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midnxghtsunwrites · 4 years ago

Text

GROUNDED

PAIRING —

william miller x black reader

SUMMARY —

You and Will have been through too much for you to abandon him at his darkest hour.

WARNINGS —

angst, fluff

"Baby, I'm sorry." Your voice was quiet as you rubbed the back of William's hand. His skin is rough and scarred against the pad of your thumb — a symbol of the hardships he's endured both during his service and after.

You'd stuck by his side all those years ago when he was in the brigade commandeered by Tom "Redfly" Davis. They were close — damn, you were all close. You were practically Tess's aunt, showing up at every birthday party and barbecue before Tom's divorce made way.

The years you've been with Will gave you clarity — into his struggle with PTSD and the emotional impact serving as a Special Force Operative had on him. He even taught you a thing or two, defense-wise, before he was caught in a situation in your local Publix — his arm wrapped around another man's throat because he hadn't moved his cart. That lead you to jump on his back and wrangle him back to reality.

He's a soldier in every sense of the word.

He'd gotten better after that incident — attending therapy sessions and doing more public speaking at military bases. It was better to keep his mind off of the terror and trauma from his years of fighting in a war.

He was doing better. And then Santiago just had to come along and convince him to join him for one last ride. Of course, you couldn't do much but support him — that's all he ever asked for. Your love and support. And you were hesitant to give it to him.

But, you did.

And he left for two weeks and returned with a bullet wound — another scar added to his shelf of souvenirs — and a dead captain.

The first night he came back was spent on the beachfront of your home, unable to hide the tears any longer. That night, he slept with his head over your heart, almost as if to make sure it was still beating.

You gave him his space for three days — to get his bearings and a handle on life.

You weren't surprised when he gathered you up one day and drove you to your spot. It was where you had your first date however many years ago — he'd paid for the meal and was a proper gentleman. Of course, you just had to give him your number and hope for the best. Immediately, you knew he was drawn back.

He'd just finished his first tour and the trauma was as strong as it was present — you didn't expect to get a call back after he dropped you home. You were at work when he did, though.

From then on, you and Will had been connected in a way no one really understood. But, it wasn't for them to understand. It's like a well-kept secret between two lovers.

Will's eyes are trained on your dainty fingers as you trace jagged waves along his tainted skin. Your touch could calm a storm, he always tells you. His back presses against the wall of the restaurant, a tattooed arm resting atop the back of his seat, and his other arm stretched across the cold metal table towards you.

Your fingers run up the inside of his wrist and trails the ink in his skin. It's his Force tattoo, faded against his fair skin from years of wearing it as a badge of honor. This isn't his only tattoo.

Just on his other arm is a tribute to a fallen soldier from his first tour. They were the closest friends each other had before Benny decided to join the army as well. It was by a miracle that he was put into the same regiment as his brother.

It didn't seem like much of a miracle when William's friend was blown to pieces on the field.

William lazily tips the neck of his beer bottle to his mouth as he shifts his gaze to the crease between your eyebrows — one that only appears when you're concentrated.

You're so taken with his marred skin littered with healed wounds that you jump slightly when he lifts his hand to take a hold of your own, removing your fingers from his forearm.

He raises your connected fingers and presses it to his lips. Your lips form a pout when you see the tears gathering in his eyes. As he draws your hand away, his gaze transfers to the bare ring finger on your left hand.

"I love you." He proclaims, as he rubs your ring metacarpal, "And I want to thank you for being patient with me. I know..." He sighs as he tries to find the right words to say. Finally, "I know it hasn't been easy being with someone so broken."

You want to stop him. You want to tell him that relationships aren't always easy. You want to tell him that he's not broken, just in pain. You want to tell him that you love him too. So much that it hurts.

But you don't. You wait for him to express his feelings. As long as you have to.

"You've been there for me, Y/N — even when no one else has. You've been helping me for so long that I feel..." He can't continue, instead choosing to look down at your connected hands.

Your finger rubs against his as you realize this, "It's okay, Will. You know you can talk to me."

Your words give him that gentle push — "I feel like I'm keeping you from your life, Y/N. You've had to deal with my trauma and I've been ignoring you and your feelings. I don't want to do that to you, baby. Not anymore. I wanna take care of you instead of it being the other way around."

Y/C/E meet blue as you lean back in interest. Your boyfriend couldn't be more wrong about how he thinks you feel. He's held you back from nothing — when you asked him to move to a new neighborhood, he packed up your bags and boxes and loaded the moving truck; when you asked him to stick by you when you went back to school, he helped you study and ace all off your exams to receive your degree; when you asked him to be there for you, he was. And you know he always will be.

With this in mind, you slide out of your side of the booth, your hand still intertwined with his. He watches you, carefully as you step off the platform on your side before stepping up on his. His legs are stretched along the seat, prompting you to plop yourself right down on his lap. His beautiful blue eyes stare up at you.

Instinctively, he plants his beer on the table and snakes his arms around your waist, keeping you in place. You can feel the bulge of his crotch on the right side of your thigh but restrain yourself — now isn't the time.

"You see that?" Your right hand presses against his chest while your left hand finds its place on his strong arm, right above his military tattoo. You refer to his instinct to hold you. "That is you taking care of me. That is you loving me more than I deserve. Baby," You search his eyes, his pupils dilating as he's overtaken with love, "You're my life. Don't think you've been ignoring me, Will. We just had to reduce that pain you've been living with. Because I'm not happy if you're not happy."

Reaching an arm around, you take his hand into yours and pulls it from your waist. His hand falls limp as he watches you draw him towards you. You rest the palm of his hand on your chest, right above your beating heart.

At the feeling of the organ beating against your chest, Will is brought back to earth. You keep him grounded and that's all he could ever ask of you.

"This is yours, Will. You own it. We've been through too much for you not to."

As you watch the thoughts swirl behind his expressive eyes, you're confused when he pulls his hand away from you. He reaches into his jeans pocket and emerges with a clasped fist. Hovering over the table palm down, he opens his hand and brings your attention to the rose gold ring — a significant contrast from the wooden surface it rests on.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart is pounding against your ribcage.

He looks at it for a moment before tilting his head towards you, "Marry me."

"Will..."

"It’s been a long time coming, Y/N. We've been together for eight years — which I'm sure is seven years longer than what you wanted.”

He loves you, ardently, and now he finds the strength he was searching desperately for just the other day. "I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. With every fragmented piece of me that you've managed to put back together. And I'm forever grateful that you came into my life when I least expected you, but most needed you."

Now it's your turn for your heart to melt — you're growing weak at his words, eyes filling slowly with tears.

His eyes remain on you as you crane your neck to ogle the engagement band on the table. The center is oval shaped and sparkling under the dim lighting of the restaurant. It's beautiful, perfect even — more than you could've asked for.

He is more than you could've asked for.

"I'm done with this shit, babe." Will says as he sees an indecipherable look in your eye. Overthinking leads him to believe that you have doubts about his minimalistic proposal, "I'm completely retired. It's just us — no Pope, no Fish, no Benny, no —" He stops himself before he can say the name.

It's too soon.

The silence between you two is deafening as you're frozen in your spot.

All you can seem to release is his name — it's the only word on your tongue. The only sound you could muster.

He brushes a kinky curl from your forehead and stares up at you, awaiting an answer. Everything in you tells you to speak. To do something — anything.

It's only when Will's grip loosens around your waist that you're snapped back into reality. You'd only dreamed for this moment and now that it's here, your brain seemed to be malfunctioning. Instead of opening your mouth, you reach forward and with your index finger and thumb, you lift the beautiful ring from the table.

"Yes." The word is so quiet that you didn't even realize you said it. Speak up. "Yes, I'll marry you, Will. Christ, you didn't even have to ask."

This has to be the first time he's smiled since he came home. It's bright and amazing and nostalgic. White teeth wink at you as he wastes no time taking the ring from your fingers and sliding it on your digit, his eyes seeming to reflect the sparkle of the engagement band.

The kiss you two share is nothing grandiose. Your kisses rarely are — but they still hold a level of sensuality and passion that many can just wish for. Will runs his tongue along your bottom lip before capturing it in his warm beer-flavored mouth. You don't mind — he has good taste in alcohol.

For a moment, you two forget that you're in a public space. One where patrons are making their exit, but public nonetheless. You pull away when you feel the tears gather in your eyes. You love this man with your heart, mind, and soul — every part of you is overwhelmed with a wave of fervent endearment.

"Damn, I love you." Will exhales as he draws you into a homely embrace.

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littlemspeachy · 4 years ago

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This Conversation is Getting Older and Older

Part Two of You Keep Me Waiting

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Murder, A character is racist

Word Count: 3.8K (Yup y’all are getting more to read)

Draco stares at where Hermione was once stood and sighed before muttering a repairing spell that fixes the broken picture frame, then came organizing his notes for Yazmeen while he was out.

"Hey, Draco, it's Yazmeen. I came for your notes on the death eater case," Yazmeen announced, peeking into his office.

Draco shot the younger girl a smile. "Yeah, I was getting them cleaned up for you. I know how much you hate having to work with illegible writing."

She laughs and shakes her head. "It's fine, you're fine. It's other people on this floor I have to worry about. But um.."

Draco looks up at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Nevermind, I'll talk to you when you get back."

Draco nods and hands over his revised notes. "Take good care of them. They're the only kind."

"I'm pretty sure that I can read your actual notes. But thank you anyway."

Draco smiles at her and watches her leave before grabbing his things and following after her.

"You know, for such a smart wizard, I came in here easily." She says coldly.

Draco pauses in his living room, unsure how to start the conversation.

"Daphne, I made it sure you could come in."

"You need to sign them," Daphne says, pulling a pen from her purse and setting it down on the divorce papers laid out before her.

"Not before my father dies," He responded, voice tight.

"I don't really care about your feelings about your father, and he's practically a shell of a human anyway. Why do you think he's back at the manor?" She shot back, staring pointedly at Draco.

Draco stays quiet because she's right: His father doesn't do anything but look outside to the garden, and he isn't improving his mother's health either in fact, she's gotten worse because of his father being back/ He was thinking of killing him, but after working in law enforcement he wasn't sure how that was going to work.

"Just sign the papers. This isn't for you; it's for me, so get over yourself." Her voice annoyed at how long this situation was taking her.

He sighs because she was right: He was being selfish. Making them stay married even though they haven't been in the same room for longer than 10 minutes in the past 8 years unless it was an event that was centered around his mother. So he walks over to sign the papers.

"Your mother misses you, you know, and she wants an explanation."

Draco pauses the signing of his last mane to look at the woman in front of him before he goes back to signing his last name.

"I don't know why you continue to visit her."

"Because at least one of us to maintain the image of a proper person. We all can't go running around like children on the playground."

Draco rolls his eyes equally as annoyed at his now ex-wife. "Listen, here're the documents, just send me an owl with a court date, and I'll make sure to be there."

Daphne just sighed and slipped the papers into her purse, and leaves through the front door. "You need to talk to her. Also, I poured out the tea. It was getting old.

Draco simply stares at her leaving, leaving his house and his life.

Maybe it was better this way.

He steps out of Hermione's fireplace and into a living room. A room that he knew way too well for simply being fuckbuddies with her roommate.

"I thought you had better wards up 'mione." A familiar voice commented from the other room.

"I did. It was Yazmeen who let him in." Hermione said, watching Draco step out of her fireplace. Fred followed her gaze and watched as Draco got reacquainted with the apartment. Draco noticing their gaze on him.

"Are you two just going to stare at me? If so, I could've met you at the train station," Draco commented, annoyed.

Fred laughs. "Some people never change. I'll see you when you get back," Fred said, smiling at the brown-skinned woman. He pauses at the door. "Keep her safe, Malfoy."

That, for some reason, catches him off guard, but he manages to get out a quick, yeah.

Hermione watched Fred leave before turning back to the blond-haired man who has moved out of her living room.

"You ready to go? I need to call a cab." Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I'm good. Don't know about you, though... Seemed a bit preoccupied." He shrugs, back turned away, looking at some artwork on the wall.

Hermione doesn't validate the statement and instead goes to call a cab. "One is in the area, and it'll be here in about 3 minutes."

Draco doesn't respond, so they exist in silence before Hermione asks, "You've been here plenty of times.. You don't stay over like you used to?"

Draco turns quickly to face the curly-haired woman. "Yeah, unlike like some of us, we have work to do."

"Now, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's obvious half your stuff isn't here, and with Fred being over, I'm going to assume it's at his place?"

All Hermione does is glare before going to look outside to her window. She notices the yellow cab outside, and instead of telling him of the new development, she simply grabs her bag and leaves but unfortunately for her, Draco is a smart man, and he quickly follows after her.

The ride to the train station is filled with tension and silence. Draco likes to think that he wondered if he overstepped a boundary, but then he remembered that he could care less about how he picked at her sex life. If she wanted to do that to him, he could do the same to her. But due to that pettiness, nobody spoke until they were on the train and even then, there wasn't much talking done.

"How are you?"

Hermione glares at him from her seat before rolling her eyes, annoyed at the question "You left me Draco,"

"You left me too; this wasn't a one-person thing,"

"So when were you going to tell me you were married?"

"I wasn't then, and I'm not now."

"Tell that to the gossip magazines."

"Tell that to the gossip magazines that wrote back to back articles about you and Krum? Since when did you listen to them? Also, when did you start caring for me outside of the bedroom?"

"I don't know but stop asking like you weren't the one knocking on my door at first."

The silence informs them both that neither of them have been good. Not that they were ever good, especially not back in college. Running to each other to find something familiar only to go back to hating each other the next day. That's what made the sex good, they both think. Too much passion made anything feel good during the moment, but it's in the morning that you have to wonder whether it was really worth it.

"So are you with him now? You hop from one ginger dick to another?

"Oh, I didn't know you were ginger, and it seems like we're both following patterns."

That one shuts him up because he realizes that he hasn't changed and only moved on to her intern, whose skin looks like the woman's sitting in front of them when the sun hits it just right.

"Also, I don't mind you having sex with Yazmeen, but having sex with every black woman in our office is.... A bit suspicious."

Draco doesn't know how to respond to the claim, so he simply changes the topic "Are you going to Harry's wedding?"

Hermione's eyes snap from the blond man to the window across from him. "Of course, I'm the maid of honor."

Draco isn't really surprised by the admission, "What an Honor. But you know it's surprising that she gave birth before being married."

"Not really.. Might have been going at it for a while, but unlike you, he can stay committed."

"What are you so mad at me for?"

"I don't know? How about we start with the fact that you left Daphne right after getting married, only to start sleeping with me 3 months later. And then lying to her about it. She thought you loved her; I mean, sure, we all knew it wasn't going to last. But she wanted to at least make it work. But there we were fucking in the backseat while she was in the store."

"Listen, it takes two, don't pretend like you're innocent." He shot back-way too quickly for a man who wanted to seem unaffected from the claims.

"That would be a good claim, but there you were in my bed way past time for you to go, talking to me about the future and how uncertain you were and all that other bullcrap only for you to be in a dedicated marriage. It'd be a bit different if you both didn't give a damn."

Draco sat in silence because she was right. Always right.. Never wrong. Never wrong in the classes they were and certainly never wrong about the life they lived

"Well, we're getting a Divorce... to legalize the situation."

Hermione glares at him. "So that's what makes this better? A divorce after what? 5 years?"

Draco wants to say yes, but after knowing the woman sitting next to him for the past 18 years, he knows a warning sign he sees one, so he drops the subject.

They both know that they'll need to talk about this again, and they didn't need to read tea leaves for that. But just like tea, it can only steep for so long before becoming bitter, or maybe they were past that stage, and it just needed to be poured out.

The train comes to their stop, and they go to a cab that was already waiting for them; they both think that even though Sanchez is annoying and strict, he still knows how to be hospitable if hospitable meant a very homely looking hotel.

"Is this it? The place we're supposed to be staying?" Draco asked, voice full of disgust.

"Yea, this was the address given to me by Sanchez."

Hermione and Draco stared at the small white and brown homely inn that looked like its been around since the dark ages.

"Let's go. It's only a night." Hermione whispered, giving a nudge to Draco.

They climb out of the car and were preparing to go in before the driver rolled down the window. "I'm going to be here by 6 tomorrow evening to take you back to the train station and if need to floor just tell the lady at the desk and she'll help you. Good Luck."

They nod before walking in and realizing that the inside looks exactly like the outside. Homely and cold-one of the great perks of being in a city next to the water.

"Check-in for Sanchez," Hermione said, smiling at the hostess.

Draco stayed in the back and looked around, hoping to see something that would indicate the age of this inn, but unfortunately, nothing stood out but a pattern in one of the supporting beams.

"Hey, got the key," Hermione says, jingling the key in his face before walking down the hallway where the supposed hotel room was.

"15, 25, 35, and 45 is the lucky number."

"Why are the doors numbered like that?"

"I don't know you're the pureblood you tell me,"

Draco rolls her eyes at her response. "Why the hell would I know that?"

"The wizarding world is a weird place, and rich kids are supposed to be cultured," Hermione joked before seeing their bedding situation. "Of fucking course, how brilliant."

Draco was confused by her sudden change of tone until he saw what she was talking about: One bed.

One medium-sized bed in a room that was freezing cold.

As Draco starts to say something, Hermione cuts him off. "Listen, we can talk about this later," Hermione sighs before setting down her bag. "I'll go down and call us a cab to the station."

Draco watches her walk away with only her purse, confused as to why she never lets him talk. But he dismissed the thought when he casted a quick charm to keep their bags safe.

They get to the station and head over to sign in at the front desk "Officer Granger and Officer Malfoy is here to talk to... Your head officer, officer Pearce I believe, is the name, about the recent killings." Hermione says confidently while leaning slightly on the wooden desk.

"Why does he look so confused?" an officer asks while coming up behind the secretary that was checking her computer for confirmation.

"Listen, he doesn't do fieldwork; he does office stuff. This is his first time. Give him a break," Hermione confides, laughing slightly at the Blond man's facial expression.

The officer laughs and checks the computer that shows the confirmation. "Alright, let me check your IDs, and I'll get you guys back there." Draco and Hermione gave their IDs to the officer, and he nods that suggests they follow him to the back.

"Have you seen any pictures of the body? or any of the bodies?" Draco asks. He hasn't seen a dead body since the war, and even though it's been 10 years, the sight of them still can keep him up for days. He wonders how Harry moved on. He thinks he should ask him.

"No, we were only asked to get the statement from the old lady, and even then, it's a bit spotty."

"Well, can you fax a copy to our office so that we have a hard version in London? We're not going to take long." Hermione says, her voice more determined than usual.

"Yeah, I can do that for you. Alright, here's his office, by the way, he doesn't like this kind of stuff, so... You gotta be smart." The officer they were following says before knocking on a door that had the name of Anthony Pearce.

"Come in." A baritone voice commands from behind the door.

"Alright, good luck."

Hermione and Draco give the optimistic officer a nod before heading into the office.

"Hello Officer Pearce, we are investigators sent from London to talk to you about the report that was given to you after a recent murder against a young woman," Draco says, looking around the office before landing on the officer's face.

Hermione thinks that the officer looks like one of the men from Mama Mia.

"So when did they start sending in young ones with fancy outfits to deal with murder cases?" He inquired before lighting a cigarette.

"We aren't dealing with the murder it's self we're just trying to find out about the... uh.. designs being left on the bodies of the victims. I'm officer Malfoy, and this is my partner Granger." Draco shoots back at the man. He knew they were young for their field; there was no denying that, but they were good at their jobs, and there will be no one that questions that, muggle or not.

Officer Pearce raises a brow before tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. "Is that so? If you're only dealing with the designs, why do you want the lady's statements?"

"We want her statements because she was the last one to talk to the lady that was most recently killed, and she could possibly tell us some information that could help us understand what's going on," Draco responds with a slight huff.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Dracos body language 'how immature. You don't hold any power out here, pretty boy.'

"If that's the case, I could've just sent the report to your office. Why come all the way here for something we could've faxed you?" The older man responds, a demeaning edge to his voice.

"Because we're going to interview the woman tomorrow, and since we were in the city, we decided to question you directly. But if you don't want to comply, I can and will have you arrested for obstruction of justice." Hermione responds, a clear tone of annoyance in her voice.

Pearce stares at Hermione and then looks at Draco. "You should keep her around; she gets stuff done. And I'll get you the interview report, and I can't tell you anything because I didn't conduct it and what was said was nothing out of the usual... But I have received some pictures of the, uh, drawings." He says before going through a drawer and bringing out a manila folder.

"Can we look at them?" Hermione asked softly.

"I can make you a copy," He says, putting out his cigarette before heading over to the printer. "Now, why'd you come here? These murders have been happening for a while."

"It's because our office thought these were stand-alone cases. It's London.. And unfortunately, people get killed all the time." Hermione says slowly, making her seem sadder than she actually was.

"Understandable, but Liverpool does have its crime.. Luckily we're not in the city, so it's a bit easier for us." Pearce says before handing Draco the first page.

"If you don't mind me asking... Why were you so resistant to us knowing the information?" Draco asked, passing the page to Hermione.

"Because whoever is doing this is getting off scot-free. And they're sick cunts too. Imagine, instead of just killing the bloke, you carve patterns into their skin. I tell ya it's some of them, refugees." Pearce says, handing them the next two copied pages.

Hermione looks up from the pictures. "Sir, this is obviously not Arabic. And it's interesting that a cop that is supposed to serve his community has those kinds of feelings for the people he's supposed to be protecting."

"Nah, none of them live around here, and a good thing too. Don't want them to be committing crimes and stuff." Pearce says, walking back to his desk and lighting another cigarette.

Draco noticed the fist tightly wrapped around the paper before speaking up. "Thank you for your time here, sir... If we hear anything thing new, we'll make sure to let you know."

Pearce simply nods before going off into his own world as they left.

"What a fucking bigot." Hermione angrily whispered. Draco stayed silent shocked at the bluntness of the officers' rudeness, but then he realized that his father was the same towards muggles.

They walked to the front and thanked the secretary, and then went to an empty-looking coffee shop across the street.

"My father was like that, wasn't he?" Draco asks while they were sitting down in their chosen seats.

Hermione looks up from the small menu provided at their table. "You think?"

Draco drops the subject before reaching over and grabbing the files.

"How may I help yous?" A bubbly waitress asked Hermione, almost completely ignoring Draco.

"I would like a cup of coffee, straight please." Hermione says with a smile that makes the younger girl blush.

"And I would like a cup of earl grey and some of the strongest stuff you have." Draco says dryly.

The waitress doesn't respond but jots the items down. "That'll be right out."

Draco watches the waitress retreat to behind the bar. "What the hell was that about?"

"Aww, are you mad that you didn't get attention?" Hermione teasingly giggled while picking up her well used legal pad.

Draco didn't respond.

"Hey, Malfoy, do you work with still work with ruins, or are your college years being wasted on artifacts?" Hermione asks, laying out the pictures in front of her.

"Mainly artifacts and studying the charms people put on them," He responds before the waitress came over.

"Here is your drink and alcohol, and your drink, ma'am, is still being made." The waitress says in a light, bubbly tone.

Hermione nods in recognition, but her brows stay furrowed in concentration.

The waitress leaves before Draco speaks up again, clear liquid in hand.

"Don't drink that right now," Hermione says, quickly looking up and snatching the glass of clear liquid. She sniffs if before confirming. "It's moonshine.. That's some powerful stuff, and if you want to coherent while researching, then I suggest you leave that for later." Hermione informs before pulling out an empty flask.

Draco looks at her curiously before pouring the clear liquid into the flask.

"Look, they didn't die graphically. There's no blood if that what you're worried about." Hermione says, looking up at the blond across from her.

"No..That's- I just.. If something big happens when we're on this case, we're going to become much more than researchers, and I just- I left the field for a reason, and I really don't care to be put back in. I was perfectly fine at my desk and perfectly capable of what I was doing."

Hermione looks at him deeply at him before looking back down at the ruins. "That's wonderful to know, and I understand I really do, but we've been working under Sanchez since our internships. And I know that he's smart enough not to let his head researchers go into the field blindly just to get killed. He knows we can handle ourselves out here. Meaning you gotta start trusting yourself. Plus, after this, we'll probably get a nice vacation offering once we're done, so suck it up and let's figure this out before more people die."

Draco sips on his tea, considering the words of the intelligent woman in front of him.

"Here's your coffee, ma'am... Buy the way it's on the house." The waitress interrupts, setting down the requested coffee.

Draco rolls his eyes at the "sincere" action before grabbing his wallet and handing the young woman 100 pounds. "Keep the change."

Hermione gawks at the exchange but doesn't voice her comment until the woman goes away.

"Do you know how much money that is?"

Draco sends her a confused look before replacing his wallet with his glasses. "All right, what are we looking at."

"Well, firstly, you're starting to look like Harry for one. I get you both are basically office mates but geez. And secondly, I think it's Egyptian. Like something found in tombs, but then there's more stuff that I can't really think of... Maybe Mayans?"

Draco grabs a pictured and stares before shaking his head. "Possibly, but there seems to be a mix of several curses among the charms. Those are most certainly from Egypt, and that's probably how the doctors died," He says before grabbing another picture. "Yeah, because they look like hieroglyphics, and so they decoded them and then cursed themselves. But how he got them on the body is what's' really confusing."

Hermione nods before asking, "Don't you have tea with you?"

"Yeah, but I know it's cold, and so I got a new cup."

A new cup indeed.

#dramione #fanfic #chapter two #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #black hermione granger #fanfiction #series

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talislibrary · 5 years ago

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Starter for my Witcher rp!

Not my best of works, but it always brings back memories from the game so. Here it is.

TWS! // swords, mentions of food and alcohol, violence.

Geralt found himself in Novigrad yet again; a place of corruption and fake hope for the townspeople, but with an architecture oh so beautiful that it distracted from the stench of beggars and whores littering the streets. A contract for a Nightwraith brought him there, something about a bride being murdered by her maid of honor. Humans and their trust, throwing it around to anyone, tsk. If he weren't to get something good out of it, he wouldn't have taken the job, the hassle of playing the detective bringing out the evilest parts in people. For all he cared, he could've burnt the golden hairclip that was bound to the young lass, but her family insisted she had to be cured. "How could we live without seeing our little Dila at the altar?" They chanted, sorrow painted over their harsh features.

So there he was, Geralt of Rivia, roaming the main plaza in search of an herbalist who was willing to trade some Arenaria flowers for a few crowns, in order to mix up a cure for the specter. Just as he halted to a stop to look at the stock of an alchemist hidden away in an abandoned building, he heard the voice of some guards, as harsh on his ears as the first time. "Wha' do we 'ave 'ere? Another freak, right when we wiped out all the witches." 'Great', the Witcher thought, turning around with a smirk on his face and expecting to bump into a group of red and white stripes. He'd taken on them before, nothing new. Plus, the documents the emperor gave him should be enough to make them piss their pants and leave without a scene. It wasn't quite how he expected it, instead, he was met with a familiar slender figure, ashen hair put up in a bun in a messy manner. "Let me go or you'll regret it!" It was all Geralt had to hear before he dashed to the archway of the closed path, the sound of steel being sheated out of its confines echoing between buildings. Of course, the cowards let go of Cirilla without a care in the world, thinking that their lives were worth more. When they glanced behind them, the imposing figure of the White Wolf greeted them, along with piercing amber eyes that were frowning upon their actions. "Is this the justice you were hired to make?" He grunts out, reaching in his pocket for the pass he had for the contract. "That is no way to assure safety for your folk, is it now? Bet your emperor would be really mad if he were to hear about his guards not following orders." With that said, Geralt unraveled the writing on the worn piece of paper, his attention going to Ciri. "Ah, what's another whore to 'im", an Oxenfurt accent chimed in. One glance from the cat-like eyes was all they needed to know that they would regret ever being there. Not one moment after, the same steel that had been chilled by the cold breeze was at the throat of the daring human, pressing hard against his pulse. "Quite the ambition you have, not only disobeying your king, but talking filth about the White Wolf's daughter." was said through gritted teeth, after a wave of gasps and chokes. "P-please no, master witcher. Spare me bloke 'ere, he had one too many ales." Geralt's nostrils flared with anger and his palms shifted on the handle of his sword, slowly backing off, not wanting to teach Ciri that killing solves your problems. "Get the fuck out of my face or I'll make sure you end up in a beggar's meal." The witcher spat out, pushing through the group to reach out for Cirilla, pulling her into a tight hug, not before checking for any injuries she might have gotten.

~~~

The sun was back in the sky, but so was blood on both of the Witchers' hands. They were galloping to the inn Geralt last left Jaskier, a proud twitch of his lips creeping its way onto his battle-worn face. Ciri was in front of him, riding Swallow, "Woohoo!"s being shouted in the streets. Her excitement was equal to the wolf's, the head of the Nightwraith dangling off of the side of her horse.

What a glorious fight it was, both of them catching up about life in the bushes, cut off by a wail. They worked together and managed to weaken the specter enough that her thrashing stopped and the cure left her ghost figure on the grass, while her human form was trembling of fear and cold. Sure, it was a pleasure to know they saved someone from doom, but what made their hearts pound the tiniest bit faster was the pride they had from the rewards, both money and the proof that the deed was done.

When they finally reached the cozy building, Geralt tossed Cirilla the bag of coins he got from the contract, along with a stern look at the maid that was behind the bar; she knew better than to mistreat the Witcher's friends, even family.

The wooden steps creaked under the weight, but alas he got back to his room. When the door swung open, he expected to be greeted by a smile as bright as dandelions and an excited voice, but instead, the white-haired man walked in and was met with the crackling of logs in the fireplace, the sight of a full tub and something strange, a scent he couldn't wrap his head around. Surely, Jaskier was there not too long ago, but there was a faint feeling of roses, something he wasn't too acquainted with.

It all turned out to come from a letter that was left on his bed, already opened and discarded. When he lifted it out of curiosity, it read:

"Master Witcher,

My most honest apologies for the inconvenience of the letter, alas it was my last resort. Cintra is celebrating another year since their youngest heir was found, therefore you, who claimed their Child of Surprise, shall have a special place in our history forever.

We would be delighted to have you accompany us during the happiest time of our existence, thus you have been invited to a masquerade. Food and ale shall be enough for the whole continent, but you have a place among the higher ones, at the table of the Empress, where wine and the finest cooked meats will be served all night and day, without complaint.

Bring along company, as anyone who befriends the witcher shall be treated as highly as royalty.

Signed, The Lioness of Cintra"

Geralt would've ditched the occasion, everyone knows how much he despises stuck-up riches, especially when they drink more than they can handle. What caught his attention, though, was the signature. It couldn't be, Calanthe was long gone, and Pavetta couldn't have taken her place, not even if she was tortured to do it. As much as he hated it, the witcher knew he had to go, to figure out who is claiming to be the Empress of Cintra, and how the impostor knows of his whereabouts.

His questions about Jaskier were answered, all the man had to read were the words masquerade, food and alcohol, and he was no more entranced than children are when they hear stories about monsters.

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