#frederick x summoner

[rosesloveletters]

lucky star.

Pairing: Dr. Frederick Frankenstein x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 6,645

Warnings: sexual content / smut

Summary: ‘Frederick, you are my lucky star,’ Your skin was burning hot and you thought you might spontaneously combust, ‘your radiance was too much and I couldn’t help myself…’ // You had been burned before, but never like this. // Frederick and Reader spend a loving, passionate night alone inside the castle.

Author's Note: Hopefully you all can forgive me for taking a small break from writing Wonka fics to write for another of Gene's roles. If you haven't seen Young Frankenstein, please go watch it. It's so damn funny and Gene is so attractive.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The cold air seeped down into your bones, penetrating your thin nightgown the same way the moonlight cut through the clouds and bathed the dank night in a milky haze. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground and the cold air bled through the castle walls. December was a brutal month to be up in the mountains; the winters here seemed to last a lifetime. 

What little reprieve you had was the crackling fireplace in your quiet bedroom. You took up residency on the hearth, the stone-cold floors beneath your bare feet sending tremors through you, but it was nothing you wouldn’t suffer so long as you were able to stand before the fire. 

This was how he found you most nights, your silhouette red-rimmed and glimmering from the firelight as each fragile little flame arched in a furious, swirling dance. Encased in stone, the flames could not travel, but you imagined them swallowing you whole. 

Your body was a block of ice and you feared it would take a decade just to thaw your heart, but his presence melted the frost on your fingertips and got your blood pumping again. Such was your complicated relationship between this professor turned mad scientist. 

The lick of the flame never heated you up like he did. 

“Oh, you’re still there?” He asked in an amused tone as he entered your chambers, already shedding his coat to prepare for the long night ahead. He must’ve been exhausted, though you had no idea what he was working on down there in the laboratory. He abated your questions with affection, arms encircling your body like the flames you dreamed of and shielding you from the cold. 

You turned just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, “every night,” you responded and turned back to the fire. The flames reflected in your dilated pupils danced in a blaze of infernal passion as though you were lit from within. 

You heard him shuffling around behind you, but you paid him no mind. The flames enchanted you; you always dreamed in noire, but for the first time you could see in the color he had shown you. 

Soft violin music permeated your senses and you suppressed a full-bodied shudder. 

It was as if you had been summoned out of thin air, stagnant temptation veiled over you. 

With your curves accentuated in firelight, you resembled the moon in all her shimmering, shivering opalescence. In her craters all alone, you were a woman scorned, a maiden murdered in cold blood, a ghost of herself digging her own grave to be buried alive, but inside of the castle you were unapologetically yourself. You belonged here as much as any of the other residents, a misfit to the rest of the world, a crisis of consequence, the quintessence of vice and virtue and all alone in every way except physical. 

Your ears rang from the haunting harmony as you waited for warmth to come. 

It finally did, in the form of your lover’s arms wrapped around you. 

You saw less and less of him these days and you suspected a new achievement of his sometime soon, but he kept quiet about what it was. It was much easier to pretend he was falling out of love with you than to conjure any idea of what he had been doing for the last several days because in a state like this he was much more difficult to study than any lecture he might’ve once given. You would have gratefully taken down notes from him rather than pick apart his brain for the learning material. 

If your love was ancient history, then why weren’t you hanging up in a museum yet? 

As much time as he spent away from you it was imaginable that he forgot you existed, yet he always came back to you at night. 

It was all just an idea, the seed of all science, which bore roots of hypotheses and germination in study and, if one were lucky, might someday bloom into spectacular results. 

“I suppose you’ve still got no intention of letting me know what it is that you’re working on down there?” 

The way in which his arms tightened around your body indicated the affirmative, but you were always going to be curious. Your tired game of pretending was no longer enough to satisfy your hunger for the truth and he knew it. His tender love would not sate you forever and if he didn’t swiftly act, you might begin to demand more. Not that he minded, really. Being wanted was pleasant and not something he was used to. His romantic relationships were stinted and tense, stifled and repressed. He succumbed to your advances and gave answers to your questions ultimately because you made him a priority. 

He felt safe with you. No more longing glances at women who did not want him or elbow touches with the supposed “love of his life” because she didn’t want to mess up her outfit. He treated you with respect and with dignity because you offered him the same. He did not have to fit himself into a pre-cut spot in your life. You molded him into your heart, enveloping him in your love and holding him close to your chest because he meant that much to you. You wanted him there and he could feel it, all his nerve-endings alight with the sacred promise of love and mutual want and connection. 

A gentle chuckle came from him and he leaned in close, lips by your ear, “I promise to tell you more about it soon, my dear. I feel that I am nearing a breakthrough.”

A breakthrough or a breakdown, you were uncertain which word best suited where he was headed. His wild curls appeared more and more disheveled each day because he couldn’t be bothered to style his hair when more important things weighed on his mind. His work consumed him to the point that when he dragged himself back to you at night, his mind was still buzzing with ideas and he seemed distant even though he did not mean to be. 

Sometimes you caught him up reading long after you would have retired to bed for the night. When you thought he was sleeping beside you, he was poring over case studies and medical journals by candlelight. When your bed was cold and the spot beside you that he always occupied was empty, you would find him fast asleep at his desk, the rise and fall of his shoulders and gentle snores indicative of his peaceful slumber. 

On nights like those would you guide him back to bed where he would curl in beside you and hold you close, sheltered through the night in his embrace until morning light touched your face. 

Other nights were fitful and full of restlessness and nightmares. He would twitch and quiver, plagued by images no man was ever meant to see. He wouldn’t tell you what he dreamed of, even less about what frightened him, but you had reason to believe that his brain tormented him on occasion, such was the case of most, but with deep intellect came a price and he was much crueler to himself than any colleague of his might be. 

He needed to unwind, to take comfort in closeness and sanctity from insanity. 

He would work himself to death like this and you would be damned if you were to let that happen. 

“That’s good news, darling,” your gentle response made him grin and you could feel the slight upturn of his lips against your cheek, “but do you think we might not speak about work tonight?”

“Well, if not that, then what shall we speak about?” 

As he asked the question, he began to pull you in. Your bodies connected and with you flush against him you could feel his arousal, unabashedly betraying his aching need for you now more than he had felt in a lifetime for anyone else. 

The pungent scent of frosted Frasier fir, candle smoke and scintillating wit clung to him, lingering like twilight hues on the longest day of the year. You inhaled, apt to lose yourself in him the same way he lost himself in his work, only now did you understand that there was much more to it than that. His work was important, but you were his love and that took up more space in him than the chunk of matter between his ears and the story of your lives filled more pages than any of the studies in his medical journals. 

A night off would do him some good; for once, he could devote enough time to engage in a passionate, loving affair rather than a quick frolic and he would do well to remember how much he had always wanted something like this. 

He wanted you now and would not wait. You made him forget who he was for a while and that was such a beautiful thing. 

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein, a man whose names’ reputation preceded him, had learned that he could only put so much distance between himself and the truth. As absurd as it was to say, he had perhaps stumbled upon a secret that could not be contained, a truth so groundbreaking, a scientific discovery so unbelievable that it had to be believed to be seen…

Except, currently, the only thing he was seeing were blurred lines and the gothic undertones of lust which tinted his periphery. His lips slanted over yours and the modest friction from his wispy, sorrel mustache scraped deliciously against your cupid’s bow. The wet graze of your tongue sent a shiver through him and elicited a small grunt as his large hands swept down the length of your body and grabbed your hips. 

Your pelvis ground deliciously against his and he groaned, “you’ll be the death of me, my love.” 

Your closeness was the finger on the hairpin trigger of his desire. He felt like his aorta might burst at any moment and so, using every second he hoped he had left, he savored the warm press of your body on his and devoured every inch of your exposed neck. He was gentle at first, taking care not to mark your delicate flesh, but soon his intrinsic carnality corrupted him and he could not help himself from sinking his teeth into your skin. 

You let out a breathy gasp and could feel him grinning against the column of your neck.

Your arms were around him, holding him to you mostly to steady yourself because if your hands had nothing to hold onto, you would have fallen to your knees for reasons beyond just lacking support in your current state. He would have approved of it now, although he was squeamish about it at any other time. He would have even encouraged you, with hands in your hair on the back of your head to guide you in pleasuring him, but no. 

He wanted more. His body demanded more and he would have it so long as you were willing. He was tired of being asked to wait, his resolve worn down to nothing because he had gone without for far too long. 

As a physician, he knew well the needs of the human body and the satisfaction that came from indulging one’s desires. He did not think on it all too much, but whenever he found himself alone and steeped in eroticism and longing, he had no choice. Everything you did turned him on and his cock throbbed at the thought of him burying it inside you. 

It was inescapable. No matter how often he changed course or preoccupied his mind with other things, his thoughts always returned to you. 

He moved you back towards the bed, the backs of your knees coming into contact with the edge of the mattress and you dropped down onto it, pulling him on top of you. He collided with your body, an animalistic growl clawing its way out of his throat as his hips grinded against yours. 

This was unlike him, a version of himself that never saw the light of day – he kept it in a cage and fed it blood; only carnal desire was enough to sate its hunger. 

He dragged his teeth along your neck as your fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. He couldn’t take his lips off you, he had to kiss every inch of you. He needed it far more than he could communicate through words and luckily for him you did not ask him to. You were busy undressing him while he worshipped your body with his mouth, his tongue tasting your succulent flesh as he inhaled your heady scent. Your body was ripe for him to take a bite and he would devour every bit of you until there was nothing left to satisfy him. 

He sat up enough to toss his jacket aside, undershirt now open to reveal the hint of bare skin and a dusting of hair several shades darker than the curls on his head. He looked ethereal in the low light, fire silhouetting him, and the edges of his body glistened as his dark pupils glittered and burned like glowing embers. A wildfire of its own raged within him as he was driven mad with lust. He kissed you feverishly, lips and teeth clashing with yours as he was anything but gentle with you in this moment. 

His kisses were rough, but his delicate appearance contrasted his movements. His long, thick lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, accentuating his shimmeringly blue eyes that, even in such low light, glistened like gemstones. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen and you would have paused to admire him if only he wasn’t so tempestuous in his urgency for you. 

His hands slid up underneath your dress, fingers tantalizingly rubbing against the crotch of your panties and along your inner thighs. He unashamedly touched you and a smiled graced his lips as you moaned for him, arching your back as your hands splayed on his chest, scrabbling for purchase but you were hopelessly plummeting into the pit of your own desire with nothing to grab onto and no way to cushion your fall. 

He rubbed you a little bit through your panties, but it was not enough. 

He wanted to feel your wetness saturate the soft cotton, however, it would be much more appealing to him if his fingers were to glisten with your juices instead of allowing all your sweet honey to leak into your underwear. He ached to feel your tight heat clench around his long fingers as they curled inside you, delicately massaging your sweet spot as he guided you towards a climax. It was a boost to his ego, knowing he could pleasure you that way and with little to no difficulty. He was a physician, after all, and had had many lessons in human anatomy. He knew what he was doing and, though he would never say it, was prideful over the fact that he could bring you to orgasm with just his fingers and a few heated, teasing whispers. 

Even if you were defiant and tried to hold out, those fingers of his were your weakness and he knew best how to use them. A stubborn girl presented a challenge and that interested him; Frederick wanted excitement and connection, not just clinical sex. 

His fingers hooked under your panties and teased them down your legs, watching you squirm as you anticipated what might happen next. It was up to him to decide and the thought made him dizzy. 

Your excitement was palpable. With sweating palms, you clutched onto the thin bedsheets and peered up at him, a halo of fire backlighting his frizz of curls. You were unable to keep still, thighs rubbing together in anticipation of his large, warm hands that would spread them apart. Your full-bodied blush was crushed into existence by rose petals and rouge and your exquisite form buzzed with giddiness and euphoria as he tenderly pulled your legs apart and nestled between them, shoulders against your thighs for support. You were hesitant to follow his lead, but you trusted him to care for you the same as he cared for his reputation.

He began almost immediately, wasting no time. Neck bent, head between your legs, he shamelessly suckled your clit and swilled your sweet nectar with instinctive, primordial hunger. 

The doctor tasted you with insatiable vigor, his tongue lapping greedily at your glistening folds as you squirmed and writhed on the bed. You were grappling with yourself, attempting to stave off your own needs as your fingers splayed and flexed on the sheets as though you were imagining grasping onto him instead of the linens. 

You wanted him, that much had been determined, however, you could see no end to his brutal self-satisfaction; he would take as much from you as you were willing to give, not because he had no thought of returning the favor, but because he had deemed himself a dying man long ago and you were his cure. This was what would set him free, seal his fate and claim his immortality, not whatever lined the pages of myriad medical journals he tutored himself with. 

That did not matter. Perhaps this was all he had ever wanted: a beautiful love to have and to hold, who would, most importantly, meet and master his needs. 

‘The needs of any man,’ he thought in defense of himself, ‘it isn’t just about love or sex…it’s science.’ 

That was what the young doctor told himself, especially during intimate moments such as these, when he found himself struggling to maintain consciousness as his tongue breached your center and delved into your core until your gentle moans crested into the shimmering, shivering crescendo of an orgasm. 

You were on the cusp of one already. 

You peered down at him and gasped; Frederick was a vision even when he wasn’t knelt between your legs, but such a position afforded you the best view of his facial features and he was a sight to behold. 

His long lashes fluttered against his high cheekbones, the light from the fire defining the subtle curves and valleys of his face, the creases of concentration on his forehead and the swell of his parted lips as they suctioned around your clit. He pressed one finger inside of you, followed in quick succession by a second digit as he gently stretched you. 

You moaned as his fingers scissored inside you and his tongue delicately teased and flicked your sensitive bundle of nerves. Tension coiled in your abdomen as you could feel the bud of an orgasm beginning to grow. 

Despite his lust for your body, his mind was focused only on your pleasure. No paltry sum would be enough to make him use his advanced knowledge for just his benefit; he loved you and even though he could only stave off his most primal needs for so long, there would be no mistaking his devotion. 

He pulled away and his parted lips glistened with saliva and your juices. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, savoring the essence of you left behind, “oh, my darling,” he crooned, hand reaching out and fingers burying into your soft hair, “oh, my only love…”

When he uttered those words to you, he meant them. 

You would not dismiss him whenever he made such professions of love. His words resonated within you, cut through you like a sharp scalpel through soft skin, peeled back the muscle and tissue that clung to your ribcage to nestle deep within your chest cavity, taking up residency inside your beating heart. Everything that he said made sense, as though you had been the one his words were always meant for. 

His outfit was disheveled to a state comparable to his wild mane which stuck out in curlicue flyaway strands going in all directions. 

Your heart was beating rapidly, pumping blood through your veins and carrying his love for you outwards and to every part of your body. Your core ached and throbbed with need and your lower lip jutted in a pout of disappointment at being denied your first orgasm. 

Frederick watched you squirm with a hooded gaze, taking in your exquisite beauty as you arched your back enticingly and rolled your hips despite the lack of friction, “May we continue, my dear? I’d say you’re as ready as ever…”

You felt far away from yourself as you nodded and nothing else was going through your mind other than connecting with your lover, physically, emotionally and mentally. 

He had a pleased expression on his face when you consented and he stripped off his undershirt, exposing his bare chest. You sat up and reached for him, warm hands caressing his stomach, his sides, his broad chest. Every inch of him burned with intense passion and desire and his heart skipped a beat with every touch of your hands on his skin. He took a shaky breath, entranced by the way you held him close, needy for his affection and craving more of his love. 

He bent his head and nipped at your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

His dominance pervaded your senses and hindered your ability to reciprocate in as many ways as you would have liked. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on his lower back as he sat up a bit straighter and began unbuckling his belt. You were on your knees, the soft bed linens beneath your legs was comfortable as you nibbled and kissed his neck, drawing sweet, almost feminine moans from him. He could hardly focus on what he was doing because the touch of your lips was too intoxicating. He was drunk off your love and every bit of attention you afforded him stilled his fingers as he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. 

After a moment, you had to help him. You tenderly popped open each button for him before your hand slipped inside and cupped him through his underwear. The sound he made was somewhere between a moan and a shrill whine; your lips turned upwards into a smirk and you leant over him, biting at his sensitive neck as your fingers danced over the length of his aching erection. 

“Oh ho ho, darling…” he grasped your wrist, but did not try to stop you, “oh, how you tease me…”

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to tease him in this state, but he could stand to wait a bit longer for you. As maddening as it was, you were enjoying the foreplay far too much to let it end yet. 

You quieted him with a kiss as sweet as the tulips in spring, stifling his moans of pleasure as your hand slid beneath the barrier of his underwear and held his rigid flesh in your hand. He mewled in ecstasy as you gave him a firm stroke. 

Your lips broke apart and he pressed his forehead against yours, “darling, I can’t wait any longer…you’re killing me.”

An unsurprising choice of words, given the status of his most recent experiments, though you would be none the wiser. 

If there were a way to achieve immortality and worldwide acclaim for his scientific achievements in the medical field, Dr. Frederick Frankenstein would find it; he would devote the rest of his life to such a cause if it meant he could spend an eternity in your loving embrace, to be brought to completion by your hands and your body. 

“I’m all yours, Frederick,” you whispered to him and you could’ve sworn the flames inside of the fireplace leapt for joy at that statement, “I always have been.”

He groaned at your words and his manhood throbbed in your hand, aching to be inside you. He nosed along your jaw, snuffling and nuzzling your cheek as his lips pressed kisses onto your face. His body was filled with love and that was what kept him alive, not the heart that was beating inside his chest. 

His head dropped down to your chest and his lips attached to the swell of your breasts that peeked out from the top of your dress. He murmured against your skin, fingers snagging on your dress as he fought to pull it off you, but your touch on his most sensitive area rendered him useless beyond simple measures of attention. For you to have isolated control over a mind as intelligent and focused as his was some feat and had you a mind to control him, it would have been easily done. 

However, the only control you had was already slipping away now that the cloying desperation had begun to take hold of you.

You gave his manhood several more deliberate strokes, savoring the little noises he made as he tried not to lose control. 

When you removed your hands, his cheeks were flushed and his chest heaved as he dragged air into his once-barren lungs which now bore flowers, petals of pining and passion blooming in this season of love and making it difficult for him to catch his breath. 

He grinned as you and he made eye contact and you were submerged into those icy blue depths, treading water out there in the deepest, lapis lazuli pools.

“And I am yours, my dear,” he whispered as he cupped your face, thumbprints kissing the rosiness into your cheeks, “now and forever.”

His kiss seared through you, sweeping the love back into you that had spilled out through the cracks in your soul. You were mesmerized by the feel of his mouth hovering over yours, breaths mingling and lingering between the two of you like morning fog between fir trees. 

You were one already, even without the connection between your two bodies, although that was to come as Frederick slipped away from you long enough to remove the rest of his clothing while you did the same. 

Completely naked, you were warm clay to be molded by his steady, capable hands. 

You hoped Frederick would shape you in the image of the love he had for you so that you could kiss his chiseled ivory cheeks, bringing your stone-cold lover to life.

He hesitantly touched your body, reverent in the way that he let his hands gently hold your hips and guide you beneath him on the bed. 

However many times he had done this, when he was with you it always felt like the first time. In truth, his first time was not what he had imagined: awkward, halting and less than satisfying for both him and his partner, but more than likely it had been a deep disappointment to her rather than to him. He cringed at the thought whenever it surfaced unbidden and stowed it away with the rest of his deeply embarrassing faux pas. 

The inexperience of his youth was not something he could fault himself for, as is the same for anyone, but now that he was older and wiser and had become a more experienced lover, he finally felt like he had earned the right to claim such a lovely woman as you. He had earned his right to be your lover, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, but in death he was determined that you should not have to part. 

Frederick made a mental note to put everything he had into solving the mystery of life after death, to secure yours and his immortality so that neither of you might face such sadness as to outlive the other. 

Nothing so melancholy would reach either of you tonight. 

Frederick loomed over you, catching your gaze as you wriggled into position beneath him. Your legs wrapped snugly around his hips and he propped himself on his forearms so that he did not put his full weight on you. 

He reached between your bodies, taking himself in hand as he guided himself to your entrance. He pushed into you, taking note of your slight wince and the way your body twitched as he entered you as gently as he could manage. Your wetness was the perfect natural lubricant and he had prepared you quite nicely to be able to accommodate him. 

One of his hands took hold of yours and squeezed, grounding you as he finally claimed your body. You held fast to him, your lips parted in a silent expression of pleasure as you adjusted to the fullness of him being inside you. 

Frederick eased into you slowly, taking care not to hurt you or cause you any unnecessary discomfort. If he could avoid it, Frederick would not ever bring you any pain. He wanted you to want this as much as he did and so he took his time with you, being as careful as he could be. Your pleasure meant as much to him as his own; he would have felt terrible if you got no enjoyment out of your shared intimacy. 

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked breathily as he bit back a moan. 

He stilled once he had slid in to the hilt, awaiting your approval and permission. 

You let go of his hand and instead wrapped your arms around his body, clinging to him fully so that he felt the reciprocation of the love he was giving you, “I am, darling,” your whispered against his skin as you kissed his shoulder, making his eyelids flutter as his eyes rolled back.

He groaned, wanting to let instinct take over so that he could finally, finally have his way with you. His hips curved and bunched as he resisted the urged to let go and lose control of himself, but he did not allow himself to move until he sensed you were getting impatient. Slowly, carefully, he began to pull out, only to thrust back into you with a deliberate snap of his hips. 

The initial force of his thrust forced the breath from your lungs and imparted to you the desperation behind his every move. 

Frederick was a romantic at heart. 

Even though he was still just a man, his craving for love rather than sex for the sake of having sex made moments like this feel even more potent with raw emotion and need he had for his partner. He had made mistake after mistake in his past relationships and he was determined not to make a mess of things like he once had done. There was a sense of predestination between you and Frederick, as if the two of you were meant to be together before either of you were aware. Your paths only crossed because you were brave enough to grasp the string of fate and follow it until you came face to face with him. 

You believed it now to be the case because your soul had become magnetized, gravitating to him as he now became your orbital center. 

It was as if the planets and the fates had aligned to bring you together; you did not like clichés except for ones which reminded you of Frederick because no matter how many times those words were spoken, they rang true for the two of you. 

Frederick quickened his thrusts once you were properly adjusted to him. 

He glided into you with ease, taking care to soak up all your moans and pleasurable sounds as your bodies moved in unison. 

You clawed ferociously at his back, digging in your nails as his maddening pace awoke some deeply instilled, hidden carnality buried within your soul. Your kisses were reckless and rough, tying his tongue down with promises whispered in sloping cursive. 

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the room as you made love, the gentle groans and moans he emitted bringing you closer and closer to your release. You caressed him, gentle with him now as you wanted to convey to him that he was special. 

‘Frederick, you are my lucky star,’ Your skin was burning hot and you thought you might spontaneously combust, ‘your radiance was too much and I couldn’t help myself…’

The beauty of stars was meant to be admired from afar; inside of his eyes did they shimmer, but up close, they blazed. 

You had been burned before, but never like this. 

You gripped onto his hair, giving it a gentle tug, which made him groan even louder and his next thrust was perceptibly harder as he seemed to like when you pulled on his hair. 

“I love you, Frederick…”

The confession spilled out of you in a flood as you anticipated the light in his eyes leaving him as all the color drained out once the weight of your words set in. 

“I love you, too,” he panted, repeating those words back to you with no hesitation, as though he had been waiting to hear you say it. 

It still felt like the first time, as you had often been told was the truth with true love. You had not believed in it until you met Frederick, though even now it seemed foreign to your system. Perhaps it was that you were still in shock after plunging deep into those electric pools of blue, but you shone just as bright as the galaxies in his eyes and if this was love then you would have looked for him in every lifetime, anticipating the feeling he evoked in you the first time you met. 

He wanted you too, waded through tide pools and wept away the storm clouds in his eyes so he could see clear enough to find you. 

He clutched you to him, his rhythm faltering as he crept closer and closer to release. His moans took on a higher pitch and you savored his whimpering as the heaviness of your own release had sworn you to silence. 

At last, did he coax a moan from you and, once the dam had been broken, you were unable to silence the sounds which spilled tantalizingly from your lips like honey drizzle from spoon to teacup. 

You and Frederick were finally one with each other, two halves of a whole like a split peach fitted back together, the fruit of your consummation leaking juices from your pierced flesh. 

You devoured him, holding him close as your moans became louder and more drawn out until pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave and plunged you into euphoria. 

Your orgasm spread outward throughout your body and your skin tingled, your core throbbing as he continued his thrusts until he released inside of you, announcing his climax with a soft cry of completion. Several short bursts of heat filled you, warming you from the inside as he came, his lips parted in sweet bliss and relief. 

His wiry, tufts of fluffy curls framed his round face and you gazed at him in amazement, in awe over what you had just done as well as his beauty. Sweat clung to his brow and he took several shuddering breaths before he was able to move again and pull out of you, taking up the spot by your side as he reached over you with one arm and brought you in against his side. 

You curled up against him, letting him place a lingering kiss on your shoulder as he held you in the dark room. Your sweaty bodies glistened, dewy, slick skin sticking to each other, a perfect testament to what had just taken place. 

Frederick’s body was a galaxy and every freckle on his skin formed a different constellation. 

You wondered idly which one were you a part of and how many ways there were to connect them. 

The graze of his nose on your arm made you turn your head to look at him and he was smiling at you as he held you. 

‘The human body is meant to hold another,’ he had told you once, ‘look at how perfectly our hands fit together…how easy it is for me to hold you in my arms.’

He was right, it seemed, for you fit perfectly against his body like you were made just for him, as though the universe crafted you as each other’s perfect lover.

There was no such thing as perfection, but what you shared was as close to that as a human being could ever get and, if Frederick had anything to do with it, he swore that he would find a way to share eternity with you even if it meant being buried with you till you were nothing more than two skeletons in each other’s arms. 

An end which did not have to be so grim, yet Frederick accepted that as a mere part of who he was. 

As he swept you into his arms now, pulled you on top of his chest as the two of you giggled and laughed like lovestruck teenagers, Frederick knew that he would do anything for you, even accept that he could not outrun his fate. 

He was a Frankenstein and some things could not be helped, but with you by his side it all became worth it and suddenly he could not understand why he had fought it so hard, other than the fact that he had something else to prove rather than letting himself be defined by the past, his fate determined by those who lived before him. 

His love for you cancelled out the afflictions to his spirit, the blows he had taken from turning a blind eye to what he only hoped now might be true. 

In this place, he would find it. 

He was on the cusp of making such a miraculous discovery, that much was he certain. 

Perhaps it should have concerned him that he was chasing something so morbid, but this dream, once realized, could mean the difference between life and death, between her heart and his. He was not doing this for the wrong reasons now, and maybe that would be enough for it to work. 

Perhaps that was the key to unlocking his grandfather’s scientific masterpiece. 

Your gentle kisses on his cheek comforted him as he slipped even deeper into thought, contemplating what he had that his colleagues did not: love. 

That was the difference. 

Science was supposed to be unbiased and supported by fact rather than feeling, but an impossibility transcended bias and factual evidence; would it not make some sliver of sense that if all things possible were supported by scientific evidence, that all things impossible were only able to be maintained by those who were bold enough to challenge science itself? 

Frederick’s peers were not led by love as he was, otherwise, it might not have been the name ‘Frankenstein’ that was known by many yet understood by few.

As you settled atop Frederick with the side of your face against his bare chest, letting the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, you were content to be one of those few. 

Frederick held you to him, hands splayed lovingly on your back. 

He had never felt more himself than in this moment; for once in his life, he was proud of who he was. 

He did not think it would be the last time he felt that way, especially with you by his side. 

As the two of you drifted off, snuggled in the embrace of one another, you slipped into what would be and let the rest crumble away. 

You loved Frederick far too much to let yourself be consumed with worry for what was to come. 

Whatever you faced, you would face it together.

With love guiding you, nothing could come in between you, not even death. 

[tsukakitty]

Hahaha I haven't posted on this blog at all cause I've become an identity v fan but screw it, people are still seeing my posts so I might as well post some random idv stuff!

My idea for an identity v x project sekai crossover!

Note that none of these are based on idv lore or character personalities... All of this is my opinion

Obviously I feel like the leaders would be getting the skins lmao

Ichika: Journalist... Her camera could be her phone. Idk she could summon Hatsune Miku I think everybody would like that even the hunter. I also really like Alice DeRoss and Ichikas my favorite character so yeah. But she would be a rescue character.

Minori: Cheerleader. She's an idol so obviously she'd be inspiring and cheering for her teammates. And doing everything but decoding but that's okay. But yeah it fits you get my point.

Kohane: Gardener. I'm not sure if she has any mechanical expertise but she should be carrying a boom box and be singing so fucking loud she breaks the rocket chairs... And sing so good she summons a shield. Or she could carry a phone and summon like Len or Meiko idk but I like the boom box idea more cause it's funny. Love you Kohane Azusawa

Tsukasa: Composer... "Oh but he'd be Acrobat-" SHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPPPPP AAAAAUGHHHGGH idgaf yes he probably would but god forbid I give the character from a rhythm game a character with an rhythm game mechanic. Composers gameplay has him decoding ciphers like he's playing the piano and who plays a piano... Hmmm... And for his tuning fork he could have some phone sure. I also chose composer because I love Frederick Kreiburg and Tsukasa Tenma BUT ALSO BECAUSE Tsukasa could have an accessory that plays one of his commissioned songs instead of the default for decoding and his tuning fork... He could play like Mr. Showtime while decoding and when he clicks his phone (tuning fork) it could play one of the untitled songs or world link songs... Yeah.

Kanade: Psychologist... Uhm. Okay so yes I think it would fit because she would be saving her teammates yes but I don't see her as a full on rescue character. She could use her phone to send a song that would heal her teammates, and yes she can tank 3 hits idgaf if she's canonically physically weak, that extra hit is supposed to be used for healing teammates anyways dude. Stress mechanic fits her also... And hey. Idgaf about Emil he's a cutie and all but PLEASE let me give a CROSSOVER SKIN to ADA ONLY...

Anyways that's my super sigma sugoi idv x pjsk crossover if I get hate on this I'm going to end it all. Obviously this won't ever happen or it won't be accurate and like... I hope we never get a pjsk x idv crossover but hey this is all my sugoi opinion so hip hip hooray

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 7: Dare

WIP: Partners Pairing: Ben x Reagan Timeline: about 1957 I think, so between PI and PII, closer to PII. it's the direct aftermath of a Within Ten Years piece I've yet to write CW: none Rating: T Words: 1,458

***

Ben was surprised to hear Reagan up and puttering around in the kitchen as soon as he did. He glanced at the clock on the console table in the hallway as he passed and confirmed that it was, indeed, bordering on eight in the morning.

He stepped into the archway of the kitchen in the middle of an intense stretch, his arms above his head and hands knocking painfully into the top of the frame.

"Fuck," he grunted, wringing his fingers.

Reagan poked his head out from behind the refrigerator door and lifted his eyebrows at him. "You're up early."

Ben took a precursory glance at the stove and the counters, upon which laid a delightful spread of the early stages of breakfast. Two pans on the burners, ingredients for blintzes, packages of lox and cream cheese, as well as the carton of a dozen eggs Reagan had been digging in the fridge for a moment ago.

"I'm up early? Faye and Abby aren't even up yet, boy." Ben stood in the center of the kitchen, frowning at the pat of butter melting in one of the pans. "Have you opened my house for business or what?"

Reagan closed the fridge and tossed a brand new butcher's parcel on the counter along the rest of the breakfast items. "Sorry. Been craving a bacon sandwich real bad."

"Is this all for you?"

Reagan's brow pinched as he tossed the butter in the pan. "When have I ever done anything just for me?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe all those times you went to bed with women who weren't your wife?"

Ben expected Reagan to take that less than well considering the circumstances of him staying the night at the Murray house. In all honesty, Ben felt a strong pang of regret the instant the comment left his mouth, but before he could self-flagellate, Reagan broke into a wide grin and picked out two eggs.

"You're right," he said sincerely. "Won't have to worry about that for much longer, will I?"

Sighing, Ben lowered himself into a chair at the table and rubbed his hands over his face. "You didn't really explain what happened."

"I didn't even get into the house." Reagan left the eggs to fry in the pan and crossed the kitchen to pour them both mugs of coffee. "I checked the mail and the thing was there. Then I came straight here."

"And you're sure they're divorce papers?"

Reagan scoffed. "I read them. Petition, summons, the whole shebang."

"Son of a bitch," Ben muttered. He slumped in his chair. "What's she asking for?"

Reagan set a mug in front of Ben. "Surprisingly, not a whole lot. Just enough money to buy a house with Frederick, I'm assuming, and—"

"Wait a fucking minute," Ben interrupted sharply, lifting his head from the hand propped up on the table. "Frederick? Is she..." He clutched his mug almost too tightly. "Is that what this is about?"

There was a moment when Ben thought he'd actually gone too far. Reagan leveled him with an out-of-character dark stare that reached into his chest with a needle and pierced his heart as if it were a water balloon. Then Reagan turned to put the percolator back on the counter as if nothing happened.

"She'd been reconnecting with him since we moved to L.A.," he said, portioning the bacon onto the pan with the eggs. "Small world, isn't it? Finding a childhood friend from Iowa living not too far from us all the way over here in California."

"What about Charlotte and Brady?"

Reagan bustled about, clearly distracting himself with the creation of the blintzes. "She's petitioning for full custody."

Ben gritted his teeth, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his cheek. "Meaning you'll only be able to see your kids on holidays and the odd weekend."

"She'll have the more stable household. She's got Frederick now, she'll have money for a new house...she's being very smart about this. No judge worth his salt will let me have shared custody."

Gulping down an angry mouthful of coffee, Ben shook his head. "You're a fucking celebrity, Reagan."

"A celebrity who's known around the world, quite publicly and to his own wife throughout the thirteen years they'd been married, as a man who could not for the life of him keep his dick in his fucking pants, Ben."

"You think she'll use that against you?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Reagan shot a cynical grin at Ben over his shoulder. "Why the hell wouldn't she? Wouldn't you? Wouldn't anyone in their right mind use that against me or anyone else?"

Ben felt a weight crushing his chest, around the same spot where Reagan had popped his heart. "You..." He suppressed a growl of frustration, instead squeezing his eyes shut and taking a calming breath. "Yeah. Under normal circumstances, yeah, you're well in the wrong. But the first time it happened, you told her right away, and she made it clear that—Reagan, she made the fucking deal that you wouldn't sleep around when you were at home, and as far as she knows, as far as I know, you've kept to your end of the goddamn deal!"

"I was out of my mind, Ben," Reagan said firmly. His shoulders tensed as he mixed ingredients together in a large bowl. "I was off the fucking hinges to think that was acceptable."

"So you would've just...did it in secret, then."

Reagan was silent for as long as it took to toss another pat of butter onto the second pan. "There's just no hope that I could've behaved myself, is there?"

Though the question lanced Ben's heart yet again, he could not lie. "I love you more than practically anything else on this Earth," he said softly into his coffee. "Almost but not quite more than I love my own child. She's only two, though, so give it time."

Reagan snorted.

"Despite how much I love you, I can't sit here and tell you that this was never gonna happen. People just...don't understand what you're going through, and they're always gonna assume you're just a selfish prick who wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Carolyn probably didn't get it. Or, she got it until she realized there are other options than sitting at home while her famous husband fucked fans around the world. Either way..." He cringed. "Actions have consequences."

"Yeah." Reagan plated his eggs and seemed to realize only then that he planned everything out quite poorly, breakfast-wise. "...I gotta let the blintz mix sit."

"Get your bacon cooking and I'll deal with the rest," Ben said, standing to join Reagan at the stove.

"It's not...too bad," Reagan said half to himself as he flipped the bacon. "I'll be able to see my kids when I can, and I've got you...and by extension, Faye and Abby. I'll still have Adrian, my career, my house...my car..."

Ben shrugged, beginning to spread cream cheese on a bagel. "You'll always have me. You'll always have me. You'll have me and my family, my mother and the Jersey family, you've got your family in Ireland...you're not alone. I have complex feelings about your situation with Carolyn, but that's not news to you, and you know I'm in your corner regardless."

Reagan hooked an arm around Ben's waist. "Look at me."

Ben did so, unsurprised to receive a firm kiss in response. They smiled at each other, and Ben caught sight over Reagan's shoulder of Faye entering the kitchen at that exact second.

"Here we go," she said resignedly at the display, grabbing a cup from the cupboard.

Reagan laughed. "Heard you coming."

"I'm sure you did." Faye gestured to the foodstuffs. "Need help?"

"Not at all," Reagan cut in before Ben could say anything. "We've got it from here. Take care of the baby and we'll be fine."

Faye made an impressed face at Ben and took her coffee out of the kitchen.

Ben, on the other hand, watched Reagan's face closely. He didn't miss the flex of his jaw muscle or the uncomfortable shift of his eyes over his bacon, and Ben's stomach sank quickly and heavily into his feet.

He reached over to snatch Reagan's chin in his hand and forced him to look him in the eye.

"Stop," he demanded. "Stop overthinking."

He knew he hit the nail on the head when Reagan pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes dropping to Ben's for a gut-fluttering moment. "Funny comin' from the Olympic gold medalist in overthinking."

Ben slapped him, earning another loud bark of laughter. They continued to cook breakfast, eating with Faye and Abby and forgetting, for just a little while, what lay ahead for Reagan.

[wipbigbang]

WIPBB 2023 - Fic & Art Master List (# - L)

Below is the master list of all the bragging rights/posts that were posted to Tumblr and Dreamwidth, organized alphabetically by fandom from numbers to L. Please go show these people some love for all the hard work they did!

9-1-1

Beyond Appearances: Art (Evan Buckley/Sophia Diaz)

When You Say My Name: Fic | Art Post 1 | Art Post 2 (Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz)

A Song Of Ice and Fire/Game Of Thrones

Watch the world burn; i set it all alight for you: Fic/Art (Jon Snow/Daenerys Targarean)

Angel: the Series/Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Deep Dark Sky: Fic (Connor/Dawn Summers)

Bungou Stray Dogs

half-time soulmate, full-time problem (so hold me like a grudge): Fic | Art (Nakahara Chuuya/Dazai Osamu)

Chalion Saga/World of the Five Gods

Penric's Last Ride: Fic | Art (Penric, Desdemona, the Bastard)

Criminal Minds

Half Broke Horses: Fic (Art On AO3) (Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss)

DC Comics

Batman

Fatherhood: Fic | Art (Implied Bruce Wayne/Jim Gordon)

right place, wrong time: Fic | Art (Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne)

Batman/Green Arrow

Grains of the Golden Sand: Fic (Dick Grayson/Roy Harper)

DC Comics (Batman)/Prodigal Son

9 Crimes: Fic | Art (Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo, Jessica Whitly, Jim Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Alfred Pennyworth, The Joker, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson)

Dead Poets Society

Spotlight: Fic (Chris Noel/Ginny Danburry)

Disney

Disney's Descendants

And I won’t lie down, roll over, and die: Fic (Gil/Harry Hook/Uma)

Nothing in this world by myself to protect me: Fic (Jay/Carlos De Vil, Evie/Mal, Evie/Jay, Evie/Carlos de Vil, Evie/Jay/Mal/Carlos de Vil, Ben/Mal, Ben/Jay, Jay/Mal, Mal/Carlos de Vil, Ben/Evie)

Disney Fairies

Death at the Hollow: Fic/Art (Fawn/Nyx)

Encanto

A Single Thread of The Tapestry: Fic | Art (Camilo & Mirabel, Camilo & Mirabel & Mariano, Mirabel & Camilo & Madrigal family)

How do you know what your life is worth: Fic | Art (Camilo & Mirabel, Mirabel & Pepa, Isabela & Pepa, Isabela & Luisa, Luisa & Abuela & Bruno, Bruno & Camilo, Félix & Julieta, Agustín & Dolores, Félix/Pepa, Agustín/Julieta)

Doctor Who/The Picture of Dorian Gray/Torchwood

Passing Through: Art (Dorian Gray/Jack Harkness)

Dracula/Jane Eyre/Sherlock Holmes (ACD Canon)

A Field of Thorns: Fic (Sherlock Holmes/Dracula)

Dragon Age II

Kindling: Fic | Art (Fem!Hawke/Fenris)

Set Yourself On Fire: Fic | Art (Marian & Garrett, Marian & Carver, Marian & Varric, Referenced Fenris/F!Hawke and Anders/M!Hawke)

ER (NBC)

Touch and Go: Fic | Art (Abby Lockhart/Kerry Weaver)

Final Fantasy IV/Final Fantasy VI/Final Fantasy IX/Final Fantasy X

Magical Girl Rydia - Summon the Four Warriors of Light!: Fic On Dreamwidth | Fic On Tumblr (Rydia/Yuna)

Generation Kill

Bradley the Damned: Fic/Art (Brad Colbert/Nate Fick, Walt Hasser/Ray Person)

Good Omens (TV)

The Rain We Thought Would Last Forever and Ever (Remix): Fic (Art On AO3) (Aziraphale/Crowley)

Harry Potter

Black House Will Rock: Art (Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Lestrange)

Repertum: Fic/Art (Harry Potter/Severus Snape)

Harry Potter/CSI/Hocus Pocus

And now you're mine: Fic (Harry Potter/Greg Sanders)

Harry Potter/DC Comics (Batman)

Reflection: Fic/Art (Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Rubeus Hagrid, Original Characters)

It (2017/2019)

faraway look: Fic (Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon)

Jak And Daxter

alien lands (overflowing with dust): Fic/Art (Jak/Daxter, Jak/Sig, past Damas/Sig)

The Red Prison: Fic/Art (Errol/Torn, Jak/Ashelin)

Jane Austen/Temeraire (Naomi Novik)

To the Rigor of Service: Fic/Art (Elizabeth Bennet & Charlotte Lucas, pre-Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth)

Jujutsu Kaisen

Phantom Origins: Fic | Art (Itadori Yuuji/Yoshino Junpei, Yoshino Junpei & Yoshino Nagi, Fushiguro Megumi & Kugisaki Nobara, Fushiguro Megumi & Kugisaki Nobara & Yoshino Junpei, Iguchi Takeshi & Itadori Yuuji & Sasaki Setsuko)

Knives Out

No Charm Equal: Fic (Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera)

Kuroko no Basuke

Three Little Words: Fic (Kasamatsu Yukio/Kise Ryouta)

Last Binding Series (Freya Marske)

The New Blyth Traditions: Fic (Robin Blyth & Maud Blyth, Robin Blyth/Edwin Courcey, Maud Blyth/Violet Debenham)

League of Legends: Arcane

bring me java, bring me joy: Fic | Art (Caitlyn Kiramman/Vi)

Lord of the Rings (Book)

both the sweet and the bitter: Fic On Dreamwidth | Fic On Tumblr (Arwen Undómiel, Elrond Peredhel, Bilbo Baggins, Original Characters)

[fongfumaster]

TWO NEW MANGA FROM SATURDAY AM, the World's MOST DIVERSE MANGA brand.

1st up is Saturday AM's FIRST LIGHT NOVEL, based on the hit manga by @whytmanga, APPLE BLACK, with this novel written by Marvel comics writer Steph_i_will.

In APPLE BLACK ORIGINS: The Spectrum and the Spectre, this prequel unveils a hidden past of Opal Wantmore's sister, Willow, who partners with a young Gideon Banburi to end discimination against her people by finding the mythical GOLDEN WANDS.

2nd up, Saturday AM's sequel in its' 1st series, MASSIVELY MULTIPLAYER WORLD OF GHOSTS!

The action summoning title features South Asian teen, Nilay Rao, and his powerful GHOSTS -- DAEDALUS BONN and VYPER NEO, who are on a mission to find his mother but stepping into the World of Ghosts isn't easy for a rookie! Especially when there is no one to trust!

Created by Fongfumaster and Frederick Jones!

Get BOTH BOOKS in stores worldwide courtesy of @saturday_am x @quartokids

www.saturday-am.com

[letsgethaunted]

Mobile Tags Season Four Part 1

Ep. 97: The Khamar Daban Incident

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Ep. 98: Summoning a Demon (ft. Chaweon Koo)

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Ep. 99: The Abduction of Frederick Valentich

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Ep. 100: Joyce McKinney & The Case of the Manacled Mormon

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Ep. 100.5: LISTENER STORIES #11

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Ep. 101: The Enfield Horror

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Ep. 102: Psychic Children Who Speak to the Dead

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Ep. 103: Ariel School Aliens aka The Ruwa UFO Incident

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Ep. 104: H. H. Holmes & The Murder Castle, Part 1

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Ep. 105: H. H. Holmes & The Murder Castle, Part 2

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Ep. 105.5: LISTENER STORIES #12

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Ep. 106: The M Cave and the Mysterious Disappearance of Kenny Veach

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Ep. 107: The Black Carpet and The Black Diver

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Ep. 108: Aimo Koivunen’s Nazi Meth-Fueled Survival Saga

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Ep. 109: Lake Vostok & Organism 46-B

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Ep. 110: Subject X Theory (Viral TikTok Story)

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Ep. 110.5: LISTENER STORIES #13

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Ep. 111: The Manson Family Murders, Part 1

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Ep. 112: The Manson Family Murders, Part 2

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Ep. 113: The Oakville Blobs Incident

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Ep. 114: The Francis Leavy Handprint

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Ep. 115: La Isla de las Muñecas (Island of the Dolls)

Episode Link Photodump

Ep. 115.5 LISTENER STORIES #14

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[fluffyburd]

Frederick x Summoner/Reader

So yeah, I’ve had this slow build in my phone’s Note for months now and have been editing it over and other. SO I thought I should finally post it here because I love this man lol. ;3;

*~*~*~*

First encounter

- When he first arrived he was very confused, but quick to be upset and wary of you and the others

- I mean of course you just took him from the Ylisse royals and they could be in danger or needs his assistance!

- You had to reassure him that they are fine and able to take him back the same time he had left, though he still had some doubts.

- He was so very wary of you for a bit.

- But after getting use to Askr, he learns more about the royal siblings and you and becomes more at ease.

- Especially when familiar people from his realm appear does he become less wary (look at all these Chroms and Lissa!)

- Little by little he starts helping the Askr trio and the summoner with their daily lives when he isn’t out fighting, like he does with the Ylisse royals. He will get their clothes washed and ready, bring snacks, wake them up you name it.

- Sometimes he has fights/arguments with Jakob on who does what and Gunter or you would have to butt in before someone gets hurt!

- Felicia is too good for this world and will share tasks with Frederick (though it is more like she gives Frederick more work if she messes up... which Frederick is ok with... sometimes)

- Soon he starts following you around more unconsciously to help you with anything and sometimes you have to tell him no or you are ok, but appreciate his company.

- This man can be a stubborn mule though and insists he helps you. You are his summoner and temporary retainer after all!

- When he does help you you thank him for his help with a smile and that facial expression surprises him!

- Though he can get miffed when you give him nicknames calling him “Freddybear,” especially when you say it out loud for all to hear (but he becomes use to it in the end surprisingly)

- He starts to finds your personality and quirks intriguing or charming

- When you get sleepy you tend to rest on his shoulder if your are ever next to him, and he will let you sleep for a bit or carry you to your bed. He is thankful he isn’t wearing his armor in the castle to make your comfortable.

- When you work late he will come to check up on you and gives you snacks or tea. Sometimes he finds you sleeping buried in your work.

- He admires your sleeping face before shaking his head and try to wake you up to go to bed. If you are sound asleep he carries you to bed and tucks you in.

- When you first laugh his heart does flip flops that at first he thought he ate something bad that gave him that feeling.

- And your smile! When he sees it his heart aches and face reddens and he has to excuse himself because he thinks he is getting a fever and doesn’t want you sick.

- But when he leaves he gets confused when his face isn’t warm anymore, yet when he recalls your smile the ache in his heart, when he remembers your smile, remains?

- ?????

- Such a confused bear

- When you get injured the first time, angry Freddy Bear is unleashed.

- Cradles you in his arms while trying to get you to safety or to a healer. STAT.

- Full on worry while the healer(s) are taking care of you

- Isn’t relieved until the healers tell him you are going to be fine.

- The thought of losing you tears him apart.

- After that scenario he is even more clingy towards you, making sure you are ok, fed properly, and no pebbles are around to you hurt you.

- You have to laugh at his behavior, but tell him you are fine now and thankful that you have someone like him worrying about someone like you while you give him a hug and pats as thanks.

- “Perish the thought! If something were to happen to you I don’t know what I would do. You very important to everyone.”

- ‘...And to me.’

- He is surprised at that last unspoken thought, but it is true!

- He doesn’t understand why you are so important to him, even more so than the Ylisse royals, but he feels like he would move heaven and earth for you if you do wished it.

- It isn’t until Seth has to pull Frederick to the side for him to understand he has romantic feelings for the summoner.

- .....By the Gods.

- How unprofessional.

- He starts to lessen his time with you and keeps his distance, unaware of the sadness and hurt on your face when you notice he has been showing up less and less.

- You wonder why he is avoiding you so suddenly.

- Even though he tries to distant himself, he can’t stop thinking about you.

- When you talk to anyone that shows interest or flirts with you, Frederick’s blood boils.

- Insert a jealous protective bear.

- He’ll comes to your aid if you show you aren’t interested (many times he saves you from Heroes like Valter, Virion, Loki, etc), or makes excuses to have your attention towards him instead and escape.

- You don’t mind because more time with Fredrick the better.

- When Frederick’s avoidance finally gets to you, you start looking for him and asks to see him privately.

- When you two are alone you ask him why he has been avoiding you.

- He tries to make feeble excuses on his avoidance, but finally admits he has developed feelings for you, even though you are his superior.

- He understands this is wrong of him and you can send him back home and never speak to him (even if it hurts him so to suggest that)

- When he finishes, you look him in eyes as you move towards him, takings his hands in yours and give them a gentle squeeze, and tell him you feel the same way and you don’t care if your are his superior and all that.

- He is shocked you feel the same way, but still insists that they shouldn’t be together and blah blah.

- You won’t have it. Nope nope you don’t care.

- He finally caves in and vows to make sure you are well taken care of and loved.

- When he accepts you smile and give him the biggest hug and he has to stop himself from tearing from how much he missed both your smiles and hugs.

- He practically smothers you in his arms

Dating shenanigans

- From then on you two return to the way it was, but some flirting here and there, mostly from you flirting when no one is around.

- Frederick is not a big PDA, but that doesn’t stop you from holding hands or hugs if it means getting him to be flustered and blushing mess. (Too much and he might have to punish you for embarrassing him 👀)

- Still an over protective jealous bear.

- Sometimes he can get a bit carried away on his protectiveness and you have to tell him you’ll be fine or don’t need to worry.

- It doesn’t help sometimes. Even when you cough he is like ‘srygottahelpmysummoner!!!’

- When you two are alone you both love to snuggle together.

- You are mostly the little spoon, but he at times lets you be the big spoon.

- Really he loves to hold you in his arms.

- Massages from him is a bless. Man can he use his hands skillfully~.

- Speaking of skillful hands, them hands will be making bunches of sweaters and etc for you. He loves it when he finds you wearing his sweater or scarf.

- When they two of your are resting, you’ll be working on your work or reading with him next to you. Sometimes you will talk to him about your world or him talking about his.

- He will always make sure you are well fed and make tea ready...or coffee if you like!

- Will teach you how to ride a horse, though might get some use to. Most of the time though you’ll be riding with him on his horse with you in front of him so he KNOWS you won’t fall off.

- When he is with you you are so happy and you smile so brightly that his heart gets the mad butterflies.

- Be still heart!!

- All in all Frederick feels blessed to have you around and loved. <3

[marryat92]

A loud peal of the bell summoned up my mother, leaving my father in a state of no pleasant suspense, for he was calculating how far Sir Hercules could bring in "kissing a lady's ladies' maid" under the articles of war as "contempt of superiors," and, if so, how many dozen kisses his back might receive from the cat in return. While he was absorbed in this pleasing speculation, Lady Hercules was pouring out anathemas against my mother's want of delicacy and decency, informing her that it was impossible she could submit the decoration of her person to one who has so contaminated herself with a tobacco-chewing seaman, who was all pigtail within and without; for, as the Scripture says, "Who can touch pitch without being defiled?"

— Frederick Marryat, Poor Jack

'Tars Carousing' (detail), illustration by George Cruikshank for the songs of Charles Dibdin. (x)

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Don’t Look! [Part 4]

<- Part 3 | Part 5 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

@we-are-all-just-a-bit-crazy’s lovecraftian horror AU, with a bit of my own twist on the origin story. Emotional hurt/comfort. Body horror. Hugging your body-horror monster boyfriend. 

3,386 words

Once upon a time, there lived a man who had everything: great wealth (built on the backs of exploited workers), a grand estate, a beautiful wife, and many mistresses waiting in the wings. Yet after years of trying, he failed to produce an heir. Determined that his money could buy anything, the man scoured the world, searching for a solution. One day, his extensive resources brought him to an ancient castle in Lithuania, where the last descendants of a noble bloodline offered him a devil’s bargain—a book, a summoning ritual. He did not ask questions. His wife was finally with child.

The Chilton legacy was secure.

The moment Frederick was born, the life was sucked from his mother—a human sacrifice for his soul crossing into this world. That was what his father told him, at least. Frederick had no memory of clawing his way through the veil between worlds, of being anything other than an ordinary child with a distant father, a young, blonde stepmother, and nannies instead of friends. Until the changes began. Allison (or was it Kayla at the time?) fainted in the living room when he staggered in, screaming as smoke boiled from his skin, begging for help. His father only wrinkled his nose with disgust and calmly explained what he was.

“You must learn to hide this, Frederick. Never let anyone see you this way, or it will destroy the family name.”

And so, he learned the transformation’s schedule. Prepared for it. Knew how to hide it away and never let anyone get close enough to see the real him. But it wasn’t good enough. Try as he might, nothing Frederick ever did met his father’s expectations for the perfect son he had gone through so much trouble to produce.

Frederick grew into a bitter and lonely man with no one to care about, or who cared about him. He kept the world at a distance, hiding his shame behind expensive suits and lavish decoration.

Never once did he consider that he was not alone in this world at all.

 ***

I see him as one of those pitiful things sometimes born in hospitals. They feed it, keep it warm, but they don’t put it on the machines. They let it die. But he doesn’t die. He looks normal. Nobody can tell what he is.

This is how Will Graham describes the Chesapeake Ripper.

Every therapy session with Graham, every conversation overhead, the puzzle became clearer. At first, Chilton merely believed that Dr. Lecter was guilty of unethical practices—manipulating Mr. Graham in the same way he had manipulated Gideon. He felt such kinship with Hannibal. Learning a bit of dirt on him brought the ever-so-superior doctor down to his level, gave him something to lord over him—a little implied blackmail to strengthen their friendship.

They both had secrets to hide.

Dr. Chilton never would have guessed the final puzzle piece to convince him fully that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper would be the one everyone else laughed at.

“I brought you here to bear witness,” Graham said to Gideon through their adjoining cells.

“To tell Jack Crawford that I sat in Hannibal Lecter’s cobalt blue dining room? An ostentatious herb garden, Leda and the Swan over the fireplace. And you, having a fit in the corner.”

Chilton perked up and quickly shared the audio feed to one of the junior therapists assisting him. You were reliable at editing his audio files, clipping and exporting segments he wanted to keep, but he was avoiding you at the moment. This was proof—irrefutable proof that Gideon had met Hannibal Lecter the night he went searching for the Ripper.

After his conversation with Graham concluded, an assistant was sent down to coax more information from him while Chilton’s research team listened in, keenly taking notes.

Gideon was not finished dropping bombshells.

With a casual lilt to his voice as if talking to a friend over dinner, he began to describe the Chesapeake Ripper. Skin like volcanic ash, reflecting no light. A red glow to his eyes. Black claws as long as steak knives. Antlers breaking through the inside of his skull, punching through the skin. All black as night—a form that shifted in the shadows, ever tricking the eye, unwilling to be known.

He’s the Devil, Mr. Graham. He’s smoke.

“Great. Gideon is delusional,” one therapist snorted. “On the bright side, this completely undercuts his malpractice case against you.” She patted Chilton’s shoulder. Chilton flinched.

“We should start him on antipsychotics. What do you think? Doctor?”

Chilton’s face turned ashen white. “Y-yes, certainly,” he muttered, staggering to his feet.

He moved for the door, but crumbled halfway there, pain ripping through his leg as sharp thorns grew beneath the skin. It was daylight. No. No! The transformation should not be starting for hours—he had plenty of time! He gasped out as another shock tore through him, barely containing a cry. His body convulsed.

“Doctor!” A therapist and a guard rushed in to help him to his feet. “Where does it hurt? If this is a complication from your surgery, we need to get you into intensive care right away.”

“No,” he brushed them off. “Only… psychosomatic. I need to— ah!” He gritted his teeth, mind racing to the one person he did not want to turn to, but the only one he could, and barked, “Get my secretary!”

 ***

Smoke was rising off of his burning skin by the time you rushed into Chilton’s vacated office. His eyes were wide with panic, but greeted you when you entered with—not relief, perhaps, because he was every bit as terrified as before, but with the anticipation of being rescued. His eyes pleaded.

“H-help. I cannot make it stop.”

You managed to get him into your car. The sun’s orange rays seemed to chase the beast away, clearing his skin and stopping his wracking convulsions long enough to cross the employee parking lot without drawing stares. He insisted on taking the back seat so he could hide—and to put more distance between you in case he lost control.

His chest rose and fell like a rabbit in a cat’s mouth.

“The way he described Dr. Lecter—anyone would think it was a metaphor! That he was crazy!” Chilton’s breath was raspy as you drove, glancing back at him through the rearview mirror. He kept trembling, small patches of scaly skin appearing at random then swirling back inside. One pupil was a pinprick. His tongue occasionally became serpentine and got in the way as he frantically spoke. “But it was too specific, the details. Familiar. I always knew there was a connection between Dr. Lecter and me—a reason we were friends. It all makes sense now!”

“Hey, it’s OK,” you said, trying to sound soothing, though you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Don’t you understand? Lecter is like me!”

“That’s good, isn’t it? That means you’re not alone.”

“Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper!” he shouted, and a spine tore through a seat cushion. “A cannibal, if Will Graham is to be believed, and loathe as I am to admit it, Graham is an excellent profiler. If the Ripper and I are the same… then that means I—”

“You are nothing like that!” Forgetting the damage his demonic tantrum was doing to your faux-leather interior, you had faith in him. He was a little withdrawn and more than a little vain, and it had garnered him an icy reputation around the hospital, but now you understood why. He wasn’t evil or malicious. He was frightened.

“God help me,” he murmured.

 ***

As soon as the garage door closed behind you, he scrambled from the car (scratching the handle), and retreated inside. He didn’t invite you to follow him home. But he didn’t forbid it, either, and you wanted to be there. All you had were panic-scrambled memories from the first time that made his transformation worse in hindsight than it was. Or maybe better. You didn’t know, and you wouldn’t know until you saw it again with clear eyes.

The electric kettle rumbled on its stand, hissing steam as you searched through Frederick Chilton’s surprisingly extensive tea collection for something herbal and soothing. Chamomile, you thought. With honey. Surely that must be good for demon-monster-werewolf things?

The sun was about to set and he was still reeling over Hannibal, and just as much from the premature transformation the revelation had triggered. And every time he cried, “This is not possible. How can this be possible?” the next convulsion was more intense.

He would probably just burn himself on tea.

A painful whimper came from somewhere in the house, and you followed it to a tiny panic room that opened behind a bookshelf. It was only about seven by nine feet with concrete walls and floors, bare except for deep scratches of varying age, like an animal trying to escape. The few chairs inside were metal. Difficult to break. Frederick faced away from you, staring at a hand that was too large for the rest of his body, capped with long black claws.

“Oh no, this will not do at all,” you tutted, shaking your head at the barren space. “How about I bring in some blankets? Let’s get you comfortable.”

His whole body shook. “You should go.”

“No. No way, not after seeing this prison cell. I am not leaving you like this.”

“I do not want to hurt you.” His shoulder jerked. A spike tore through his shirt.

“You won’t.”

“Seeing it again… will not be therapeutic for you,” he hissed, another spike breaking through. “Go before it is too late.”

“No!”

“Damn it! I am a monster—there is proof of that now! The FBI has no idea what it is dealing with!” Chilton began to pace the small cell, thoughts racing, features morphing into something grotesque and alien. “Does Hannibal know about me? Can he sense it? Is that why he confided in me? I always thought it was professional respect—hah! God, what if he…” A painful convulsion halted his pacing and brought him to one knee, gripping his side. His attention snapped back to you. “This is… dangerous,” he warned, then hacked violently. Fleshy, snake-like projections spewed from his mouth, and he quickly turned away again, hiding his face. “You should… you should be nowhere near all of this! You should not be here! Why did I let you inside?!”

A roar of anguish ripped through the air with enough force to push you back through the panic room door, just in time to avoid being impaled on half a dozen spines as they shot from Chilton’s body like lances. Chips of concrete clattered to the ground as they penetrated the walls. He screamed again, writhing to get free, but found himself trapped by his own violent transformation. Like an animal, he struggled and clawed at himself as if his rational mind had been overtaken by raw, volatile emotion.

“Take it easy. You’re going to hurt yourself,” you tried to calm him, but you couldn’t stop your voice from shaking.

This was worse than last time. You were sure his spines weren’t half as long when you saw him in his office—even Chilton seemed surprised to be pinned.

You lifted your hands, palms toward him in a steadying gesture, and took a step back into the concrete room.

“Stay back!” he howled, thrashing. “Get away!”

It was tempting. Every muscle in your body wanted to follow his advice and run far away from the indescribable horror before you. But his eyes were still green. Were still terrified. And you had an inkling of why it was worse this time. Maybe he would hate you later for imposing, but it seemed more important right now not to leave him feeling… like a monster.

“It’s OK.” You took another step closer.

“No!”

“You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you. Shh, shh… I’m not afraid, see?”

Rigid spines sprayed from his back and shoulders in a 180-degree arc, leaving only his front accessible. You ducked under one and followed its trajectory to where it met the wall. It wasn’t just pinned by pressure—it had struck the wall with enough force to dig into it like an iron rod. Sawing through might be the only option for getting him unstuck. You wondered if that would hurt. Were there nerves in his spines? You stepped over the next one as you drew nearer.

“You should be afraid! I am just like him!” Chilton tried to turn his head away as you traversed his network of thorns and stood in front of him.

His face was almost entirely inhuman. Tentacles cascaded down from where a nose should have been, and when he opened his mouth in a snarl, they parted like wriggling eels—each with a life of its own—to reveal a jaw that split his face open vertically, crowded with rows of sharp white teeth. The more agitated Chilton became, the more dramatic the effect. Each time he spoke, you caught a flash of teeth that sent shivers racing down your spine. But you continued to move closer anyway, within snapping range.

“Hannibal and I… we are the same. Please—I do not want to become him. Do not let me hurt you!”

“You are not the same. You’re not a killer.”

Chilton let out a choking cry that was all too human. “I killed that nurse,” he said. Concrete groaned as his spines grew longer. A crooked horn sprouted from his head. “I killed Elizabeth Shell.”

“You… you didn’t kill her.”

His breath quickened again. Tentacles sprouted and died and resprouted from his face in a constant fevered motion. “I knew Gideon would kill! I lowered security! I knew what would happen—what I needed to happen to prove that he was the Ripper! I may as well have plucked her eyes out with my own hands and… and feasted on her organs. God… I am the Ripper,” he wailed.

“No…” It never occurred to you that Dr. Chilton would have done such a thing knowingly. Maybe there was something dark inside him that this creature was reflecting. It hurt to acknowledge, and yet maybe you both needed to. “You made a mistake. You did a bad thing, but… Gideon was already a killer. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I drove him to it, manipulated him… I am just as responsible as he is. I am a monster.”

“A monster wouldn’t feel this guilty! You made a mistake, but you won’t make it again, will you?”

Tentacles and spines stopped sprouting. His form stabilized as his wet eyes looked off thoughtfully. He seemed so pathetic… so innocent, almost. Despite the intimating spines and claws that added danger and height to his appearance, his body had the same mass—leaving his frame gaunt and frail, with ribs sticking out prominently. Hollow.

You wanted to protect him.

You knew that was your job at BSHCI. You knew that was why Dr. Chilton suddenly needed a personal secretary when he never had before. Someone to sit outside his door, take his calls, and warn him when visitors wanted to see him. You’d never met the doctor before he was attacked by one of his patients, but you recognized the signs of trauma—the way he flinched easily, avoided contact at first, then the way he clung to you when you earned his trust. The awkward little smiles. The way his cheeks turned bright red when his fingers brushed yours as you delivered his coffee. You couldn’t help feeling protective. Falling in love, even.

Though it was closed for the moment, his mouth was a dangerous black hole with alien arms ready to pull prey inside. It seemed impossible to get close without being dragged into its teeth by instinct. You couldn’t imagine putting your face anywhere near it.

Another step, and your forehead touched his.

“I... I do not want to hurt you,” he pleaded.

“You won’t.”

You leaned into his arms, a hand reaching up to stroke the side of his face. It was covered in fine scales that glistened as if they should be slimy, but were smooth to the touch, like a snake. Sharper thorns sprouting from his skin seemed to retreat before your caress.

He trembled with inner turmoil, hot breath puffing against your chin. Your eyes darted toward the motion of one of his claws rising behind you, and all you could focus on were the way each sharp talon caught the light. You couldn’t be sure what he was thinking—if he was going to return your embrace, or prove to you that he was a monster. Would he slash you just to drive you away?

“I smell your fear,” his voice hissed accusingly.

For some reason, of all the reactions you could have had, you started to laugh. It was nervous and tight at first, but then building in confidence at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“You’ve got giant claws! Of course I’m afraid! But I’m not running, am I?”

You slid your hand from his cheek and trailed it over his bony neck and the ridges and spines of his shoulders, finding a path for your arms to twine around him. Cuddling closer, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, hardly bothered by the writhing tentacles that draped down over you.

“I know you would never hurt me. You’re just going to have to keep showing me there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Shuddering, he breathed in your scent. All his senses were heightened by this form, and he was surrounded by you—your pheromones, your electric field, the radiant heat of your skin. It was like sinking into a warm bath with a glass of fine wine in his hand. He opened his palm and let his predator’s hand sweep harmlessly down your back, holding you close. He could sense the fluttering of your heart in his embrace. It was slower than a creature in terror—slowing the longer he held you. You were not afraid. And he could not imagine hurting you. Whatever he had been worried might happen, whatever awful things he might be capable of, he could never imagine hurting you. You were right. You didn’t have anything to fear.

He exhaled a long, steady breath of surrender. The long spines retracted, pulling out of the walls as they returned to their usual size. He could move again, but didn’t. Not for a long time.

“It’s OK. It’s OK,” you sighed. The scent of your hair was intoxicating.

Eventually, you had to part. Chilton’s eyes darted away as you did—the inky scales on his face emitted a soft bluish starlight, which you were certain was blushing. You could not coax him to leave his concrete prison cell, but he told you where to find some blankets he could live with damaging—linen closet, second floor, third door on the right—and let you make a cozy nest on the bare floors. You made tea, and only cringed a little at his attempts to drink it. It was late, then. You were sleepy, and he was exhausted. Emotionally drained. His mind still raced over everything, still not certain of your presence and inexplicable kindness. You sat in the pile of blankets and had him rest his head in your lap.

“Give me your hand,” you asked, extending yours.

A clawed, scaly hand slid tentatively along the floor. You took it. Held it gently, first observing the long talons protruding like daggers from each finger before slotting yours between them—nothing sharp there. You let out a long sigh and leaned back against the concrete wall. His breath hitched.

He’d never had his hand held in this form, you assumed.

He’d never had his hand held at all, in fact. Not in many years.

It had to be a trap, he thought. No one had ever loved him before. No one could—not like this. Yet, as he fell asleep to your fingers massaging his temple and the soft murmuring of your voice, he let himself believe it. You were always there, protecting him. Smiling at him in the morning.

When you woke up, Frederick was human again, still fast asleep in your arms.

[convxction]

CYL Chrom lines!!!!! x & x

After ten years and they still refuse to use the Holy King lmao. At this point it would be weird to suddenly say holy king and not exalt. but anyway www krumb!!! this is most likely a version after the horse knight chrom hmm perhaps. because he does sound ..oldish and calm than ever. maybe.

yes. kill me softly mwahaha.....neesa ;;u;; man stop doubting yourself. had it not been the right path frederick and lissa would have bonked you already.

thats a good line because it shows that what he says about the armor taking effort and time and is the pride of ylisse and how comfortable he is in it. in jp he says he got used to it; it feels comfortable to wear so its just the usual.

覚悟はしている。 is basically chrom. always ready and prepared to accept what is to come. aaaa justice sobs. i think each armor got the iris flower somehow as the design on them if i am not mistaken sdldksgskljg chrom got even the butterfly design on his shoulder guard. not this chrom but the OG. 

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;u;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; time who bitch. that was your daughter bitch stop taking her thing. *sobs* suddenly shinzou sasageyo plays in the background lmao

do we tell him that ... there are not ONE fell dragon but ...*counts* four? ...gulps.

oh god... i think the english is so misleading AF.... why english why???

basically “acting like a king is stifling for me. I rather go on patrols (his nature to that/ feels comfortable). So, let me tag along with you for a while.

BITCH FROM ‘EW BEING KING IS MEH’ to ‘im comfortable being one of the boys’ bitch??????????? dunno if this is me but that vibe i got from the english line man. i thought he was doubt moment but didnt make sense with the next sentence??? it is weird phrasing tbh. let me know if this is just me

change fate baby~ 

god english makes chrom so ....the line literally point out how traumatized chrom seeing people DIE IN FRONT OF HIM! why ...’i will not let anyone else be lost’ wtf is this crap?

n a k a m a ~ his nakahomies are his power ;;u;;

i give you this english. you did good on expanding a little bit of chrom lines. just a little bit. still crying about krumb fayre embrum man was not ready to become a king and he was thrown into this. fate is a cruel baitch. JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSITCE!!!!!!!!! looks at his dad. you missed on this man growing up to be a fine man smh. 

lays on the ground ... so much to say about this but it will be redundant. it was a slow realization moment for chrom what happened and what he is supposed to do. 

break dance and dabs. great lord. master lordo lmao. but yeah seems like this is his ...first time wearing ...it? dunno. unsure about this or he is referring to the ‘u train then u get to wear it’ anyway this is probably throwback to levelling up and getting a master seal mhm

trying to understand what this line do ... mmm ....funny. means summoner is op lmao. 

listen. listen. listen.

i dont blame him for saying this. the lucina they mention is the older one--he barely knows her dudes. she is her own person and he does not want to be imposing on her to ask of every little thing so cant say he noticed a lot of things in common between them on the spot.

it is funny that JP he breaks walls, in ENG he breaks training dummies

me: FUCKING BREAKING EVERYTHING BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! within reason. lol

this is one of the jokes i like but dont test me by overusing it otherwise i will hunt your ass. 

anyway, let chrom say sorry cowards.

*wearing my clown outfit* i commented that in english he didnt say emmeryn but it was there...they just didnt put it. wth intelsys? do you have this hidden agenda against best fire emblem girl? i will fight you. come at me. I THROW MY GUANTLET AT YOU. FIGHT ME COWARDS. FIGHT ME! I REQUEST A DEATH BATTLE! 

sigh. neesa... i know it is a culture thing but i always find it sweeter when chrom calls her neesa /big sis rather than just her name. anyway. sad feels.

work this lad to death. he would not mind. just dangle the word bond in front of him and watch him go.

im not gonna critique these because ...no i am going--i will always prefer sugita take on chrom being serious and not just ‘ehe coming thru~’ and ‘believe in me~’ OOOOOOOO i love mar merc dont get me wrong but ...they cheery tune he adds kind of...does not match with a man running with a sword and literally fighting for his life. like if it was inigo yeah i get it or owain or anyone else but not chrom. he is in battle mode and just wants this to be over with. uuughhh.... like. you can feel that there is an action being done in jp and eng he is just saying the words..u know..im sorry. i love eng at times but... u can never beat sugita-han. 

anyway. my ted talk is over. thanks for good food. i will look at these again and see what i can use for my krumb.

[tgarnsl]

2, 28

2 x 28: Royal AU x Proposal Fic

This snippet spiralled out of control, hence why it's about two months late. It's a modern AU (or more like a parallel universe AU) in which Horatio is an English prince and Bush is his long suffering friend who Horatio met in the Navy and has been dragging into royal drama ever since, hence the snippet below.

Horatio was pacing before the long windows, his hands clasped behind his back, when Will was ushered into the reception room by one of the palace staff. He was wearing his full dress uniform, resplendent in naval blue and gold, and Will saw for a moment not his friend, but the man who would one day be king. It unsettled him as it always did, but he shook it off; he knew Horatio too well to be awed by his position.

“Lieutenant Commander Bush,” said Horatio, looking up, a tense smile on his face. Will bowed.

“Your Royal Highness,” said Will, returning the smile. He crossed the room to where Horatio stood. “You summoned me, sir.”

“Yes,” said Horatio. His fingers drummed a nervous pattern against his thighs as he looked Will over. “I take it that you weren’t too busy?”

Will laughed. “I expect I’ll receive a right royal bollocking from Calder when I get back to base, but that’s nothing I can’t handle, sir.”

Horatio’s face darkened. “You should sit,” he said, gesturing at one of the sofas. “I can ring for tea, if you like.”

“I’m quite comfortable standing, sir,” said Will.

Horatio met his eyes, but sensing that Will would not be moved, he sighed. “I expect you’re wondering why I asked you here,” he said, reaching for one of the many newspapers that covered the coffee table. “Here,” he said, shoving it at Will.

Will unfolded it gingerly: it was a cheap tabloid, precisely the type Will had long ago warned Horatio never to glance at if he wanted to preserve his sanity. Horatio’s face was splashed across the front page — a paparazzi shot, by the looks of it — and beneath it… Will exhaled unsteadily.

“Prince of Wales to Wed,” he read aloud. Scanning down to where the article started, he read, “Palace sources reveal that Prince Horatio has announced his intention to wed before his thirty-second birthday in July, as is traditional for a Prince of Wales. The archaic law, begun in the eighteenth century in the reign of… and so on.” He folded the paper and set it down. “Well,” he said, a little stiffly. “I suppose I should congratulate you, sir. Who is the lucky woman?” He caught himself before adding ‘or fellow’. He knew Horatio well, but there were some questions he had never fully found the courage to ask.

Horatio’s expression was troubled, and he glanced away from Will for a moment towards the windows. “That’s the trouble,” he said. “There isn’t anyone.”

Will could only stare at him, aware that he should be grasping on to something here but utterly failing to. “I don’t understand, sir,” he said.

A muscle in Horatio’s jaw twitched as he considered Will’s confused expression. “Sit,” he said, and Will obeyed, perching himself on the sofa and feeling not unlike a truant schoolboy being hauled before the headmaster. He watched as Horatio began to pace, never once looking back at Will, his head bowed and his hands fidgeting behind his back.

“The Royal Marriages Act of 1708 states that if a Prince of Wales should ascend the throne, he must take a bride by the age of thirty-two. If he does not, he will be stripped of his title and the throne will pass down the line of succession.” Horatio’s tone was dry and scholarly, but the unhappy set of his shoulders was indication enough of how he truly felt about it all. “It is how my family took the throne after all — Frederick William, Prince of Wales, would not marry, even when his father demanded it of him, and so the title passed on to an obscure cadet branch. If I am not married by July, the throne will end up in the hands of my second-cousin, a man who should not be given an ounce of responsibility.” He turned to William, anguish on his face. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “I have tried to get my father to change the law — I have begged him — but no use. He and all his Tory sycophants in Parliament would see me become no more than a painted figurehead. Well, I won’t do it.”

Bush knew the mad glint in Horatio’s eye too well to not understand what it signified. “You have a plan, sir,” he said, and Horatio nodded.

“I do,” he said. “But I’m sorry, William. I wish I didn’t have to drag you in to the mess. You’re the only man I can trust for this.”

William rose to his feet, straightened his uniform. “Tell me, sir.” Perhaps it spoke to the bond that had grown between them during their years of service together, but Will knew there was little he would not do for Horatio’s sake. Running headfirst into enemy fire, a burning building — he would not think twice if Horatio asked it of him.

Horatio, for his part, had suddenly grown shy. It was an odd thing to watch a man enrobed in pomp and circumstance turn pink around the ears and clear his throat like a boy, and Will frowned, concerned.

“Sir?” he asked.

Horatio’s eyes met his for a brief moment before darting away. “I believe there is a way to delay this, at least for a little while. Perhaps long enough for me to have the law changed.” He glanced up at Will again. “If you and I could — if we could pretend to be engaged, I believe it might be enough to buy me some time.”

The floor pitched suddenly beneath Will’s feet, but before he could stumble Horatio’s hand shot out and grasped him by the elbow.

“You should sit,” ordered Horatio, but Will shook his head.

“I’m fine, sir,” he promised. “Just my leg. You know how it is, sir.”

“I do,” said Horatio.

Will wasn’t listening. He shook his head again, trying to clear it of the lightness that had come over it. “Engaged, sir,” he said, stupidly. “What do you mean?”

“You and I will present ourselves as engaged. Such a thing is legal now, you know.” For a moment a troubled expression crossed his face but it was gone before Will could make sense of it. “I know you do not feel such things for me, but if I could ask this of you — I will be good to you, I promise. I will not ask you for any more than you are willing to give.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” said Will, and Horatio sighed, frustrated.

“Sit,” he ordered, and Will sat. Horatio perched himself on the arm of the sofa beside him.

“It will cause a scandal, sir,” said Will. “Do the papers even know you’re— I mean, sir, that it will mean everyone thinks that you’re—” He could not bring himself to ask such a personal question of the man who would one day become his king.

Horatio had no such compunctions. “Gay?” he asked. “Half the tabloids think so at any rate. I expect that I’ll just be confirming their suspicions.”

“But—” Will’s brain struggled to order itself. “You shouldn’t have to pretend at something you’re not, sir,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be pretending,” said Horatio, staring off into the middle distance. “Not entirely. You understand how it is.”

“I do, sir,” said Will, gently. “Is that why you asked me, sir? You need someone who can act the part?”

Horatio gave him a look. “I didn’t ask you solely because I know you’ve gone out with men in the past,” he said, clearly bristling at the question.

“I’ve done a good deal more than just go out with men in the past, sir,” said Will, and was pleased to see Horatio flush.

“Yes, well,” said Horatio, fingers twitching against his knee. “That’s not the reason I asked you.”

“What then, sir?” asked Will.

Horatio’s eyes met his. “I trust you,” he said. “More than anyone else. And you are the only person I could ask.”

“Maria Mason? Lady Barbara Wellesley? Would they not do, sir?”

Horatio glared at him. “They are members of my household staff. Can you imagine what would be said if I came forward and announced that I was engaged to my principle private secretary? My communications secretary? I will not allow that to happen. Besides,” he said, shaking his head. “The act stipulates that the Prince of Wales must take a bride. I should imagine that my engagement to a man throws a sufficiently sized wrench into the gears. It should buy me enough time to petition parliament to change the law.”

“I see, sir,” said Will.

“But I won’t do it unless you are certain. This won’t be an easy thing, Will.” As he spoke Will saw the fatigue etched into every line of Horatio’s face, a fatigue he had carried all his life. “The press will try to tear you and your family apart. I’ll do what I can to protect them, but…” He shrugged. “There is only so much even I am capable of.”

“How much can I tell them, sir?” Will’s mother would delight in the news that her son was engaged: to only break it off a few months later would break her heart.

Horatio considered it for a long moment. “As much as you wish,” he said. Then, a little awkwardly, he added: “Does your family know…?”

“That I like men as well as women, sir?” Will grinned. “I should think that one was difficult to hide after Mum caught me in bed with the brother of one of my sister’s friends when I was in Year Twelve.” His mother had hauled him over the coals for that — not for being with another boy, but for using her bed instead of his own. It had not been one of his better decisions.

Horatio tried to conceal his smile and failed. “Goodness,” he said, and Will’s grin widened.

“Hopefully that won’t come out in the papers, sir,” he said, and sobering up, added: “Will you need me to sign anything, sir? Non-disclosure agreements, that sort of thing?”

Horatio’s smile faded and he fidgeted awkwardly. “I won’t have you sign anything you don’t want to,” he said. “I’ve never made you sign anything before—”

“Your personal secretary might have other ideas about that, sir,” said Will. “I expect she’ll want Mum and the girls to sign one too.”

Horatio nodded, looking altogether miserable. “I’m sorry, Will,” he said. “I shouldn’t be asking this of you.”

“I know what you’re asking, sir,” said Will, but Horatio shook his head.

“You don’t,” he said. “Not really. You have no idea the pressure the press will put you under. I’ve seen the papers from when my parents announced their engagement. They hounded my mother even before the news broke that my father had proposed — she was starring in a production of The Barber of Seville at the time, and photographers would camp outside the stage door waiting for her. The papers loved her and my father together — the prince and the opera singer. It was a modern fairytale. But—” He rubbed his jaw, uncomfortable. “I don’t think they will spin such a pretty story for you.”

“Because I’m a man, you mean, sir,” offered Will.

There was a tortured look in Horatio’s eyes as he glanced at Will. “Yes,” he said. “I can handle it — the intrusive questions, the speculation, but you—”

“I can weather it, sir,” said Will.

“Can you?” asked Horatio. “Every man has a maggot in his past waiting to devour his future. Can you be so sure that they will not find yours?”

Will shrugged. “I have no secrets, sir.”

“There will people who will try to smear your name for a chance in the spotlight,” warned Horatio. “Exes, old friends, family members… there will always be someone.” He looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I’m sorry. I ask for too much.”

Will shook his head. “You don’t, sir, not in the least. You wouldn’t have asked me if you had any other choice.”

“I do have a choice, don’t you see?” said Horatio, a miserable look on his face. “I could forfeit my inheritance. It’s what I want, after all.”

Will knew better than perhaps anyone that Horatio did not want the position life had thrust upon him. He did not want to be king — he had admitted this privately to Will once, many years ago, when they had both been rather drunk. But Will also knew that Horatio felt a keen sense of duty towards his position: to give it up would be to admit to failing his duty, something Will knew would break Horatio.

“Besides,” continued Horatio. “I could ask someone else.”

“Who, sir?” asked Will, a little incredulous. “Brown?”

Horatio glared at him. “Yes, Brown.”

Will frowned at the thought of that; Brown was a chief petty officer, and a good one, but a chief petty officer all the same. Both Will and Horatio may have counted Brown as a friend, but the division in their ranks was always present, and Brown was too good a non-commissioned officer to ever assume familiarity with his commanding officers. It was unthinkable that both Horatio and Brown would so easily flout their ranks: no one would ever believe it, and even if people did, Brown would never find acceptance amongst Horatio’s sort. He was a non-commissioned officer from a working class family from the wrong part of Essex, who had dropped out of state school at seventeen and had climbed through the ranks in the Navy through hard work and dedication. His story was not so different from Will’s, but people were more willing to overlook the circumstances of a man’s birth when he was a commissioned officer. Will might never be accepted amongst Horatio’s kind, but he would be more accepted than Brown. It was utterly impossible that Brown be the one Horatio announced his engagement to.

“You know that won’t work, sir,” said Will, shaking his head. “No one would believe it. They’ll have difficulty believing that the likes of you would ever fall for the likes of me, sir, let alone someone like Brown.” Horatio’s expression was closely guarded, and Will was aware that he was treading on dangerous ground. “It has to be me, sir. And I’ll do it, too — whatever it may take.”

Horatio only nodded. “It will be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done,” he warned. “The press is one thing, but the palace is another. Do you remember how it felt, those first weeks as a cadet, when your whole world was suddenly topsy-turvy, and you were no more capable or clever than a little child?”

“Of course,” said Will.

“Your first few weeks here in this palace will be worse than that. Everyone will be watching you, judging your every move. I don’t doubt you’ll do well, but it will be difficult, learning protocol and etiquette, and the thousand stupid little rules…” He trailed off, his tone betraying precisely how he felt about palace life. “I’ll do what I can, but I can only be at your side so many hours of the day. Being an officer should give you a certain amount of leeway when it comes to making mistakes — I would imagine that everyone will expect you to be rather bluff and no-nonsense — but even that can only carry you so far. I will have to find someone to instruct you in these things — Barbara perhaps…”

So this was to be it. His life was to forever be changed from this point, for better or worse. Will was suddenly aware that the path his life had taken up until this point had suddenly veered sharply in a direction he had never anticipated. From now until the day he died his name would be associated with Horatio’s. He knew that it should trouble him, and yet it didn’t; he would make whatever sacrifice was required of him. A thought occurred to him and he swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in his stomach.

“Will I be required to resign my commission, sir?” he asked.

“What?” asked Horatio, surprised. “God, no. We’ll see to it that you carry on your duties in a different capacity, as I did.” He took a long, hard look at Bush. “You’ll finally be promoted commander, you know.”

Will shook his head. “I don’t want that, sir,” he said. “I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

Horatio was unmoved. “It’s overdue. More to the point, you are performing an invaluable service to the Crown,” he said, coldly. “I can think of no better reason for promotion than that. Besides,” he added, his tone more gentle, “It will put us on near-even footing. You won’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

Will laughed at that. “I may not know much about proper etiquette, sir,” he said, “But I do know that I still have to address you properly.”

“In private, then,” said Horatio. “You will have to call me by my name in front of others at times, if we are to appear natural. Overfamiliarity is expected: you cannot call me ‘sir’ all the time.”

Will nodded gravely. “Very well, sir,” he said. “Where do we go from here?”

Horatio rose from where he had perched himself on the arm of the settee and began to pace. “We’ll announce the engagement in about a fortnight,” he said. “You will move to an apartment here, in this palace, and you will spend the first few weeks getting acquainted with your new role. I will speak to someone about getting security for your mother and sisters — they will need it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Will.

Horatio stopped in his pacing. “You should not be thanking me,” he said quietly. “I am all but throwing you to the wolves myself.”

Will stood and went over to him. “You wouldn’t ask me if it didn’t matter to you, sir,” he said.

Horatio bowed his head. “No,” he admitted. “But I will not have this drag on. Six months is all I ask — from now until October. After that, one way or another, this will be done. You can go back to your life, and I can go back to mine. And if you should ever feel that it is too much — it will be over. I won’t make you sign any agreement — if I don’t uphold my end of the bargain, you can go to the papers and tell them the whole thing.”

“I would never do that, sir,” said Will.

Horatio shrugged, the uncharacteristic gesture speaking deeply to his misery. “I don’t want you to feel powerless in this — this relationship. You needn’t worry about having to be close with me in public either. The palace will want us to project the cleanest and least offensive image possible, and I doubt that their prince kissing another man in public is the image they want. We’ll keep the story simple too: we became friends during our time together in the Service and after I left to return to my duties, two years ago, it became something more. All the times I met you for dinner, here or elsewhere, all those weekends camping or sailing… it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love that way, and the whole world will believe it. We can sort out the particulars of the relationship later, but for now…”

Will cocked an eyebrow at him. “For now, I think you have to ask me a question, sir,” he said.

Horatio nodded. “I haven’t got a ring,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides.

“I don’t need one, sir,” said Will.

“No, of course not,” said Horatio hurriedly. “How foolish of me.” His face was long and grave. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

It was all pretend, Will forced himself to remember. None of this was real, not Horatio’s nervous expression, nor the way he kept glancing up at Will’s face when he thought Will’s attention was elsewhere with something almost wistful in his expression. It was not real, no matter how Will’s stomach fluttered as Horatio hitched up his trousers and slowly, painfully, lowered himself to one knee and clasped Will’s hand between his own.

“William,” said Horatio, his voice wavering. He cleared his throat and tried again. “William Bush, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” said Will, without thinking. “Yes, I will marry you.” He gripped Horatio's hand very tight in his and tried not to think on the strange and unexpected future that suddenly loomed before him. It would all work out in the end.

[thatesqcrush]

K!nk Bingo Masterlist

@thatesqcrush

Fantasy - Shibari (Rafael Barba)

Gods & Monsters - Cockwarming (Nevada Ramirez)

Good Girl - Praise (Rafael Barba)

Ingenue - Moneyshot (Bryan Kneef)

Dress Blues - FemDom (Nick Amaro)

Striking Up The Ball - Masks (Rafael Barba)

All Circuits Busy - Dirty Talk (Bryan Kneef)

Witness - Spanking (Rafael Barba)

Game Night - Mirror Sex (Rafael Barba)

Game Night, Pt 2 - Edging (Rafael Barba)

Performance Review - Anal (Bryan Kneef)

Best Laid Plans - Threesome (Bryan Kneef, Rafael Barba)

Mistress - Toys (Rafael Barba)

Tilting At Windmills - Facesitting (Rafael Barba)

The Wedding - Voyeurism (Rafael Barba)

The Wedding, Pt 2 - Cunnilingus (Rafael Barba)

The Invitation - Pegging (Rafael Barba)

Peach - Ass Worship (Bryan Kneef)

Change of Plans, Pt 1 - Blow Job (Rafael Barba, Bryan Kneef)

Change of Plans, Pt 2 - Threesome (Rafael Barba, Bryan Kneef)

Change of Plans, Pt 3 - 69 (Rafael Barba, Bryan Kneef)

@itsjustmyfantasyroom

Tank Top & Boxers - 69 (Rafael Barba)

Live a Little - Daddy (Rafael Barba)

Green Silk Rope - Shibari (Rafael Barba)

We Ran Out - Money Shot (Nick Amaro)

Carpet Burn - Mirror Sex (Sonny Carisi)

Three’s a Charm - Threesome (Rafael Barba x Sonny Carisi 

On Your Knees - BJ (Nevada Ramirez)

Snake Skin Booty Shorts - Ass Worship (Rafael Barba)

You’re Playing With Fire - Dirty Talk (Rafael Barba)

Are You Not Happy? - Face Sitting (Sonny Carisi)

Tu Diosa - FemDom (Nick Amaro)

Best Partner - Praise! (Sonny Carisi)

@beccabarba

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 1 - Spanking (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 2 - Anal (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 3 - Edging (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 4 - Mirror Sex Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 5 - Papi (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 6 - Femdom (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 7 - Money Shot (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 8 - Dirty Talk (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 9 - Pegging (Nevada Ramirez)

Nevada & the Good Girl, Pt 10 - Toys (Nevada Ramirez)

Working Late - Blowjob (Rafael Barba)

Patience - Shibari (Rafael Barba)

Open Wide - Gag (Rafael Barba)

Surprise - Threesome (Rafael Barba x Sonny Carisi x Reader)

Surprise, Pt 2- DP  (Rafael Barba x Sonny Carisi x Reader)

Summoned - Ass Worship (Frederick Chilton)

Summoned, Pt 2 - Praise! (Frederick Chilton)

Summoned, Pt 3 - Cockwarming (Frederick Chilton)

Voice of Reason - Nipple Play (Bryan Kneef)

Oral Skills - Cunnilingus (Rafael Barba)

Derailed - 69 (Jackson Neill)

Winning & Losing - Voyeurism (Nevada Ramirez)

Unmasked Hatred - Masks (Bryan Kneef)

Gambling Debts - Vibrator (Bryan Kneef)

Never Have I Ever - Facesitting (Rafael Barba)

@barbasimp

Part 1 - Vibrator (Nevada Ramirez)

Part 2 - Dirty Talk (Sonny Carisi)

Part 3 - Voyeurism (Frederick Chilton)

@prurientpuddlejumper

A New Arrangement, Pt. 6 - Voyeurism (Frederick Chilton)

A New Arrangement, Pt 7 - Mask (Frederick Chilton)

A New Arrangement, Pt. 8 - Praise!

A New Arrangement, Pt. 9 - Cockwarming (Frederick Chilton)

A New Arrangement, Pt. 10 - Facesitting (Frederick Chilton)

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Pt 3 - Shibari (Frederick Chilton)

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Pt. 6 - Mirror Sex (Frederick Chilton)

Dr. Chilton Hates Camping - Blowjobs (Frederick Chilton)

Guerrerita, Pt. 2 - Cunnilingus (Nevada Ramirez)

Out Tonight, Pt 2 - Papi (Rafael Barba)

Out Tonight, Pt 6 - Nipple Play (Rafael Barba)

Parental Advisory - Ass Worship (Frederick Chilton)

@detective-giggles

Mine - Money Shot (Sonny Carisi)

Toy Box - Toys (Sonny Carisi)

@karens-imagined-world

First Fight - BJ (Sonny Carisi)

Papi - Papi/Daddy (Rafael Barba)

Cunnilingus (Nick Amaro)

Mirror Sex (Nick Amaro)

Please Sir - Spanking (Jackson Neill)

My Little Pet - Femdom (Frederick Chilton)

A New Feeling - Pegging (Frederick Chilton)

Dirty Talk (Sonny Carisi)

Two Weeks - Edging (Sonny Carisi)

Bullseye - Money Shot (Nevada Ramirez)

Shibari (Nick Amaro)

Memo 618 - Ass Worship (Bryan Kneef)

Memo 618, Pt 2 - Anal (Bryan Kneef)

I Can Read You - Facesitting (Jonas Nightingale)

Shush - Gag (Jonas Nightingale)

Voyeurism (Frederick Chilton)

Cockwarming (Jackson Neill)

Praise (Sonny Carisi)

Lets Have A Little Fun - Toys (Sonny Carisi)

Masquerade - Mask (Frederick Chilton)

Full - DP (Nick Amaro x Reader x Bryan Kneef)

Three Makes a Party - Threesome (Sonny Carisi x Reader x Jackson Neill)

The Taste of You - 69 (Nevada Ramirez)

Cure My Ache - Nipple Play (Rafael Barba)

A Silent Buzz - Vibrator (Rafael Barba)

@the-hopeless-haze

Someone Who, Like it Or Not, Will Want You to Share a Little a Lot (Part 9 of Being Alive) - Praise! (Rafael Barba)

Someone Who, Like it Or Not, Will Want You to Share a Little a Lot (Part 13 of Being Alive) - Cockwarming (Rafael Barba)

@tropes-and-tales

Closer to You - Cockwarming (Nick Amaro)

The Pleasure of Just Watching - Voyeurism (Sonny Carisi x Reader x Rafael Barba)

Hidden From View - Masks (Nevada Ramirez)

In Plain Sight - Papi (Nevada Ramirez)

Sensitive - Nipple Play (Nick Amaro)

Devoured - Facesitting (Rafael Barba)

Reflective - Mirror Sex (Sonny Carisi)

A New View - Anal (Nevada Ramirez)

Exposed - Edging (Nevada Ramirez)

Yes Ma’am - FemDom (Frederick Chilton)

Please Ma’am - Pegging (Frederick Chilton)

Tongue Tied - Cunnilingus (Bryan Kneef)

Smart Mouth - Dirty Talk (Bryan Kneef)

Speechless - Spanking (Bryan Kneef)

Meditative - Money shot (Sonny Carisi)

@delia26

Frederick Chilton - FemDom (MoodBoard/Media Edit)

@mrsrafaelbarba

Saudade MoneyShot/Voyeurism (Rafael Barba) 

@madpanda75

Penance - Gags (Jonas Nightingale)

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years Ch. 8 - Carry On

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Confessions made and forgiveness gave. 

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 7

And after all's been said and done Who said it best, were you the one? Let's just forget, leave it behind And carry on

It was nearly two weeks till the first challenge and approximately a week and a half since Harry humiliated Hermione in the Great Hall. Hermione felt an overwhelming sickness as the first challenge grew nearer. She told herself not to worry, but she couldn’t help it. Worrying about Harry Potter’s well-being was second nature to her. Ronald, on the other hand, was the least of her priorities. In fact, she did her best to avoid the ginger boy as best she could, possessing no real desire to talk to him. Not until he sorted out his attitude. But still he was constantly trying to talk to her – trying to get her to send Harry messages for him or just plain berating her for ignoring him. Luckily, avoidance was easy as she found herself buried with work and didn’t see any hope of free time until the coming Sunday. Her work, it seemed, had increased even more as the teachers prepared them for their O.W.L.s the coming year. That, added with her increased research into magical creature rights and all the previous Triwizard Tournament challenges, made Hermione an incredibly busy young woman.

Hermione made her way through the aisles of the library only to see, much to her annoyance, Viktor Krum seated at her table. Again. It seemed he was making a habit of always being in her way, and while she had been polite about it initially, Hermione had reached her limit. Marching up to the table, she waited for him to notice her presence. However, the large and looming boy never so much as looked up from his book. After a few more moments, Hermione finally cleared her throat. Much to her relief, the sound caught his ear and Krum turned his head, looking up at her with a questioning and unwavering gaze. Reaching deep within herself, Hermione mustered up all her courage and finally spoke.

“You’re um…you’re in my seat.” Internally she cheered with relief that her voice sounded clear and confident. Krum narrowed his eyes and looked around at the table.

“I see no name,” he replied simply.

“Yes, but you see I’ve been here for four years. I’ve always sat here. No one else sits here,” Hermione explained.

“I am sitting here,” Krum stated challengingly. He really has a way with words, Hermione thought to herself hotly.

“I can see that, and you’ve been sitting here for the past week. It’s been quite the disturbance to my study routine. There are many desks in the library in which you can stake your claim and make your seat but as it has been established, this is my seat and I would very much like it back.” Hermione knew as the words left her mouth that she must sound like an insufferable berk, but as it were, she had been under a fair amount of stress lately and she longed for something familiar. Krum stared at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before standing.

“I like you. You are strong. You stand up for what you want.” With that the Bulgarian boy picked up his book and stepped aside with a slight bow.

“Your seat,” he stated formally before straightening and disappearing into the rows of books.

“Thank you,” said Hermione completely in shock that her plan had worked.

Letting out a great sigh of relief, she sat down and opened her Charms book. She had only made it two chapters when Frederick Weasley sat down in the seat next to her. She should have known he would find her eventually. Not a day went by that Fred or George, or Fred and George found her somewhere. Whether it was the Great Hall, the common room, the grounds, Hagrid’s hut, or in this case, the library, she always seemed to run into them whether she intended it or not. While the pair were much more engaging that she had previously thought, and while she did enjoy their company, she very quickly realized it was nearly impossible to get any work done with them around. Determined not to break her current study flow, Hermione ignored his presence and hoped he would take out a book and perhaps study himself for once instead of distracting her. For the first few minutes and much to her surprise, it appeared he would do just that. But then the pen tapping began, followed by the popping of his lips, and when neither of those pulled her attention he simply stared at her intensely. The feeling of his gaze locked onto the side of her face was too much to bear.

“What do you want Frederick?” she asked tiredly.

“I didn’t see you at any of the meals today.”

“I’ve been busy. Similar to how I’m busy right now. So, unless you would like to sit and silently work with me, I’m afraid you’ll have to go somewhere else for entertainment today. I have too much work to do.”

“Fine. I’ll work,” said Fred plainly, taking out a notebook riddled with scribbles and drawings. If those were his class notes it was no wonder he and George hadn’t gotten many O.W.L.s, thought Hermione. They were worse than Ron and Harry’s!

Hermione shook her head and returned to her textbook, feeling relieved but a tad skeptical. Never would she imagine Frederick Weasley rolling over in defeat so easily. It was almost disappointing. She found she rather liked Fred and George’s challenging nature. They provided a surprisingly intellectually stimulating conversation. It was refreshing to talk about something other than quidditch, classes, and impending doom. Going back to her chapter on the theory of simple summoning charms, Hermione jotted down notes at the more mentionable and important things to remember. Just as she finished a section on counteractive Fred began mumbling to himself. Hermione glanced up through her lashes at the boy in curiosity and watched as he scribbled something down into his notebook, paused, read over it chewing thumb, mumbled to himself, and then scratched it out. Obviously, the notebook couldn’t be for a class. A diary perhaps? But then, why would he be crossing things out? she pondered. He repeated the cycle – write, pause, chew, mumble, scratch – at least five times before Hermione’s patience ran thin.

“What are you working on?”

“Do you mind, Granger? I’m trying to work. And I have much too much work to do to chit chat with you today. Please find your entertainment elsewhere, thank you,” Fred responded indignantly, lifting his nose into the air. Hermione knew when she was being mocked. Most of the time it set a fire under her seat, but in that moment the most she could muster was a good-natured shake of her head. So, she put her nose back into her book and continued to work. She didn’t make it very far before Fred was mumbling and writing and mumbling and scratching furiously once again.

“Okay, you have to tell me what you’re working on that has you so frustrated. It’s driving me absolutely mad.” Hermione shut her book and stood, rounding the corner of the table towards Fred. Fred closed his notebook and held it behind his back before she could come within a foot of him.

“I don’t have to do anything,” said Fred wiggling his eyebrows playfully at her. Taking it as a challenge, Hermione lunged for the notebook, missing it by an inch as Fred swiped it out of her reach and stood, raising it high above his head.

“Frederick Weasley that is entirely unfair,” Hermione whispered, annoyance laced in her voice as she jumped for the notebook, barely reaching his elbow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re short.” Fred let out a fake yawn as Hermione continued to try and reach the notebook.

“I am not short! You are simply too tall!” Hermione exclaimed, reaching her breaking point.

“Miss Granger, shouting in the library is prohibited. Five points from Gryffindor and you two can see yourselves out for the day,” whispered Madame Pince harshly from behind her desk.

Hermione stood horrified, staring at Madame Pince. A gentle puff of warm breath fell on her ear as Fred leaned down and whispered, “Did you see the amount of spit that flew out of her mouth when she said ‘points’? Absolutely ghastly.”

Hermione fought to hold in her giggles at Fred’s comment. She barely had enough time to gather her things and leave the library, tall red head in tow, before the two of them doubled over in laughter.

“I can’t believe you got me kicked out of the library!” Hermione scolded once she caught her breath.

“I think you did that all on your own Granger. I was just sitting there minding my own business and you attacked me!”

“Attacked you? You know very well what you were doing Frederick.” She stuck her tongue out at him as they walked down the hall, not at all embarrassed for being childish.

“Careful what you do with that tongue Granger.” Fred winked and Hermione immediately tucked her tongue back into her mouth. Her face heated in a furious blush.

“Well now I have no place to get my work done,” she said, changing the subject quickly. “I guess I can try and make do with the common room…” Hermione pondered the possibility of trying to find a quiet corner where she wouldn’t be bothered by Ron when Fred grabbed her arm and started pulling her down a side corridor.

“Where—?”

“You’ll see,” Fred cut her off. With dizzying twists and turns, Fred pulled her along until finally they were in a part of the castle Hermione did not recognize. They continued further, down corridors and around corners, until they were inside an abandoned classroom. It was relatively small, looking to only have space for no more than fifteen people squished together. On one side, sat a good-sized table and a few comfortable looking armchairs. On the other side of the room was a workbench with a single cauldron and a hodgepodge of potions ingredients and empty vials.

“Ta-da! Do you like it?” Fred asked looking around proudly.

Hermione observed the cobwebs in the corners and layers of dust covering most of the furniture and frowned. “It could use a bit of cleaning up, don’t you think?”

Fred blushed, his ears turning a light shade of pink, and walked over to the workbench. “Well, you know. George and I aren’t much for housekeeping I guess,” said Fred sheepishly as he began to discretely move items around into a neat array. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt over her comment. It had been rude.

“Scourgify.” She flicked her wand, and slowly the dust and cobwebs began to vanish from sight as if an invisible maid had swept through in a fury. She looked back at Fred and smiled, hoping that her faux pas was forgiven. He smiled back.

“So why are we here?” Hermione asked.

“Well, you said you needed a place to work. George and I use this place to work on our inventions. It’s pretty quiet and no one really comes here, at least not for a very long time.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. The castle is sure to have a number of old unused classrooms. I read that when Hogwarts was originally built, it was made to house twice as many students as it does now,” she commented, placing her heavy bag into an armchair.

Fred hummed in acknowledgement as he placed his notebook down onto the workbench and opened it to a specific page. Hermione walked over to his side hoping to finally get a glance at the pages, but Fred was too quick, closing it before her eyes could decode the lines and scribbles.

“Oh, come on Granger. You have to be better than that.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t just show me!” Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.

Fred mirrored her, crossing his arms as well and responding in a haughty voice, “Because you want to see it.”

“But you owe me! You got me kicked out of the library!”

“Yes, and then I brought you here, Miss Ungrateful—” he leaned forward, looking down at her with an air of amusement “—If you want to see it so badly, then you’ll have to take it from me.”

Hermione scoffed. She knew Fred was just playing a power game. He wanted her to take the notebook. He probably didn’t even have anything written in it. He just wanted her to want it. Then he won. She must have stood there too long, glaring at him while her mind raced over what game he might be playing because he spoke again.

“Come on Granger, too afraid to take me on? Where’s your Gryffindor courage?”

Hermione bristled at the words. Suddenly her heart began to race, and she was no longer in the abandoned classroom, but instead a forest running for her life. Running to protect those around her.

“Granger? Hermione? ‘Mione?” Fred’s voice and a gentle hand on her shoulder, shook her back to the present. She looked up to see Fred staring at her with concern in his eyes. Hermione brushed his hand away and turned on her heel. A wetness ran down her cheeks and she realized, to her mortification, that she was crying. She needed to leave.

“You know what Frederick? I don’t have time for whatever little game you’re trying to play. You were the one that came into the library and you were the one that got us kicked out. I told you I was busy, but did you listen? No—” she was rambling now, she knew it “—instead, you dragged me all the way down here and wasted my time.”

She swung her book bag over her shoulder and stormed towards the door. If she were not mistaken, Fred’s voice called after her, but truthfully, she did not care. Her feet carried her towards the Gryffindor tower.

The next day Hermione still pondered over what happened in the abandoned classroom with Fred. Why had she reacted that way? It was true Fred used the same phrase she said to him that night in the forest but that wasn’t his fault. He certainly wasn’t using it to spite her. Besides, she was getting over it. She hadn’t had a nightmare in nearly two weeks. So why did it affect her so badly? No matter what the answer was, she knew she owed Fred an apology. It was going to be hard; She was still thoroughly embarrassed by her behavior and she would be lucky if Fred even forgave her. Still, she had to try.

She walked out of her double potions class and headed towards the Great Hall to look for Fred. Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she tried to occupy her mind with thoughts of dinner and pudding to quell her nerves. Turning the corner, Hermione noticed a commotion in the hall up ahead. She heard familiar voices and pushed her way to the front of the crowd to find Harry and Draco Malfoy toe to toe, wands raised. Hermione groaned. The last thing Harry needed right now was detention for dueling in the hallways. She watched an evil glint appear in Malfoy’s eyes and had a sinking realization. Without thinking, Hermione dropped her bag and leapt forward, pushing Harry aside as two voices rang out.

“Densaugeo!”

“Furnunculus!”

Hermione hit the ground hard. The cold stone floors scraped her hands as she blinked rapidly. A tangle of robes and curls, she sat up, amazed she was not stunned or incapacitated. In fact, she was completely fine. Her stomach dropped in despair – she hadn’t been quick enough. Malfoy’s spell hit Harry. However, her assumption was made all too soon as a tingling sensation began to fill her mouth. Working her jaw back and forth, she tried to make sense of what was happening. It wasn’t until she ran her tongue across her front teeth that she realized something was unusual about them. Her two front teeth seemed to be…bigger? Perhaps they had always been that size, she hoped desperately. Her hope was short lived. The tingling sensation appeared again and this time her front teeth noticeably increased in size, pushing down on her tongue as they elongated. Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. The crowd around them murmured. She looked to Harry sitting next to her on the ground and he stared back at her in horror. A groan from nearby, pulled her attention to Goyle, sitting next to Malfoy, covered in large pus-filled boils. She felt the tingling again and this time, her teeth pushed past her bottom lip, making it impossible to close her mouth. Panic began to set in.

“What…is the meaning of this…?” The droning voice of Professor Snape cut through the crowd and Hermione thought she’d never been happier to hear the dull tone. She scrambled to her feet and ran to him, unable to speak but frantically pointing to her obviously growing teeth.

“What seems to be the…problem, Miss Granger?” he asked her with a bored expression. Hermione looked around the hall in a panic.

From somewhere in the crowd, the voice of Seamus Finnigan piped up, “Can’t you see? Her teeth are huge!”

Professor Snaped sneered down at her, his gaze scrutinizing and unforgiving. “I see no difference from their…usual appearance.”

His cruel words stung her deeply. She felt tears well in her eyes and fled the corridor, making her way to the hospital wing. Hermione had never been more embarrassed in her life.

Madame Pomfrey was undeniably kind when Hermione burst into the hospital wing, her teeth well past her waist at that point. The fix was surprisingly easy – just a quick counter-jinx and shrinking spell. Professor Snape could have done it easily if he didn’t find so much joy in her suffering. Madame Pomfrey had given her a hand mirror to hold as she carefully shrunk her front teeth back to normal size. In a moment of impulse and weakness, fueled by the lingering sting of Professor Snape’s words, Hermione allowed Madame Pomfrey to shrink her teeth past their normal size. Checking her smile in the hand mirror, she was struck by just how much of a difference the slight change in size made to her overall appearance. She’d like to see Professor Snape make fun of her teeth now.

“You’ve had a grueling day dear. Would you like to stay here for a while? I can have dinner brought up and you can head back to your dormitory once you’re finished,” Madame Pomfrey suggested, standing up and tucking her wand back into her robes. Hermione nodded and smiled with a sniff. She leaned back in the bed and went to reach for her bag when she realized she forgot it. Great, what was she supposed to do with her time now? A throat cleared from the entryway and Hermione sat up straight, looking to her left. It was Harry, holding her bag and looking like he regretted showing up at all. Cautiously he approached the bed and set her bag down on the floor next to it.

“I thought I’d bring you your bag,” Harry said lamely.

“Thank you.” Hermione looked down at her hands. They sat there, the silence deafening and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry.”

“Harry, you don—”

“No—” Harry interrupted her “—I do. I messed up Hermione. You were just trying to be a good friend and-and I wasn’t being a very good friend back.”

Hermione could tell he was struggling to find the right words. Harry had never been particularly articulate.

“It’s okay Harry. I understand.”

“I was a right git though.”

“You were, yes. But like I said, I understand. I just hope we can put this behind us and be friends again?”

“I’d like that.”

Hermione leaned forward and pulled Harry down into a tight hug. After a few moments, they parted, laughing in relief as the tension between them melted away.

“I’m on my way to dinner. Do you want to come?” Harry asked her, standing up. She shook her head.

“Madame Pomfrey is having my dinner sent here. I think I’ll stay for a while and get some work done while I eat. I’ll see you in the common room later.” Hermione reached for her bag, pulling out her Charms book. Harry nodded, saying his goodbyes before exiting the hospital wing. She had only just opened her book when she heard the doors to the hospital wing swing open. Looking to the doors, she saw Frederick Weasley holding a tray of food.

Fred made his way down to the kitchens hoping to get a pre-dinner snack. He figured if his attempted apology to Hermione didn’t go well at dinner, he’d at least have something in his stomach when he was forced to leave the Great Hall to avoid being hexed. As he walked, he thought back to the situation that got him into this mess in the first place. It all started one night after a particularly heated debate over counter curses with Hermione at dinner. George had pulled Fred aside on their way to Gryffindor tower.

“Merlin Freddie! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That Granger was really as smart as they say? I thought that was pretty obvious mate.”

“Yeah. Now I finally understand your recent obsession with her.”

“For the last time, I’m not obsessed with Granger.”

“Whatever mate. Anyway, I knew she was smart, but I never knew how much of an asset she could be for our business!”

“Oh lovely, we’re basing people’s worth on their ability to contribute to our future now?”

“Shove off, I’m being serious! She might be able to fill in the blanks with some of the product ideas you’ve been stuck on.”

“I haven’t been stuck on them. Your ideas are just too bloody complex,” Fred defended himself.

“Freddie, no need to get your knickers in a twist. We both know you’re the brains—though I’d never admit that to anyone else. But you have to admit, things would go a bit smoother if we had a little help from the brightest witch of our age…” George goaded his brother.

“George, it’s brilliant but somehow I doubt she’d be quite keen on the idea of helping us. What makes you think she’d even agree to breaking rules and getting into trouble?” Fred raised an eyebrow, interested in what scheme his brother had concocted this time.

“I’m not saying we go up to her and say, ‘Oi, Granger, fancy breaking some rules, eh?’. I’m just saying, if she happens to take an intellectual interest in what we’re doing then…all the better.”

Fred let the idea marinate in his brain. It was quite brilliant really, but there was one small flaw. “Alright. How do you plan on getting her to volunteer her brainy services?” he asked, looking around to make sure the bushy-haired fourth year wasn’t nearby.

“Well…that’s where you come in.”

“Why do I have to do it? Why can’t you get her to help?”

“She likes you better.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Sure.”

“She doesn’t! You and she get along better.”

“We get along just fine, but she likes you better.”

“You’re mental mate.”

“Sure. Either way, you’re doing it.”

Fred fumed at the inevitable but couldn’t stay angry for long. Not when George’s words kept repeating in his head. Did Hermione truly like him better? Sure, he’d shared a few more moments with her that year than George, but that didn’t mean she liked him better. If anything, they argued more than she and George did. She always had something to say and he could never keep his opinion to himself either. Perhaps they were more similar than he thought. Maybe with the right influence—his and George’s influence – they could mold her into their own, personal mad genius.

“Fine. I’ll do it, but don’t blame me if she doesn’t agree,” said Fred before turning and heading towards Gryffindor tower.

“Oh brother, you really do underestimate your skills.”

“I don’t underestimate my skills Georgie. I underestimate your harebrained ideas.”

Fred put off the attempt to trick Hermione into volunteering her services for a few days. It wasn’t until George threatened to slip Ton-Tongue Toffee into his morning pumpkin juice if he didn’t get a move on, that he started planning how he’d do it. The plan seemed solid, except for Fred’s one small flaw. He never knew when to stop. He just had to give her one more push. Now he just hoped she’d forgive him.

He entered the kitchens, greeting the elves that bowed at his presence. He reached for a meat pie when he noticed Marby, a house elf he was familiar with, placing some stew on a tray.

“Hullo Marby,” he greeted the house elf.

“Hullo Master Weasley!” Marby responded enthusiastically, placing a treacle tart and a cup of pumpkin juice down on the tray.

“Who’s that for?” Fred asked curiously, biting into the meat pie.

“It’s for a Miss Granger, Master Weasley. Madame Pomfrey told Marby specifically to brings it to her!” Marby stated proudly.

Fred choked on his pie. “Madame Pomfrey? Hermione’s in the hospital wing?”

Marby nodded.

“Do you know what for?” He placed his pie down on the nearest counter.

“Marby does not know Master Weasley. Marby only knows to brings the food.”

Fred chewed his thumb. “She likes pumpkin pasties better.”

Marby nodded again and switched the treacle tart for a nearby pasty. She took hold of the tray and made to apparate, but before she could Fred spoke again, “Marby, do you mind if I go with you?”

“Not at all Master Weasley!” She took hold of Fred’s pant leg and suddenly Fred was being pulled by his navel in a sickening spin. They landed with a snap outside the hospital wing and Fred had to take a few deep breaths to keep from puking up the meat pie in his stomach. So that’s apparating, he thought in wonder. While nauseating at first, the rush from it was enough to excite him for his apparition lessons the coming semester. Marby took a step towards the door to go in, but Fred stopped her.

“It’s okay Marby, I’ve got it. I’ll let Hermione know that you made it especially for her.” He took the tray from the small house elf.

“Thank you Master Weasley!” she squeaked before disappearing with a loud crack.

With a deep breath, Fred pushed the heavy doors open and saw Hermione lying on a nearby bed. Unsurprisingly, there was a book in her hands. When the doors shut behind him, the witch turned her head and looked at him in surprise.

“I was in the kitchens when one of the house elves mentioned you were in the hospital. I volunteered to bring you your food. You know, to make sure you weren’t dead or something,” Fred explained with a stiff laugh, walking towards her, and setting the tray on the side table next to her. He scanned her for a moment from head to toe. “Looks like you’ll live.”

His palms felt sweaty and his stomach felt nauseous as he looked over her, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I’m fine, now. Rogue hex in the hallway.”

Fred winced. “What was it? Bat bogey? Jelly legs?”

“No. Nothing quite that bad, but Madame Pomfrey said I could stay here for a while if I wanted,” Hermione replied. She kept her gaze down, not looking at him. Great, she’s still mad, thought Fred. He sat there uncomfortable, trying to figure out where to start his apology when Hermione surprised him.

“I’m sorry,” she stated, closing her book, and putting it beside her. Fred eyed her, he was sure, with a stupid look on his face.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so upset with you, it’s just that—” Hermione hesitated “—I think I was more upset by what you said than what you did.” She let out a breath, making Fred realize that what she just admitted must have been hard for her to do. Unfortunately, he had no bloody clue what she was talking about.

“What I said?”

“Gryffindor courage?” She said it in such a way, Fred felt as though he should understand the meaning behind her words, but still he felt at a loss. Hermione sighed when he did not reply and placed her hands at her temple in frustration. “You know, the exact thing I said to you that night at the world cup?—” she inhaled deeply “—it’s just…I’ve been having these nightmares you see. Ever since the cup I’ve barely been able to sleep and I guess something about that phrase shook me.”

At her confession, Fred felt a pit open in the bottom of his stomach that he wished would swallow him whole. In truth, he had used the phrase with the world cup in mind. He thought it would get a rise out of her as it did him that night, but he had no idea she’d been dealing with the aftermath of that night still. He felt like a complete and utter arse. Ho was he supposed to fix this?

“Hermione…that night, in the forest, was the most scared I’ve ever been. But what you did was the most courageous thing I’ve ever seen too. Do you think I could have done what you did on my own? Absolutely not!” he exclaimed. She looked at him now, calmer but still wavering. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. You’re more badass than I could ever be. I was just as scared as you were that night, but you were all action. All I can do is…make stupid jokes afterwards and try to forget it all.” The words spilled past his lips, revealing more than he truly liked, but still they were true. He often turned things into jokes that would otherwise be troubling – to take the power it held away from it. He chewed the side of his thumb, thinking about how he probably should have been the one to voluntarily head into danger that night.

“Jokes aren’t all bad. Arguably better than my unhealthier coping mechanisms,” Hermione spoke up, a wry grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Like studying for terms that haven’t even started yet?” Fred suggested, suddenly flushed with the memory of Hermione’s constant studying since the world cup.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Hermione asked, her voice quiet now, barely above a whisper.

“I love secrets,” Fred whispered back, leaning in, and raising his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“Ever since I started spending more time with you and George, the nightmares have gotten better. In fact, I don’t have them at all if you two are the last people I talk to before bed.”

Her confession stunned Fred more than any of her others. “Why do you suppose that is?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t really know. Maybe it’s all the light-hearted joking that gets my mind off it.”

The two shared a small smile before Fred swallowed thickly and reached into the pocket of his robes. “Right, well a secret for a secret I suppose—” from the confines of his pocket he pulled the notebook that started this whole mess “—my apology for being an insensitive git.” He placed the notebook on her lap and leaned back, realizing he had become quite close to the girl during their conversation. He practically hovered over her. Hermione took the notebook in her small hands, eyeing him through her lashes before opening it. Fred watched as she scanned the pages, her eyebrows scrunched together and her eyes moving back and forth over the words.

“I’ve never seen these potions or spellwork before,” she said, looking at him suspiciously.

“That’s because George and I sort of invented them.” Fred scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

“You came up with these?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Some of them, yeah. George has a better affinity for Charms work, while I do most of the potions. We both come up with the inventions, but George’s ideas tend to be a bit more extravagant. The more difficult an idea, the more work I usually end up doing. But I don’t mind. It’s like—”

“Solving a puzzle?” Hermione looked at him curiously.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Do they work?” Hermione asked, turning another page to what Fred could see as the ingredients and spell work for Ton-Tongue Toffee.

“Some of them do, like that one. Some of them not yet. We’re still stuck in research and development for most of our products.”

“I could help.”

“What?” Fred asked, caught off guard by her sudden proclamation of interest.

“I mean, only if you want.” Hermione’s cheeks went a slight pink hue under her freckles.

“Are you kidding?—” Fred smiled “—That’d be bloody amazing!”

“Well then, I look forward to working with you.” Hermione sat up straight, handing him his notebook, and taking on a business-like tone. She thrust her right hand out towards him, and Fred gripped it firmly in his, shaking it with exaggerated vigor.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Miss Granger.”

Chapter 9 >>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

[jeichanhaka]

The Robbed That Smiles

Chapter Fourteen

‘No.’

A pair of sea-green eyes widened, their owner drawing in a sharp breath. Perched on a hidden overlook that was just outside the perimeter of the fight and its destructiveness, the mischief goddess stared in horror at a sight less than twenty feet away.

There, cradling his eighteen-month old daughter in his arms, was Tony Stark. In any other circumstance it would’ve been an endearing sight - a loving father holding his child - now though, it was anything but.

“Please not…” Lokki muttered even as the first signs started and it became clear which one the Infinity Stones’ magic had targeted. All feeling drained from the goddess when the toddler disintegrated in its father’s arms.

~x~

Her breath hitching at the memory, Lokki stood stock still in the building’s vestibule. After her doppelganger left the apartment without making any effort to secure her inside, she had mulled over what to do. Though small, the hideaway was comfortable and shielded from all intrusion. Curling up on the sofa with a decent book sounded perfect and she’d nearly done just that, until another bout of nausea overtook her.

After settling her stomach again, the goddess had considered lying down and perhaps relaxing in a cool bath, but decided instead on a walk. Fresh air had always helped her before with her pregnancy nausea, which due to her Jotunn biology lasted longer and was more potent than other races, and thus she left the apartment. Her intent being to wander around a bit before her doppelganger returned.

A plan that was thrown off when she got to the ground floor of the apartment complex and recognized the building. It was the building she’d hidden within the ruins of in her memory, and that realization had wrung forth the flashback. It didn’t help that someone passing through the vestibule and towards the exit had snapped their fingers. The innocuous sound paralyzing Lokki.

Forcing herself to breathe deeply and steadily, Lokki touched her abdomen, laying her hands over it both for comfort and to check its protection. Strengthened by her doppelganger’s magic, the frost shield protecting the unborn life inside her was the most solid and unyielding as she ever felt it. An immense reassurance. Without it she and her child would be as vulnerable as a Midgardian. Or any other mortal race. Even more so with her magic dampened by the seidr bracers around her forearms.

“If only….” Lokki sighed and frowned, ignoring her surroundings and the Midgardians lingering about. That was until one grabbed her upper arm, their grip firm. Side-glancing at the Midgardian hand gripping her above the elbow, the goddess frowned. “Whoever you are may I suggest you look elsewhere for whatever it is you….”

“You may not.” A human woman growled, tightening her grip around the frost giantess’ arm, in her other hand she aimed a firearm at the goddess.

The mischief goddess blinked, incredulous at the mortal’s audacity at first and wondering if she was being pranked. She wordlessly scrutinized the Midgardian, noting that there was something off putting about the woman with the gun. A quality to the woman’s demeanor that was disquieting.

Lokki drew a sharp breath, a mix of recognition and bewilderment lighting up her face. ‘Mind control…’ She stared down at the woman, into the Midgardian’s eyes which were dull and unemotive. Not quite as glossy as Midgardian literature would describe, but dimmed of natural affectation. “Who are you?” The goddess asked, feigning obliviousness to the firearm aimed at her mid-abdomen. Her eyes and attention locked on the Midgardian woman. “What are you doing here?” The touch of the gun muzzle flush against her side froze Lokki’s words, and her bewilderment shifted into alarm as the seidr cuffs fell from her wrists.

“SSA Eliza Argyle.” The woman muttered and flashed her FBI credentials, before scowling heavily at the goddess. An emotion that stopped short of her eyes, the amber irises still dimmed. Pressing the muzzle of her firearm firmer into Lokki’s side, the Midgardian woman hissed. “Do what I say or I will pull the trigger.”

Her demeanor shifting at the threat, Lokki stared down at the other woman and flexed her arms a bit as the seidr suppression of the bracers dissipated. The impulse to wrench the firearm from the woman and teach her as she had done the mercenary at the Sanctum passed through Lokki. It was only from recognition that the Midgardian was being controlled and that the real threat would remain unscathed that stopped the mischief goddess.

“And what would you have me do?” Lokki asked, masking her fury with illusion magic and showing a worried countenance in its place. Her fingers twitched and she quietly froze the inside of the gun barrel, hiding the fact with another illusion. After a split-second of thought, she spread her illusion magic to mask what was happening from all potential onlookers. Whatever the being controlling the woman wanted, having any other Midgardians interrupt was undesirable.

“Be quiet and walk.” Argyle gestured towards the stairs, oblivious to the way the people around them were oblivious to the two of them.

Lokki didn’t move. Despite the seidr cuff’s dropping in proof of the contrary, the mischief goddess could see nothing dangerous about the agent. No sign that whoever was controlling Argyle knew who the goddess was or her abilities. A mistake Lokki was itching to exploit, but at the same time it made her wary. Mind control wasn’t an ability Midgardians generally had access to.

“I said…”

Frowning at the Midgardian, Lokki snatched the firearm from Argyle’s hand before the woman could squeeze the trigger and cause a backfire. “And I asked ‘who are you?’ Meaning you, the one who is controlling agent Argyle.” The mischief goddess scowled when the next words from the agent was the start of a denial, and she grabbed Argyle’s wrist. Glaring down at the woman, she growled. “You obviously have no idea who I am. Unfortunately for you, I am not in the mood for games. Or perhaps it is fortunate?” Lokki let go of the woman, who stumbled backwards onto the floor. A half-smile was on her lips as she continued. “Who are you and what do you want? Perhaps, if it is not undesirable for me, I will do what you wish.”

Staring up at Lokki with dull eyes, Argyle made no reply, only sat where she’d fallen. Her gaze shifting around at their surroundings, the agent became aware of the obliviousness of the bystanders in the lobby of the apartment building. Not one glanced their way.

“You shielded us from observation.” Argyle muttered, returning her glare to Lokki. “Who are you? You’re not just some pet of the mischief god.”

“Excuse me?” Gaped Lokki, affronted and she tilted her head to the side, staring down at the Midgardian. All semblance of calculated neutrality wiped from the goddess’ face and replaced instead with a mirthless smile. One that oozed maliciousness. “Pet?” She muttered and glanced over the agent, shaking her head. Her smile grown smaller as she pursed her lips, she gave a breathy laugh and continued. “Firstly, I am no one’s pet. No one’s. Let alone…” Lokki paused, her indignation lessened as the absurdity of Argyle’s assumption hit her. “Do you and your boss really think my doppelganger owns me? That….” She trailed off, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Doppelganger?” Argyle stared blankly up at Lokki.

“Hilarious.” The mischief goddess grinned and gave another breathy laugh, ignoring Argyle’s bewilderment. “As a joke - superb. Still will be your last laugh, but superb nevertheless.” Summoning a dagger, she decreased the distance between herself and the agent to zero in three steps. Then she lifted Argyle up roughly by the woman’s shirt. Malicious sea-green eyes locked onto amber ones as Lokki sunk her dagger into the agent’s side.

~0~

Lying face down on a patch of artificial grass, his skull throbbing and every limb of his sore, Rogers hissed as he pushed himself up. Slowly and with each movement bringing pain, he managed to stand using a solid ceramic garden pot for balance. It lasted a few deep breaths before lightheadedness caused him to stumble - luckily he propped himself against the Arboretum wall before he unceremoniously crashed back to the floor.

“Damn. Shh…” He muttered and drew in a sharp breath at a particularly keen throb assaulting him. Between his raging headache and torturously battered body, Rogers could barely form a coherent thought. All that came were flashes of memory and words - cold words, said in a cold voice.

“Easy now.” Someone said and grabbed his arm, the gesture meant to be helpful. He pulled back though, uneasy at the touch - much of his recent memory was a blur and he was sure he was alone. Or should be. “Hey, easy now, alright? I know you have some superhuman powers, captain, but so did that armored bastard.”

“I…” Rogers blinked, the pain in his torso lessening gradually, though his head still throbbed. It took a few seconds more and focus to finally recognize the one helping him. The soldier Fen had teleported onto the other ship. “You...you’re alive?” The Avenger gave a relieved sigh and allowed the other man to lead him to a seat on a bench beside what looked like a medic station.

“Alive and well, captain.” The soldier replied. “The other ship was practically abandoned. That bastard who boarded this ship was its only occupant which made it easy to sneak around once he left. I think I managed to sabotage it.”

“That’s good at least.” Muttered Rogers, his headache lessening enough that he could think. His recollection of what happened still blurred - he remembered up until the intruder - Thanos, he assumed - had entered the Arboretum. But everything afterwards, up until he regained consciousness on the Arboretum floor, was warped blots. “I never asked you your name. What is it, by the way?”

“Wulf, captain. Frederick Wulf.” Answered the soldier, his reasonable tone causing Rogers to raise an eyebrow. Before being teleported into potential danger, the other man had been quite belligerent. Wulf answered the captain’s unvoiced suspicion by turning towards the other end of the ship. Or where the other end should’ve been. Instead there was the void of space, the ship having lost a huge chunk of itself. A ward sealing up the breach the only thing stopping everything being sucked into space.

Rogers gaped at the sight, his brain spinning with a vague recollection of what had happened. Images of the armored being tearing through the ship and meeting the Avenger’s tenacious attacks with his own staggering blows flashed through Roger’s memory. An offensive that had culminated in the armored being destroying a large chunk of the ship to halt the Avenger. “The wounded soldiers…they were...”

“Yes.” Wulf said, jaw pulled taut. “I managed to get back on this ship just as that bastard tore that side off. The side that my men were fucking on.” Rogers sucked in a breath, his gut revolting as he thought of the wounded men being ruthlessly thrown into the vacuum of space. He muttered words of condolence to the other man. “No need for that. Just tell me you’re going to help me kill that son of a bitch.”

“I…”

-Brzzt! Attention! Critical engine failure!- Screamed the ship’s computerized alarm, cutting across Rogers’ reply to Wulf. Both men fell silent, and listened to the warning with increasing levels of trepidation. The warning was much more jarring as it was made in a highly computerized voice. -Critical engine failure! Evacuation strongly advised!-

“What?” Wulf growled, glancing around for the android Fen before focusing instead on the closest computer monitor. Its screen displayed the same warning as was shouted over the ship’s broadcast speakers. No other information. He frowned as did Rogers. “What are we supposed to…”

“Rawrgrrrh! Rawrgrrrh!” Came a loud growl as Nar ambled forward, his attention focused on the Avenger. Relatively unwounded, the bear reached Rogers within seconds and completely ignored Wulf, who gandered bewildered at the creature. “Grrrhr rhhhr. Rawrgr.” Nar growled and once he got Rogers’ attention, turned back towards the direction he’d ambled over from. After a moment he repeated the action, mutely imploring the Avenger to understand.

“I believe he wants us to follow.” Said Rogers, prodding Wulf beside him before following after Nar.

Hesitating at first, Wulf soon trailed after the bear and Avenger, his eyes peeled for any sudden movement. He stopped and drew in a breath when Nar led them to a smaller ship. On initial inspection it appeared derelict, with the outside showing evidence of rust and weather worn edges, while the inside seemed unlikely to fit the three of them. At least not comfortably. Wulf frowned. “I don’t think the bear will fit…”

Nar glowered at the soldier. But before things escalated further the engine alarm shrieked over the intercom again. -Critical engine failure! Evacuation…-

“We’ll make do. Get in.” Rogers told Wulf, and he waited until the soldier entered the ship before motioning for Nar to enter. The bear growled lowly but did so, its girth taking up much of the space on the ship. The Avenger entered last. Almost as soon as the ship door shut, the contraption powered up and within moments the smaller ship left the larger, zooming into the abyss of space.

~0~

“Hey!” Morfield shouted towards the intercom and camera, the alarm still blaring from outside the room. A bellowing alarm that quickened his heart rate and dwarfed all other noises. He could hardly hear himself over the din. “Is anyone….”

“Don’t bother.” Came a voice from behind the agent, followed by footsteps as its owner stepped forward. “They’re all too distracted to notice you or I.”

“Mordo! Good. Get me out of here.” Morfield exclaimed, turning to face the sorcerer. “I don’t want to compromise Erik, but the Avengers think I’m working for Hydra. Hydra!”

Mordo refrained from replying and just glanced up at the camera, disabling it by tossing it into another dimension. He started to do likewise to the intercom speakers, but stopped and instead returned his focus back to the agent. His mouth pursed firmly, the sorcerer just glowered at Morfield with vehement and scornful eyes. “...It’d been better if you were working for them.” The sorcerer finally muttered after a few moments.

“What?” The agent visibly flinched, stepping back and staring at the sorcerer with an expression of horror and repugnance. “Those bastards murdered my nephew, yet you say that?!” Morfield spat, glaring at the other man. The alarm that had been blaring on around them lessened in volume.

“Better them than who you are working for.” Mordo replied, still staring at the other man with scorn. “At least Hydra is relatively defeatable and has ambitions that center on this planet solely.”

The agent blinked and cocked his head to the side. “What are you talking about? Are you suggesting Erik is worse than those bastards that killed my nephew - his son?! You…” Morfield rushed at Mordo, attempting to grab the other man by his shirt, only for the sorcerer to dodge the lunge using a portal to move behind the agent.

“No, not at all.” Mordo shook his head, scrutinizing the agent with a gaze slightly less vehement. “Pendrick is just more dangerous, considering who he’s working for and their goals.”

“...Erik doesn’t work for anyone.” Replied Morfield. “He and his research are independant, as is his lab. And what he’s seeking to do will only benefit humanity.”

“...if Pendrick told you that, then he lied.” The sorcerer grimaced, eyeing the agent as the man rounded on him. His grimace hardened when the agent started to protest, denying everything that Mordo was saying. “...you do yourself a disservice, being so blindly loyal. As proof, your friend sent me here to tie up loose ends - or in other words, to kill you.” Mordo roughly grabbed the man by the arm, and then struck at the other’s chest to send a magic shockwave through Morfield, one designed to stop the man’s heartbeat. Before his strike made contact, the sorcerer’s arm was pulled back by gilded magic binds.

“That’s quite enough.” Strange said upon halting his ex-colleague’s attack, stepping out of a portal to stand a few steps from the other wizard. His eyebrow rose when Mordo flung off the magic binds with ease a moment later and turned to face his former friend. “I see you’ve been putting the magic you’ve been stealing to use.”

“You expect me to have remained idle?” Replied Mordo as he readied his defenses, powering up a protective spell.

“Not at all. I expect you’ve been quite attentive to the improvement of your abilities.” Strange peered cautiously at the other wizard, but made no move except to teleport agent Morfield from the room and into a neighboring holding cell. “I am curious though. Why are you here?”

Mordo hardly batted an eye at the spiriting away of his target, instead eyeing Strange back with a frown. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“Sure. But I meant why travel to this universe and interfere with things that have zero connection to you?”

“This Universe? I do not know what…”

“Wong found Mordo, our Mordo. He’s been going after Kamar Taj students in Russia.” Interrupted Strange, who crossed his arms and stared stoically at the other man. “You would do well to drop the act. You are not from this universe.” The doctor-wizard glowered and waited a few moments for the other to respond. When Mordo made no effort to reply, Strange pursed his lips and stared irritated at the other wizard. “That’s why you know about and left a message for Miss Lokki. You’re from her universe.”

Mordo frowned but continued to say nothing, neither confirming or denying what the other man said.

“You don’t want to admit it? Fine. I don’t need confirmation. But you will answer my other questions.” Said Strange, who then lunged towards Mordo only to be repelled by the other wizard’s defenses. He repeated the attack thrice more, and managed to land only a light blow to his ex-friend’s shoulder. After landing the blow, Strange backed off while deflecting Mordo’s assault, the latter wizard incensed by the other’s attack. A few more defensive deflections, and Mordo stopped, standing back defensively and eyeing Strange.

“What….” Mordo winced, his shoulder feeling unnaturally warm where the other wizard had struck it. Rubbing it, it felt warmer and he glanced at it. A rune symbol glowed there on his shoulder. “What have you…”

“Truth magic. Something I’ve been looking into since Miss Lokki arrived. I may not be able to use it on her, but you...you will give answers.” Strange replied. “The first being, what happened to Steve Rogers?”

Mordo frowned, the unnatural warmth pulsing through him from the rune; the sensation continued until he answered. “I teleported him away.”

“To where?”

“To the rift torn open by the Tesseract.”

“...you mean the rift between this universe and your and Miss Lokki’s?” Strange eyed the other wizard with curiosity, intrigued at the mention of the Tesseract. From what he understood of the artifact, he’d already surmised it may have had a part in the creation of the dimensional rift.

“...yes.” Mordo glowered, struggling against the rune’s magic; his demeanor growing increasingly irate. Even more so when he attempted to portal away, only for his magic to fail. Scowling at the other wizard, he spat his next words before Strange opened his mouth to ask his next question. “It’s just like you, using forbidden magic whenever it suits you.”

“Only when it's necessary.”

“You mean for the greater good. That, friend, is no excuse.” Mordo snapped, his anger palpable, and face etched with lines of indignation. “What would you do when that same line is used to justify utter destruction? When other people use it to justify crossing lines you never considered?”

“...I’ll stop them, of course.” Strange replied, his quick answer causing the other man to shake his head.

“And if you’re not around? What then?” Mordo spat, bristling as he spoke. “If you and your friends were dead, and the fate of the universe was left to a deranged god, what then?”

Staring at his former colleague and absorbing his words, Strange thought for a moment. “...you’re referring to the being in your universe who used the Infinity Stones, aren’t you? The one who decimated it.” He raised an eyebrow when Mordo clenched his jaw, trying not to answer.

“The ones.” The ebony skinned wizard blurted after a moment of refrain, his fists clenched tighter than his jaw and his voice loud in volume. “The mad titan wasn’t alone in his use of the stones, his consort used them as well.”

“Consort?” The surgeon-sorcerer cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward, voraciously listening to the other wizard. “Who is this consort?”

Mordo frowned, swallowing as he once more tried to hold back his reply. To which Strange sighed, and shrugging, rolled his eyes.

“Just answer.” Strange drawled, dryly. “Unless you want to live the rest of your life mute, you’ll have to. The rune’s magic won’t fade if there is a question I ask left unanswered.”

The other wizard scowled, shaking his head and keeping his lips pressed firmly shut. As he did so, the air shifted around him, its heaviness dissipating as something broke through the suppression magic. Across the room, Strange started, not missing the shift and swiftly understanding what was happening. The doctor-wizard hurried forward, attempting to cast another magic sealing spell. Only for it to be repelled back onto him.

Hissing as he was thrown back against the far wall, Strange felt a heaviness creep over him; it squeezed the air from his lungs and throttled away all conscious awareness of his surroundings. Except for the throbbing of his hands. His magic suppressed, the protection he had against his old injury was weakened and he felt the pain from it for the first time in years.

“Shit.” Strange swore, his eyes shut tight against the throbbing of his hands as well as his head; having hit the wall hard as he’d been thrown back, he was sure he had a bump and bruise if not a full concussion. It certainly felt that way.

“Good work.” Came a voice through the din of ringing in Strange’s ears, and he opened his eyes a sliver to peek at who spoke. The wizard’s vision was blurry, but he made out two people standing behind Mordo. The first one, the one who’d spoken, was unknown to him and stood off a bit behind the other. “Bind him and make sure he can’t escape.”

“Yes.” The other person replied tersely, her voice pulling Strange’s gaze to her.

Through his dizziness and pain, he recognized the young woman as she stepped forward. Wanda. Confusion filled him at the sight of the young Avenger, along with trepidation.

[fe-husband-heaven]

Master List (March-May)

The x’s are links! More than one x just means another post!

N/SFW Alphabet Asks:

Takumi (x) (xx) (xxx)

Leo (x) (xx)

Henry (x)

Shiro (x) (xx)

Shigure (x)

Canas (x)

Alfonse (x) (xx)

Niles (x)

Seliph (x)

Ike (x) (xx)

Duma (x)

Zelgius (x) (xx)

Bruno (x) (xx)

Siegbert (x)

Inigo/Laslow (x) (xx) (xxx)

Ryoma (x) (xx)

Xander (x) (xx) (xxx)

Silas (x)

Valter (x)

Michalis (x)

M!Robin (x) (xx)

Gaius (x)

Hector (x)

Claude (x)

Hinata (x)

Azama (x)

Kaden (x) (xx)

Chrom (x) (xx)

Hríd (x) (xx)

Tibarn (x) (xx) (xxx)

Frederick (x)

Brady (x)

Priam (x)

Grima (x)

Naesala (x)

Sigurd (x)

Kaze (x)

HCs:

Naesala’s S/O is afraid of heights and birds

Zelgius’s S/O goes missing

Shiro, Ike, Owain go to a convention!

Top 10 FE Butt’s and when you slap them nyaha

Baby Chicks are lose in the castle!

Priam meets Ike who’s dating the Summoner!

Treating Owain to a movie date

Top 10 most likely to wind up in jail

Odin’s S/O pranks him

Lesbian Reader friendship with Forrest

Surtr & Duma w/artist S/O + a little lemonish subtexts wink wonk

Who likes/hates airplanes + Mile High Club 

Owain,Ike,Shiro meet their voice actors

Vaike,Hawkeye, Owain find out their S/O has been abused

Shiro + going to the fair

Ike,Shiro,M!Corrin finding out they’re gonna be dads

Ike falling asleep on the Summoner’s chest

Summoner introduces DnD to the heroes!

Thoughts on Sigurd + Small HC’s

Ryoma and S/O that loves his hair

Opinion on Ike + Married life Hc’s

Ryoma,Chrom, Laslow/Inigo meeting voice actors

Yandere Alfonse Pt.1 

Yandere Alfonse Pt.2 (Smut)

Saizo + Lukas Smut HC’s

Marth Falling In Love HC’s

Grima General Smut HC’s

Fluffy Lovey Dovey Keaton HC's

Soft Niles HC’s

Scenario:

Dating Odin but summoning Owain without knowing the truth

Inigo teasing M!Summoner with his butt at the hot springs

Silas with a Summoner who likes to hear him cuss during s/ex

M!Summoner confesses to Ike while he trains (for astra-crits!)

Bruno Fluff/Smut after he’s cured of his curse

Unaware Silas teasing M!Corrin with his butt

Summoner touching Reyson’s wings not realizing its turning him on

Jakob realizing he’s in love with you

Walhart learns he’ll be a father

Shigure Smut Drabble

Hrid Smut after beating Surtr

Grima Special: Gauntlet Win

Bruno letting the Summoner see his eyes

Hotspring smut after not seeing Ryoma for a while

Walking in on Lyon without a shirtless angst

M!Summoner proposes M!Robin

First time with Saizo

Prompt: Niles + Shut up and kiss me

Prompt: Grima + Why haven’t you kissed me yet?

Mod Torture Asks:

Wrys proposing to the Summoner

R-romantic dinner with Oliver

My Husband Raven mwuah!:

A sparring session with Raven

Raven proposing to his S/O

Wolf Laguz Raven

Old man is stalking S/O + Raven shows him who you belong to

Woo wee! That’s all the posts from the start of this blog, hope this makes it easier on newcomers nyaha! I’m v proud of our blog ya’ll, thank you for the support mwuah!

[pangtasias-atelier]

In the scenario where the feeder gains muscle when the feeder gain fat, who are all the characters you would put in this scenario? Also, who’d you be in it as well?

This isn't like a scenario I go absolutely crazy for, mainly cause I can enjoy weight gain taken further than muscle growth. (Aka, larger sizes) And it's mostly the same as the buff and fat couples,

Buff!Saizo x Fat!Corrin

Buff! Frederick x Fat!Robin

I don't see myself in much kink stuff, the commissions with my summoner being the exception, not the rule. But I'd say feeder, I just want a short manlet bf to chunk up and protect....