mark a reminder of the cruelty she has faced, the cruelty she has braved, the cruelty she has survived, and there is something in Fenrys’s chest that swells at the thought of her strength. It’s some sort of admiration, a kinship and a tether between them, which comes with knowing they’ve both fucked the odds and survived, and that is maybe why Fenrys hasn’t been able to take this witch out of his mind for the past weeks, it’s this understanding between them that has prompted him to want her so, so badly, and his heart beats faster and louder because of that.

He slides against her slick warmth, poised at her entrance and when he is finally inside, it feels glorious and unending and painful all at the same time and the witch twists her hips above him sinuously. Fenrys is quite certain his heart will burst and really, buried deep in Asterin Blackbeak, pressing kisses to her freckled breast and drinking in her moans does not seem like the worst way to go.

He lifts his hips, slamming in her and she nearly screams, hand fisting in his braid and mouth a delicious snarl against his.

She looks into his eyes, a pool of liquid darkness seeing through to the very bottom of his soul and

“Say my name, pup.” she whispers softly, so softly he almost misses it. Almost.

He finds himself smirking, kissing her lips softly, quickly as they move against each other.

“Witches first, m'dear,” he goads her for his own entertainment, and, judging by the way the tightens around him, it works for her as well

“I asked you first.”

She keeps his hands above his head, tangling their fingers, a blissful smile on her face, and her movement becomes uncoordinated, feral, her breathing uneven as he slides into her, again and again, and he can tell she’s nearing completion.

“I asked you second,” she laughs at this, good, it’s good that she can laugh, and it turns into a moan as he bites the nook where her shoulder meets her neck, rolling his tongue over the sore flesh afterwards.

What he doesn’t expect is her bearing down on him with new strength, pressing her breasts to his chest, and paying him back in kind

“Ahhhh,” he closes his eyes against the bliss and the pain of her mouth on his collarbone, the flesh turning angry red and royal purple under her ministrations.

“Now that’s the start,” she pants, right in his ear.

“Ohhh, it is,” he moans, turning his head to the side, facing her, their faces touching and he struggles to focus his eyes enough to meet hers, just as hazy and black as the deepest night, and he holds her gaze as he whispers, “Asterin”

She laughs, the wretched witch, and it is a victory for the both of them, “Ah-” a broken sound which nearly makes him come, “now- was - that -so” - a challenge as he raises himself into a sitting position, slamming into her, and gods, gods, he feels her starting to come undone,“ ah! -hard?”

It’s heaven, it’s merciful heaven and he moves through her climax, and he is close, so very close, drowning in her glorious sounds, and she pushed him back into the mattress, riding him madly, and he can’t tell what’s louder, the creaking of the bed or his own moans as she takes his open mouth with hers, tongue sinfully gliding against his and he wants to goad her, wants to make her giggle and groan and roll her eyes and he winks conspiratorially,

“There’s only one hard thing in this room, hon,” when-

Crraaaaaackkk

They both look up at the same time, and they both yelp at the same time as the mattress falls to the floor under them, and the canopy collapses above their heads, plunging them into darkness.

“Well,” she says, devoid of tone, “it’s definitely not the bed post.”

Hysterical laughter is all Fenrys is capable of at the moment. Asterin, too, it would seem.

#my stuff #tog #eos #fenrys #asterin blackbeak #asterys #trash #fanfiction #i'll edit it later #now i'm sleep #i'm sorry elle

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