#cooking up the saturday spring treat fic………. it’s going Well i think i hope i pray

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i keep writing the same fics over n over again atp i’m just trying to see how many times i can get away w it until someone points it out …… :’3

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Chapter 14 - Last Chance For Spotting A Rainbow

If you know you know ;)

[ FM ]

The second Friday in school marks the end of the grace period for the first-grade parents where they can accompany their kids all the way to the classroom. From now on, we wait for them in front of the school with the other parents.

It also ends the grace period where I can “casually” bump into Miss Scully in front of her classroom and I’m a little disappointed, to say the least.

This morning though, I get lucky because when we enter the school, we run into her on the way from the teacher’s lounge to the classroom, a stack of books in her arms and a cup of coffee perched perilously on top of them.

Felix is ecstatic. “Good morning, Miss Scully!,” he yells from across the front hall and tugs me towards her.

She stops and waits for us, her coffee cup wobbling. “Good morning, Felix! Mr. Mulder!”

“Good morning! Do you need help with that?” I gesture towards her books but the shakes her head no.

“No, no, I’m fine, thanks. So Felix, you got any big plans for this weekend?” They’re walking in front of me and I’m proud of myself that I steal a glance at her ass only once. Okay and one at her legs. ‘Those heels, oh boy. Another pair to add to my inappropriate fantasies, in most of which she always wears heels. And nothing else.’

“Yeah, we’re going to the farmer’s market tomorrow! Have you ever been there Miss Scully?” Felix swigs his schoolbag along, his gaze never leaving her.

“Actually, me and my friends go there every Saturday, so maybe we’ll run into you guys there!” I somehow get the feeling that if Felix gets any say in this, we’ll be spending the whole day there until we run into her.

When we reach the classrooms, she finally lets me help her out. “Could you get my keys please? They’re in my back pocket. Just pull on the lanyard.” ‘Oh Lord. They’re in the freaking back pocket of her jeans. Of course they are. I just can’t seem to catch a break.’

Biting back a dirty joke – which I’m 100% positive she wouldn’t appreciate – I do as told and tug on the lanyard, unlocking her classroom door and opening the door for her. I briefly wonder if I should just put the keys back where they were, but the thought alone almost gives me a heart attack, so instead, I loop the lanyard with her keys around her neck and she smiles thankfully.

“Thanks. Have a good weekend, Mulder boys!”

After school, I don’t see her again because they’re, as Felix informs me, in the gym already. But I’m treated to a story about her in recess in the car.

“So I was sitting on the teacher’s bench again today and Miss Scully was talking to Miss Anderson and you know how they’re kind of weird and only ever use the first letters of their names? Miss Anderson always calls her “D” and I’ve been wondering forever what it stands for.” Yes I do know, I had to get him the book of first names from our library’s top shelf. Also, a kid’s definition of forever will never cease to amaze me. It’s been a few days, tops. I wait for him to continue.

“… and then, Miss Anderson said it, dad! She said: ‘Dana, I’m not sure this is gonna work!’ Now I finally know! …Dana.”

I nod, but on the inside, I sincerely hope that he hasn’t made the obvious connection, that her name is almost eerily similar to his mother’s first name. Just one letter.

---------

[ DS ]

That night, we order Chinese takeout, none of us particularly interested in cooking and we gather around the kitchen table. Sarah passes out the chopsticks while Holly opens a bottle of Shiraz, our classes clinking together for a toast. “Two weeks down! So girls, how was your week? Any juicy stories?,” Sarah asks, looking around at us expectantly.

“Well… I could tell you about that really awful date I had this week with Mark the banker, on which he made a move 10 minutes into the conversation buuuut I get the feeling someone else might have more interesting stories.” Holly points her chopsticks at me and grins, waggling her eyebrows. My own chopsticks pause halfway to my mouth.

“Me? Why?” I ask innocently, stuffing a piece of spring roll into my mouth.

“Very funny! You wanna tell me why I saw a very handsome dad leave your classroom all smiley faced on Tuesday?” ‘Busted.’

“What?! Mr. Mulder? How did I miss this?” Sarah looks at the both of us incredulously.

“Because your classroom isn’t across from D’s and you didn’t happen to look out through the window to see Dopey McSmileypants leave! So D, spill it, and don’t leave anything out!” I shrug nonchalantly.

“I asked a mom to help with read-alouds but her kid was sick, so since Mr. Mulder happened to stand there, I asked him if he could do it. Of course, the kids were all over him with questions, who are you, what are you doing here, you know how curious they are. He was a big hit with them, though, they absolutely loved him.” ‘They’re not the only ones though’

“Bet they weren’t the only ones who loved him, huh?” Damn Sarah for reading my mind! I laugh uncomfortably, shifting in my seat, but I nod. It was really nice to have him in my classroom. To cover for the fact that I’m not telling them the whole story, I help myself to some Kung-Pao Chicken. Sarah catches on anyway, of course she does.

“Wow, that’s mighty nice of him, to take an hour out of his workday to help you out! But I get the feeling that there’s more to the story, what aren’t you telling us, D?”

“Well… after he left, the kids had even more questions, they practically fell over each other, why are your cheeks so red Miss Scully, is he my boyfriend, or is he my husband? And… I caught myself thinking ‘Ya, I wish!’ …” I trail off, a little embarrassed at my admission.

“Man this is some serious Romeo and Juliet shit that’s going on here, D. So we’ve established that you like him, we suspect that he likes you too, judging by the glazed over look on his face when you walk by and he thinks no-one is watching. What’s the hold-up then?”

“Please don’t tell me we’re still hung up on the people talk – good reputation bs!” If I had hoped that the conversation would not take this turn, Holly quickly extinguishes it.

“I don’t know, guys… it’s not complete bs though, you know how I hate when people gossip about me behind my back, and dating the new guy in town puts me in a spotlight that I’m not particularly comfortable being in. I guess what’s worse however is that I’m scared. Like, terrified, of putting my heart out there again after that 2 year on-again-off-again shitshow with Steve last year.”

“That narcissistic asshole…,” Holly mutters under her breath and the others nod, remembering when I had finally hit emotional rock-bottom last year, after I realized that he’d gaslighted me over and over again, resulting in me having a mental breakdown curled up on the cold bathroom floor.

“My anxiety has been badever since, it’s getting better with therapy, but still… I just know I’ll screw it up. I’m damaged goods.” Alex, who hasn’t said anything yet, listening intently, finally speaks up.

“That’s not true, D. You’re getting help and you know we’re always there for you.” – “Yeah, we’ll kick anybody’s ass who dares to hurt you!” – “Don’t interrupt me, S. If he’d ask you out on a date, do you think you’ll say yes?” I consider this for a moment.

“I’m not sure. I don’t really know anything about him except that he seems to be a great dad and that he believes in aliens…” Holly bursts out laughing at the last part.

“What? Aliens?” I tell them the story that took place with the PTA parents in front of the school and the others join Holly’s laughter and I’m grateful that the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

“That’s too funny... You know, he could really learn a thing or two from his son, he asked us to his and his dad’s birthday party today at recess! It was so sweet, guys, I can’t even… We’re all invited, by the way – I think it’s going to be quite the event!” Felix had come up to Sarah and me today, holding out an official invitation and one that he had made himself, just for us.

“Yay, a party, I love me a good party! So, are we going to go?” Holly looks at us questioningly. Sarah only scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Are you kidding? Of course we’re going to go!”

[talesofstyles]

Mates

Hello! What have we got here? A best friend!H. Does it have smut? Yes ma’am. Have I ever written smut before? Absolutely not. Do I want to run and hide in the darkest deepest part of the earth after writing this? YES. 

Bless @waitingfortwilight (+for proofreading it!) and @all-things-fic because they’re most likely sick of hearing me talking about this in our group chat for the past few weeks, but hey it’s done now ;) also to @harrysdimplles for being excited with me!

Hope you like it and tell me what you think! xx

It was around six thirty in the morning when Harry woke up. He is one of the ten percent of the global population who are morning larks. He absolutely loves waking up early in the morning and almost never stays in bed past eight.

Meanwhile, you are the complete opposite. You are truly, definitely, utterly, completely, absolutely not a morning person. You hate waking up in the morning. You always set your alarm ten minutes before the actual time you need to get up so that you’ve got time to be pissed in bed because you have to wake up. Poor Harry made the mistake of waking you up early in the morning, thinking you’d join him for a morning run a week after both of you had settled into your new shared flat, and boy did he regret that decision. You’d given him a right bollocking, and sulked around like a stroppy child for the rest of the day.

You were never a morning person, so that was why Harry was confused when he heard sounds coming from the kitchen as he walked through to make himself a cup of coffee. He was looking down, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes as he entered the kitchen, so he didn’t realise the tall figure stirring coffee in the mug next to him wasn’t you.

“Morning mate,” greeted the man before he took a sip of his coffee.

Harry mumbled in response before it was cut with a yawn. “Mor- whoa,” he raised his palm to make a stop sign, and continued after he finished yawning. “You don’t live here.”

“Uh,” awkward silence filled the kitchen. “I don’t.”

“What are you doing here?” He knew it was a stupid question, but that somehow didn’t stop him from asking.

“Er, uh,” the guy looked down at his mug for a second before he answered. “Visiting.”

“Visiting what? My roommate’s uterus?”

The guy took a big gulp of his coffee and sat the mug down in the sink. “Uh, I’ll get going. Nice seeing you again, Harry.”

“Alright, bye bye now,” Harry said as the other guy disappeared from the kitchen, before muttering, “what a nonce,” under his breath.

Harry wasn’t usually mean. He was all about treating people with kindness, but apparently the motto didn’t apply to his roommate’s exes. It had nearly been a month since you broke up with Jamie.

Boy, was he fit. He’s still fit. He’s so fit. Legit ten out of ten. Was that the reason you keep getting back together even though you knew for sure that the relationship was toxic? Probably. But hey, you were a young woman in your early twenties; as young as a spring chicken, still naïve—and shallow, apparently—so nobody can blame you.

Jamie was your first serious boyfriend, because no—we are not going to count that nerdy bloke with glasses who used to do your maths homework in year 6. You were together on and off for four years, but you decided that enough was enough. It was your decision to end things in the first place, but that didn’t mean that you were okay with it. You did it because you knew it was the right thing to do—but deep down you knew you didn’t want it to end. Because controlling and guilt-inducing aside, Jamie was a nice bloke. He’s got a great sense of humour (unlike your darling roommate whose jokes tend to give you physical pain), and good Lord those lips always seem to know what you want to hear every single time. He’s romantic; such a good cook, and goodness gracious glory you, those abs. That face. Those green eyes that twinkle every time he talks about something that he is passionate about. He was a dream. But again, you knew ending it was the right thing to do.

You’d barely left your flat during the first week after your break up. You were so miserable, and Harry tried everything he could to cheer you up, but he didn’t have a lot of experience in helping girls get through a break up. All he knew about break ups was the fact that there were three phases (thank you Chandler) - phase one: sweatpants, phase two: getting drunk and going to a strip club, and phase three: picturing themselves with other people. He did offer to accompany you to a strip club incase you wanted to, but you threw one of the pillows on the couch at him for suggesting such a thing. So he just let you be. He threw away your healthy—re: shit—ice cream and swapped it with Ben and Jerry’s because he knew that you like to eat ice cream whilst watching Sleepless In Seattle or You’ve Got Mail, or basically any rom-coms that you decided to watch that night. He did the washing up for seven days in a row without moaning, and he even did some of your laundry too. He didn’t press you to talk it out, but he made sure that you knew that he was there for you.

You were so much better during the second week. In fact, you were too much better. Harry was surprised that it only took you a week to get over a four year relationship, but he was pleased to have his happy, bubbly roommate back. He was a little suspicious, but he brushed it off. He thought maybe you didn’t really love Jamie and that was why you were quick to get back on your feet. Or maybe you just had the emotional equivalent of a scavenging sewer rat. He’d never know.

Third week? You were back to square one.

“Well, well, well, look who’s up,” Harry greeted you as you appeared in the kitchen whilst he was beating the eggs and watching Gordon Ramsay as he did the same thing on his iPad. “Morning, love. Late night, eh? Y/N and Jamie sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G~”

“Morning,” you answered plainly. It was way too early for you to be arsed about his teasing remarks.

“So,” He paused as he added some crème fraiche into the pan. “Are you gonna tell me what happened last night? How that happened? You two getting back together?”

You sighed as you made your way to the counter where your nespresso machine sat. You put a capsule into the machine and turned it on because you needed some caffeine in your system before you could talk about it. Although you had a feeling by looking at Harry’s smirk that you were going to need a much stronger drink.

“Nah,” you replied and let out a yawn before you continued. “Was just a booty call.”

“A booty call?” Harry looked up from the pan at you. “Are you cool enough?”

“I am cool. The coolest I’ve ever been. In fact, I’m so cool that I’m gonna text him again for another booty call tonight. And maybe this time we can go out and have a booty breakfast.”

“You, my friend, are the furthest thing from cool. As the President of the casual sex society, local chapter—I call bull on your booty.”

“What?” You frowned. “It’s just a booty call.”

“Not with you it isn’t. You think that booty breakfast will maybe lead to a booty dinner, then maybe booty engaged and booty married, and have a couple booty kids and a booty retirement home, and then booty die together.”

“That isn’t true!” You protested.

“Yes it is! You know it is.” He went on. “You two keep going on and off you’re like Rihanna and Chris Brown, minus the punching and the duet.” Harry insisted as he put the eggs on two plates for both of you. “You were already doing so good last week, don’t go back there again.”

“Well, girls gotta eat!” you grumbled like a three year old whose candy had just been taken away, and Harry let out a chuckle.

“Go eat!” he stressed. “But don’t eat at the same restaurant.”

You huffed. “I don’t do one night stands.”

“So don’t stand. Lay down.” He grinned as he caught the cherry tomato that you threw at him in response. “Seriously, love, you need to get over him. He was a bellend.”

“You’re a bellend.”

“Oi! I was just trying to help!” this time he scrunched up a kitchen towel and threw it your way. “Listen, we’re going out tonight, yeah? S’gonna be fun.”

“I don’t feel like going out.”

“Alright, then. But remember, you can’t call Jamie again. I know it’s really not my business but you’re my best friend and I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I won’t.” You reassured him.

Harry reached out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise?”

“Oh my God, what are you? Five?” You took a sip of your coffee before you gave in and reached out yours. “Fine, promise. Happy now?”

***

“Harry!”

He sighed at hearing his name being yelled again for the third time. You had been quite short with him somehow even though he did nothing wrong. You weren’t usually like that and he knew it was just because you were upset, so he gave you a dick pass.

“What?” Harry asked you as he stood up from the couch to find you. “What did I do now?”

“I just changed the toilet roll three days ago and it’s already gone! How dirty is your arse?!” You grumbled.

Harry looked at you in disbelief. “For fucks sake woman it’s three quid for nine bleeding rolls!”

“Aye! Sorry didn’t know we’re a Tory household now, splashing money around like we won the lottery.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “Alright that’s it. Let’s get you out of the house. You’re mean at home.”

“Hey!” You swat his arm in response to his remark. Then he ended up showing off the arm that you hit playfully and pointed at it to prove his point.

“See?! Come on, let’s go get changed. Spit spot. Move along now. You can go and get ready now voluntarily or I’ll just drag you out by force in your two days old pyjamas. The choice is yours.” He shrugged and opened his palms.

You huffed but you did what he told you to do anyway, because maybe he was right—you needed the change of scenery. You wanted to just get back in bed since it was Saturday and took a three hour nap, but you knew that pest of a roommate of yours wouldn’t let you, and you knew that what he said wasn’t an empty threat. So, you went to take a quick shower and get ready.

“Seriously, where are we going?” You asked Harry as you waited for him to start his orange Vespa scooter.

“Ah ah ah,” Harry shook his head. “What did I say before? No questions, just put your helmet on.”

“Are you gonna kidnap me?”

“We live together!”

“Yeah, but who knows? Maybe you’re after my kidney.”

“Oh my God woman just shush, put your helmet on and hop on so we can get going, yeah? S’gonna be fun, promise. No kidney stealing or some other dodgy stuff.”

You couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle for the first time in a while, and Harry grinned. “See? You’re better outside.”

After putting the helmet on, you hopped onto the scooter and you held his waist. But then you felt his hands reaching for your arms to wrap it around his tummy and rest it on his belly button, making you sit closer to him. Your front was nearly glued to his back, which you were sure they would be in a second when you hit the road because the slightest bump would shift you forward.

You weren’t sure what it was. You weren’t sure why you were feeling a little flustered being that close to Harry. For a second you thought maybe it was just because you had broken up recently and your emotions were out of whack. That wasn’t the closest you’d ever been with Harry. You were both—still are—massive cuddlers, so it wasn’t rare for you two to sit on the couch cuddling as you watched whatever it was on the telly. You tried to brush it off. Besides, Harry was fit—still is and forever will be—so you told yourself it’s normal and that you don’t need to fret about it.

After a million bumps and sudden brakes, you both arrived in Camden. You thought Harry was going to take you to the market, but he surprised you by stopping the scooter in front of a grey building.

“Alright, get down and wait for me here, I’ll be back in a tick, just gonna park there.” He said, and you hopped down immediately, handing him your helmet afterwards.

He was back with you shortly with a huge grin plastered across his face. “Ready t’av some fun?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Is it one of those escape room thing? Oh my God Harry, we are both dumb—we’ll never get out!”

Harry protested. “Hey!”

You burst into laughter when you saw the look on his face. Neither of you had ever been to an escape room before, so you didn’t know what to expect. But you couldn’t deny that you were quite excited, although never in a million years would you admit that to Harry’s face.

It turned out that you were required to book the room beforehand, and obviously you hadn’t since it was pretty spontaneous. Fortunately, there was one room left available right away.

“We only have the Zen Room available for now, would that be alright with you?” The receptionist kindly offered you.

“Oh, what is it about?” Harry asked her.

“Basically your mission is to help an orphaned Japanese girl retrieve her priceless family heirlooms. Are you familiar with Asian culture? Also it’s not a requirement but if you can speak Japanese that would make it so much easier.” She explained.

“Well, I know a bit about the culture, yeah,” Harry nodded.

You lifted your eyebrow as you looked at him. “What do you know?”

“Well, I went to BLACKPINK concert once.” He gave a lopsided grin and the receptionist had a little chuckle.

“Oh my God.” You facepalmed. “We’re never getting out aren’t we?”

Harry insisted that it was going to be just fine and that it was going to be fun so you agreed to do it. The receptionist gave you a quick briefing before walking you to the end of the hall where the Zen Room was.

“There’s a screen inside and I will give you clues from time to time. Have fun!” she said as she opened the door for both of you. You thanked her and as soon as the door was closed, the light turned on and you scanned the room around you.

The room wasn’t big, but there was something like a sliding door that you were sure that would open at some point and there’s got to be another room behind that.

“Oh bollocks! Everything is in Japanese, I can’t read anything.” You grumbled as you began looking around for clues.

Harry mumbled nonchalantly. “I can speak Japanese.”

“What?! I didn’t know that.” You replied. Feeling a little relieved and for the first time you thought maybe you two were going to nail it.

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “You never asked.”

“Alright, say something.” You requested, curious about what would he sound like speaking in foreign language. He was shit in French but you thought maybe he was good in Japanese?

“Uh, konnichiwa. Arigatou gozaimasu.”

You shook your head. “No, not just hi and thank you. Say a proper sentence.”

“I can’t. That’s the only words I know.”

“THAT’S IT?!” you hollered.

“Hey, it’s still Japanese!” he argued.

“Two words don’t count!”

“Knowledge is a knowledge no matter how small!” he insisted.

You could go on but you realised that you had a more important task. You wanted to solve the mystery before the time ran out because they gave free ice cream if you manage to get out in under an hour, and you were willing to fight for free ice cream, so you told Harry to find as much clues as he could in one part of the room whilst you searched the other part.

Harry jumped up in surprise and tumbled when the telly suddenly turned on and the receptionist’s face appeared on the screen. You cackled, and the receptionist failed to stifle her snigger. “Sorry, are you alright?” she asked.

“Well, physically I’m fine.” He replied. “Emotionally, I’m bruised.”

You howled at his response and the fact that he was looking down at the floor in embarrassment made it even harder for you to control your laughter. The girl gave you the first clue and told you to try to open the wooden box in the corner of the room. You tried to move things around before you heard Harry squeal when he found a bunch of keys.

“Hey, look at what I found!” he beamed proudly.

“What?” You asked curiously. “What is it?”

He showed you the keys that he found and shook it to make a rattling noise. “Keys!”

“Aaah! Open it! Open it!”

He struggled to get the key into the keyhole. He had tried five different keys and none of them seemed to work. “It doesn’t fit!” He grumbled, but then giggled not even two seconds afterwards. “Hehehe.”

You looked at him in confusion. “Why are you laughing?”

“If I got a penny for every time I said that.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t think any of those keys will work. That’s too easy. There’s got to be something else.”

It was safe to say that you both sucked at it. You had been in the room for twenty minutes and so far both of you had only found two little coins, a silk hand fan and a bunch of useless keys. You had tried to open every drawer and looked at underneath the tables but you found nothing. But then the sliding door suddenly opened and both of you looked at each other in horror.

“Did- what- how?!” you gasped.

“I’ve got no idea! Do you think this room is haunted?” he deadpanned. He knew you were a wimp and he found pleasure from the look of your face.

You scolded him. “HARRY!”

He giggled and walked behind you into the other room. Actually, he knew why the door opened—because he opened it. He was moving some paintings around and as soon as he moved that painting of a fish on the wall, the door opened, but there was no way on earth he would tell you that. And being the pest that he was, he made some creepy, breathy sound of your name to wind you up, making you shudder in fear.

“Harry I swear to God if you don’t stop, the first thing I’m going to do the second we get out of here is to kill you.” You threatened him, and he howled in response.

There was a giant sudoku on the wall, a table with some antiques on top of it and an empty aquarium. Great. You were shit at sudoku and you were sure that Harry was even worse.

��Oooh! Sudoku!” Harry clapped his hands excitedly.

You glanced at him. “Do you know how to play it?”

“Of course! I’m really good at it. I’m the best. I’m the king of sudoku!”

“Have you ever played it?”

He shook his head. “Not once in my whole life.”

“Oh God, we’re never getting out.”

“Come on, let’s just put those numbers in the slot.” He suggested as he began to take the wooden numbers out of the box.

“That’s not how it goes.” You folded your arms and Harry tilted his head at you, his forehead furrowed.

“That’s literally how it goes!”

“I mean,” you licked your lips for a second out of habit before you went on. “There’s got to be some rules. We can’t just put random num- ah! I remember we can’t put the same numbers in one region!”

“You’ll find me in the region of the summer stars~”

You smacked your forehead with your palm when he started to sing. After knowing him for a year and a half and lived together for about seven months, you knew that he sings 24/7. Most of the times it’s nice because you couldn’t deny that he’s got beautiful voice, but sometimes it makes you want to tape his mouth shut.

“Shut your trap and just put it in!”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He smirked at you as he put a nine and another nine but upside down next to each other in the slots.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s upside down you absolute spoon.”

You ended up doing the sudoku alone because Harry was shit at it. You weren’t much better, but you were better nonetheless. He decided to go and look for other clues. When you were done with the sudoku—re: gave up—you frowned when you looked around and couldn’t find Harry. You walked to the other room and you finally found the bloke sat on the floor in the corner of the room eating a Twix.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I need to gain strength. You want a bite?” He replied as he took another bite of the chocolate bars. Yes, he always took a bite of both of them at once because he didn’t want one of the chocolates to get lonely in his tummy.

You chuckled. “Mate we’re shit at this we haven’t even done much.”

“But still fun, right? You’re having fun?” His eyebrows waggled as he licked his fingers after the last bite of the chocolate.

“I am. But I give up.”

He cackled. “We can still get ice cream after this if y’want? Screw free ice cream.”

“You’re buying?” You grinned at him, and he nodded.

“You know what? I’ve got a better idea. We’ll go to Shake Shack after this for some burgers and frozen custard cause daddy don’t skimp.”

“Great!” you cheered. “Am starving.”

“I swear you’re either starving, freezing or fuming.”

“I want to deny but you’re right.”

“What? Say tha’ again, can’t hear ya,” he teased.

You just sat together until the time ran out and the door opened, accepting the fact that you were just shit at it but hey at least you tried. After that, Harry fulfilled his promise of buying you a burger and frozen custard.

“Oh the cow in the meadow goes moo~” Harry started to sing again as soon as you sat down at the table with your food.

“……”

“Oh the cow in the meadow goes moo~”

“……”

“Then the farmer hits him on the head and grinds him up and that’s how we get hamburgers~”

***

“Y’alright ya wee cunt?” You greeted Harry, who had some random bird’s mouth attached to his neck. You were sure it would leave a mark or two. “How you been deein’?”

Harry pulled his neck away from the bird as soon as he heard you. “For God’s sake mate how much you’ve been drinking?!”

“Eh,” you shrugged. “Just a couple.”

“A couple my arse! C’mon let’s get you home, yeah?”

“What about your b- wait Harry, your bird’s gone!”

“S’alright. Not important. Let’s just get you home before you start calling people cunts again.”

“Hey! I don’t call people that.”

“You literally just called me that!”

“Well yeah that’s my pet name for you but I don’t call other people that.”

“What kind of pet name is that?!” Harry said as he held your hand and began walking towards the door. But just a couple steps away from the door, Rolling in the Deep came on and Harry gasped. “Oh fuck!”

“Wanna stay for this one song?” You smirked at him and you knew he wouldn’t say no.

***

The next morning you woke up feeling like you had just been hit by a truck. Your head was in bits and the rain outside sounded more like gunfire to you. You didn’t remember much from the night before and you surely didn’t know how you got home since you weren’t sure how pissed Harry was last night, but the fact that you woke up alone in your own bed made you sigh in relief.

“Morning, love. Coffee?” Harry greeted as he spotted you in the kitchen.

“Ssshh, why are you yelling?” You grumbled as you covered both of your ears with your hands.

Harry chuckled lightly and whispered. “I’m not? But alright. How are you feeling?”

“My head’s in bits. How much did I drink last night?”

“Well, the club’s gone because you drank it.” He teased. “Also you called me a cunt three times so you obviously had tequila.”

“Did I try to call him?”

“Yes. And you ran to the loo when I tried to take your phone away.”

“Did you manage to take it?”

“That I didn’t because I didn’t want people to think I was snooping in a ladies toilet. They’d kick me out.”

“Oh fuck! I called him didn’t I?”

“Nah, you didn’t. After you came in, I peeked inside and shouted so everyone could hear that you were about to call your ex. There were a couple girls inside and they talked you out of it.”

You couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle, and you wished you’d remembered it because that sounded funny. “What would I do without you, H.”

“Hey, s’nothing. What do you want to do today?” He asked you as he poured some muesli into the bowls.

“Sleep.”

And that was what you did for most of the day. After you had breakfast you took a nap and woke up around two in the afternoon. It was raining cats and dogs outside so you settled on the couch watching Friends because you spent the last few weeks watching rom-coms and if you watched another rom-com you swore you would lose your shit. You were snuggling up to Harry’s side, his left arm wrapped around you as you laughed at Joey and Rachel bickering. There were some slices of pizza left on the coffee table because none of you could be arsed to cook, along with two cans of coke.

“Do you want to finish that?” You asked Harry, tilting your head to the box of pizza.

Harry yawned before he answered. “I’m full.”

“Alright, I’ll clean that up.” You said as you rose from the couch.

“I’ll help.” Harry immediately picked up the box and you put the drinks on top of the box before you bent over to wipe the coffee table. “Watch out!” Harry warned you, but it was too late. Your back bumped the box of pizza, making the remaining coke spill all over his Rolling Stones shirt.

“Oh God, I’m sorry!” You panicked because you knew that was his favourite t-shirt. You grabbed a couple tissues right away and began rubbing the stained part of the shirt hoping it would help take away some of the liquid before it was stuck to the fabric. “Harry, I’m sor-“

You weren’t sure how it happened, but the next thing that happened surprised you. His lips were pressed against yours all of sudden, cutting you mid-sentence. He broke the kiss for two seconds to put the box of pizza and the cokes back on the table before leaning back to you and pressing his lips against yours again. You’d soften up this time around. You knew that was wrong. It was Harry and he was your best friend, not to mention that you live together and that would complicate the shit out of things. But it just felt so right. You never thought you would actually kiss him and you thought it would be awkward, but it wasn’t. You parted your lips when he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip subtly, his hands moved from your back to cup your jaw.

You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle against his lips when you felt something poking you in the stomach. Harry pulled his lips away instantly as soon as he realised what made you giggle. The look on his face made it harder for you to stifle your snigger.

“Shit,” his breaths quickened. “Sorry. I- I didn’t know what came over me. We’ve never- I shouldn’t have-“

You laughed as you dropped to your knees, and you swore Harry looked like he’d just seen a ghost. His pupils were dilated and he took in a sharp breath. “Y/N what are you doing?”

“Hunting elephants.”

“I’m serious.”

“What do you think? Is it not obvious?” You asked.

“It is. Fuck, I mean- you sure? You’re gonna-“ he blabbered.

“Suck you off, yes.” You cut him short and nodded.

He was less tense by then, a grin creeping up on his face “Such a dirty mouth.”

“Well I’m about to put your dick in my mouth so I’m not really concerned about oral hygiene right now.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hehehe.” He giggled, and you looked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“You’re gonna see my willy.”

“I know.”

“I’ve got some hair there.”

“Okay.”

“Not a lot because I still shave a little to keep it nice and pretty but-“

“Harry,”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, sorry.”

You didn’t know what came over you to make you want to do it, but it was a bit too late to chicken out, and frankly you wanted to do it. In four years of a relationship—yes, on and off but we’re going to round that up for dramatic purpose—you only gave Jamie head once so really, you didn’t know what came over you.

You knew he wasn’t small. You saw a glimpse of it a couple months prior when he forgot to lock the bathroom door, but you certainly didn’t get a good look of it. Little did you know that the next time you look at it, it’d nearly poke you in the eye.

His eyes widened when you looked up to him, muttering a series of profanities under his breath. You took a deep breath before taking it into your hand, and he choked on his breath as soon as your hand came into contact. He felt heavy in your hand. He was hard and you could see him already leaking from the tip.

“Give it a kiss, love. Please.” He begged, and you obliged. Kissing the tip lightly, before you began licking from the base to the tip. You weren’t really sure what to do, but the noises that he made egged you on so you thought maybe you were doing fine. His head lolled back when you gently sucked the tip.

The grunts and praises that kept flowing out of his mouth encouraged you to take it further into your mouth. It felt really heavy and you could just feel it weighing down on your tongue as he pushed past your lips. You took the rest of him in your hand and you began to work your hand and mouth around him in sync. You knew that there was a slight chance that both of you would regret what you were doing, but it didn’t matter in that moment.

You knew that he was close when he started whining. You let him go for a second to ask him before it was too late. “Where do you want it?”

You could hear his ragged breathing but he couldn’t form a sentence - that was how fucked up he was. You let him go again for a second. “Okay, aim wherever you like, just don’t get it in my ha- MATE YOU HAD ONE JOB!”

“Sor- sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He apologised as he fell down to the couch behind him, trying to even his breathing. “Love, that was, wow I- wow I can’t even speak.”

You chuckled. “S’alright. You’re welcome by the way.”

“You.” He shook his head in disbelief, still grinning from ear to ear. “Didn’t know you have it in you, babe.”

“I’m gonna take a shower then we’re gonna go out and play laser tag.” You smirked as you jumped to your feet.

“What?”

“What? You don’t want to play laser tag?”

“Well yeah of course I want to. S’fun seeing you curse at a bunch of eight year olds and make them cry.” He paused to take another deep breath before he went on. “But, uh, you don’t want me to reciprocate?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Maybe later.” You gave him a lopsided grin.

“Fine we’re going. But-“

“What?”

“Wanna snog again before we go and get ready?”

You nodded sheepishly. “Okay.”

-

bow chicka wow wow

[cedarmoons]

written for my fic trade with @4biddenleeches,​ featuring Julian and her apprentice Aredhel! references events from her awesome one foot in the grave fic, but you don’t have to read that to enjoy this! vaguely nsfw esp at the end.

*

Once, Julian had not thought himself a particularly lucky man. He still remembers that night he’d broken into her shop, and she had presented him with Death’s sickle-shaped grin. But in the year that she has been with him—him! of all the people she could have chosen to love, she chose him, not once but twice, even knowing what he has done, to other nameless innocents, to her—he knows one truth:

Not even Fortuna herself could find another man luckier on the whole of the wide, wide earth.

Their visit to Vesuvia will be short—a break from their constant travels, to reacquaint with old friends and family, to allow themselves a plan for where they wish to travel next. They have sailed to the archipelago of Aransia; crossed to the wooded fjords of Hjallnir and its shining city built in the center of a mountain lake; traversed the desert of Nopal to Drakr, that verdant paradise where she had whispered of perhaps, one day, making a home.

(And oh, how badly he wants that—a home, nestled in the mountains, perhaps, with a well he could draw fresh water from while she leaned out the window of their bedroom and called out to him—)

But as Julian stands on the deck of the ship that is taking them into Vesuvia, his eyes on the horizon—red, he sees, and his mouth curls into a smile. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Surely, a sign, an omen of good fortune: the second time in two years he has returned to Vesuvia, yet this feels like a welcome home. He is not a hunted fugitive convinced of his own inevitable death, but a man in love, a man with a future.

(A future with her: he should have known, he thinks, even with his missing memories, that his twisting paths would have only led him back to her.)

A true year they will have been together, in one week’s time. A year since he had broken into her apothecary a second time, seeking Asra for answers yet again. Asra had not been there—but she had. She had, and that night his life had changed and his luck had turned.

He doesn’t want the day to pass without... some sort of celebration. Some way to mark this milestone, this anniversary (and how short, how inconsequential this one year would be, compared to the years, decades, he hopes to spend with her—a lifetime!).

He thinks of the apothecary’s rooftop garden. He had held her there, with Asra, watching the dawn until she’d been lulled to sleep in their embrace. There are other places, but it... it could be poetic, he thinks. To celebrate the year they’ve shared in the same place they spent what they thought would be her last night. Underneath the hawthorne tree, maybe. A warm blanket underneath her, to block the chill of the rooftop; candles to light the darkness, and rose petals—ah, were rose petals too much?

It matters not, a voice whispers. She will love it anyway, because it comes from me.

Once that thought would not have come with such surety. Now, the certainty brings him comfort, and curves the corners of his mouth into a wistful smile as Vesuvia breaks the horizon, a skyline against the sea.

He would plan the rest of the day, of course. But it would end with a dinner under the hawthorne tree, and he would lay her down and love her, an amendment to the promise he’d made all those years ago (I will lay you down in golden fields; we will rumple the grain as I make love to you); the sky will not be blue, but indigo, and sprinkled through with diamond-glittering stars. Their tapestry is barely woven, barely begun—he wants to add another memory to what is theirs (a thousand memories; a hundred thousand), like a weaver introduces another color and make the design all the more brilliant for it.

Vesuvia approaches; smiling (for there is a red sky at morning, and Fortuna is always smiling upon him these days), he turns and goes belowdeck, returning to her side.

*

They catch Asra the day before he’s to leave for a journey north. He’s glad to see them—dines with them and Nadia in the palace—and freely hands Julian a key to the apothecary, after Julian has pulled him aside and asked for permission to stay there.

“And where are you off to, then?” Julian asks with a sly smile, pocketing the key. “Scaling the Blood Mountain? Pub crawl from here to Prakra? You know, if you do want recommendations, my favorite one is right between Drakr and Hjallnir, it’s—”

Asra shakes his head, cutting Julian off. “Ah, no. I’m spending a week with someone in Nopal.” He half-smiles, and oh, Julian knows that look.

“Oh-ho, someone, he says,” Julian says, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. Though Asra rolls his eyes, he laughs, color rising in his cheeks.

“You don’t know her,” he replies, clasping Julian on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to dinner?”

Julian nods, letting it go, though his curiosity still has its tenterhooks buried in his chest. He would hold his tongue, for now, but the day Asra departs for Nopal Julian knows he will be on Portia’s doorstep—ah, no, Nadia would be more likely to know the truth—he will be at the palace doorstep, asking Nadia if she knows anything.

*

(It turns out Nadia keeps Asra’s secrets as well as Asra himself does—Julian gets nothing from her, other than a slight, warm smile.)

*

He is meticulous in his preparations when that joyous day comes; Aredhel spends the morning with Portia and Mazelinka, both claiming her on pretense (or convenient excuse) of completing errands that absolutely require her assistance. He uses that time to check the rooftop garden, just to make sure it isn’t dead—it isn’t—to buy fresh bread and fruit, and roses and rose petals from the florist. He also buys the ingredients for a meal Mazelinka has made for them countless times. Can’t quite remember the name of it, but Aredhel had always enjoyed it immensely.

Mazelinka is the one who comes by the shop that afternoon, to find Julian standing in Asra’s kitchen, staring helplessly at the counter, where the ingredients are arranged in a semi-circle without rhyme or reason. 

“I don’t know what her favorite meal is,” he says, staring at the ingredients. “We’ve known each other for years. She’s the love of my life. But I don’t—oh, God, I don’t know what her favorite meal is! She knows mine, why haven’t I asked—” His eyes widen and he spins around, gaping at Mazelinka. “I don’t even know her favorite color!”

“Ilya,” Mazelinka says, arching an eyebrow as she perches her hands on her hips. Ilya steps aside, sheepish, as she walks up to the counter, eyeing the ingredients with a critical eye. He watches her take a pinch of the basil he’d put in a small wooden bowl and lick it, grimacing soon afterwards. “Pah. Expired.”

She tsks, slipping a wooden spoon from an earthenware jar holding utensils as well as tithonia blooms. “Aredhel is on her way here,” she says. “You will take her out to that play you bought seats to see, and I will handle the dinner.”

Ilya’s shoulders slump. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Of course I know that,” Mazelinka scoffs. “But you are hopeless at cooking, and you have not spent one minute with Aredhel. I haven’t seen you since that whole business with Lucio ended—and thank Hashem you took care of that nasty Count. We’re all better off without him. This will be my treat, if you come to Shabbos dinner with me and Portia on Saturday. It’s been too long, my boy.”

“Of course,” Julian says, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Aredhel can come?”

“Da konesho, what kind of question is that? How many Shabbos dinners has she been to? Bah. Too many to count.”

Julian grins, despite himself. “Just making sure.”

He hears the door open downstairs, and Portia and Aredhel’s voices, lost in the blur of conversation. He hurries down the stairs, nearly skipping, and looks up just long enough to see Portia is carrying a basket, and Aredhel’s hands are free —and then the space is crossed, and his hands are on her hips, lifting her up and spinning her in a circle. 

Aredhel smiles at him when he sets her down, steadying herself with a laugh.

Once he had, only half in jest, called the two of them the Hanged Man and his undead bride. Yet here, having spent the morning in the warmth of the day, she is life incarnate, cheeks tinged red (not with fever, no, only exertion from the day!) and sunlight caught in her hair. Her green dress and her flaxen hair—she is spring, summer, Flora and Pomona, and he is but a (newly) mortal man in love.

He tucks her hand into his arm. “And what angel have you brought into this home, Pasha?” he asks, grinning. He tears his gaze from Aredhel to Portia, who is carrying a basket, and springs forward, gently taking the basket into his own arms. “One moment, I’ll be back!”

He deposits the basket on Asra’s dining table. Mazelinka, already rifling through the cabinets, does naught but raise her wooden spoon in acknowledgement—and then Julian is back downstairs, tucking Aredhel’s hand into his arm once again. Portia clasps her hands together and gives him a fond, long-suffering look. He shrugs, unapologetic.

Let him shout his love from the rooftops. Let the whole world know how much he loves Aredhel Mooney.

“Ilya,” Aredhel says, laughing, “what’s the rush?”

“What’s the rush?” Julian asks, arching an eyebrow and smiling as he reaches into his coat pocket, withdrawing two tickets printed on orange paper. “Why, we have a show in half an hour, and the Countess herself has been gracious enough to loan us her box. The production was a personal recommendation of hers.”

“Oh? What’s it about?” Aredhel says. Portia, smiling, goes upstairs. Aredhel looks after her, but doesn’t move to follow her. Instead she refocuses on Ilya, and he grins at her.

“A tragedy about two lovers in fair Verona,” Julian tells her. “Sounds right up our alley.” He pauses, that old anxiety rearing its ugly, ugly head. “If you’re interested, of course. If not, why, there’s a thousand other things to do in this city, did you hear Nadia tore down the Coliseum—”

“Ilya,” Aredhel interrupts, kindly, and Julian closes his mouth, offering a sheepish smile. Aredhel smiles back and lifts herself up, kissing him hungrily enough that he ends up gripping her hips and holding her flush against him, until he remembers that Mazelinka and Pasha are upstairs and he abruptly breaks the kiss.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat, averting his eyes and ignoring the blush suffusing his cheeks. Aredhel’s laugh is husky and rasping, and he squeezes her hand. “To the theater, then! Allons-y, chérie!”

*

It’s dark by the time they exit the theater, hand-in-hand. Julian knows he should be talking about the play, asking her what she’d thought, but all he can think of is the heat of her hand.

Which she had rested on his upper thigh for the entirety of the play.

She had done no more than that—no, no more than an occasional coy smile in his direction whenever he’d shifted, or cleared his throat, or tried to distract himself from her hand’s proximity—but it had been enough to... divert his attention from the play. He wants to hurry back to the shop, get her onto the roof where they could be alone and he could do his part to rid the rooftop of its negative memories—he could reach under her skirt, and his hands would find naught but bare skin and the promise of pleasure.

“—Ilya?”

“Ah, apologies, my dear,” Julian says, offering her a shameless smile. “I found myself too taken with your beauty—what did you say?”

Aredhel rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the back of his hand. His breath catches and his grin deepens. “Why, ’Red, you’re a romantic!”

“You knew that already,” she accuses, playfully.

“Ah, but the play, the play has dragged that particular secret from its hiding place,” Julian says, gesturing dramatically toward the night sky, sprinkled through with stars. Strings of lanterns between the street hang over their heads. Not a single house is marked with indigo and black drapings. Not a single one of these families—not a one!—have lost someone to the plague.

What’s a plague doctor with no plague? he’d once asked. He’d thought himself purposeless, drifting, a wreck and a lost cause of a man. How blessedly wrong he’d been—how thankful he is now to see it.

The moon is heavy and full in the sky, and Julian is invigorated, heartened, joyous. It makes him throw his head back, beaming at the night sky and the lanterns that block off globe-shaped spaces of it. “Look! The moon knows the truth! Only she, and me.”

“And will you keep this secret?” Aredhel asks, eyes glittering. She’s playing along, and that only encourages him. “Will the moon?”

“Why, the moon has her own secrets,” Julian says, “it’s why she disappears each month. She can be trusted. As for me... well.” His smile softens, and he looks down at her, pressing a hand over his heart. “I will keep your secrets. This I do swear...” he arches an eyebrow, grinning, “’til my second dying breath.”

They reach the shop, after devolving into a conversation about the play itself; Aredhel unlocks it with a fluid gesture and pulls him inside, snickering at Julian’s dramatic renditions of Mercutio’s death scene. A plague o’ both your houses!

“You did community theater, didn’t you?” she asks, closing the door behind him.

Julian smirks. “What gave it—mm—”

She kisses him, pressed hard against the door, hands already working at the buttons of his coat. He hears his breath hitch and his head thuds against the wood as he helps her rid him of his coat, leaving it to puddle on the floor around his boots. His hands roam her body, and he can’t help but picture—

Aredhel laid out on the blanket on the roof, underneath the stars. His bare hand on her bare thigh. Her face, twisted in pleasure.

His cock twitches in interest, and he groans, pulling her closer, seeking out her mouth hungrily. Aredhel is in the middle of sucking a bruise into his neck, right where he likes it (where she knows he likes it), when her stomach growls and they both stop.

“Erm,” Julian says, blushing, “right. I had something for that.”

“I hadn’t even noticed, really.” To her credit, she doesn’t look embarrassed—and truly, it is he who should be embarrassed; he had planned everything except the meal. And he had told Portia about his plan for a rooftop dinner, but had she told Mazelinka—wait, had he really told Portia, he wasn’t sure, had the dinner been waiting in the kitchen all this time?—stop.

“Well, let’s get that taken care of, anyway,” Julian says.

He leads her upstairs, and there, the hatch already open—the ladder up which he had carried her, with Asra’s help. 

Aredhel stops. When he looks back at her still, unreadable expression, he suddenly remembers what had been a vague thought at the back of his mind, utterly banished when she had placed her hand upon his thigh.

“You sit there,” he says, gesturing to a seat at the kitchen table. “I have to—I’d planned to—I wanted a dinner on the roof. Is that all right, love?”

He doesn’t like the look on her face. He doesn’t know if she’s been up on the roof since that night he’d carried her up to watch the dawn, but if she hasn’t... he can’t blame her, if she now thought of that night as a bad memory. (Though he doesn’t, not quite: this is such happiness, she’d sighed, between the two of you.

Fortuna had been kind, not stealing her away from him that night.)

But the stillness eases, and Aredhel nods, sitting in the kitchen chair and watching him with a faint, amused smile. “Go on, then,” she teases, flicking her fingertips at him. Julian kisses the top of her head and clambers upstairs.

The food—still warm, oddly enough—is set on the blanket he’d draped over the platform under the tree, which has a hole in it that he doesn’t remember from four years ago. Anchoring the blanket is a clear vase full of fresh roses, a bottle of wine, votive candles, and the bag of rose petals he’d bought specially. 

The food is still warm; he spends time carefully dishing it out, placing a plate at each side of the blanket, giving them a not-too-bad view of the rest of the city. He lights the candles and uncorks the wine, but leaves it unpoured. He sprinkles the rose petals over the blanket, feeling foolish and also giddy for indulging this whim (why, Ilya, you’re a romantic!).

When he returns to Aredhel, he has only one request for her: that she close her eyes.

This she does willingly enough, though she wobbles on the ladder. He steadies her, of course, and once she is on the rooftop and led by the hand to the platform, he tells her to open her eyes. She does, and her breath catches. 

“One year ago today,” Julian says, “I broke into your shop and you threw a bottle of petrified leeches at me, which, strangely enough, was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His debonair grin fades and he looks down, swallowing as he feels his cheeks heat. “I wanted... I wanted to show you, erm, how. How important you are to me. How grateful I am that we got a second chance.”

Aredhel’s eyes are wet. Julian sits, reaching out for her, and instead of sitting beside him she straddles him. “In more ways than one,” she says, thumb brushing the apple of his throat. Julian swallows, and he feels her thumb press against his skin.

“In more ways than one,” he agrees.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says, fiercely, eyes bright in the darkness. The hand on his throat curves around, fingers tangling in his hair, and before he can stutter out a reply she’s kissing him, somehow hungrier than before. Her weight rocks forward, and he leans back on his elbow, one hand curving around her waist to cup the swell of her ass, helping her rock slowly against him as he moans into her mouth.

“Ah,” he rasps, when they break apart, “’Red, don’t you want—”

“You,” she interrupts, and oh, his mouth dries at that gleam in her eyes. He nods, glancing behind him once to look at the blanket behind him. He pushes the plate of food away and sweeps his hand out, at the same time the wind turns the flame toward his sleeve—

“Oh, fuck—”

He panics, slightly, flapping his arm in an effort to put out the flame that’s caught on his shirt. Behind him, Aredhel is laughing, and the flame jumps from his shirtsleeve to the blanket. Julian manages to put out the fire, but not before it eats the laced cuff of his shirt and a few holes in the blanket, as well as a single rose petal.

“Well,” Julian says, “that could’ve gone better.”

Aredhel’s still laughing.

His nostrils sting with smoke from a recently extinguished flame, and Julian blows out the nearest votive candle, setting it aside before looking at Aredhel. She takes his arm, exposing the pink burn on his skin, the pain of which hasn’t quite sunken in yet for all that he can smell his singed hairs. 

With her kiss, she heals him.

(Quite fitting, really.)

“You don’t have your mark anymore,” she says, gently scolding though her eyes glitter with mirth. “You have to be more careful, Ilya.”

Ilya grins, arching an eyebrow. “Do I? Whyever would I do that when I have you to take care of me, my dear?”

Her eyes narrow, playfully. Shaking her head, she kisses him again and lays him down, and there is no one to witness their lovemaking under the stars—none except themselves, and the moon.